PATRON OF CHEFS AND BARBECUES

St Lawrence is thought to have been born in Huesca, a town in the region of Aragon in Spain. He encountered the future Pope Sixtus II, who was of Greek origin, and eventually, both left Spain for Rome. When Sixtus became the Pope in 257, he ordained St Lawrence as a deacon, and though Lawrence was still young appointed him first among the seven deacons who served in the patriarchal church. He is therefore called "archdeacon of Rome", a position of great trust that included the care of the treasury and riches of the church and the distribution of alms among the poor.
Roman authorities had established a norm according to which all Christians who had been denounced must be executed and their goods confiscated by the Imperial treasury. At the beginning of August 258, the Emperor Valerian issued an edict that all bishops, priests, and deacons should immediately be put to death. Sixtus was captured on August 6, 258 at the cemetery of St Callixtus while celebrating the liturgy and executed forthwith.
After the death of Sixtus, the prefect of Rome demanded that St Lawrence turn over the riches of the Church. Lawrence asked for three days to gather together the wealth. He worked swiftly to distribute as much Church property to the poor as possible, so as to prevent its being seized by the prefect. On the third day, at the head of a small delegation, he presented himself to the prefect, and when ordered to give up the treasures of the Church he presented the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the suffering, and said these were the true treasures of the Church. One account records him declaring to the prefect, "The Church is truly rich, far richer than your emperor." The prefect was so angry that he had a great gridiron prepared, with coals beneath it, and had Lawrence's body placed on it (hence St Lawrence's association with the gridiron). After the martyr had suffered the pain for a long time, the legend concludes, he made his famous cheerful remark, "I'm well done. Turn me over!" From this derives his patronage of cooks and chefs. He was martyred on August 10, 258.
St Lawrence is one of the most widely venerated saints of the Roman Catholic Church. Legendary details of his death were known to Saints Ambrose and Augustine. The church built over his tomb, San Lorenzo fuori le Mure, became one of the seven principal churches in Rome and a favorite place for Roman pilgrimages. Devotion to him was widespread by the fourth century. Since the Perseid meteor shower typically occurs every year in mid-August on or near his feast day, some refer to the shower as the "Tears of St Lawrence."

The image above is a detail from Fra Angelico's "Lawrence before Valerianus."
Thanks, as always to St Matthias' Church, Somerset NJ.

THE FEAST OF STEPHEN (a couple of days late)

Dietrich Bonhoeffer (1906-1945)

A friend sent me some thoughts on St Stephen, the first martyr, celebrated the day after Christmas. Here is my reply:

“The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.” This is an old, old proverb, and it shows us how close old Christianity was in some ways to current (I erased “modern”) Islam. A “màrtys” in Greek is a witness: originally in a secular sense, later someone who testified to a religious truth. And in controversial situations, one who held nothing back, who was ready to affirm his faith out loud even when facing the barrel of a gun or a team of torturers. There have been martyrs, in this sense, in my lifetime: Dietrich Bonhoeffer for instance, one of the leading lights of Nazi Germany’s “Confessing Church”, a church that opted to speak out against the barbarity: a deeply civilised man who wrote some lasting texts of faith and was hanged with piano wire. And, of course, anyone willing to die for his faith tends mightily to impress bystanders.

On the other hand, said Oscar Wilde, “an idea is not necessarily true because a man dies for it.” This statement, true in itself, is also deliberately provocative and thus a lie on another level. But in today’s Western world, the idea of the martyr is seriously uncomfortable. It smacks of hysteria, of over-dramatization, of Cecil B. DeMille, or alternatively of bearded Muslim fanatics with explosive vests.

So what do we do with Stephen? He was not subtle. He was all of a piece, a good speaker, and spoke out when it was a damn fool thing to do. And he was stoned to death for it, which is not a pretty way to go. (Google it and see some horrid things.) I can’t really write about this, as I have not (and I thank God for it) have been in such a situation, and know not what I should do if I got there. I have dire suspicions about myself.  So in one sense, obviously, I admire the ones who find themselves in the situation and have the courage.  

But if life has denied us Stephen’s fate (at least so far), what conclusions can a meditation on martyrdom lead to? One: it is a healthy church consensus that it must never be sought. If it happens, if the person facing the situation has the courage to persevere and die for the cause, well and good; but my own feeling is that while it can be an inspiration if it happens, it should not in itself and for itself be glorified.

Secondly, the Church has another interpretation, beyond the simple story. For the Church, the Feast of Stephen, coming directly after the Nativity, is a bridge upon which to look forward already to Easter. A reminder that birth leads to death, but that death leads to resurrection. For what we have not mentioned, so far, is what Stephen spoke out about, what he witnessed to. And that, of course, is the Risen Christ.

So the Feast of Stephen is a celebration of witnessing, of carrying the story of the Resurrection out into an unbelieving world. In 1615, in 1715, in 1815, this would have chiefly meant taking ship for unknown parts and preaching to “natives”; for the world at home was one in which every village had a church (sometimes two) and every church had a priest or minister. Now, however, the unbelieving world is all around us. It may not stone us if we talk about the Risen Christ, but it is quite likely to turn away in vague irritation and wonder if we have gone a little soft in the head.

Moreover, this same unbelieving world is periodically assailed by strident “witnesses” who purport to proclaim the Risen Christ but do so in loud, tactless and simplistic ways. They make a number of converts, but for every convert they make they alienate one or two other listeners, some definitively. Perhaps a modern Stephen in the Western world is well advised to learn what the Church calls “discernment”: the application of (prayerful) intelligence and tact to faith and its situations.