Encomium on Theodore the Martyr (complete)

You people of Christ, the holy flock, the royal priesthood, you crowds who have streamed together from everywhere, from town and country: where did you get the signal for your journey, to be drawn to this holy place? Who laid on you so urgent and so timely a need to be here, and that in winter, when war is at rest, the soldier puts away his armour, the sailor hangs his rudder above the smoke, and the farmer is idle, tending his ploughing oxen at the manger? Or is it plain that the holy martyr sounded the trumpet from the army rolls, and, moving many from different homelands, called them to his own resting place and

hearth, not equipping them for warlike preparation, but gathering them to sweet peace, which most of all befits Christians? For he, as we believe, last year too lulled the barbarian storm and stopped the terrible war of the savage Scythians, brandishing at them, as they came into view and drew near, a terror and a fright: not a three-crested helmet nor a well-sharpened sword flashing in the sun, but the all-powerful cross of Christ that wards off evil, for which he himself suffered and won this glory. And now, fixing your minds on it, consider, you servants of this pure worship and lovers of the martyrs, what a thing a righteous man is and what rewards he is counted worthy of (I mean those in this world and among us; for no one is able to reckon the magnificence of the invisible ones); and, having recognized the fruit of true religion, emulate the mind of those who are so preferred in honour. Desire the prizes which Christ distributes to the athletes according to their worth. And meanwhile, if you please, since the enjoyment of the good things to come, which good hope stores up for the righteous, waits until the judge of our lives comes, let us look at the present state of the saints, how very beautiful and magnificent it is. The soul, having gone up, dwells gladly in its own inheritance and lives bodilessly with those like it; but the body, the holy and spotless instrument of that soul, which never harmed by its own passions the incorruption of the soul that dwelt in it, is wrapped with much honour and care and lies reverently in a holy place, like a precious treasure kept for the time of regeneration, far beyond comparison with the other bodies that have been dissolved by common and ordinary death, though they are of the same natural material. For other remains are loathsome to most people, and no one passes a tomb gladly; or if he happens to come upon one that is open and casts his eye on the shapelessness of what lies within, he is filled with every disgust and, groaning heavily over humanity, hurries past. But when he comes to a place like this one, where our assembly is today, where there is the memorial of a righteous man and a holy relic, first he is delighted by the magnificence of what he sees, beholding a house adorned brilliantly as a temple of God with the size of the building and the beauty of its decoration, where the carpenter has shaped the wood into the likeness of animals and the stonecutter has polished the slabs to the smoothness of silver. And the painter too has laid on his colours, depicting the flowers of his art in an image: the martyr’s feats of valour, his resistance, his pains, the beastlike forms of the tyrants, their abuses, that flame-fed furnace, the most blessed consummation of the athlete, the likeness in human form of Christ who presided over the contest; crafting all these for us in colours as in a book that speaks, he has clearly told the martyr’s contests and made the church bright as a shining meadow; for painting, though silent on the wall, knows how to speak and to do the greatest good.

And the craftsman who put together the mosaic stones made the floor that is trodden on worthy of history. And having delighted his eyes with such works of art for the senses, the visitor then longs to approach the tomb itself, believing that touching it is sanctification and blessing. And if someone allows him to carry away the dust lying on the surface of the resting place, the dust is received as a gift and the earth is treasured as a keepsake. As for touching the relic itself, if ever such good fortune should give the opportunity, how much longed for that is, and a gift answering the highest prayer, those know who have experienced it and been filled with such a desire. For those who see it embrace it as if it were the living and blooming body itself, applying to it eyes, mouth, ears, all the senses; then, shedding the tear of reverence and of feeling, they bring their petition for intercession to the martyr as though he were whole and present, entreating him as a bodyguard of God, calling on him as one who receives gifts when he wishes. From all these things, godly people, learn that “precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his holy ones.” For the body of all men is one and the same, having its constitution from one lump; but the body that has simply died is thrown aside as a common thing, while the one graced by the suffering of martyrdom is so lovely and so much sought after, as the preceding discourse has taught. Therefore let us believe the invisible from the visible, the promise of the things to come from our experience in the world. For many who put the belly and vainglory and the rubbish of this world before everything think nothing of the future and suppose that everything is finished with the end of life. But you who think so, learn the great things from the small, perceive the archetypes from the shadows. Which of the kings is honoured with such honour? Which of those who appeared most eminent among men is glorified with such remembrance? Which of the generals who took walled cities and enslaved countless nations is so celebrated as this soldier, the poor man, the new recruit, whom Paul armed, whom angels anointed for the contest, and whom Christ crowned when he had conquered? But rather, since in my discourse I have come near the martyr’s contests, come, let us leave what is general and make our discourse about what belongs to the saint; for to each his own is dear. The noble man’s homeland, then, was the country towards the rising sun; for he too, like Job, was nobly born among those from the rising of the sun, and, sharing his homeland with him, did not fall short in imitating his character. But now he is a common martyr of the whole world, a citizen of all under the sun. Taken from there into the soldiers’ rolls,

