Posted on 02/07/2008 7:02:42 PM PST by Manfred the Wonder Dawg
When the accusations were communicated to Jerome, he refused to reply to them in prison; he demanded to be heard in public. With this request his judges deemed it expedient to comply; and on May 23rd, 1416, he was taken to the cathedral church, where the Council had assembled to proceed with his cause. [1]
The Fathers feared exceedingly the effect of the eloquence of their prisoner, and they strove to limit him in his defences to a simple "Yes" or "No." "What injustice! What cruelty!" exclaimed Jerome. "You have held me shut up three hundred and forty days in a frightful prison, in the midst of filth, noisomeness, stench, and the utmost want of everything. You then bring me out before you, and lending an ear to my mortal enemies, you refuse to hear me. If you be really wise men, and the lights of the world, take care not to sin against justice. As for me, I am only a feeble mortal; my life is but of little importance; and when I exhort you not to deliver an unjust sentence, I speak less for myself than for you."
The uproar that followed these words drowned his further utterance. The furious tempest by which all around him were shaken left him untouched. As stands the rock amid the weltering waves, so stood Jerome in the midst of this sea of passion. His face breathing peace, and lighted up by a noble courage, formed a prominent and pleasant picture amid the darkened and scowling visages that filled the hall. When the storm had subsided it was agreed that he should be fully heard at the sitting of the 26th of May.
On that day he made his defence in an oration worthy of his cause, worthy of the stage on which he pleaded it, and of the death by which he was to seal it. Even his bitterest enemies could not withhold the tribute of their admiration at the subtlety of his logic, the resources of his memory, the force of his argument, and the marvellous powers of his eloquence. With great presence of mind he sifted every accusation preferred against him, admitting what was true and rebutting what was false. He varied his oration, now with a pleasantry so lively as to make the stern faces around him relax into a smile, [2] now with a sarcasm so biting that straightway the smile was changed into rage, and now with a pathos so melting that something like "dewy pity" sat upon the faces of his judges. "Not once," says Poggio of Florence, the secretary, "during the whole time did he express a thought which was unworthy of a man of worth." But it was not for life that he appeared to plead; for life he did not seem to care. All this eloquence was exerted, not to rescue himself from the stake, but to defend and exalt his cause.
Kneeling down in presence of the Council before beginning his defence, he earnestly prayed that his heart and mouth might be so guided as that not one false or unworthy word should fall from him. Then turning to the assembly he reviewed the long roll of men who had stood before unrighteous tribunals, and been condemned, though innocent; the great benefactors of the pagan world, the heroes and patriots of the Old Dispensation, the Prince of martyrs, Jesus Christ, the confessors of the New Dispensation-- all had yielded up their life in the cause of righteousness, and by the sentence of mistaken or prejudiced judges. He next recounted his own manner of life from his youth upward; reviewed and examined the charges against him; exposed the prevarications of the witnesses, and, finally, recalled to the minds of his judges how the learned and holy doctors of the primitive Church had differed in their sentiments on certain points, and that these differences had tended to the explication rather than the ruin of the faith.
The Council was not unmoved by this address; it awoke in some breasts a sense of justice--we cannot say pity, for pity Jerome did not ask--and not a few expressed their astonishment that a man who had been shut up for months in a prison, where he could see neither to read nor to write, should yet be able to quote so great a number of authorities and learned testimonies in support of his opinions. [3] The Council forgot that it had been promised, "When ye are brought before rulers and kings for my sake, take no thought beforehand what ye shall speak, neither do ye premeditate: but whatsoever shall be given you in that hour, that speak ye: for it is not ye that speak, but the Holy Ghost." [4]
Jerome at his former appearance before the Council had subscribed to the justice of Huss's condemnation. He bitterly repented of this wrong, done in a moment of cowardice, to a master whom he venerated, and he cannot close without an effort to atone for it. [5] "I knew him from his childhood," said he, speaking of Huss; "he was a most excellent man, just and holy. He was condemned notwithstanding his innocence. He has ascended to heaven, like Elias, in the midst of flames, and from thence he will summon his judges to the dread tribunal of Christ. I also--I am ready to die. I will not recoil before the torments which are prepared for me by my enemies and false witnesses, who will one day have to render an account of their impostures before the great God whom nothing can deceive." [6]
The Council was visibly agitated. Some desired to save the life of a man so learned and eloquent. The spectacle truly was a grand one. Pale, enfeebled by long and rigorous confinement, and loaded with fetters, he yet compelled the homage of those before whom he stood, by his intellectual and moral grandeur. He stood in the midst of the Council, greater than it, throwing its assembled magnificence into the shade by his individual glory, and showing himself more illustrious by his virtues and sufferings than they by their stars and mitres. Its princes and doctors felt humbled and abashed in presence of their own prisoner.
But in the breast of Jerome there was no feeling of self-exaltation. If he speaks of himself it is to accuse himself.
