Caesar's Lord, page 54
“Athanasius, rise to your feet,” Alexander commanded. After he had complied, the bishop asked him, “Do you accept this great responsibility, my son?”
“I do, Papa—fearfully, yet with steadfast faith as well.”
“Then hand me that ring.”
Athanasius gave it back to Alexander, then held out his left hand. The bishop placed the ring on Athanasius’s third finger. Its gemstone was red like the blood of Christ, and its gold circle was the sign of a glorious King. “I will shepherd the flock of God to the best of my abilities,” Athanasius promised, “even if I have to stand against the whole world.”
“I have always known it,” Alexander said, closing his eyes as if with great weariness. His face was pale and his cheeks were gaunt. “Now I can die in peace. Lord, come quickly.”
“It is time to take the holy father back to his residence,” the valet announced, and everyone could see it was so.
The Aegyptian bishops left the beach together in a hired boat that would take them to the city’s harbor, from where they could each make their way home. Meanwhile, the monks carried the bishop in his sedan chair back inside the city through the Moon Gate.
Athanasius returned to his home on the lower slopes of the Serapeum’s hill. The apartment was previously owned by that orthodox and godly couple, Brandulf Vitus Rex and Junia Flavia Candida. Though it had once been tastefully decorated, now the place looked more like a scriptorium than a home. Books, scrolls, pens, inkpots, and scraps of papyrus were scattered everywhere. Yet Athanasius thought that Rex and Flavia wouldn’t mind. They valued books as vessels of sacred theology.
Athanasius went to the cabinet where the holy scriptures were kept. In Rome, the church had recently made a beautiful edition of all the canonical writings under a single cover. Although such a great bible had not yet been achieved in Alexandria, many Christians were talking it over. It would no doubt happen soon, once everyone was in agreement about which books should be included in the tome. But the Alexandrian church wasn’t quite there yet. Until then, the books of the canon were kept as separate volumes.
However, there was no debate about the canonicity of the book Athanasius removed from the cabinet. It was the Gospel of John, the most theological of the four. He laid the codex on a reading bench, untied its thong, and opened its stiff leather cover. After signing himself with the cross, he took off his ring and laid it upon the sacred page, then read aloud the gospel’s opening lines: Ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ λόγος, καὶ ὁ λόγος ἦν πρὸς τὸν θεόν, καὶ θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος.
Having recited the inspired words, Athanasius meditated on their truth. In the beginning was the Logos. He was with God, and he was God. Not a lesser being. Not diminished in his glory. Certainly not a time-bound creature! The Logos—Jesus Christ, the incarnate Word—was fully divine in every way.
Athanasius picked up the episcopal ring and put it back on his finger. “Strengthen me, Lord!” he cried with great depth of feeling. “When you take our brother Alexander into your bosom, according to your purpose and will, then make me—O Lord, by your grace!—make me a worthy successor in your holy church.”
FEBRUARY 328
“You look more handsome now than the day I met you,” Flavia told Rex as she straightened the brooch on his cloak and brushed away a bit of lint from his shoulder. Rex found himself pleased by the compliment. Although he was by no means an old man at age thirty-four, it was always nice to hear that your wife still found you handsome.
Rex was dressed today in full imperial regalia, with a plumed helmet and plenty of polished brass. He even had a gold-tipped spear. However, despite all the finery, the day was a sad one. Empress Helena had died of old age not long ago while on her pilgrimage in the east. Her body had been embalmed and brought to the capital for burial, just as she had requested. Rome was her beloved city, so she wanted to rest here until the day of resurrection. Rex had been asked to serve in Helena’s honor guard. Ironically, it was the same ceremonial role he had occupied when he first met her in faraway Germania.
Glancing out the window, Rex was a little disheartened to see that a winter rain was falling and the day was blustery and cold. “Are you sure you can make it?” he asked his very pregnant wife. Of course, he already knew how she would answer. Flavia wasn’t about to miss the empress’s funeral. Rex just wanted to hear her confident assurance that she was up for the long walk into the suburbs.
