He Who Fought and Suffered
In the preceding century, Pope Pius IX placed two inspiring figures of the apostles Peter and Paul, at the entrance of Saint Peter’s Basilica, both easily recognizable for their characteristic symbols: the keys in the hands of Peter, the sword in the hands of Paul. A person who, without a knowledge of the history of Christianity, contemplates the powerful image of the apostle of the Gentiles might think that he is standing before a great general or a warrior, who with the sword made history and conquered nations. From this perspective, he would be a man, one of the many, who has obtained fame and riches at the cost of the blood of others. The Christian knows that the sword found in the hands of this man has the completely opposite meaning: it is the instrument with which he was executed. Being a Roman citizen, he could not be crucified, as Peter was. He died by the sword. However, even though this happened to be a noble form of execution, Paul remains in the annals of world history among the victims of violence and not amongst its authors.
The one who delves into Paul’s letters in order to find a revealing autobiography of the apostle will immediately realize that the attribute of the sword, the instrument of his death, does not simply express something about the final moments of St. Paul’s life. The sword can serve perfectly as an attribute of his life. “I have fought the good fight,” Paul says to Timothy, his chosen disciple, before his death, looking at his life in retrospect (2 Tim. 4:7). According to these words, Paul could be well described as a warrior, a man of action, even as a man of violent nature. At first glance, a superficial glance, it seems his life could be summed up with in this sentence: in four great journeys he crossed a significant part of the then-known world, thereby truly converting him into a teacher of nations who brought the gospel of Jesus Christ “to the ends of the world.” With his letters, he kept the communities he established united, he organized them and strengthened their stability. He vehemently confronted his adversaries, whom he never lacked. He used all possible means in order to carry out, as efficaciously as possible, the “duty” of the preaching. (1 Cor. 9:16). Thus, he is continually presented as the great activist, the patron of those inspired with new strategies for the healing of souls and the missions.
All this is not incorrect; nor, however, is it Paul in his entirety. In fact, seeing him only in this light, one passes over that which is characteristic of his figure. First of all, we must take as given that the fight of Saint Paul was not a fight of ambition, the fight of a man of power, nor was it of a lord or conqueror. It was a fight in the way in which Teresa of Avila describes it. She clarifies her statement, “God loves the fighting soul,” with the following: “The first thing Our Lord does in His friends, when they become weak, is grant them courage and take away their fear of suffering.” In this context, an observation comes to mind, certainly biased and even a little unjust, that Theodor Haecker made during the war in his, “Journal in the Night,” and which, in any case, can bring us to an understanding of what is spoken of here. The phrase to which I am referring says, “Sometimes it seems to me as if those in the Vatican had completely forgotten the fact that Peter was not only the Bishop of Rome, but a martyr as well.” Saint Paul’s fight was, from the beginning, a martyr’s fight. That is to say, at the beginning of his journey, he had been among the persecutors and had practiced violence amongst the Christians. From the moment of his conversion, he passed over to Christ crucified and chose the way of Jesus Christ. He was no diplomat; where diplomatic strength is concerned, he had little success. He was a man whose only weapon was the message of Jesus Christ and the surrender of his own life to that message.
In his letter to the Philippians (2:17), he speaks of the outpouring of his life as a libation; in the twilight of his life, in his final words to Timothy (4:6), he once again repeats this statement. Paul was a person who was willing to let himself be wounded, and that was his true strength. He did not look after himself, he did not try to maintain himself on the margin of displeasures and misfortunes, nor did he try to obtain for himself a pleasant life.
The opposite occurred. It was precisely because he did not hide himself, because he did not look after himself, because he surrendered himself to the blows and exhausted his energies for the sake of the Gospel, that he was made worthy of his faith and edified the Church: “I will most gladly spend and be spent for your souls.” These words from the second letter to the Corinthians (12,15) reveal the most intimate essence of this man. Paul was not of the opinion that avoiding misfortunes could be a principle held in practice by those involved in pastoral ministry, nor did he think that an apostle should have, above all, good reputation. No, he wanted to stir up, wake up consciences from their sleep, even when it would cost him his life. From his letters we know that he was everything but a great speaker. He had this lack of oratorical talent in common with Moses and Jeremiah, who defended themselves before God with the argument that they were completely inadequate for the mission that they would have to carry out, due to their lack of oratorical endowment. “His (Paul’s) letters are weighty and strong, but his bodily presence is weak, and his speech of no account." (2 Co. 10:10), his adversaries said of him. At the beginning of his mission in Galatia, he himself says, “You know it was because of a bodily ailment that I preached the gospel to you at first.” (Gal. 4:13) Paul did not act with brilliant rhetoric nor by means of refined strategies. Rather, he worked giving of himself and risking himself for the sake of his message. Today as well, the Church can only be convincing to mankind in so far as her preachers are willing to let themselves be wounded. Where there lacks a disposition to suffer, there lacks the essential proof of the truth upon which the Church depends. Her fight can only and always continue to be the fight of those who let themselves be poured out as a libation: the fight of the martyrs.