"Of all the sins," he continued, "that I have committed since my youth, none weighs so heavily on my mind, and causes me such poignant remorse, as that which I committed in this fatal place, when I approved of the iniquitous sentence recorded against Wicliffe, and against the holy martyr John Huss, my master and my friend. Yes, I confess it from my heart, and declare with horror that I disgracefully quailed when, through a dread of death, I condemned their doctrines. I therefore supplicate Almighty God to deign to pardon me my sins, and this one in particular, the most heinous of all. [7] You condemned Wicliffe and Huss, not because they shook the faith, but because they branded with reprobation the scandals of the clergy--their pomp, their pride, and their luxuriousness."
These words were the signal for another tumult in the assembly. The Fathers shook with anger. From all sides came passionate exclamations. "He condemns himself. What need have we of further proof? The most obstinate of heretics is before us."
Lifting up his voice--which, says Poggio, "was touching, clear, and sonorous, and his gesture full of dignity"-- Jerome resumed: "What! do you think that I fear to die? You have kept me a whole year in a frightful dungeon, more horrible than death. You have treated we more cruelly than Saracen, Turk, Jew, or Pagan, and my flesh has literally rotted off my bones alive; and yet I make no complaint, for lamentation ill becomes a man of heart and spirit, but I cannot but express my astonishment at such great barbarity towards a Christian."
The clamour burst out anew, and the sitting closed in confusion. Jerome was carried back to his dungeon, where he experienced more rigorous treatment than ever. His feet, his hands, his arms were loaded with fetters. This severity was not needed for his safe-keeping, and could have been prompted by nothing but a wish to add to his torments. [8]
Admiration of his splendid talents made many of the bishops take an interest in his fate. They visited him in his prison, and conjured him to retract. "Prove to me from the Scriptures," was Jerome's reply to all these importunities, "that I am in error." The Cardinal of Florence, Zabarella, sent for him, [9] and had a lengthened conversation with him. He extolled the choice gifts with which he had been enriched; he dwelt on the great services which these gifts might enable him to render to the Church, and on the brilliant career open to him, would he only reconcile himself to the Council; he said that there was no office of dignity, and no position of influence, to which he might not aspire, and which he was not sure to win, if he would but return to his spiritual obedience; and was it not, he asked, the height of folly to throw away all these splendid opportunities and prospects by immolating himself on the heretic's pile? But Jerome was not moved by the words of the cardinal, nor dazzled by the brilliant offers he made him. He had debated that matter with himself in prison, in tears and agonies, and he had made up his mind once for all. He had chosen the better part. And so he replied to this tempter in purple as he had done to those in lawn, "Prove to me from the Holy Writings that I am in error, and I will abjure it."
"The Holy Writings!" scornfully replied the cardinal; "is everything then to be judged by them? Who can understand them till the Church has interpreted them?"
"What do I hear?" cried Jerome; "are the traditions of men more worthy of faith than the Gospel of our Saviour? Paul did not exhort those to whom he wrote to listen to the traditions of men, but said, 'Search the Scriptures.'"
"Heretic," said the cardinal, fixing his eyes upon him and regarding him with looks of anger, "I repent having pleaded so long with you. I see that you are urged on by the devil." [10] Jerome was remanded to his prison.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Fox, Acts and Mon., vol. i., p. 834. [2] "'There goeth a great rumour of thee,' said one of his accusers, 'that thou holdest bread to be on the altar;' to whom he pleasantly answered, saying 'that he believed bread to be at the bakers.'" (Fox, vol. i., p. 835.) [3] See letter of Poggio of Florence, secretary to Pope John XXIII., addressed to Leonardo Aretino, given in full by Lenfant in his Hist. Conc., vol. i., book iv., pp. 593-599; Lond., 1730. [4] St. Mark xiii. 9, 11. [5] Lenfant, vol. i., pp. 585, 586. [6] Ibid., i. 590, foot-note. [7] Hardouin, Collect. Barberin., tom. viii., pp. 565, 567. [8] Fox, Acts and Mon., vol. i., p. 836. Bonnechose, vol. ii., p. 154. [9] Hardouin, Acta Concil., tom. viii., p. 566. [10] Theobald, Bell. Huss., chap. 24, p. 60; apud Bonnechose, vol. ii., p. 159. Letter of Poggio to Aretino. This cardinal died suddenly at the Council (September 26th, 1417). Poggio pronounced his funeral oration. He extolled his virtue and genius. Had he lived till the election of a new Pope, it is said, the choice of the conclave would have fallen upon him. He is reported to have written a history of the Council of Pisa, and of what passed at Constance in his time. These treatises would possess great interest, but they have never been discovered. Mayhap they lie buried in the dust of some monastic library.
when you deny the very church Christ commisioned to be his voice, you are a heretic.
Chapter 11 - Condemnation and Burning of Jerome
On the 30th of May, 1416, Jerome was brought to receive his sentence. The grandees of the Empire, the dignitaries of the Church, and the officials of the Council filled the cathedral. What a transition from the gloom of his prison to this brilliant assembly, in their robes of office and their stars of rank! But neither star of prince nor mitre of bishop was so truly glorious as the badges which Jerome wore—his chains.
The troops were under arms. The townspeople, drawn from their homes by the rumour of what was about to take place, crowded to the cathedral gates, or pressed into the church.