“I have a thick cloak,” Flavia said with a shrug. “It’s made of good wool. It has a hood. My shoes are warm.” And that was that.
The funeral procession began at the front steps of the Lateran Palace. The imperial guardsmen in their splendid uniforms accompanied the royal casket, which was beautifully carved from expensive wood. It rested upon a horse-drawn cart draped with boughs of winter holly. Pope Sylvester—now fully recovered from the mushroom poison—led the procession through the streets, accompanied by dignified musicians with flutes instead of pagan wailing.
When the procession neared the Gardens of Pallas in the southeastern corner of Rome, Rex scanned the crowd traveling beside the empress’s casket, looking for his wife. Since Flavia had been staying near Rex as everyone walked along, he was quickly able to spot her. Though he couldn’t make any visible motions toward her because of his ceremonial duties, he caught her eye and indicated the gardens with a slight tip of his head. Flavia’s smile and nod told him she remembered their visit to that wooded park on the first day they met. They had been fleeing from pursuers in the streets of Rome and took refuge in a dense thicket near a fountain. Geta was with us that day, Rex recalled. We were such close friends! He was gallant. He helped me escape with Flavia. Sighing, Rex shook away the memory and returned his mind to the present—though not before whispering, “See you soon, brother,” as the walkers left the garden behind.
After exiting Rome through the gate that led onto the Labicana Way, the funeral procession traveled for an hour until it reached a suburban villa at the third milestone. The place was called “Two Laurels” because of the two trees that commemorated a pair of martyrs buried there. Previously, the cemetery had belonged to Rex’s old army unit, the Imperial Horse Guard. Now there was a large Christian hall covering many graves in the floor. And attached to that hall was one of the most magnificent buildings Rex had ever seen: the brand-new Mausoleum of Helena.
The horse-drawn cart carrying the empress’s casket stopped outside the mausoleum. It was a round building with a dome on top whose only architectural rival in Rome was the famous Pantheon. The building’s height was imposing, and its façade was beautifully decorated. But as impressive as it looked from the outside, when Rex entered it along with the other guardsmen carrying the casket, an amazing scene met his eyes.
The interior was lavishly adorned with beautiful marbles in colorful geometric patterns. Arched recesses encircled the rotunda, each with lampstands and Christian paintings in them. A bronze chandelier dangled from the ceiling, its candles adding their light to the illumination from the lamps and the high windows. The high dome above was painted midnight blue, and it gleamed with hundreds of golden stars. Directly across from the entrance was a huge sarcophagus made of the finest purple marble—soon to be the final resting place of Empress Helena Augusta.
With great formality and elaborate ceremony, the shrouded body in the casket was transferred into the sarcophagus and the lid was lowered. The porphyry marble—a type of stone used only by emperors—had been carved with depictions of galloping cavalrymen defeating enemies and taking captives. After a trumpet fanfare was played to signal that this was a moment of victory, everyone adjourned into the adjacent basilica. Rex proceeded there with the rest of the attendees so that Pope Sylvester could deliver the funeral eulogy.
The pope’s speech centered on the theme of Christ’s glory. Although Empress Helena was a revered and honored person, Sylvester emphasized that her glory was nothing compared to the grandeur of Christ. Even Emperor Constantine, who was far away in his new capital of “Constantinople” building a bright future, had no glory at all when compared to Jesus’s infinite splendor. Sylvester kept returning to the text in Isaiah that said, “I am the Lord God. That is my name. I will not give my glory to another, nor my praises to graven images.”
As the pope spoke to the gathered crowd in the funeral hall, Rex scanned the onlookers until he finally met Flavia’s gaze. Although once again he could not use any gestures, he gave her a look of wide-eyed wonder and rolled his eyes to indicate their surroundings. She nodded and also glanced around to show that she understood. They were both witnessing a significant moment, something they never could have imagined even a few years ago.
