The Doctors and Frodo

If you read history you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were just those who thought most of the next. - C.S. Lewis

In the past few posts, we have seen insufficient glimpses of the lives of four church giants, each of whom faced unique struggles and achieved notable success in the scope of their lives. Yet their brief lifespans were not the end. Each was selected as a Doctor as a result of the transcending value of their works, a characteristic easily traced as we look back from a vantage point of more than a thousand years. Jerome placed the Scriptures in the language of the common Christian, a gift that lasted many centuries. Ambrose added psalms and hymns to a lasting tradition of liturgy, some of which can still be heard in sanctuaries today. Augustine provided subsequent generations with the hope of rest and forgiveness in the arms of his Lord, a hope that later comforted one guilt-ridden Augustinian monk and prompted him to change the world. Gregory opened up the doors for the evangelization of Britain and provided bishops and pastors with a practical guide to church leadership, advice that remains relevant today.

 

Yet none of these men sat with the gray, glory-splashed beard of Charlton Heston or the glowing haloes around their heads as later paintings are so apt to demonstrate. Although they have been bestowed the title of saint, we ought not be intimidated by their goodness. Ordinary humans granted extraordinary opportunity, they too struggled with the temptations and sins of the flesh as they endeavored to serve their great God.

One final thought: each of these individuals felt some reluctance to step into the position presented them. Although I did not say much of their historical context, each faced turmoil, disunity, and opposition in varying forms and degrees. Their tasks were great, certainly validating Gregory’s advice to “let fear temper the desire” of office. Yet each faced their given situation with reason, wisdom, and great faith. Their strength and greatness laid not in their personal achievement but in their ultimate trust in their Savior. In the challenges you face today, tomorrow, and in the coming years, remember the great history of fierce believers that precedes us and know that you do not stand alone. The God who used a grumpy hermit, a reluctant bishop, a prodigal son, and a theology mangler to bring glory to Himself and His Church can surely sustain you and enable you to serve Him in more ways than you may ever realize.

 

Soli Deo Gloria!

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time given us.” - J.R.R. Tolkien

The Pastoral Pope

No one presumes to teach an art till he has first, with intent meditation, learned it. What rashness is it, then, for the unskillful to assume pastoral authority, since the government of souls is the art of arts!

Unlike our three other friends, Gregory did not have the opportunity to interact with his fellow Doctors. Born around AD 540, he already had five centuries of Christian history before him. Even so, his story is not so unlike that of those who preceded him.

Raised in an Italian family of means and prominence, Gregory received the benefits of comfort, stability, education, and opportunity. Like Ambrose, he pursued a career in politics, and by 573 he had achieved the position of prefect of Rome. When his father died, however, Gregory chose to sell his property and take up the life of a Benedictine monk, converting six family estates into monasteries.

Gregory soon found favor in the eyes of several popes as Benedict I ordained him as a deacon of Rome and later Pelagius II commissioned him as an ambassador to Constantinople. Tired of such public endeavors, he returned to his Roman monastic life in 586, although he was promptly elected abbot and called upon as an adviser to Pelagius until the Pope’s death four years later.

In keeping with the style of Ambrose and Augustine, Gregory found himself the elected successor to the papacy against his will. But the voice of the clergy and the people of Rome won out, and on September 3, 590, he was consecrated Pope Gregory.

By this point, Rome was far from its glory days, and the city itself had fallen into disrepair after floods, famine, and epidemics wrought their havoc. Gregory therefore took responsibility for more than the city’s religious state, and among other tasks, he repaired the aqueducts, replenished the grain supply, and fed the poor. With the once mighty Empire now in ruins, the papacy took steps to regain control of the situation and here achieved power and prestige beyond that which it had formerly experienced.

But Gregory influenced more than the humanitarian needs of his own city. In the course of his fourteen-year pontificate, he made peace with the ­­­­warring Lombards, sent missionaries to England, and promoted the advancement of Benedictine monasticism. Still, his rule was not free from flaws. An avid proponent of Augustine’s teachings, Gregory twisted his speculations into certain truth (compare this, perhaps, to a modern-day teacher or pastor advocating the thoughts of C.S. Lewis as unarguable certainties). Among these speculation-truths are counted the doctrines of purgatory and transubstantiation--doctrines that persisted and morphed in the following centuries until coming to a crisis during the Reformation.