Jerome was asked for the last time whether he were willing to retract; and on intimating his refusal he was condemned as a heretic, and delivered up to the secular power. This act was accompanied with a request that the civil judge would deal leniently with him, and spare his life, [1] a request scarcely intelligible when we think that the stake was already planted, that the faggots were already prepared, and that the officers were in attendance to lead him to the pile.
Jerome mounted on a bench that he might the better be heard by the whole assembly. All were eager to catch his last words. He again gave expression to his sorrow at having, in a moment of fear, given his approval of the burning of John Huss. He declared that the sentence now pronounced on himself was wicked and unjust, like that inflicted upon that holy man. “In dying,” said he, “I shall leave a sting in your hearts, and a gnawing worm in your consciences. And I cite you all to answer to me before the most high and just Judge within an hundred years.” [2]
A paper mitre was now brought in, with red devils painted upon it. When Jerome saw it he threw his cap on the floor among the cardinals, and put the mitre upon his head, accompanying the act with the words which Huss had used on a similar occasion: “As my Lord for me did wear a crown of thorn, so I, for him, do wear with joy this crown of ignominy.” The soldiers now closed round him. As they were leading him out of the church, “with a cheerful countenance,” says Fox, “and a loud voice, lifting his eyes up to heaven, he began to sing, ‘Credo in unum Deum,’ as it is accustomed to be sung in the Church.” As he passed along through the streets his voice was still heard, clear and loud, singing Church canticles. These he finished as he came to the gate of the city leading to Gottlieben, and then he began a hymn, and continued singing it all the way to the place of execution. The spot where he was to suffer was already consecrated ground to Jerome, for here John Huss had been burned. When he came to the place he kneeled down and began to pray. He was still praying when his executioners raised him up, and with cords and chains bound him to the stake, which had been carved into something like a rude likeness of Huss. When the wood and faggots began to be piled up around him, he again began to sing, “Hail, happy day!” When that hymn was ended, he sang once more, “Credo in unum Deum,” and then he addressed the people, speaking to them in the German tongue, and saying, “Dearly-beloved children, as I have now sung, so do I believe, and none otherwise; and this creed is my whole faith.”
The wood was heaped up to his neck, his garments were then thrown upon the pile, and last of all the torch was brought to light the mass. His Saviour, who had so graciously supported him amid his dreadful sufferings in prison, was with him at the stake. The courage that sustained his heart, and the peace that filled his soul, were reflected upon his countenance, and struck the beholders. One short, sharp pang, and then the sorrows of earth will be all behind, and the everlasting glory will have come. Nay, it was already come; for, as Jerome stood upon the pile, he looked as one who had gotten the victory over death, and was even now tasting the joys to which he was about to ascend. The executioner was applying the torch behind, when the martyr checked him. “Come forward,” said he, “and kindle the pile before my face; for had I been afraid of the fire I should not be here.” [3]
When the faggots begin to burn, Jerome with a loud voice began to sing, “Into thy hands, O Lord, I commit my spirit.” As the flame waxed fiercer and rose higher, and the martyr felt its scorching heat, he was heard to cry out in the Bohemian language, “O Lord God, Father Almighty, have mercy upon me, and be merciful unto mine offences, for thou knowest how sincerely I have loved thy truth.” [4]
Soon after the flame checked his utterance, and his voice ceased to be heard. But the movement of his head and rapid motion of his lips, which continued for about a quarter of an hour, showed that he was engaged in prayer. “So burning in the fire,” says Fox, “he lived with great pain and martyrdom whilst one might easily have gone from St. Clement’s over the bridge unto our Lady Church.” [5]
When Jerome had breathed his last, the few things of his which had been left behind in his prison were brought out and burned in the same fire. His bedding, his boots, his hood, all were thrown upon the still smouldering embers and consumed. The heap of ashes was then carefully gathered up, and put into a cart, and thrown into the Rhine. Now, thought his enemies, there is an end of the Bohemian heresy. We have seen the last of Huss and Jerome. The Council may now sleep in peace. How short-sighted the men who so thought and spoke! Instead of having stamped out this heresy, they had but scattered its seeds over the whole face of Christendom; and, so far from having erased the name and memory of Huss and Jerome, and consigned them to an utter oblivion, they had placed them in the eyes of the whole world, and made them eternal.
