Author: Mike Aquilina

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Christians and Jews

When people accuse the Fathers of being “anti-Jewish,” I usually ask them to go back and reread both Christian and Jewish polemics from antiquity, and to consider these in their cultural context. It would be many centuries before public religious disputes followed Robert’s Rules of Order — or any rules for that matter. I don’t advocate a return to the old ways of dialogue, but we should cut the ancients a break. Both sides could be nasty. Yes, the Byzantines made life uncomfortable for the Jews. And, yes, in the Persian Empire, where Jews had the upper hand, it’s likely that they returned the favor.

Why do I pull the poptop on this can of worms? A new book, of course: Jesus in the Talmud by Peter Schäfer. Here’s the summary from Princeton University Press:

Scattered throughout the Talmud, the founding document of rabbinic Judaism in late antiquity, can be found quite a few references to Jesus–and they’re not flattering. In this lucid, richly detailed, and accessible book, Peter Schäfer examines how the rabbis of the Talmud read, understood, and used the New Testament Jesus narrative to assert, ultimately, Judaism’s superiority over Christianity.

The Talmudic stories make fun of Jesus’ birth from a virgin, fervently contest his claim to be the Messiah and Son of God, and maintain that he was rightfully executed as a blasphemer and idolater. They subvert the Christian idea of Jesus’ resurrection and insist he got the punishment he deserved in hell–and that a similar fate awaits his followers.

Schäfer contends that these stories betray a remarkable familiarity with the Gospels–especially Matthew and John–and represent a deliberate and sophisticated anti-Christian polemic that parodies the New Testament narratives. He carefully distinguishes between Babylonian and Palestinian sources, arguing that the rabbis’ proud and self-confident countermessage to that of the evangelists was possible only in the unique historical setting of Persian Babylonia, in a Jewish community that lived in relative freedom. The same could not be said of Roman and Byzantine Palestine, where the Christians aggressively consolidated their political power and the Jews therefore suffered.

There have been a number of balanced studies of the subject. I recommend Aphrahat and Judaism by Rabbi Jacob Neusner; John Chrysostom and the Jews: Rhetoric and Reality in the Late 4th Century and Judaism and the Early Christian Mind, both by Robert Louis Wilken; and, as ever, Rodney Stark’s The Rise of Christianity (especially the chapter on the “mission to the Jews”).

A few points to keep in mind when thinking about charges of “anti-Judaism” in the Fathers or “anti-Christianity” in the rabbis:

• These men were living in a hotly competitive religious environment, in which many people were converting from Judaism to Christianity — and vice versa.

• The Fathers were troubled because some Christians were keeping Jewish observances. The rabbis seem equally troubled by Christian influences on Jews.

• Both Jews and Christians knew that they were very close kin. Family disputes are always the nastiest. Ask any cop.

• The insulting rhetoric flowed both ways, usually beginning when one side felt free to get nasty. The nastiness often inspired responses in kind — that is, responses unkind.

It’s important that we know our history. But it’s also important that we learn from it and never repeat these episodes.

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Hellenistic

People sometimes wonder why pagans so often got irritated with the Christians and Jews who lived in their neighborhoods. Rabbi Ken Spiro sheds some light on the matter by contrasting Hellenistic with Jewish ideals. Here’s a slice:

It is easy, while admiring the Greek contributions to civilization — its politics and philosophy — to forget what Greek society was really like. For example, we’ve heard of the “Spartan lifestyle,” but what did that mean in practice? Well, for starters, at an early age, like first grade, Spartan boys and girls were separated from their parents; they lived in military barracks where they were beaten, and not even given food so that they would learn to steal it. To be Spartan meant to be tough. The Athenians, not as tough as the Spartans, were not what you’d describe as “soft” either. For example, they thought nothing of killing infants (a common practice in all ancient civilizations even the “elevated” ones). One of the most influential thinkers in Western intellectual history — none other than Aristotle — argued in his Politics (VII.16) that killing children was essential to the functioning of society. He wrote: “There must be a law that no imperfect or maimed child shall be brought up. And to avoid an excess in population, some children must be exposed [i.e. exposed on the trash heap to die]. For a limit must be fixed to the population of the state.” Note the tone of his statement. Aristotle isn’t saying “I like killing babies,” but he is making a cold, rational calculation: over-population is dangerous, this is the most expedient way to keep it in check.

Read the whole thing.

For further reading, try Jaroslav Pelikan’s Christianity and Classical Culture.

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Luke It Up in the Vatican Library

Back in October I was astonished to see the Bodmer Papyrus go on the auction block. I was surprised again, and pleased, to see it donated to the Vatican. Here’s Zenit on the donation:

Benedict XVI received as a gift to the Holy See one of the most ancient manuscripts of the Gospels, an artifact that demonstrates Scripture’s historical actuality.