The people standing in this hall were some of the leading citizens of Rome. Many of the richest and most powerful senators were here along with their wives. And beyond the aristocrats, a broad segment of Roman society was represented—soldiers, government officials, churchmen, and a large crowd of commoners, both men and women. Their listening ears received not the traditional words of prideful conquest but pastoral exhortations to Christian humility and worship. The gathered people of the imperial capital were hearing the leader of the Roman catholic church exalt the name of Christ. Not one pagan priest was present in the building. No sign of the gods could be found. No idols loomed over the people. Instead, this grand imperial occasion was a Christian meeting in every way.
“No longer shall human worship be given to graven images!” Sylvester thundered from his speaker’s stand. “Those days are dead and gone. A new age is being birthed as we speak!”
As Rex gazed at his wife, he saw her hand unconsciously drop to her pregnant belly. The juxtaposition of her action and the pope’s words brought sudden understanding to Rex’s mind. Societies have lives, he realized. They are born. They expand. They grow mighty. They wane. And then they die, to be replaced by whatever is next. With clarity of insight, Rex perceived that he was living through one of these old-to-new transitions. The Roman Empire of Jupiter was coming to an end. Centuries of paganism would soon fade away. Now the Christian Empire of Jesus was rising to take its place.
“What’s next, Lord?” Rex whispered to the ceiling. “Will we be faithful?”
It was Pope Sylvester who offered the hopeful reply Rex wanted to hear. “Non nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam!”
“Let it be so,” Rex whispered as he prayed for his society’s future. “Not to us, O Lord. Not to us, but to your name let glory be given.”
“It looks good,” Flavia declared. “After all its journeys, it has finally found a permanent home.”
Rex chuckled as he stood at Flavia’s side. “Not long ago, I thought it was about to find a home at the bottom of the sea.”
“Would that have been so terrible?” Flavia shot back with an arch of her eyebrows.
“It would have been God’s will, I suppose. But apparently the Lord had something else in mind.”
The crossbeam of the Savior rested on a marble column in the former meeting hall of the Sessorian Palace. Empress Helena’s last will and testament had bequeathed the whole building to the catholic church. Now the hall was going to be reconstructed into a special chapel for the display of the Holy Cross.
Sophronia and Ossius were looking at the new installation along with Rex and Flavia. It was Sophronia who voiced what Flavia also hoped would be the result of the crossbeam’s residence in Rome. “Everyone can come here and view it,” Sophronia said. “People who can’t travel to Palaestina can make a pilgrimage and see this relic instead. Standing in this church will be like standing on a little piece of Hierusalem in Italy.”
“The crossbeam is proof of Christ’s humanity,” Ossius added. “It shows he was no cosmic symbol of good and evil. He was a man who died with nails in his hands and love in his heart.”
“But is it the real wood?” Flavia asked.
Ossius shrugged. “We cannot know for sure. What we do know is that our Lord’s crucifixion was real. Here before us stands a tangible reminder of that.”
Death and life, Flavia mused as she gazed at the crossbeam. Death on a piece of timber . . . life and light bursting from a rock-cut tomb . . . bread and wine as a mysterious remembrance . . . the Risen Lord united with his people!
As she considered these profound things, she felt Rex take her hand. “Thank you,” he whispered.
She glanced sideways at him, unsure of what he meant. “For what?”
“For speaking the gospel to me all those years ago. For pointing me to the cross. For leading me to salvation when I was in darkness.”
Rex had never expressed such a thing before, at least not in so direct a way. Flavia found her heart powerfully moved by his words. When she first met him, he was a pagan barbarian with a violent streak. Now he was a mature Christian husband and soon-to-be father—with just enough barbarian left in him to keep things interesting.
“Oh, Rex,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’m glad God made you his own. And I’m glad I could be part of that journey.”
“I think our journey has only just begun,” he replied.
The foursome left the chapel and exited the palace. It was a short walk from the Sessorian to the Lateran Palace where everyone was staying. Yet when they arrived there, Flavia sensed something strange in her mother’s demeanor. She had a hesitant spirit, and she kept looking to Ossius for confirmation that she should speak. Finally, Flavia asked directly, “Mother, is everything alright?”