We have recorded with some minuteness these two martyrdoms. We have done so not only because of the rare qualities of the men who endured them, the tragic interest that belongs to their sufferings, and the light which their story throws upon their lives, but because Providence gave their deaths a representative character, and a moulding influence. These two martyr-piles were kindled as beacon-lights in the dawn of modern history. Let us briefly show why.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Fox, Acts and Mon., vol. i., p. 837. Lenfant, vol. i., p. 591. This was the usual request of the inquisitors when delivering over their victims to the executioner. No one would have been more astonished and displeased than themselves to find the request complied with. “Eundo ligatus per plateas versus locum supplicii in quo combustus fuit, licet prius domini proelati supplicabant potestati saeculari, ut ipsi eum tractarent gratiose.” (Collect. Barberin.—Hardouin, tom. viii., p. 567.) [2] “Et cito vos omnes, ut respondeatis mihi coram altissimo et justissimo Judice post centum annos.” (Fox, vol. i., p. 836. Op. Huss., tom. ii., fol. 357. Lenfant, vol. i., p. 589.) [3] Bonnechose, vol. ii. [4] Enemies and friends unite in hearing testimony to the fortitude and joy with which Jerome endured the fire. “In the midst of the scorching flames,” says the monk Theodoric Urie, “he sang those words, ‘O Lord, into thy hands I resign my spirit;’ and just as he was saying, ‘thou hast redeemed us,’ he was suffocated by the flame and the smoke, and gave up his wretched soul. Thus did this heretical miscreant resign his miserable spirit to be burned everlastingly in the bottomless pit.” (Urie, apud Von der Hardt, tom. i., p. 202. Lenfant, vol. i., p. 593.) [5] Theobald, Bell. Hus., p. 61. Von der Hardt, tom. iv., p. 772; apud Lenfant, vol. i., p. 592. Fox, Acts and Mon., vol. i., p. 838.
So are Eastern Rite a/k/a Greek Orthodox also heretics? Are Maronite Church-goers also heretics?
Both have valid holy orders and apostolic succession through the episcopacy, both celebrate the same sacraments, both believe almost exactly the same theology, and both proclaim the same faith in Christ. But, they do not deny the teaching authority as Jerome did.
[St. Ralph] Sherwin and [St. Alexander] Briant had been chosen as his companions at the scaffold. They met at the Coleharbour Tower, early in the morning of December 1, [1581] and were left together while a search was made for the clothes in which Campion had been arrested; it had been decided to execute him in the buff leather jerkin and velvet venetians which had been so ridiculed at his trial. But the garments had already been misappropriated, and he was finally led out in the gown of Irish frieze which he had worn in prison.
It was raining; it had been raining for some days, and the roads of the city were foul with mud. A great crowd had collected at the gates. "God save you all, gentlemen," Campion greeted them. "God bless you, and make you good Catholics." There were two horses, each with a hurdle at his tail. Campion was bound to one of them, Briant and Sherwin together on the other.
Then they were slowly dragged through the mud and rain, up Cheapside, past St. Martin le Grand and Newgate, along Holborn to Tyburn. Charke plodded along beside the hurdle, still eager to thrash out to the last word the question of justification by faith alone, but Campion seemed not to notice him; over Newgate Arch stood a figure of our Lady which had so far survived the Anglican hammers. Campion saluted her as he passed.
Here and there along the road a Catholic would push himself through the crowd and ask Campion's blessing. One witness, who supplied Bombinus with many details of this last morning, followed close at hand and stood by the scaffold. He records how one gentleman, "either for pity or affection, most courteously wiped" Campion's "face, all spattered with mire and dirt, as he was drawn most miserably through thick and thin; for which charity or haply some sudden moved affection, God reward him and bless him."
The scene at Tyburn was tumultuous. [St.] Sir Thomas More had stepped out into the summer sunshine, to meet death quietly and politely at a single stroke of the ax. Every circumstance of Campion's execution was vile and gross.
Sir Francis Knollys, Lord Howard, Sir Henry Lee, and other gentlemen of fashion were already waiting beside the scaffold. When the procession arrived, they were disputing whether the motion of the sun from east to west was violent or natural; they postponed the discussion to watch Campion, bedraggled and mud-stained, mount the cart which stood below the gallows. The noose was put over his neck. The noise of the crowd was continuous, and only those in his immediate neighborhood could hear him as he began to speak. He had it in mind to make some religious exhortation.
"Spectaculum facti sumus Deo, angelis et hominibus," he began. "These are the words of St. Paul, Englished thus, 'We are made a spectacle unto God, unto His Angels and unto men,' [1 Cor. 4:9] verified this day in me, who am here a spectacle unto my Lord God, a spectacle unto His Angels and unto you men." But he was not allowed to continue. Sir Francis Knollys interrupted, shouting up at him to confess his treason.
"As to the treasons which have been laid to my charge," he said, "and for which I am come here to suffer, I desire you all to bear witness with me that I am thereof altogether innocent."
One of the council cried that it was too late to deny what had been proved in the court.
"Well, my Lord," he replied, "I am a Catholic man and a priest; in that Faith have I lived and in that Faith I intend to die. If you esteem my religion treason, then am I guilty; as for other treason I never committed any, God is my judge. But you have now what you desire. I beseech you to have patience, and suffer me to speak a word or two for discharge of my conscience."
But the gentlemen round the gallows would not let him go forward; they still heckled him . . .
In a few halting sentences he made himself heard above the clamor. He forgave the jury and asked forgiveness of any whose names he might have compromised during his examination; he addressed himself to Sir Francis Knollys on Richardson's behalf, saying that, to his knowledge, that man had never in his possession a copy of the book which the informers declared they had found in his baggage.
Then a schoolmaster named Hearne stood forward and read a proclamation in the Queen's name, that the execution they were to witness that morning was for treason and not for religion.
