I don’t know Irish, so that Irish in parentheses in the title is possibly wrong. Anyway, this blog is many things, as you know. One of those things is not only to be a source of meditations upon the Great Tradition of Christianity — ancient, mediaeval, modern — but also to draw you to the sources — texts, art, practices — of the Great Tradition. To that end, I put together some bibliographies a while ago (basic, not-so-basic, on the Trinity, the Church Fathers online as well as ‘where to begin‘); there’s a chance I should tweak these, but every time I try, I don’t know what to add/remove!
To these bibliographies I have now added ‘Sources for “Celtic” Christianity.’ I think there is much wisdom amongst Christianity as it was practised in the British Isles from the Late Roman period to the Early Middle Ages (and beyond, frankly — two words: St Anselm). A lot of other people have, over the years, found something fresh and new in these Insular expressions of the Christian faith, such as we find in poems like this one attributed to St Brigid of Kildare (451-525):
I would like to have the men of Heaven
in my own house;
with vats of good cheer
laid out for them.
I would like to have the three Marys,
their fame is so great.
I would like people
from every corner of Heaven.
I would like them to be cheerful
in their drinking.
I would like to have Jesus, too,
here amongst them.
I would like a great lake of beer
for the King of Kings.
I would like to be watching Heaven’s family
drinking it through all eternity. (Source: Celtic Literature Collective)
Irish, Scottish, and Anglo-Saxon saints live in a world that, to modern(ist/ised) eyes seems liminal in many ways. They wrestle with demons. They encounter Christ and the saints in dreams. They feel a oneness in God’s good creation. They make friends with birds. These men and women from the edge of the mediaeval world draw us in.
Much ink has been spilled over the centuries praising the early saints of Ireland and Scotland, and in the past several decades there has arisen a movement of ‘Celtic’ spirituality amongst Protestant Christians that has both ‘liberal’ and ‘evangelical’/’charismatic’ strands. Some of the material from this Celtic spiritual movement is fairly accurate in its portrayal of Insular Christianity. Other material is not — although some of that other material may still be helpful to modern readers!
Thinking about ‘Celtic’ — Insular — Christianity, I wish to strip away much of this modern romanticism. Yes, there is much good amongst these particular Christians. If they can enliven your spiritual life, set you on fire for Christ, and draw you nearer to him — good! But they are not perfect, and Christianity on the Continent was not hopelessly lost and warped, either. In order, therefore, to clarify the water, we need to come to grips with the actual writings and sources and art and liturgy of these communities.
What were the actual spiritual practices of Christians in Ireland and the British Isles?
What was their relationship with the Continent?
What were their theological teachings?
The best place to start is the writings themselves. So I put together a bibliography of primary sources. I’ve not read them all, but hopefully they will be helpful. If there are texts within my temporal bounds (up to 793) that I should include, let me know!
… by Thine agony and bloody sweet, good Lord, deliver us.
I would like to briefly draw your attention to an article in the Anglican Planet written by a friend of my brother’s, the Rev. Dustin Resch, entitled, ‘The Vulnerable Jesus: What a Monk and a Movie Can Teach us About Lent‘. In this article, Resch, an Anglican priest and patristics scholar, begins his discussion of the temptation of Christ and Lent with Kazantzakis/Scorsese, The Last Temptation of Christ, before moving on to a discussion of St Maximus the Confessor and the importance of Dyothelite Christology — two wills — for the Church.
It is a great article, reminding us that all dogmatic theology has important pastoral dimensions — in this case, if Christ is truly, fully human, he was truly tempted. So are we. He resisted. So can we (by the grace of God).
Everyone who reads Gregory the Great’s letters — showcased by me here — will be drawn to different things. Social history, life in Sicily, Lombards, political history, and so forth. Because of my research interests (papal letters in Late Antiquity & Leo the Great in particular), I was drawn largely to things he had to say pertaining to canon law as well as to the Istrian Schism (on which, see below).
In Leo, we read about the preparation for consecrating a bishop as well as the necessity of the combined choice being made by people and clergy. Gregory talks about these things, but he also has beautiful things to say about what a good bishop is in Ep. 1.24, which is kind of refreshing:
I consider indeed that one must be vigilant and take all care that a bishop (rector) is pure in thought, outstanding in action, discrete in silence, useful with his speech, very close to individuals with compassion, more uplifted in contemplation than all others, allied with those doing good through humility, but upright with the zeal of justice against the vices of wrong-doers.