he crossed with his own unit to our country, since the soldiers’ winter quarters had been assigned here by the rulers. When war was suddenly stirred up, not by a barbarian attack but by a satanic law and a God-fighting decree (for every Christian was hunted down by the impious edict and led to death), then, then this thrice-blessed man, known for his piety and carrying about everywhere his faith in Christ, all but having his confession written on his forehead, was no longer a new recruit in courage, nor inexperienced in war and battle; but, noble in soul, he made his resistance to the dangers strong, not giving way, not cowardly, not putting forward a word lacking boldness. For when that wicked court sat, the governor and the commander came together into one, as Herod and Pilate once did, and set the servant of the Crucified on trial like his Master’s. “And tell me,” he says, “where do you get the audacity and daring to insult the imperial law, and not bow trembling to the commands of our master, nor worship as the rulers have decided?” (For Maximian and his colleagues then held the empire.) He, with a firm face and an undaunted mind, put a well-aimed answer to what was said: “I do not know gods (for in truth there are none); but you are deceived, honouring deceiving demons with the name of God. For me, God is Christ, the only-begotten Son of God. For true religion, then, and for my confession of him, let the wounder cut, let the scourger tear, let the burner bring the flame, and let the one who is vexed by these words of mine tear out my tongue; for in each member the body owes endurance to its Creator.” The tyrants were defeated by the words, and could not bear the first assault of the champion, seeing a young man bursting with eagerness for suffering and drawing death to himself like a sweet drink. While they paused for a little, at a loss and deliberating what to do, one of the officers, a soldier who thought himself witty, mocking the martyr’s answer, said: “Has your God a Son, Theodore? And does he beget, as a man does, with passion?” “My God,” he said, “did not beget with passion; but I both confess a Son and call the begetting one worthy of God. But you, childish in your reasoning and wretched, do you not blush or hide your face, when you confess a female goddess too and worship her as the mother of twelve children, a prolific demon who, like hares or sows, easily conceives and gives birth?” When the saint had thus turned the ridicule back double on the idolater, the tyrants, putting on a show of kindness, said: “Let the madman be given a little time for reflection; perhaps,

giving himself time to think at leisure, he will change his mind for the better.” For the senseless men called sound sense madness, and reverence ecstasy and derangement, as when drunkards reproach the sober with their own condition. But the godly man and soldier of Christ used the time given him for a manly deed. What was it? It is time for you to receive the story with gladness. The so-called mother of the gods had a temple in the metropolis of Amasea, which those who were then in error had built in their vanity somewhere there by the banks of the river. This the noble man, during the respite given him, watching for a suitable hour and a favourable wind, set on fire and burned down, giving the sinners in deed the answer they were surely awaiting after his reflection. When the matter quickly became known to all (for the fire blazed up most conspicuously in the middle of the city), he did not conceal the undertaking nor try to escape notice, but was openly known, exulting greatly in the achievement and rejoicing exceedingly at the turmoil of the godless, who were in turmoil, grieving for the temple and the wooden image. He was denounced to the rulers as having done the burning with his own hand; and again there was a court more fearsome than the first, as was natural, since so great a provocation had occurred. They went up to the judgment seat; and Theodore stood boldly in the midst, with the confidence of a ruler while in the position of the accused, was questioned, and cut the question short by the speed of his confession. Since he was undaunted and paid no heed to any of the terrors threatened, they changed to the opposite manner; and, speaking kindly, they tried to draw the righteous man away with promises. “Know,” he says, “that if you are willing obediently to accept our advice, we will at once make you known instead of obscure, honoured instead of inglorious; and we promise you the dignity of the high priesthood.” When he heard of the dignity of the high priesthood, the thrice-blessed man laughed long and said: “I judge even the priests of the idols wretched and pity them as servants of a vain practice; but the high priests I pity still more and abhor; for among the worse, the greater and the one of first rank is the more wretched, as among the unjust the more unjust, as among murderers the more savage, as among the licentious the more debauched. And so by these destructive promises you are already bringing me down; for you have not noticed, sirs, that you are promising me the summit of evils. But for one who chooses to live godly and rightly, it is good to be cast aside in the house of God rather than to dwell in the tents of sinners. I pity even these emperors whose lawless law you keep reading out, because, though in the power of empire they have a dignity sufficient among men, they have taken for themselves the title of high priest, and because of it they wear the mournful and dark purple, in imitation of the wretched high priests, carrying about a gloomy garment with a bright dignity; and sometimes, approaching a polluted altar, instead of emperors they become