Campion stood in prayer. The lords of the council still shouted up questions to him about the Bull of Excommunication, but now Campion would not answer and stood with his head bowed and his hands folded on his breast. An Anglican clergyman attempted to direct his prayers, but he answered gently, "Sir, you and I are not one in religion, wherefore I pray you content yourself. I bar none of prayer; but I only desire them that are of the household of Faith to pray with me, and in mine agony to say one creed."
They called to him to pray in English, but he replied with great mildness that "he would pray God in a language which they both well understood."
There was more noise; the councilors demanded that he should ask the Queen's forgiveness.
"Wherein have I offended her? In this I am innocent. This is my last speech; in this give me credit------I have and do pray for her."
Still the courtiers were not satisfied. Lord Howard demanded to know what Queen he prayed for.
"Yea, for Elizabeth your Queen and my Queen, unto whom I wish a long quiet reign with all prosperity."
The cart was then driven out from under him, the eager crowd swayed forward, and Campion was left hanging, until, unconscious, perhaps already dead, he was cut down and the butcher began his work.
Ah Foxe’s Book of Martyr’s, one of the most scholarly books of the Early Modern Period, LOL. That books objectivity ranks right up there with the “12 Holy Martyrs of Tyburn”.
Inspiring Faith from St. Campion. Always a good counter to aynthing that quotes Foxe. Though, both fall shy of objectivity, but then, objectivity is neither’s goal, but confessional fortitude. I recommend Brad Gregory’s “Salvation at Stake”, I think you would like it and appreciate it.
St. Margaret Clitherow
(St. Margaret of York)
1556-1586
St. Margaret is considered the first woman martyred under Queen Elizabeth’s religious suppression. Margaret was raised a Protestant but converted to Catholicism about two to three years after she was married. According to her confessor, Fr. Mush, Margaret became a Catholic because she “found no substance, truth nor Christian comfort in the ministers of the new church, nor in their doctrine itself, and hearing also many priests and lay people to suffer for the defense of the ancient Catholic Faith.” Margaret’s husband, John Clitherow, remained a Protestant but supported his wife’s decision to convert. They were happily married and raised three children: Henry, William, and Anne. She was a businesswoman who helped run her husband’s butcher shop business. She was loved many people even her Protestant neighbors.
Margaret practiced her faith and helped many people reconcile themselves back into the Catholic Church. She prayed one and a half hours every day and fasted four times a week. She regularly participated in mass and frequently went to confession. When laws were passed against Catholics, Margaret was imprisoned several times because she did not attend Protestant services. Other laws were passed which included a 1585 law that made it high treason for a priest to live in England and a felony for anyone to harbor or aid a priest. The penalty for breaking such laws was death. Despite the risk, Margaret helped and concealed priests. Margaret said “by God’s grace all priests shall be more welcome to me than ever they were, and I will do what I can to set forward God’s Catholic service.”
Margaret wanted her son Henry to receive a Catholic education so she endeavored that her son be sent outside the Kingdom to Douai, France for schooling. Such an act was considered a crime. When the authorities discovered their intention, the Common Council had the Clitherow house searched. They initially found nothing but later retrieved religious vessels, books and vestments used for Holy Mass. They also found a secret hiding place but no renegade priests. Still, Margaret was arrested. Margaret refused to plead and to be tried saying, “Having made no offense, I need no trial”. English law decreed that anyone who refused to plead and to be tried should be “pressed to death”. So on the morning of March 25, 1586, after sewing her own shroud the night before and after praying for the Pope, cardinals, clergy, and the Queen, Margaret was executed. She lay sandwiched between a rock and a wooden slab while weights were dropped upon her, crushing her to death. She did not cry out but prayed “Jesu, Jesu, Jesu, have mercy upon me. She died at age 30.
Move by her saintly life, all her children entered the religious life. Anne became a nun. Henry and William both became priests.
On October 25, 1970, Pope Paul VI declared Margaret a saint.
http://www.savior.org/saints/clitherow.htm
“On October 25, 1970, Pope Paul VI declared Margaret a saint.”
This is one area where the RCC religion breaks down. The Bible is very clear that all children of God - those that believe on the Lord Jesus for salvation - are saints. No man can declare one a saint and make it so.
Nice try at deflecting attention from what protestants did in persecuting Catholics.
Word twisting. Worshiping dead people. Great wealth given to those in power. Disparage those with whom you disagree (such as Foxe or any former Catholic). A see a pattern.
‘tis true that people of all religious persuasions have committed horrible acts of violence. Within the Protestant arena, there is not one chair to rule them all, as there is for the RCC arena. What the queen did in England under the Protestant church reflects nothing on me, as I do not worship “the Protestant church” - if there even was such a thing.
But the RCC has supposedly been around since the apostle Peter (RCC dogma) and claims to the the one True church, ad nauseum. It seems reasonable, therefore, that those acts of evil undertaken by and for and from the RCC reflect the character of the self-styled Apostolic Church founded by Christ and led by Him and kept by Him - as RCC dogma teaches.