The Pope was given the 14-15 Bodmer Papyrus (P75), dated between A.D. 175 and 225, on Monday by Frank Hanna and his family, of the United States.

“The papyrus contains about half of each of the Gospels of Luke and John. It was written in Egypt and perhaps used as a liturgical book,” explained Cardinal Jean-Louis Tauran, archivist and librarian of the Holy Roman Church, during the audience.

The manuscript previously belonged to the library of the Bodmer Foundation in Cologny, Switzerland, and is now in the Vatican Apostolic Library.

“The Pope’s library possesses the most ancient testimony of the Gospel of Luke and among the most ancient of the Gospel of John,” added the cardinal.

The Bodmer Papyrus contains 144 pages and is the oldest manuscript that contains the text of the two Gospels in one papyrus.

The Lord’s Prayer

L’Osservatore Romano commented that “almost certainly it was destined for a small community, a Greek-speaking Egyptian ‘parish’ that, as is habitual in all Christian liturgies, read the Gospel during the Eucharistic celebration.”

The oldest transcription of the Our Father, as recounted by Luke, is found in this papyrus.

Participants in the meeting explained that experts see the joining of Luke and John in one papyrus as a demonstration that for the first Christians communities, the Gospels formed a unity.

The document agrees with the Codex Vaticanus, a fourth-century edition of the Bible. The Bodmer Papyrus demonstrates, therefore, that the oldest versions of the New Testament that are preserved in their totality correspond with the Gospels that already circulated among the Christian communities centuries earlier.

Cardinal Tarcisio Bertone, Vatican secretary of state, Bishop Raffaele Farina, prefect of the Vatican Library, and Gary Krupp, founder of the Pave the Way Foundation, which worked to bring about this gift, were present when the papyrus was donated to the Vatican.

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Christian Charity and Pagan Philanthropy

Rogue Classicism posts a call for academic papers on a fascinating topic. The summary speaks volumes about the difference Christians made in the ancient world, and the difference we can make today:

Scholars have reached consensuses that benefactions in the Graeco-Roman cities were not directed at the poorer segment of the society but at the citizen body at large and that the benefactors were not motivated by altruistic goals but by the desire of self-promotion. There has been a general tendency to emphasize the discontinuity between ancient euergetism and Christian charity. Recently … works have lent further support to this differentiation by bringing into focus such topics as the development of Christian rhetoric concerning poverty, invention of “the poor” and their acquisition of cosmic significance in late antiquity.

Good books on this subject: Rodney Stark’s The Rise of Christianity; David Batson’s The Treasure Chest of the Early Christians: Faith, Care and Community from the Apostolic Age to Constantine the Great; and Igino Giordani’s The Social Message of the Early Church Fathers.

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Patristic Humor

Adrian Murdoch gives us more of Synesius on baldness. Here’s Adrian’s lead-up:

Pages and pages of po-faced discussion on the nature of Christ or impenetrable and allusive epistles that turn out to be little more than recommendations for jobs can, at times, become wearisome when reading late Roman writers. One of the great pleasures of Synesius is that he had a sense of humour. By far his most entertaining piece is his eulogy on baldness. His tongue remains firmly in his cheek throughout.

His argument is that a bald head is superior to a hairy head because it resembles a sphere which is the most perfect object in the universe. The more perfect an object is, the closer it is to its immutable form. Therefore, the bald head is more real than the hairy head

Do read on! It’s cheaper than Rogaine.

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Why Consult the Fathers?

Reason number 52,464 is brought to you by Sir Thomas More, who’s counseling King Henry VIII (future supreme head of the Church of England) to seek advice from men other than the guys on his payroll:

He said, “To be plain with your Grace, neither my Lord of Durham, nor my Lord of Bath, though I know them both to be wise, virtuous, and learned, and honourable prelates, nor myself with the rest of your Council, being all your Grace’s own servants, for your manifold benefits daily bestowed on us, so most bounden unto you, be in my judgment meet counsellors for your Grace herein; but if your Grace minds to understand the truth, such counsellors may you have devised, as neither for respect of their own worldly commodity, nor for fear of your princely authority, will be inclined to deceive you.”

To whom he named St. Jerome, St. Augustine, and divers other holy doctors, both Greeks and Latins: and moreover showed him what authority he had gathered out of them, which although the King did not very well like of (as disagreeable to his Grace’s desire), yet were they by Sir Thomas More (who in all his communication with the King in that matter had always most wisely behaved himself) so wisely tempered, that he both presently took them in good part, and oftentimes had thereof conference with him again.

— From The Life of Sir Thomas More by his son-in-law William Roper.

Hat tip: The Illustrious Rob Corzine.