cooks, sacrificing birds, searching the entrails of wretched cattle, and staining their clothing with gore like butchers.” After these words of the righteous man, the rulers no longer displayed even their feigned and assumed kindness; but calling him most impious towards the gods and, besides, an insulter and blasphemer of the emperors, they first hung him on the wooden rack and tore his body; but he, while the executioners worked hard, was steadfast and unyielding, and sang over his tortures a verse from the Psalter: “I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth.” They scraped off his flesh, but he sang psalms, as though someone else were undergoing the punishment. Prison succeeded this punishment, and there again a wonder took place about the saint: by night the sound of a multitude singing psalms was heard, and a light was seen by those outside as of lamps shining at an all-night vigil, so that the jailer, troubled at the strange sight and sound, rushed into the cell and found no one but the martyr at rest and the other prisoners asleep. When, after many such things had happened, he was at the height of his confession and true religion, the condemning sentence came upon him; and, ordered to be perfected by fire, he himself departed on the fair and blessed journey to God, but left us the memory of his contest as a lesson, gathering peoples, instructing the church, driving out demons, bringing down peaceful angels, asking God for what is good for us, and making this place a house of healing for various diseases, a harbour for those storm-tossed by afflictions, a storehouse of plenty for the poor, a welcome lodging for travellers, an unceasing festival for those keeping feast. For even if we keep this day with yearly festivals, the crowd of those who come eagerly never ceases, and the highway that leads here looks like a trail of ants, some going up, others making way for those coming. We, then, O blessed one, having reached the circle of the year by the kindness of the Creator, have gathered your festival for you, the holy assembly of lovers of the martyrs, both worshipping the common Master and fulfilling the victory commemoration of your contests; and you, come here to us, wherever you may be, as overseer of the feast (for you called us, and we call you in return); and whether you dwell in the lofty ether, or travel round some heavenly vault, or, ranked with the choirs

of angels, you stand beside the Master, or worship with the powers and authorities as a faithful servant, excuse yourself for a little from things there and come to those who honour you, an invisible friend; observe what is being done, so that you may redouble your thanksgiving to God, who, in return for one suffering and one godly confession, has granted you such great rewards. May you rejoice in the blood and in the pain of the fire! For as many peoples as you then had as spectators of your punishment, so many you now have as ministers of your honour. We need many benefits: intercede for your homeland with the common King; for the martyr’s homeland is the country of his suffering, and his fellow citizens and kin are those who laid him out, keep him, and honour him. We foresee afflictions, we expect dangers; the accursed Scythians are not far off, in labour with war against us. As a soldier, fight for us; as a martyr, use your freedom of speech for your fellow servants. Even if you have passed beyond this life, yet you know the sufferings and needs of humanity: ask for peace, so that these festivals may not cease, so that no raging and lawless barbarian may riot against temples or altars, so that the profane may not trample on holy things. For we reckon it your kindness that we have been kept unharmed, and we ask also for safety in the future. If there is need of more entreaty, gather the choir of your brothers the martyrs and pray with all of them: let the prayers of many righteous men loose the sins of peoples and multitudes. Remind Peter, rouse Paul, and John likewise, the theologian and beloved disciple, that they may care for the churches they founded, for which they wore chains, for which they bore dangers and deaths: that idolatry may not raise its head against us, that heresies may not spring up like thorns in the vineyard, that tares may not spring up and choke the wheat, that no rock lacking the richness of the true dew may arise against us and make the fruitful power of the word rootless; but by the power of your intercession and of those with you, O wonderful one, may the commonwealth of Christians be shown to be a harvest field shining out among the martyrs, remaining to the end, ever bearing, in the rich and fruitful field of faith in Christ, the fruit of eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord, with whom to the Father together with the Holy Spirit be glory, power, honour, now and always and for ever and ever. Amen.