… Again, when I bring myself to considering what sort of bishop he should be with regard to compassion and what sort with regard to contemplation, I consider that he should be both very close to individuals in compassion and elevated before all thers in contemplation.
… For of course good preachers not only seek through contemplation the holy head of the Church up above, that is the Lord God, but by showing pity they also descend down below to its limits.
… the highest position is well-governed when the person in charge controls vices rather than his brethren. A person controls the power he has received well who knows both how to hold and condemn it. He controls it well, who knows how to rise above sins with it, and how to be made equal to others with it. (Trans. John R. C. Martyn)
This is Letter XXV in the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers translation if you wish to read the whole thing. Later in the same letter, Gregory brings up the ecumenical councils — which brings me to schism. Gregory says that he adheres to and follows the four councils — Nicaea, Constantinople, the First of Ephesus, and Chalcedon. The Second of Constantinople is not mentioned. He writes:
These four I embrace with total devotion and I guard with purest approbation, because in them the structure of the holy faith rises up as if built on a square stone, and whoever does not uphold their solidity, whatever his life and works may be, even if he appears to be of stone, yet he lies outside the building. I also venerate equally the fifth council, in which are refuted …
Gregory then describes the ‘Three Chapters’. I’ve discussed these here before — they are a letter by Ibas of Edessa, passages of Theodore of Mopsuestia, and passages from Theodoret of Cyrrhus that Justinian proclaimed heretical first by edict then by council at the Fifth Ecumenical Council in 553. Because Pope Vigilius ended up subscribing to the condemnation of the Three Chapters, a schism resulted between Rome and many of the churches of northern Italy. It is often called the Istrian Schism.
So it’s important that Gregory gives a long, big build up about the importance of the four councils and how he venerates them, etc, before saying, ‘Also, the Fifth.’ In later letters, in fact, he would studiously avoid mentioning the fifth council depending on his recipient when writing to people in northern Italy. In Ep. 4.37, Gregory tells his recipient to keep his focus on Chalcedon and the support for it, and then argues:
as for that synod which was held afterwards in Constantinople, which many call the fifth, I want you to know that it established and decided nothing contrary to the fourmost sacred synods. Indeed, nothing was done in it about the Christian faith, but only about persons, and about those person who are not mentioned in the council of Chalcedon.
This I am unsure what to do with, since two out of three persons mentioned in the Three Chapters were explicitly at Chalcedon, discussed, and reinstated into their bishoprics. Indeed, this is the nub of the issue in the Istrian Schism. If we reject the teachings of Theodoret and Ibas, are we rejecting Chalcedon?
The best is 4.33, though:
We also delcare that whosoever thinks other than these four synods did, is an enemy of the true faith. And we condemn whomsoever they condemn, and whomsoever they absolve, we too absolve. We strike down under the imposition of anathema anyone who presumes to add or substract from the faith of these same four synods, but especially the Chalcedonian, over which doubt has arisen in the minds of ignorant people.
In other letters North, Gregory pleads for the bishops to return to communion with Rome.
Schism and heresy are diseases to Gregory. As a good shepherd, he needs to root them out for the healing of his flock, as he says in Ep. 4.35 about Donatists in North Africa.
From these passages and many others, I believe that Gregory tried to be a good bishop, a shepherd overseeing his flock — a man of compassion and contemplation. I thank the Lord for men like him in whose spiritual tradition I stand, even if I am wounded by the pain of schism.
This morning I finished reading the first volume John R C Martyn’s translation of Gregory the Great‘s letters. This covers Books 1-4. Gregory the Great was Bishop of Rome 590-604, and he left behind a significant corpus of writings — sermons, The Book of Pastoral Rule, the Dialogues (which are hagiographical), and letters. The Pastoral Rule is one of the few Latin patristic texts both translated into and widely read in Greek from a very early age.