A declaration of sainthood in the Catholic Church is simply an affirmation that a particular person is in Heaven. It has nothing to do with judging the person at his or her death - that is up to God alone. It is merely an acknowledgment that such a favorable judgment has already occured for the person in question. Furthermore, in no way is it true that the Catholic Church considers only those who have been canonized as saints to be in Heaven. There are maybe 8000 or so canonized saints; there are, by now, doubtless millions of souls in Heaven. It is an absurd slander to state that the Catholic Church has the power over who gets into Heaven to begin with, and can declare only a few thousand people over nearly 2000 years to be there at present!
I am well aware that you do not agree with the concept of canonization and the theology behind it. So be it. But deliberate spreading of lies in this regard is a sin, is it not? Therefore, now that you have been given a nickel's worth of edjumacation on the subject, I call on you to modify your rhetoric. Declare canonization "wrong" all day long if you must, but speak accurately about it. Don't condemn it for things it neither claims nor does.
Just ... amazing.
You accuse me of word twisting, and then twist words in the very next sentence.
Man on Earth cannot KNOW if anyone is heaven, as that is for the Father alone to determine. We can have confidence (1 John gives instruction) that one - including self - is in Christ. All who are in Christ - including time on Earth - are called saints by God. It’s in the Book.
I’ve never claimed that the RCC teaches that “only those declared by the RCC as saints are in heaven.” I have seen Catholics refer to people as saints as only those declared as such by the RCC.
Wah. History is not the friend of any who are self righteous.
In any case, it is false.
History is not the friend
I don't give a rat's tail about the "friendship" of "history"
God, on the other hand ...
I do know what He thinks of those who bear false witness.
When folks of "Religious Persuasion X" on this forum post obvious falsehoods about "Religious Persuasion Y" ... they do a really good job of making "Religious Persuasion X" look bad. Very bad.
Words to live by.
from Book 1 Chapter 4 - Development of the Papacy from Gregory VII. To Boniface VIII
When the Popes, at an early stage, claimed to be the vicars of Christ, they virtually challenged that boundless jurisdiction of which their proudest era beheld them in actual possession. But they knew that it would be imprudent, indeed impossible as yet to assert it in actual fact. Their motto was Spes messis in semine. Discerning “the harvest in the seed,” they were content meanwhile to lodge the principle of supremacy in their creed, and in the general mind of Europe, knowing that future ages would fructify and ripen it. Towards this they began to work quietly, yet skilfully and perseveringly. At length came overt and open measures. It was now the year 1073. The Papal chair was filled by perhaps the greatest of all the Popes, Gregory VII., the noted Hildebrand. Daring and ambitious beyond all who had preceded, and beyond most of those who have followed him on the Papal throne, Gregory fully grasped the great idea of THEOCRACY. He held that the reign of the Pope was but another name for the reign of God, and he resolved never to rest till that idea had been realised in the subjection of all authority and power, spiritual and temporal, to the chair of Peter. “When he drew out,” says Janus, “the whole system of Papal omnipotence in twenty-seven theses in his ‘Dictatus,’ these theses were partly mere repetitions or corollaries of the Isidorian decretals; partly he and his friends sought to give them the appearance of tradition and antiquity by new fictions.” [1] We may take the following as samples. The eleventh maxim says, “the Pope’s name is the chief name in the world;” the twelfth teaches that “it is lawful for him to depose emperors;” the eighteenth affirms that “his decision is to be withstood by none, but he alone may annul those of all men.” The nineteenth declares that “he can be judged by no one.” The twenty-fifth vests in him the absolute power of deposing and restoring bishops, and the twenty-seventh the power of annulling the allegiance of subjects. [2] Such was the gage that Gregory flung down to the kings and nations of the world—we say of the world, for the pontifical supremacy embraces all who dwell upon the earth.
Now began the war between the mitre and the empire; Gregory’s object in this war being to wrest from the emperors the power of appointing the bishops and the clergy generally, and to assume into his own sole and irresponsible hands the whole of that intellectual and spiritual machinery by which Christendom was governed. The strife was a bloody one. The mitre, though sustaining occasional reverses, continued nevertheless to gain steadily upon the empire. The spirit of the times helped the priesthood in their struggle with the civil power. The age was superstitious to the core, and though in no wise spiritual, it was very thoroughly ecclesiastical. The crusades, too, broke the spirit and drained the wealth of the princes, while the growing power and augmenting riches of the clergy cast the balance ever more and more against the State.
For a brief space Gregory VII. tasted in his own case the luxury of wielding this more than mortal power. There came a gleam through the awful darkness of the tempest he had raised—not final victory, which was yet a century distant, but its presage. He had the satisfaction of seeing the emperor, Henry IV. of Germany—whom he had smitten with excommunication—barefooted, and in raiment of sackcloth, waiting three days and nights at the castle-gates of Canossa, amid the winter drifts, suing for forgiveness. But it was for a moment only that Hildebrand stood on this dazzling pinnacle. The fortune of war very quickly turned. Henry, the man whom the Pope had so sorely humiliated, became victor in his turn. Gregory died, an exile, on the promontory of Salerno; but his successors espoused his project, and strove by wiles, by arms, and by anathemas, to reduce the world under the sceptre of the Papal Theocracy. For well-nigh two dismal centuries the conflict was maintained. How truly melancholy the record of these times! It exhibits to our sorrowing gaze many a stricken field, many an empty throne, many a city sacked, many a spot deluged with blood!
