Feast of Fabian, Bishop of Rome, 250

The Anglosphere is very alight this morning, so I decided I would post an old sermon of mine for this particular day.

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be always acceptable in Your sight, O Lord, Our Strength and Our Redeemer. Amen.

One irony immediately strikes me about Fabian. Although as bishop of Rome from roughly 235-250, he appointed seven deacons to record the martyrdoms in his diocese, no direct account of Fabian’s martyrdom has survived. This is especially strange, since he is traditionally considered the first martyr of the persecution of the Roman Emperor Decius. What we know of his death comes from a condolence letter by Cyprian, Bishop of Carthage to the clergy of Rome. Cyprian gives one of the strangest eulogies I’ve ever read, rejoicing “greatly that, in harmony with the integrity of his administration, an honorable consummation attended him.”

Some have suggested that Fabian died in the first flushes of persecution, from the stress of the hearings or the shock of prison. I doubt it. Cyprian’s words, while they lack personal warmth, suggest profound respect for Fabian. Respect, which I think, would have been more muted if Fabian had wilted at the first sign of trouble. Moreover, there is one story about Fabian that describes him as more than administrator or martyr. Fabian apparently had been a farmer somewhere near Rome. He had become bishop after he went to Rome for an episcopal election. Fabian was a layman. He probably was there out of simple curiosity. But as the clergy were chatting up the “suitable” candidates, waiting for the guidance of the Holy Spirit, a dove descended on Fabian in the same manner as the dove of the Holy Spirit at the Baptism of Christ. Fabian, of course, was elected immediately. Whether this story is true or not, it implies that his contemporaries and successors saw something special in Fabian. Someone whose election had been so remarkable likely would have been martyred honorably or attracted charitable comment about his weakness. Moreover, I doubt anyone would tell Christ-like stories about “lousy” martyrs. It’s almost blasphemous.

Perhaps, this dove story even has entered the Lectionary through the vision of Ezra of the coronation of the martyrs in our First Lesson today. Here, coronation and martyrdom are strongly connected. I suspect the idea behind its inclusion was that the divine circumstances of Fabian’s election were perfected by the example of his martyrdom, which Cyprian seems to suggest was followed by many in Rome,

But why should we consider Fabian exemplary on account of his martyrdom? To many in the modern era, the ethic of martyrdom in the Early Church seems distinctly sick. Nietzsche, based on rather damning evidence from writings of the Church Fathers, argued that the ecstasy of the martyrs was driven not by fidelity to Christ or hope of reward but by the faith that whatever tortures they experienced on Earth they would see visited on their torturers ad infinitum at the Day of the Lord, a situation they seemed to desire with glee and malice rather than pity. For modern Christians, martyrdom is laden with complex emotions. Some of us feel guilty that we are not persecuted and cry that the Church would be better somehow if we were. Others feel that old-fashioned martyrdom would distract us from the hard work of reconciling God with humanity and healing the ills of the nations and therefore modify the terminology of martyrdom to apply it to the kind of the living rather than the kind of dying we are called to in Christ. Others feel so guilty about not being martyrs that they see persecution everywhere. But also don’t forget that there are modern Christians for whom martyrdom is not old-fashioned, who are flogged by councils, judged by governors and kings, and betrayed by their families. “Wise as serpents and innocent as doves,” their churches are bombed and even the due process and rule of unjust law, which Christ assumes in the Gospel of Matthew will be the context of his disciples, are denied to them in Sudan, in Pakistan, and elsewhere in the world.

The Good News the Gospel has today for all Christians is that martyrdom, like other things, happens. By accident, by grace, by demonic powers? Well, no. Martyrdom just happens! Christians initially are passive in the process. “They will hand you over…you will be dragged and flogged…because of me…brother will betray brother…you will be hated by all because of my name. But the one who endures to the end will be saved.” Martyrdom comes looking for the martyr. Its absence is not about the martyr personally, because it is about Christ, the one to whom the martyr testifies. Moreover, the ecstasy of martyrdom is nothing for which to prepare. Total disregard for life for the sake of Christ comes not through careful consideration or a desire for vengeance or vindication, but through fidelity to the Holy Spirit who will tell the martyr what to say. And if you think this is comforting, remember that martyrs have to filter out a lot of voices to hear the Spirit.

So martyrdom happens. But why did it happen to Fabius? Fabius was the first martyr of the persecution of Decius. Decius in the most charitable reading seems to have been trying to promote a sense of national identity in the Roman Empire. Probably forced to take the throne from his predecessor by overenthusiastic subordinates in the Army, Decius was a conservative Roman aristocrat of provincial birth but probably of Italian ancestry. Because of the insecurity of his position and his concern that Roman values and national security might be in decline after the passing of the 1000th anniversary of the city of Rome, Decius made a law that ordered everyone in the Empire to offer a sacrifice of an animal or incense to the local deities in prayer for the safety of the Empire. Those who did so received a certificate. Failure to get a certificate resulted in interrogation and imprisonment, property confiscation, torture, and possibly death. Some Christians fled to the hills. Some sacrificed or bribed officials to get certificates, causing much debate about under what circumstances they should be reconciled to the Church.

What still boggles my mind is that while Decius’ order was rather flexible to local circumstances in order to join the diverse peoples of the Empire into one body, it was unacceptable for the Christians to comply by prayers for the public safety in their liturgies, something which the acts of the martyrs suggests they did anyway. But was all of that obstinacy on the Roman side? Ezra’s vision of a multitude on the Mount of Zion being crowned by the Son of God is but another viewpoint on the events John of Patmos sees in Revelation 7, A vast throng no one could count from every race, nation, tribe, and language.” Perhaps, Fabian thought that God was no local god that could join with his false fellows to unify a temporal realm and remove distinctions between peoples. In which case, this is obstinacy to praise. It is one thing to pray for public safety and the welfare of kings and those in authority, it is another thing to use religion as the unifying force of the polity and the eraser of distinctions between peoples, since the latter is the clear province of the Christian faith.

So, when Decius gave the order, who was Fabian and what did he need to do when happened to him? Fabian was the bishop. A dove had alighted on his head. He was a good shepherd, the follower of the Good Shepherd. He laid down his life to tell his fellows not to run to the hills, not to bribe, and to make the right kind of sacrifices. Amen.