Over 800 of Gregory’s letters survive. This is considerably more than any previous pope. Indeed, one of my catch-lines about Leo the Great (pope 440-461) is that more letters survive from him than from any other pope before Gregory, and for Leo we have a corpus of ~170 items. Unfortunately, I am not clear about how Gregory the Great’s epistolary corpus stacks up against later popes in terms of quantity. My apologies.
As a result of this massive corpus of missives, we have a much better sense of who Gregory is than of the other incumbents of the Roman see. We have many more avenues to access his thought on a range of issues. We see what sorts of things he was interested in, we see what sorts of things he believed, we see what sorts of people he knew. Gregory thus stands in sharper relief than any other Late Antique Bishop of Rome.
Now, when we say these things, we have to remember that, while Gregory undoubtedly unique and had his own strengths, it is not necessarily the case that his correspondence was unique as a body of documents. The mediaeval papacy was not suddenly born in the year 590. Gregory is but one step in a long process; what makes his letters unique is their quantity, not necessarily their concerns or outlook.
Not always, anyway.
One final preliminary issue. The sorts of papal letters I read for my own research tend to be of interest primarily or only as sources for canon law. Although I believe that canon law, and papal letters in particular, is an often overlooked source for social history, it is still the case that the explicit interest of the pope at hand is canon law, and very often in broad terms. That is, Innocent I is interested in discussing monks and nuns who leave their monasteries whereas Gregory is interested in this one particular story about this one particular nun who got pregnant. Gregory’s letters, then, are universally recognised by historians as a major source for the history of the Early Middle Ages, in a way, sadly, that a lot of other papal letters are not always.
Gregory’s main correspondents are clergy — mostly bishops, but sometimes also deacons and priests — and officials or aristocrats. In Books 1-4, he writes to the Lombard Queen Theodelinda, for example, as well as the Byzantine imperial daughter Constantina. He writes to the deacon who manages the church’s landholdings and financial affairs in Sicily quite often. He writes to secular officials in Dalmatia and Africa.
His correspondents are in Italy, Sicily, Sardinia, Dalmatia, and North Africa, only occasionally in Gaul, although Frankish lands will feature more prominently in later books of the correspondence.
He writes about ecclesiastical abuses, about who is fit to be a cleric, about allowing Jews freedom of worship, about not allowing Jews to own Christian slaves or buy property from churches, about evangelising Sardinian pagans, about schism, about theology, about monks and nuns, about misbehaving sons of clerics, about people trying to sell off church plate, about people trying to found monasteries and how that’s a good thing, about people alienating property from its rightful heirs — about the range of human existence, basically.
I will go into some of the moments that piqued my interest next time. But it was worth the read, and I will get around to the next two volumes some day.
In Patristic anthropology, concupiscence is an important aspect of the inner workings of the human soul. Concupiscence is usually mentioned in the context either of the battle over grace & free will or of the early monastic movement. For a number of reasons I don’t have the time or energy or, in fact, will, to go into, concupiscence has a tendency in modern contexts to be framed mostly or only in terms of human sexuality.
I think we need to look first at the Desert.
The astute psychological readings of humanity provided by Evagrius Ponticus and the Desert Fathers, as well as the highly Evagrian author John Cassian, see our interior life dominated by concupiscence, irascibility, and reason. We have desires — concupiscence; we get hot/impassioned/angry/indignant about things — irascibility; we have intellect and rational thought — reason.
As I write this, it passes through my mind that these are the three parts of the human person/human society in Plato. In Plato, the goal is to have reason ruling the other two. St Augustine would certainly agree, and Evagrius might, but not strictly the way we typically imagine someone arguing for it.
What ‘reason’ or the intellective part of the human spirit means to Evagrius is a question for another day, though.
I’m here to discuss concupiscence.
Concupiscence and anger are both tied directly to the passions, on which I’ve blogged before. Concupiscence is swayed by the passions in terms of desire. According to St Augustine, our disordered desires, our desires that act independent of and even contrary to reason, are part of the evidence of the Fall. If the intellective part of a human is the highest part, Augustine cannot see how in the Adamic state something that is clearly concupiscible — the membrum virile and male desire for intercourse — would be so beyond the control of reason.
One cannot grow a beard in a fit of passion, says G K Chesteron. St Augustine would also observe that one cannot simply have an erection because reason dictates that it is time to procreate with one’s wife. That’s not how it works.