Beyond the actions and accomplishments of his life, what more has Pope Gregory I (or, Gregory “the Great”) left us?

Words. Many, many words.

Although his writings are by no means speculative or original, Gregory does provide us with works that are “clear and powerful propounders of the practical orthodox tradition.” His letters, commentaries, sermons, and books reflect on the moral and practical side of church doctrine and theology more than on scholarly pursuits.

Out of his many works, let’s take a quick look at one book he wrote early in his papal career: Regula Pastoralis, or The Pastoral Rule. Composed as a set of instructions for bishops, it advises that those who would pursue clerical office ought to “let fear temper the desire,” but when one is selected, he ought to “let his life commend it” and practice what he preaches. The volume goes on to address the virtues necessary for a good pastor, the methods of ministering to a diverse congregation, and a reminder that pastors be aware of their own weaknesses. Such detailed instructions confirm Gregory’s belief that “the government of souls is the art of arts,” and that Christian leadership is never to be taken lightly, for the flock and the little ones are of great value.

 

Let me once more conclude by asking, “What makes Gregory ‘Great’ today?”

1)     Gregory’s Pastoral Rule gives modern readers a chance to put things in perspective and realize that we have more in common with our Christian forerunners than we might think. The temptation towards seeking the prestige of office has in no way diminished since his pontificate one thousand years ago, and human nature has not risen above the “hidden delight in self-display.” We often like to think we’ve risen above the sins of the past, yet here we see the struggle of leadership throughout the ages.

2)     On a similar note, Gregory was acutely aware of his own flaws. “I direct others to the shore of perfection,” he writes, “while myself still tossed among the waves of transgressions.” Here again we find a man who did not consider himself saintly or great but who affirmed his identity as a sinner saved by grace. He writes, therefore, not out of a spirit of superiority but out of empathy and experience. Such humility is admirable, especially in light of the position he held, a position, no less, whose power and authority was greatly elevated by his rule. Regardless of your rank, are you able to recognize your own short-comings, or would you rather dwell solely upon your successes and accomplishments? Human nature prefers the latter, but might not true humility and “greatness” lie most fully in the former?

I direct others to the shore of perfection, while myself still tossed among the waves of transgressions. But in the shipwreck of this present life sustain me, I beseech you, by the plank of your prayer, that, since my own weight sinks me down, the hand of your merit may raise me up.

A Restless Heart

Augustine. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. A saint of the Catholic Church, if you’ll recall. Namesake of a monastic order. Author of the first autobiography. Founder of a city in Florida.

Well, maybe not the founder but, again, the namesake.

Born in A.D. 354, baby Augustine was the third child of a pagan father and a Christian mother. Although poor, his parents recognized the intellectual giftedness of their son and did everything in their power to provide him with the finest education. Augustine’s intelligence didn’t keep him from rebelling, however, and he soon fell in with the wrong crowd. While reflecting upon his life, he later declares that he was “ashamed to be less shameless” than these friends.

I was applauded by those whom I then thought it my whole duty to please, for I did not perceive the gulf of infamy wherein I was cast away from Thy eyes.

By the time Augustine had reached adulthood, he had achieved the status of a master rhetorician and gained the applause of those whom he thought it was his “whole duty to please.” Still, he was restless and discontent. Looking back, he was also “far from Thy face in the dark shadows of passion.” After years of going astray and leading others astray, along with a few jaunts into Manichaeism and Neo-Platonism, Augustine came to a point where every book he read and every rhetorician he heard began slowly to point him towards Christianity. Cicero’s Hortensius pointed him to truth behind words and ideas. Bishop Ambrose of Milan (a fellow “Doctor”) pointed him to the truth of Christianity behind the eloquence of those words.

