Articles and Resources
- On the Sunday of the Cross: Reflections on the Saints
- By Susan Ashbrook Harvey, PhD in Byzantine History, University of Birmingham, England, 1982
- Presented at St. Mary's Antiochian Orthodox Church, April 3, 2005
My husband and I moved to Rhode Island in the summer of 1988, when these icons on the walls were first being installed. Imagine my astonishment to find here, as the weeks went by, one by one the very saints who had, over the course of many years, led me to convert to Orthodoxy – here they were, leading me straight to the altar of St. Mary's! Here, surely, was my true home, among these beloved saints of Antiochian and Syrian tradition. And so it has been ever since. To this church, to this parish, I come each week: for community, for refuge, for sustenance, for peace, for healing, for joy. With weary heart or with rejoicing, in gladness, or sorrow, in worry, in chaos, in the blessed routine of comforting habit, I come. And each week, here is my rock and my haven, my home. I find this each week here, among the people of our congregation, but also in the beauty of this place: among the saints beneath whose elegant gaze we gather in worship. All of our Orthodox churches are adorned with icons of saints, each with beauty and power, each with a sacred story to tell. Please indulge me today for these few moments, while I introduce you to our icons here at St. Mary's, the special treasures of our Antiochian tradition.
Here is St. Ignatius [d. c. 107. fd 1 Feb (17 Oct)], one of the very first bishops of Antioch, the place where Christians were first called Christians, according to the Book of Acts. Condemned as a Christian, Ignatius was escorted to Rome by soldiers to be executed there for treason (that is, the crime of being Christian). On the way, he wrote a series of letters to different churches (in which he referred to his military escort as a herd of leopards). These letters stressed two important themes. 1) Christian Unity. Ignatius urged that Christians not splinter off into fragmented, individual groups. Rather, he urged that they gather together in unity around their bishop, as around Christ. The Eucharist meant a communion of lives as well as communion with God. 2) In a time when people spoke of Christ as God's divine Son, Ignatius insisted that we never forget that in Jesus Christ, God really became human, really lived, really died, and really rose again.
Here is St. Barbara [n.d. Fd Dec. 4], from Lebanon, beloved martyr of the early church. Barbara's father had built a tower in which he locked his daughter, hoping to protect her from suitors. She was converted to Christianity by her own discerning eye as she watched nature and the world from her windows. Enraged by this conversion as though by betrayal, Barbara's father denounced her to the pagan authorities and executed her himself — only to be struck dead by lightening when he did so.
Here is St. Cara [C5; Theodoret's Kyra and Marana] from Syria, whose luminous prayer made her "an adornment of the female sex" and "a model for other women".
Here is St. Isaac [C7. Iraqa], a monk from northern Iraq. Isaac was bishop of Nineveh for a short time before returning to the monastic life. He became one of the greatest mystics of all Orthodoxy (esp. influencing the Greeks and Russians). Living in tumultuous times of immense religious upheaval and chaos, Isaac never spoke in his writings of the controversies that ravaged the church and society of his day. Instead, he wrote about God as love, as compassion. "A compassionate heart is one on fire for the whole of creation: for humanity, for birds, animals, demons, and all that exists ... even our enemies, even the reptiles."
Here is St. John of Damascus [675-749. 27 March (Dec.4)]. Born in Damascus, John served as his father before him in the court of the Muslim Khalif. When the Byzantine Empire was convulsed over Iconoclasm, John wrote eloquent defenses of icons, fervently upholding the importance and worthiness of the symbols and images with which we worship God. He argued that when God became incarnate as the human Jesus Christ, the divine entered into the whole of the material, physical universe, sanctifying and making holy matter itself. Thus we can use the stuff of the physical world in our worship, because it is holy: marked by God's own hand. John became a monk at Mar Saba near Jerusalem, and wrote a great compendium of Christian doctrine unsurpassed for many, many centuries.
Here is St. Theodora of Palestine [April 2], a virgin-martyr. She is one those whom Eusebius called "the shining lights of Palestine", martyred in the Great Persecution of the early fourth century (Eus., HE 8.6).
Here is St. Thecla of Iconium [C1. Sept. 23 (Aug. 19)] converted by St. Paul and known in Orthodoxy as Isapostola. Afire with her new Christian faith, Thecla left her family to become one of the great missionaries of the early church. Along the way, she fought off lascivious suitors, raging soldiers, and ravenous wild beats, all with great gusto (and a spectacular kick-style!). The women especially loved Thecla. One time, when the Governor of Syria tried to execute her in Antioch, the women came to the stadium where the torture and death were to take place, bringing the only weapons they had: flowers and perfumes. When Thecla was thrown to the wild beasts, the women showered the arena with flower petals, overpowering the beasts with their sweet scents until the leopards and bears lay down and slept, and the lions sat at Thecla's feet, kissing her toes.