But through all this confusion and misery the idea of Gregory was perseveringly pursued, till at last it was realised, and the mitre was beheld triumphant over the empire. It was the fortune or the calamity of Innocent III. (1198-1216) to celebrate this great victory. Now it was that the pontifical supremacy reached its full development. One man, one will again governed the world. It is with a sort of stupefied awe that we look back to the thirteenth century, and see in the foreground of the receding storm this Colossus, uprearing itself in the person of Innocent III., on its head all the mitres of the Church, and in its hand all the sceptres of the State.
“In each of the three leading objects which Rome has pursued,” says Hallam— “independent sovereignty, supremacy over the Christian Church, control over the princes of the earth—it was the fortune of this pontiff to conquer.” [3] “Rome,” he says again, “inspired during this age all the terror of her ancient name; she was once more mistress of the world, and kings were her vassals.” [4] She had fought a great fight, and now she celebrated an unequalled triumph. Innocent appointed all bishops; he summoned to his tribunal all causes, from the gravest affairs of mighty kingdoms to the private concerns of the humble citizen. He claimed all kingdoms as his fiefs, all monarchs as his vassals; and launched with unsparing hand the bolts of excommunication against all who withstood his pontifical will. Hildebrand’s idea was now fully realised. The pontifical supremacy was beheld in its plenitude—the plenitude of spiritual power, and that of temporal power. It was the noon of the Papacy; but the noon of the Papacy was the midnight of the world.
The grandeur which the Papacy now enjoyed, and the jurisdiction it wielded, have received dogmatic expression, and one or two selections will enable it to paint itself as it was seen in its noon. Pope Innocent III. affirmed “that the pontifical authority so much exceeded the royal power as the sun doth the moon.” [5] Nor could he find words fitly to describe his own formidable functions, save those of Jehovah to his prophet Jeremiah: “See, I have set thee over the nations and over the kingdoms, to root out, and to pull down, and to destroy, and to throw down.” “The Church my spouse,” we find the same Pope saying, “is not married to me without bringing me something. She hath given me a dowry of a price beyond all price, the plenitude of spiritual things, and the extent of things temporal; [6] the greatness and abundance of both. She hath given me the mitre in token of things spiritual, the crown in token of the temporal; the mitre for the priesthood, and the crown for the kingdom; making me the lieutenant of him who hath written upon his vesture, and on his thigh, ‘the King of kings and the Lord of lords.’ I enjoy alone the plenitude of power, that others may say of me, next to God, ‘and out of his fulness have we received.’” [7] “We declare,” says Boniface. VIII. (1294-1303), in his bull Unam Sanctum, “define, pronounce it to be necessary to salvation for every human creature to be subject to the Roman Pontiff.” This subjection is declared in the bull to extend to all affairs. “One sword,” says the Pope, “must be under another, and the temporal authority must be subject to the spiritual power; whence, if the earthly power go astray, it must be judged by the spiritual.” [8] Such are a few of the “great words” which were heard to issue from the Vatican Mount, that new Sinai, which, like the old, encompassed by fiery terrors, had upreared itself in the midst of the astonished and affrighted nations of Christendom.
What a contrast between the first and the last estate of the pastors of the Roman Church!—between the humility and poverty of the first century, and the splendour and power in which the thirteenth saw them enthroned! This contrast has not escaped the notice of the greatest of Italian poets. Dante, in one of his lightning flashes, has brought it before us. He describes the first pastors of the Church as coming
———”barefoot and lean, Eating their bread, as chanced, at the first table.”
And addressing Peter, he says:
“E’en thou went’st forth in poverty and hunger To set the goodly plant that, from the Vine It once was, now is grown unsightly bramble.” [9]
Petrarch dwells repeatedly and with more amplification on the same theme. We quote only the first and last stanzas of his sonnet on the Church of Rome:
“The fire of wrathful heaven alight, And all thy harlot tresses smite, Base city! Thou from humble fare, Thy acorns and thy water, rose To greatness, rich with others’ woes, Rejoicing in the ruin thou didst bear.
“In former days thou wast not laid On down, nor under cooling shade; Thou naked to the winds wast given, And through the sharp and thorny road Thy feet without the sandals trod; But now thy life is such it smells to Heaven.” [10]
There is something here out of the ordinary course. We have no desire to detract from the worldly-wisdom of the Popes; they were, in that respect, the ablest race of rulers the world ever saw. Their enterprise soared as high above the vastest scheme of other potentates and conquerors, as their ostensible means of achieving it fell below them. To build such a fabric of dominion upon the Gospel, every line of which repudiates and condemns it! to impose it upon the world without an army and without a fleet! to bow the necks not of ignorant peoples only, but of mighty potentates to it! nay, to persuade the latter to assist in establishing a power which they could hardly but foresee would crush themselves! to pursue this scheme through a succession of centuries without once meeting any serious check or repulse—for of the 130 Popes between Boniface III. (606), who, in partnership with Phocas, laid the foundations of the Papal grandeur, and Gregory VII., who first realised it, onward through other two centuries to Innocent III. (1216) and Boniface VIII. (1303), who at last put the top-stone upon it, not one lost an inch of ground which his predecessor had gained!—to do all this is, we repeat, something out of the ordinary course. There is nothing like it again in the whole history of the world.