We could also attribute another meaning to the sword placed in the hands of Saint Paul, a meaning other than that of an instrument of martyrdom. In Scripture, the sword is also the symbol of the word of God, which is “sharper than a two-edged sword...and discerns the thoughts and intentions of the heart” (Heb. 4:12). This is the sword that Paul grasped; with it, he would conquer men. In this sense, the “sword” is, in the end, simply an image of the power of the truth, which is of a nature that is completely its own. The truth can be painful, it can be wounding: this comes from its nature as a sword. A life lived in the lie, or even just living on the margin of the truth, often seems more comfortable than the demanding requirements of that which is true. That is why men become irritated by the truth; they wish to suppress it, push it off to the side, take it out of their sight. Who among us can deny the fact that on some occasion, the truth has bothered us – the truth about oneself, the truth about what we should do or permit? Who among us can say that we have never tried to manipulate the truth or at least touch it up a little, so that it would not seem so harsh? Paul came across as a nuisance because he was a man of truth. He who surrenders himself totally to the truth and desires no other weapon and no other task than the truth, may not necessarily be eliminated, but he will always approach the vicinity of martyrdom. He will be someone who suffers. To proclaim the truth without becoming a fanatic or someone who always wants to be right: this would be the great task.
Sometimes, in the midst of a dispute, Paul comes across a bit harsh. He approaches fanaticism. But he was not an absolute fanatic. Texts full of goodness, as we find in all his letters – the most beautiful perhaps we find in the letter to the Philippians - are a distinguishing mark of his character. Paul was able to maintain himself free from fanaticism because he did not speak on his own behalf. What he brought to the people was the gift of another: the truth that proceeds from Christ, who died for it and who continued loving unto death. I believe that on this point, as well, we must correct our image of Paul a little. Paul’s controversial texts are all too evident for us. In this case, as well, the situation is very similar to that of Moses: we see Moses as the man full of strength, the man of iron, the man of fury. However, the book of Numbers speaks of him as the humblest of all men (12:3). Reading the entirety of Paul’s works, one will discover Paul as humble. As we said earlier, his success depended on his disposition to suffer. Now we should add that suffering and truth are correlated. Paul was attacked because he was a man of truth. The fact that something of lasting character flourished from his word and from his life is due to the fact that he served the truth and suffered for its sake. Suffering is the guarantee of truth, but only truth gives meaning to suffering.
At the entrance of the St. Peter’s Basilica, rise the figures of the two apostles, Peter and Paul, Also, at the entrance of Saint Paul Outside the Walls, they are found together, represented in scenes from their life and death. Ever since the beginning, Christian tradition has considered Peter and Paul as inseparable. Together they represent the Gospel in its totality. In Rome, the bond of the two as brothers in the faith receives another more specific significance. The Christians of Rome saw them as a replica of the mythological brothers to whom is attributed the foundation of Rome: Romulus and Remus. These two men have a significant correlation with the first pair of brothers in biblical history: Cain and Abel. One became the murderer of the other. The words “brotherly love”, from the purely human perspective, have a bitter taste. Among men, they are represented in the various religions by pairs of brothers. Peter and Paul, who humanly speaking were so different from each other and whose relationship was not free from conflict, appear as the founders of the new city, as the incarnation of the new and true form of fraternity that has been made possible through the Gospel of Jesus Christ. It is not the sword of conquerors that saves the world, but simply the sword of those who suffer. Only the following of Christ leads to a new fraternity, a new city. This is what we are told by the pair of brothers that speak to us through the two great basilicas of Rome.
From the book “Images of Hope”. (Joseph Ratzinger)
©HM Magazine No.126 - September/October 2005