Thus, because of this Augustinian tradition that is picked up St Thomas Aquinas, when we hear ‘concupiscence’, we think immediately of sex and the human appetite for sex that is not tied directly to the reasoning part of the human soul.
However, concupiscence goes beyond sex.
We need to remember that in our hyper-sexualised culture. A lot of us would think that our job was done if we achieved apatheia — dispassion — in matters of non-legimitate sexuality. That concupiscence had been tamed in such a case.
However, fornication is not the only temptation, not the only logismos in Evagrius’ terms, not the only passion associated with concupiscence. Most obviously, there is gluttony. And greed/avarice. And vainglory and pride, which involve concupiscence for less tangible things.
Because everything can lead back to St Leo the Great, this wider reality of concupiscence — and its less material manifestations — came to me this week as I was reading Ep. 106 in a manuscript. In this letter, Leo rebukes Anatolius, Bishop of Constantinople for concupiscentia. At the Council of Chalcedon (451), it was approved that Constantinople would have honour second only to Rome and gain rights above those of several local metropolitans. Leo saw this as a breach of the Canons of Nicaea, and believed (if we are to take his letters at face value) that Anatolius was filled with his own pride and was seeking his own gain, to the detriment — most particularly — of the Apostolic See. By which I mean Antioch, which was second city to Rome and, when the terminology developed, was one of the Patriarchates, besides being a church founded by Apostles.
Concupiscentia, to Leo, is not about sex, most obviously. It is about grasping after honours — and, to quote Leo, Ep. 14 to Anastasius, Bishop of Antioch, ‘honor inflat superbium’: honour(s) (in this case, technically high office) inflates pride.
Pride. One of the most deadly of the deadly thoughts/logismoi in Evagrius.
The goal of the disciplined Christian life is to overcome these logismoi in order to know Christ better and live for him better. Therefore, we need to learn to control our desires, to make our concupiscence seek first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness. As Abba Alonius said:
If only a man desired it for a single day from morning till night, he would be able to come to the measure of God.
We’ve just cleared the Christmas season, today being the First Sunday After the Epiphany. You might be thinking that now it’s time for your church leaders to kick back and relax. You’d be wrong, though! Even if all they’re doing is Lenten liturgies, and not organising special studies or thematic sermons, your clergy and lay leaders are probably already engaged in preparing for Lent. Easter is early this year, March 27, so Lent is early, too. Ash Wednesday comes on February 10. One month away.
do you have some resources you would suggest for a six week preaching series on the role of fasting, and how it relates to Lent- even some crucial, often overlooked aspects- or simply put, what would you focus on?
I’ve been too busy preparing for a job interview to have given it a lot of thought, unfortunately. The interview has passed, though. So here I am, blogging about fasting. I still have to think more about this for my friend, though…
The first resource I would like to draw everyone’s attention to is my dear friend John Cassian (d. ca 435). In Book 5 of his Institutes, John Cassian discusses the ‘Spirit of Gluttony’ as part of his analysis of the Eight Deadly Thoughts/Spirits (these are an adaptation of Evagrius Ponticus that will be modified by Gregory the Great into the Seven Deadly Sins).
One of the themes running through both of Cassian’s major works (The Institutes and The Conferences) is discernment. Discernment is central to the disciplined life. It keeps you from doing more ascetic things than you can reasonably handle — a problem for ancient monks — as well as from being too lax (if a discipline is doing you no good at all or is really, really easy, is it really evidence of your sanctity?). Discernment is also helpful in our relationships with others — we cannot judge others if their rule of fasting or prayer is different, or if they are sore tempted by things we barely feel.1
Therefore, the first rule of fasting that comes out of Cassian is not to obsess over what others do. The second is related to it — set a fast that will challenge you (one meal, two meals, three meals, 24 hours, two days, a week, 40 days, or maybe two days out of a week or whatever). On a few occasions in Book 5 of the Institutes, the difference of the rule of fasting in different monastic or ecclesial communities addressed, as is the issue that a lot of monks break their rule of fasting in order to show hospitality to Cassian and his friend Germanus as they travel around the famous ascetics of Egypt.
The third rule is to remember what the purpose of fasting is.