Finally, at age thirty-two, Augustine found himself reading Romans 13, a passage that became the turning point of his life. After years of roaming the broad road of the world in hopes of earthly success and pleasure, Augustine surrendered himself to the humble truth of Christianity.

Bishop Ambrose mentored him in the faith, and in 387, he was baptized. Four years later, in the style of his beloved mentor, he was reluctantly made bishop of Hippo. From his conversion until his death in AD 430, Augustine spent his life in the defense and advancement of Christianity. His literary output was immense, and with more than five million words from his pen, he out-wrote all other ancient authors. For this reason, I will only briefly mention one of his most famous works, his Confessions.

I continued to reflect upon these things, and Thou wast with me. I sighed, and Thou didst hear me. I vacillated, and Thou guidest me. I roamed the broad way of the world, and Thou didst not desert me.

Written much like a journal, Augustine’s Confessions recounts the course of his life through his conversion, in addition to a few chapters devoted to some of his key theological and social concerns. Throughout the work, he emphasizes the grace and goodness of God in his life in light of his rebelliousness and hard heart. Although a rhetorician trained in the art of eloquence, this work provides readers with an utterly real and open look at the contriteness of his heart and his struggles to accept Christianity. It is this work that makes him one of the most accessible and well-known of the ancient authors.

In the centuries after his death, his philosophical and theological works have maintained a significance on the level of Plato and Aristotle. His writings have percolated into the Christian church doctrines on sacraments, grace, original sin, and beyond.

Thou who dost teach us by sorrow, who woundest us to heal us, and dost kill us that we may not die apart from Thee.

But who cares? Yes, this man is admirable and intelligent, but he died more than 1,500 years before I was even born. Maybe he influenced things back then, but what does he matter right now in November of 2012? Here are just two ideas:

  1)  At the very least, Augustine provides us with an incredibly human connection to Christians of old. This man was no “saint.” His own pen shows us his vulnerability and frailness, and he gives modern Christians a glimpse into the universal and timeless struggles of the human will against its Creator. He lets us know that we are not alone.

      But is this okay? Many of us like and admire Augustine for being so human in his struggles. One of his most famous lines is his plea, “Grant me chastity and continence, but not yet.” Today, however, we hear of a pastor who struggles with certain temptations (never acting on them, mind you), and we find it appalling. Such spiritual leaders should not be tempted like ordinary Christians, right? Have the years distanced us so much that we are comfortable accepting Augustine’s struggles (perhaps because we saw the outcome?) while revolted by the struggles (again, not falls) of our present leaders?

  2) Augustine wrote and taught with Christ and His Word at the forefront of his mind. His defense of Christianity against Manichaeism and Pelagianism exemplify his earnest zeal for the guarding of the faith against those who would seek to twist the truth. After years of seeking to impress his peers by touting the academically acceptable ideas, he chose to forsake the popular for the sake of the eternal. He reminds us what it means to be not ashamed of the gospel. Am I willing to be set apart from popular opinion (socially, academically, politically) in order that God might be glorified? Are you?

For Thou hast made us for Thyself and restless is our heart until it comes to rest in Thee.

The Reluctant Bishop

"To You our morning song of praise, To You our evening prayer we raise; We praise your light in ev'ry age, The glory of our pilgrimage."

The year was 373, and with Milan at peace and the Emperor smiling upon his effective rule, all seemed to be progressing well for dear Ambrose, an intelligent Milanese governor of noble birth. From all appearances, a comfortable political career was almost certain.

 

Then came the death of Bishop Auxentius.

Deep in the midst of the divisive, theological controversy of Arianism, the city now needed to elect a successor skilled enough to unite the divided church and bold enough to set the situation aright.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Governor Ambrose grew concerned about the swelling unrest over the election. Hoping to see a swift resolution to the matter, he decided to attend the meeting. As he offered a few words to calm the masses gathered at the church, a child began to cry “Ambrose, bishop.”

The chant was taken up by the rest of the gathering, and it was soon evident that he had no choice but to accept the position. Eight days later, on December 1, 373, after a hasty baptism and push through the preceding ministerial orders, he was made bishop of Milan.