Sophronia collected herself as she turned to face Flavia. “Beloved, I am moving to Hispania.”
For a long moment, Flavia was absolutely silent. The news was so surprising that everyone stood still except for Rex, who came to Flavia’s side because he knew she would need support. At last, Flavia gathered her thoughts enough to say, “With Bishop Ossius, I assume?”
The handsome bishop took Sophronia’s hand in his. “Yes, Flavia. I am moving back to my home at Corduba, and I have invited your mother to come with me. We will not cohabit—that is not proper for Christians to do. Yet we will live in close proximity, and we’ll share our lives in celibate friendship.”
“Th-this is what you wish, Mother?”
“Yes, my love. More than anything.”
“Why not just marry?” Rex demanded in a voice not altogether free of exasperation. “You’re clearly in love. Marriage is a gift from God. Just be together as man and wife!”
Sophronia and Ossius both shook their heads with equal vehemence. “That is not our interpretation of scripture’s guidance,” Sophronia said. “We must live according to the Word of God as we understand it.”
Ossius’s tone was gentle yet firm as he tried to explain. “To do what you’re suggesting would be to violate our consciences before God. We believe in celibate clergy.” The bishop put his hand on Rex’s shoulder. “Do not pity us, my brother. Marriage is good, yes. There is no question about that. But so is celibacy for those who are called to it. Not everyone believes marital consummation is the height of all human experiences. Could it be that something deeper is to be found in this other way of life? Something that takes us close to God by a different path? We believe this. And we are committed to it. Trust me when I say that I know this to be true, even if you, as a young man, find it hard to believe.”
A bright smile came to Sophronia’s face. She seemed relieved to have finally expressed what had been burdening her. “We are happy like this,” she told Flavia earnestly. “Ossius promises me that Hispania is beautiful! I can think of no better purpose for my life than to spend it with him, helping him in his work as a bishop. Given the beliefs of the Spanish church, and the things Ossius has stood for, a marriage would mean the end of his ministry. But our holy friendship will be a beautiful testimony to something else. We are”—she glanced affectionately at the bishop—“we are excited about what lies ahead.”
Though Flavia found herself delighted by her mother’s happiness, one troublesome thing remained. Flavia’s hand instinctively went to her belly. “But what about . . .”
Sophronia immediately understood. “I shall visit often. Do you know how far Corduba is from the coast?” When Flavia shook her head, Sophronia said, “Only two days! And ships sail from Hispania constantly. The Romans need their garum, you know. Your baby will have a doting grandmother, of that you can be certain.”
“And even a grandfather of sorts, if you should allow it,” Ossius said with genuine affection.
With those hopeful words, a sense of relief came to Flavia. Rex put his arm around her shoulders, adding his comforting presence to Sophronia’s and Ossius’s assurances. Though these developments were unexpected, now that they had been explained, they didn’t seem too hard to bear. Flavia could see that only in this way would her mother be at peace. Sophronia’s life would take this necessary path. It was a gift from God, a mark of his faithfulness.
Lord, why are you so good to us? Flavia wondered.
Because my banner over you is love, was God’s gently whispered reply.
The best view overlooking the city of Rome was to be found atop the Aventine Hill. Rex and Flavia sat side by side on the steps of the Temple of Ceres, enjoying the cool evening and the interplay of light and shadow as the sun went down. Behind them, the former temple to the goddess of grain was now shuttered and locked. The people would no longer seek their daily bread from a goddess but from the Bread of Life himself.
Rex stretched out his hand and pointed to the city’s amphitheater, its stone arches bronzed by sunset’s dusky light. “Remember when that wild cow almost trampled you?” The words sounded unreal to Rex as he recalled the event. It seemed like something out of a legend—yet both of them knew it had actually happened.
“A fierce lion saved me that day,” Flavia said.
“As I recall, it was a lioness.”
“No,” she countered, encircling his arm with hers and tipping her head onto his shoulder, “it was a mighty lion with a golden mane.”