Fasting is not an end in itself. As Cassian discusses in the first Conference, the point of all ascetic effort, of all the disciplines, is purity of heart. The goal of purity of heart is to see God (cf. Matthew 5:8). In Institues Book 5, the argument is set forth that we cannot attain to spiritual purity until we have learned to control our bodies. The spirit of gluttony lies at the root of many of our problems; if we can tame the stomach, we can start to tame the thoughts that run through our heads.
We need to remember that we humans are, indeed, spiritual beings, but that we are also a psychosomatic unity. Everything we do is embodied. The embodied reality of human life means that Christian disciplines are not simply spiritual and intellectual — prayer, Scripture reading, contemplative prayer, praise of our God — but they are also physical — fasting, kneeling, prostrations, Eucharist, baptism, sexual purity.
As Sergei Bulgakov says, we mortify the flesh in order to gain a body.
I hope these thoughts help as we look forward to the Lenten season.
1. One of the stories out of the Egyptian desert is about a young monk who was struggling with the spirit of fornication to a very high degree. He went to seek the advice and wisdom of one of the elders, and explained his thoughts and desires and temptations about fornication. The elder had never really suffered from strong temptations to fornication and was horrified at what he heard and berate the young monk so such an extent that the younger monk was on the verge of giving it up. An angel was watching and was not well-pleased, so he opened the elder monk up to just a small fraction of what temptations the younger monk was suffering, and the elder monk could barely handle it. The moral of the story is that you don’t know another person’s suffering and temptations; what they need from you are your advice, your prayers, and your love, not your judgement. That’s the role of discernment.↩
Part of what sets Rome’s liturgy apart from that of the rest of the Latin West is the Stational Liturgy. The Stational Liturgy developed over the course of the Middle Ages, and it sets out where the Bishop of Rome (‘Pope’) will celebrate the Mass on the major feasts and the Sundays of Advent and Lent. For example, on Pentecost, the Bishop of Rome celebrates Mass at Santa Maria ad Martyres (the Pantheon), and red roses are thrown through the oculus, representing the descent of the Holy Spirit.
Pope Francis will continue the ancient tradition of the Stational Liturgy by celebrating Mass in the morning at San Pietro in Vaticano beneath Michelangelo’s grand dome. There will be a procession to San Pietro of pilgrims dressed like their mediaeval ancestors and bearing symbolic gifts. While most Anglicans today simply parade about inside their churches when they feel like having a procession, Roman Catholics to this day still have proper processions through city streets with banners and thurifers.
Liturgy, as I like to observe, is a living link between us today and earlier generations of Christians. It is not merely prayers read off a page and rubrics to be followed, but, if done with the heart and spirit, is a way to connect with the Divine and the ‘great cloud of witnesses’ of Hebrews 12:1. With that in mind, I would like to connect today’s Stational Liturgy with the ancient sources using one of my favourite Church Fathers, Pope Leo the Great (pope, 440-461) .
Leo the Great is the first pope for whom a substantive body of sermons survives. These sermons are important sources for our knowledge of the Stational Liturgy in Leo’s time; in fact, as Michele Salzman argued in her 2013 JRS article, ‘Leo the Great’s Liturgical Topography’, much of the Stational Liturgy as visible in Leo’s sermons was itself a construction of this fifth-century pope.
97 of Leo’s sermons survive, all but two of them essentially festal or liturgical sermons. Many of these sermons are transmitted to us with details of where they were preached or have allusions and external evidence to suggest where the feast was celebrated — hence our ability to put together the Stational Liturgy of mid-fifth-century Rome.
For the most part, Leo preached at San Pietro in Vaticano. This basilica was already a focus of much Roman episcopal activity, and Leo’s expansion of its use had a lasting effect on the Stational Liturgy; as Salzman notes in her article, by the year 800, San Pietro had 13 stational services each year. Salzman also argues that Leo’s preaching at San Pietro was a way to stress the growing importance of the Bishop of Rome in the lives of the lay aristocracy.
Leo’s sermons are not explicit as to where the Epiphany sermons, of which we have eight, were preached, but Salzman believes them likely to have been preached at San Pietro in Vaticano, based upon Gregory the Great’s (pope, 590-604) use of San Pietro on Epiphany (p. 219). Given the traditionalism of Roman liturgy and Leo’s frequent celebrations in San Pietro, this suggestion is entirely likely.