In the years that followed, Ambrose took his position seriously, placing himself under the teachings of a respected priest and protecting orthodox Christianity with great fierceness. He permitted no one to defile the faith he was charged with defending.

He opposed Arianism, even going so far as to refuse Emperor Justina’s orders to allow Arians the use of a church in Milan. He ensured that Emperor Valentinian did not give into the pleas to restore paganism to Rome. He excommunicated Emperor Theodosius until he showed signs of repentance after he had unjustly killed seven thousand people.

Yet he was not solely focused on theological defenses but also on the pastoral care of his flock. Not long after his consecration, Ambrose melted the gold of a Milanese church to provide the ransom for captive Goths. Later, he advised pastors to focus not on pleasing the rich but on serving the weak and the poor.

Over the course of his career, Ambrose produced a plethora of pastoral and theological works, providing future generations with detailed exegetical commentaries, sermons containing notes on social and political events, and letters in answer to theological and biblical questions.

Unique to this doctor, however, is his strong emphasis on psalms, liturgy, and congregational singing, which he first used as a means of comforting a congregation under siege. He even composed many hymns himself in an effort to communicate such themes as the Trinity and Christian devotion in the course of daily life. The practice of congregational singing and church choirs served to unify the body of believers and, for just a moment, eliminate the distinctions between rich and poor, young and old. Upon his baptism in Ambrose’s church, Augustine reflects on how “all the brethren singing together with great earnestness of voice and heart” moved him to tears and enabled that the “truth was poured forth into [his] heart.”

 

But again we must ask what significance this man holds for us today, and again I wish to propose two thoughts on the matter.

  1)  It would seem that twenty-first century Christians often take church music for granted, little thinking about its rich history. Before Ambrose there had certainly been songs in church, but their distinct and unifying nature had not been so clearly defined. Ambrose’s hymns and use of psalms arose during times of peril and need, and they served to eliminate distinctions within the congregation. After his death, church music would continue to grow and spread, creating a wealthy tradition of Christian song. With this knowledge before us, is not the thought of singing with the ages of believers sweet? How great an opportunity it is to join in worship with the voices that have come before us.

  2)  Secondly, Ambrose zealously defended the faith, even going so far as to excommunicate a Roman emperor in an effort to set him aright. He had played the political game before his time as bishop, and it would have been easy to continue in that role after his consecration. Instead, he chose to stand apart, preferring the integrity of the faith to the advancement of his social reputation. This is an intense test of character. In the face of power and prestige, would I choose to seek the right over following the enticements of my academic, professional, or political superiors? Would you? How great a test it would be to react with the wisdom and moderation of this church father.

"And now to You our  pray'rs ascend, O Father, glorious without end; we plead with Sovereign Grace for pow'r to conquer in temptation's hour."

Born an Old Man

"Exsiccatum est faenum cecidit flos verbum autem Dei nostri stabit in aeternum." Is. 40:8 

"The grass is withered, and the flower is fallen: but the word of our Lord endureth for ever." Is. 40:8

Jerome was the grumpy old man at church. The one who knows what he’s talking about, but everyone rather wishes he didn't.  And Jerome is only the name you use to talk about him behind his back. His real name’s Sophronius Eusebius Hieronymus. That’s Mr. Hieronymus to you.

Born to a wealthy Italian family in AD 342 (or thereabouts), little Jerome is said to have been “born an old man,” assuming himself to be older and more established than his contemporaries. From an early age, Jerome’s great academic potential was recognized, and he soon acquired a taste for classical writers, a love that was to him a guilty pleasure throughout his life.

Following the completion of his education in Rome, Jerome committed to the monastic life, although it wasn't quite as solitary as he initially imagined. The year 374 found him in the desert of Chalcis, where he lived in a hermit’s cell and debated (or quarreled) over theological matters with his fellow hermits. During this time, in an effort to distract himself from the life he’d left behind, Jerome took up the serious study of Greek and Hebrew, knowledge that would aid him in the most significant tasks of his life.