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Agnes Day

Today’s saint, Agnes of Rome, is long overdue for a revival. Why? She was probably the most revered female martyr of the early Church — outstanding in a field that included Blandina and Perpetua, among others. St. Jerome was not a man easily impressed, but of today’s saint, his near-contemporary, he wrote: “Every people, whatever their tongue, praise the name of Saint Agnes.” Prudentius wrote a long poem and a hymn in her honor. Ambrose extolled her as the model virgin. Augustine praised her. Damasus memorialized her in verse. Her name means lamb, and in art she often appears holding a lamb.

At least one modern historian holds that her martyrdom was the tipping point in the long term of Diocletian’s persecution. It was with the brutal, legal murder of this young girl that the tide of opinion began to turn among Rome’s pagans. With this act they realized they had become something they didn’t want to be; and that moment’s repugnance may have been the beginning of their healing.

Agnes was twelve or thirteen when she was denounced as a Christian. A beautiful girl from a noble family, she had reached the age when she could be married. She turned away her suitors, however, explaining that she had consecrated her virginity to Jesus Christ. It was likely one of her jilted suitors who turned her in.

Agnes knew that her martyrdom was likely. She faced the judge fearlessly, even when he brought out the instruments of torture that could be applied to her. She was unmoved. Knowing how much the girl prized her virginity, the judge condemned her to work in a brothel. She was stripped of her clothing, but even the debauched Romans couldn’t bear to look upon her. One man who did was struck blind, only to be healed by Agnes’s prayer. Agnes let down her long, blond hair to cover herself. (Some accounts say that her hair miraculously grew to veil her body.)

Having failed at another punishment, the judge turned her over to the executioner. Ambrose wrote: “At such a tender age a young girl has scarcely enough courage to bear the angry looks of her father and a tiny puncture from a needle makes her cry as if it were a wound. And still this little girl had enough courage to face the sword. She was fearless in the bloody hands of the executioner. She prayed, she bowed her head. Behold in one victim the twofold martyrdom of chastity and faith.”

She died around 304 A.D., and immediately the world knew her story. The emperor Constantine’s daughter invoked St. Agnes to cure her of leprosy; and when she was cured, she had a basilica built at Agnes’s tomb. Another church in her honor stands in Rome’s lovely Piazza Navona. There, on our May pilgrimage to Rome, we’ll visit the saint’s relics, which are exposed for veneration. Please consider joining us.

I visited St. Agnes’s relics in 2002 with my daughter Mary Agnes, who has already outlived her little namesake. May she equal her, at least, in virtue.

I had the great pleasure of talking with Bruce and Kris at KVSS Radio about St. Agnes, and you can listen in via MP3. (Kris, by the way, will be with us in Rome, along with a sizable contingent from Nebraska. Very cool.)

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Me and My Arrows

St. Sebastian, a Roman military officer of the third century, is the patron saint of writers a very popular subject of Christian art. No one knows why he’s the patron of writers, but the novelist Anthony Burgess (a Catholic of sorts) suggested it was because he was bound to a pillar and pierced by arrows from all sides — and that’s symbolic of the author’s ordinary reward for publishing something. Burgess himself rejected Sebastian as his patron and took Pontius Pilate instead (there are legends of Pilate’s eventual conversion). Pilate, after all, had said, “What I have written, I have written” (Jn 19:22), and that was more representative of Burgess’s attitude.

I give so much space to goofy speculation because we know little about Sebastian, other than the fact of his martyrdom. In the later fourth century, Ambrose said he was from Milan.

He shares his feast day with Pope St. Fabian I. Now there’s a man with a story. Here it is, adapted from the Catholic Encyclopedia:

After the death of Pope Anterus he had come to Rome, with some others, from his farm and was in the city when the new election began. While the names of several illustrious and noble persons were being considered, a dove suddenly descended upon the head of Fabian, of whom no one had even thought. To the assembled brethren the sight recalled the Gospel scene of the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the Savior of mankind, and so, divinely inspired, as it were, they chose Fabian with joyous unanimity and placed him in the Chair of Peter. During his reign of fourteen years (236-250) there was a lull in the storm of persecution. Little is known of his pontificate. The “Liber Pontificalis” says that he divided Rome into seven districts, each supervised by a deacon, and appointed seven subdeacons, to collect, in conjunction with other notaries, the “acta” of the martyrs, i.e. the reports of the court-proceedings on the occasion of their trials. There is a tradition that he instituted the four minor orders. Under him considerable work was done in the catacombs. He caused the body of Pope St. Pontianus to be exhumed, in Sardinia, and transferred to the catacomb of St. Callistus at Rome. The famous Origen did not hesitate to defend, before Fabian, the orthodoxy of his teaching. Fabian died a martyr (20 Jan., 250) at the beginning of the Decian persecution, and was buried in the Crypt of the Popes in the catacomb of St. Callistus, where in recent times his Greek epitaph was discovered.

If you’d like to walk in the footsteps of Saints Sebastian and Fabian, consider joining Scott Hahn and me on our Marian pilgrimage to Rome in May. But don’t delay signing up. The roster’s filling up.