Thus, simply by celebrating the Eucharist in San Pietro, Pope Francis is connecting himself to an ancient tradition that goes back over 1500 years to the 440s. Of course, the ancient basilica was very different from its Renaissance successor today — in Leo’s day, it would have had many of the images associated with other ancient Roman basilicas. The aisles of the nave would have depicted scenes from the Old and New Testaments, as in Santa Maria Maggiore. The apse would have had a mosaic of Christ, as in so many old basilicas. The facade acquired mosaics in the fifth century as well, depicting the 24 Elders of Revelation with wreaths, the four Creatures, and the Lamb — once again, a now-traditional mosaic in Roman basilicas. Much gold would have covered the interior of the basilica as well. According to the Liber Pontificalis 47.6, after the Vandal sack in 455, Leo ‘renewed St Peter’s basilica and the apse-vault’ (trans. R. Davis).
Here’s a mosaic from Old St Peter’s that I saw in San Marco, Venice:
Thus, the setting, the same but different. I am uncertain what the current Pope will preach, exactly, but it will, of course, be thematic — the visitation of the magi to the Christ child. In his first Epiphany sermon, from 441, Leo proclaims that this is a feast for the entire human race:
After celebrating very recently that day on which inviolate virginity gave birth to the Saviour of the human race, the venerable feast of Epiphany gives to us, dearly beloved, ongoing joy, so that the vigour of rejoicing and the fervour of faith may not grow cool amongst the neighbouring sacraments of related solemnities. For it is with respect to the salvation of all humans that the infancy of the Mediator between God and men (cf. 1 Tim. 2:5) was declared to the whole world at that time when He was detained in that small, little town. For although He had selected the Israelite nation and one family of this people from whom He might take on the nature of all humanity, nevertheless, He did not wish to lie concealed amongst the narrow relationships of His mother’s dwelling-place, but wished to be known by all soon — He Who was worthy to be born for all. Therefore, to three magi in the region of the East appeared a star of strange clarity, which was more shining and more beautiful than the rest of the stars, and easily turned the eyes and spirits of the observers to itself, so that immediately there was a turning that was not restful since it seemed so unusual. Therefore, He gave understanding to those watching, He Who furnished the sign, and that which could be understood, He made to be inquired after, and the One sought offered Himself to be found. (Sermon 31.1; my hasty trans.)
Leo offers the traditional reading of the magi’s gifts, ‘The incense they offer to God, the myrrh to Man, the gold to the King, consciously paying honour to the Divine and human Nature in union: because while each substance had its own properties, there was no difference in the power of either.’ (NPNF trans. on CCEL) But he does not simply tell a Bible story or explicate a piece of theology; here, I believe, the ancient pope and today’s pope are similar, for Leo moves on to exhort his congregation to their own good deeds. Scripture, theology, worship, and the life of piety are all bound together in the minds of the ancient theologians and preachers. Leo thus closes Sermon 31:
Lift your faithful hearts then, dearly-beloved, to the gracious blaze of eternal light, and in adoration of the mysteries dispensed for man’s salvation give your diligent heed to the things which have been wrought on your behalf. Love the purity of a chaste life, because Christ is the Son of a virgin. “Abstain from fleshly lusts which war against the soul,” (1 Pet. 2:11) as the blessed Apostle, present in his words as we read, exhorts us, “In malice be ye children,” (1 Cor. 14:20) because the Lord of glory conformed Himself to the infancy of mortals. Follow after humility which the Son of God deigned to teach His disciples. Put on the power of patience, in which ye may be able to gain your souls; seeing that He who is the Redemption of all, is also the Strength of all. “Set your minds on the things which are above, not on the things which are on the earth.” (Col. 3:2) Walk firmly along the path of truth and life: let not earthly things hinder you for whom are prepared heavenly things through our Lord Jesus Christ, who with the Father and the Holy Ghost liveth and reigneth for ever and ever. Amen. (NPNF trans. on CCEL)
Thus does Leo the Great, through the Stational Liturgy and his preaching on Epiphany, connect the world of ancient Roman Christianity with our world today. Let us not neglect his memory or his teachings as we enter the season of Epiphanytide!