It wasn't long before Jerome returned to Rome, where he served as the private secretary to Bishop Damasus, the man who would later encourage him to start work on his greatest contribution to the church. During his time there, Jerome was a little less than tactful in his interactions with other clerics and scholars, and he gained the disdain of many peers. A few years later, he would even go so far as to  write snobbishly to one of the few men who would surpass him: a young whippersnapper named Augustine. Even so, he did make the effort to establish a monastery and a convent with the help of his close friend Paula.

But what made the life of this chronically old man of lasting worth? His translation of the Scriptures into the common tongue: Latin.

By the fourth century, Latin had come to be the primary language of the Western church, and although there existed several translations of the Bible in the language, none were based on the original Hebrew texts. Jerome’s greatest efforts were, therefore, spent on the translation of the Old Testament, a task that he found frustrating in light of the coarseness of the Hebrew language. In a letter to Paula, he laments that “every elegance of speech, and beauty of Latin expression, the hissing sound of reading Hebrew has sullied.” Even so, he completed his task with impressive accuracy, in light of his solo endeavor. Unlike the Old Testament, his New Testament was not an entirely new translation, but rather a detailed revision of the then current Vetus Latina.

This translation was not immediately well received, however, and it wasn't until after his death that the Latin Vulgate (as it came to be known), would find favor as the standard translation for the Latin-speaking church.

But who cares? Latin’s now a dead language. Jerome himself is dead. Why does his memory and work continue to matter? Let me end by proposing a few possibilities:

1)   On the basest level, he reminds us that the grouchy old man down the pew may be worth a little more respect than we’d like to give him credit for. Jerome’s efforts to learn Greek and Hebrew for the primary purpose of translating the Bible is worthy of admiration and provides an example of the great lengths to which our Christian forerunners have gone in order to provide us with the dusty Bibles on our shelves. In light of this, what effort do we make to understand and treasure the gift that is God's Word? The work's been done for us, all we have left to do is take and read.

2)   Considering it’s one of the most significant translations of Scripture ever made, the Vulgate was initially frowned upon by its recipients, largely because of its newness. And this is no isolated incident. Wycliffe, Tyndale, and even the original King Jamesers faced similar opposition. Although it’s important to be cautious and discerning when it comes to theological and Scriptural matters, we must be careful in our quick rejection of the unfamiliar. After all, is not our ultimate goal the spread of the gospel to the glory of God? Or have we allowed our nitpicky nature and personality preferences to distract and divide us from unity in our God?

"Vivus est enim Dei sermo et efficax et penetrabilior omni gladio ancipiti." Heb. 4:12

"For the word of God is living and effectual and more piercing than any two edged sword." Heb. 4:12

Doctors

Doctors. What’s your first thought? M.D.? Ph.D.? The Doctor?

How's about the Christian church?

Throughout the centuries, Christians have recognized certain individuals as heroes of the faith--men and women who have contributed to the advancement of Christianity in fair and foul weather. Among these, some have stood out as lasting contributors to the understanding of orthodoxy and the theological teachings of Christianity at large. In 1298, Pope Boniface VIII named four such individuals “Doctors of the Church,” people whose teachings and writings are useful to Christians in any era of Church history.

In the next few posts, I will endeavor to briefly explore the key aspects of the lives of the original four Doctors of the Western Church (Augustine, Ambrose, Gregory I, and Jerome) and take a look at the significance of their contributions. Although much could be written about each of these four men, space and format will not allow for great elaboration. Even so, I hope that you might learn a few new tidbits from the musings to come and find a new sort of admiration for these Christian brothers who strove to build and uphold the church long before we were ever thought of.

     "For all your saints, O Lord,
     Who strove in you to live,
     Who followed, obeyed, adored,
     Our grateful hymn receive.

     They all in life and death,
     With you, their Lord, in view,
     Learned from your Holy Spirit's breath
     To suffer and to do."
          Richard Mant

P.S. Please let me know if you note areas where I have misrepresented an individual or conveyed inaccurate information. As always, the goal is accuracy and improvement! Enjoy!