Here is St. Simeon Stylites, "of the Pillar" [d. 24 July 459. 5 Jan.] The son of a shepherd, Simeon became a monk and then a hermit, finally climbing a pillar outside Aleppo, 60 feet high with a platform 6 ft. square on top, where he lived for 40 years until his death. On the pillar, his arms raised in prayer, he seemed a living crucifix to the people who watched from below: standing halfway between earth and heaven, his prayer rising heavenward like incense from an altar. To this extraordinary sight, people flocked from all over the world, but also from all over Syria. The monks who served Simeon in his dramatic prayer practice also found themselves serving as hosts to the thousands of pilgrims. The pilgrims came to the pillar bringing their prayers, their problems, their sicknesses, their poverty, their wealth. From the pillar, each afternoon, Simeon pronounced a new way of living: he ordered the gifts of the well-to-do to be distributed among the needy; he supervised healings; he adjudicated family problems and injustices. And every night, from sundown until sunrise, he stood in steadfast prayer. "Like beams in an edifice, Simeon's prayers held firm the world," people wrote. His disciples venerated him: "We saw your light like a torch, and we came." At his death, not only did his fellow monks weep, and all the people near and far mourn as orphans, but "creation itself stood still and groaned in pain."
And here is St. Ephrem [c. 306 Nisibis — 373 Edessa. 23 Jan. (June 18)], deacon and faithful, tireless servant of his bishops. Ephrem's fame is based on his exquisitely beautiful writings: metrical homilies to be chanted out in church, and especially the hymns he wrote for popular use, for teaching the doctrine and proper understanding of the church's beliefs. His hymns were often sung by women's choirs (a hallowed tradition to this day among the Syriac Orthodox).
This august company of saints gathers together beneath the merciful and almighty gaze of Christo Pantocrator, Lord of the Universe, in the church building – held up by the 4 evangelists in its 4 corners, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.
Each saint is shown with a holiness greater than "normal" life: their haloes exceed their frames. Each carries the gift or offering of his or her life: the bishops\teachers\spiritual counselors carry their teachings, the martyrs their Martyr crosses; Thecla carries the gospel for her missions; Cara, the perfect beauty of her prayer. They carry their gifts in stately procession, leading us, too, towards the altar: towards the cross.
We are often taught to remember the saints as those who lived in perfect imitation of Christ. Today, on this Sunday of the Cross, I offer to you these saints also as images of ourselves. For the saints, too, stumbled and fell; they knew weariness, despair, and ineptitude. Think about it: the stories of Barbara and Thecla are stories of broken families: they were denounced as treasonous to imperial authorities by their own parents. Thecla was disowned by her household as one who had died. St. Isaac failed miserably as a bishop, fleeing the job in utter despair after only 5 months! Simeon the Stylite became so angry at the crowds at one point that he went on strike! He felt they were just using him, rather than repenting in their hearts and changing their way of living as a society. So he stopped his ministry altogether, refusing to hear the petitions or pleadings or prayers of anyone at all, rich or poor, great or small. And in some of Ephrem's hymns, the hardworking poet teacher begs to be allowed to keep silent, having grown weary of working so heard to proclaim God's glory.
And yet. And yet! These failures are not their whole story! We are told that Thecla seems to have been reconciled with her mother later in her career. St. Isaac returned to the monastic life, there to write some of the greatest writings of prayer in the history of the church. Simeon was shooed back to work by as exasperated St. Elijah, who appeared in a vision, vexed and annoyed, admonishing Simeon that he was not be concerned about whether he succeeded or failed, or whether anyone turned to a better life because of his work. His job was simply to care for those in need (whether physically or spiritually). And so Simeon went back to work. As did St. Ephrem, whose hymns only grew in beauty of teaching and of song as the years went by.
In a few short weeks, we will arrive at the Cross of the Passion, the cross upon which Christ knew the weakness of suffering, of dread loss and death. But that will not be the end of the story, as we know. For this same cross — this very cross before us today — was the means by which Christ triumphed over suffering, defeating even death itself. The cross, as the ancient church often proclaimed, was not in the end the place of suffering and defeat. It was the place of God's power, of strength, of life! The saints knew this. To the cross, they carried their weakness, their fears, their failures. At the cross, they found strength — for Christ himself lifted their burdens, filled their hearts, sent them forth once again.
Like the saints, let us come to the cross with our weakness and our fears: let us bring the gift of our very lives. In the cross of the Passion, we know God as the one who shares our suffering. And in this same cross, let us know God as the one who grants us mercy, strength, and life itself. May this be the cross we bear as we complete our Lenten course.
Amen.