This success, continued through seven centuries, was audaciously interpreted into a proof of the divinity of the Papacy. Behold, it has been said, when the throne of Caesar was overturned, how the chair of Peter stood erect! Behold, when the barbarous nations rushed like a torrent into Italy, overwhelming laws, extinguishing knowledge, and dissolving society itself, how the ark of the Church rode in safety on the flood! Behold, when the victorious hosts of the Saracen approached the gates of Italy, how they were turned back! Behold, when the mitre waged its great contest with the empire, how it triumphed! Behold, when the Reformation broke out, and it seemed as if the kingdom of the Pope was numbered and finished, how three centuries have been added to its sway! Behold, in fine, when revolution broke out in France, and swept like a whirlwind over Europe, bearing down thrones and dynasties, how the bark of Peter outlived the storm, and rode triumphant above the waves that engulfed apparently stronger structures! Is not this the Church of which Christ said, “The gates of hell shall not prevail against it?”
What else do the words of Cardinal Baronius mean? Boasting of a supposed donation of the kingdom of Hungary to the Roman See by Stephen, he says, “It fell out by a wonderful providence of God, that at the very time when the Roman Church might appear ready to fall and perish, even then distant kinds approach the Apostolic See, which they acknowledge and venerate as the only temple of the universe, the sanctuary of piety, the pillar of truth, the immovable rock. Behold, kings—not from the East, as of old they came to the cradle of Christ, but from the North—led by faith, they humbly approach the cottage of the fisher, the Church of Rome herself, offering not only gifts out of their treasures, but bringing even kingdoms to her, and asking kingdoms from her. Whoso is wise, and will record these things, even he shall understand the lovingkindness of the Lord.” [11]
But the success of the Papacy, when closely examined, is not so surprising as it looks. It cannot be justly pronounced legitimate, or fairly won. Rome has ever been swimming with the tide. The evils and passions of society, which a true benefactress would have made it her business to cure—at least, to alleviate—Rome has studied rather to foster into strength, that she might be borne to power on the foul current which she herself had created. Amid battles, bloodshed, and confusion, has her path lain. The edicts of subservient Councils, the forgeries of hireling priests, the arms of craven monarchs, and the thunderbolts of excommunication have never been wanting to open her path. Exploits won by weapons of this sort are what her historians delight to chronicle. These are the victories that constitute her glory! And then, there remains yet another and great deduction from the apparent grandeur of her success, in that, after all, it is the success of only a few—a caste—the clergy. For, although, during her early career, the Roman Church rendered certain important services to society—of which it will delight us to make mention in fitting place—when she grew to maturity, and was able to develop her real genius, it was felt and acknowledged by all that her principles implied the ruin of all interests save her own, and that there was room in the world for none but herself. If her march, as shown in history down to the sixteenth century, is ever onwards, it is not less true that behind, on her path, lie the wrecks of nations, and the ashes of literature, of liberty, and of civilisation.
Nor can we help observing that the career of Rome, with all the fictitious brilliance that encompasses it, is utterly eclipsed when placed beside the silent and sublime progress of the Gospel. The latter we see winning its way over mighty obstacles solely by the force and sweetness of its own truth. It touches the deep wounds of society only to heal them. It speaks not to awaken but to hush the rough voice of strife and war. It enlightens, purifies, and blesses men wherever it comes, and it does all this so gently and unboastingly! Reviled, it reviles not again. For curses it returns blessings. It unsheathes no sword; it spills no blood. Cast into chains, its victories are as many as when free, and more glorious; dragged to the stake and burned, from the ashes of the martyr there start up a thousand confessors, to speed on its career and swell the glory of its triumph. Compared with this how different has been the career of Rome!—as different, in fact, as the thundercloud which comes onward, mantling the skies in gloom and scathing the earth with fiery bolts, is different from the morning descending from the mountain-tops, scattering around it the silvery light, and awakening at its presence songs of joy.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The Pope and the Council, p. 107. [2] Binnius, Concilia, vol. iii., pars. 2, p. 297; Col. Agrip., 1618. [3] Hallam, ii. 276. [4] Hallam, ii. 284. [5] P. Innocent III. In Decret. Greg., lib. i., tit. 33. [6] “Spiritualism plenitudinem, et latitudinem temporalium.” [7] Itinerar. Ital., part ii., De Coron. Rom. Pont. [8] “Oportet gladium esse sub gladio, et temporalem authoritatem spirituali subjici potestati. Ergo, se deviat terrena potestas judicabitur a potestate spirituali.” (Corp. Jur. Can. A Pithoeo, tom. II., Extrav., lib. I., tit. viii., cap. 1; Paris, 1671. [9] Paradiso, canto xxiv. [10] Le Rime del Petrarca, tome i., p. 325, ed. Lod. Castel. [11] Baronius, Annal., ann. 1000, tom. x., col. 963; Col. Agrip., 1609.
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