Belisarius and Procopius celebrate the defeat of the Goths at the Siege of Rome, March of AD 538 ~ An excerpt from Belisarius, Book III: Rome the Eternal

Belisarius and Procopius chat atop the Pincian Gate in Rome. 
Image created using hotpot.ai/art-generator

In March of the year AD 538, the late Roman general, Belisarius, pulled off one of the most incredible feats in military history: he successfully defended the massive city of Rome—with its 12 miles of circuit walls—with a scant 5,000 soldiers, against a vast army of Goths that outnumbered his own some 15 or 20 to 1. Indeed, by the time the Gothic King Vitiges broke up the siege after twelve frustrating months, it had become unclear which side was the besieged and which was the besieger. Unable to prevent the Romans from bringing in supplies or leaving the city in force, Vitiges found himself bogged down with a stubborn fortified city in front of him, and far flung enemy cavalry units ravaging his supply lines behind him, threatening to cut him off from his base in Ravenna.

What did Belisarius do once it became clear that the Goths were abandoning their camps and moving out? Did he allow the reduced but still tremendous force of Goths to go in peace, counting himself blessed and fortunate that the city had withstood the prolonged siege against such heavy odds? 

He did not. 

Instead, he rode out with every available man and attacked the Gothic rear-guard. 

I recorded Procopius's eye-witness account of the end of the siege in a previous post here.

Belisarius, Book III: Rome the Eternal, provides a dramatized description of this action with Belisarius's biscuit-eaters Longinus and Mundilas leading the charge. Mundilas is injured, while Longinus is killed despite amazing acts of valor. This much is recorded in Procopius's History of the Wars. I embellished the action in the novel.

Here is an excerpt from the novel, presenting a scene on the walls of Rome in the immediate aftermath of the Gothic withdrawal. In this scene, Belisarius has an opportunity to speak privately with his secretary, Procopius of Caesarea—the man who would go on to become the most important historian of the Justinianic period.

I had fun writing this scene. I hope you enjoy it!

 End of Chapter XXXI...

Belisarius secured the gatehouse at the Milvian Bridge that he had been forced to cede when the Gothic host first arrived the previous March. With that act, the great siege of Rome came to an end. Belisarius entered the city to cheering throngs, many of whom had ventured out of the gates to watch the battle from the protection of the tree line. The ecstasy of the Romans was tempered only by the arrival of a cart bearing Mundilas and Longinus—the first gravely injured, the second slain. Meeting the bereaved men of Longinus, Belisarius offered his sincere sympathy, weeping along with them without shame.

Later, Belisarius stood alone atop the Pincian Gate, for once gazing into the city, not outward toward the Gothic camps now in ashes. As the celebration continued unabated well into the night, Belisarius insisted that the gates be manned and the guards be sober, lest the Goths sneak into the city via stratagem while its inhabitants were lulled into a drunken slumber. To drive home the point, Belisarius himself kept vigil all night on the walls.

“Has the great wooden horse arrived yet, O Aeneas?” Procopius laughed. He made his way slowly and carefully up the stone steps, his tottering gait threatening to cast him fifty feet down.

“No sign of it,” Belisarius smiled, offering his secretary a strong hand up. “If you would warn me against it, though, be mindful of the fate of Laocöon. How are you at wrestling with snakes?”

“I would fare no better than the ill-fated Trojan priest, I suppose,” Procopius sighed. “I fear serpents above all things. Here, I have brought you a drink—wine mixed with honey, and a good vintage, too.”

“Though I am on duty, I accept. From any hand but yours I might demur, old friend,” Belisarius replied, recalling the recent attempt to drug the gate guards using spiked wine.

The two stood in silence as Belisarius sipped.

“Was it worth it?” Procopius intoned quietly, casting his bleary gaze over a large group of revelers carousing in the plaza below. “Was recovering this city worth the lives of Longinus and Principius and Tarmutus?”

“Don’t forget about Chorsamantis, Bochas and Cutilas,” Belisarius added. Poor Cutilas had lingered a month after suffering his gruesome head wound, only to perish of fever despite the best efforts of Theoctistus. “May Christ have mercy on their souls.” He made the sign of the cross on his forehead.

“Maxentius, Petronius and Valentine, too,” continued Procopius. “And so many other good men.”

“And Constantinus,” Belisarius added gloomily. “His unhealthy lust for plunder killed him as surely as any Gothic spear. But my answer is yes. This is the Eternal City of Rome, the birthplace of the Empire and the rampart of civilization. Had more good men been willing to give their lives to defend it in past ages, it would never have fallen under the sway of the barbarians to begin with.”

“But if too many good men die, who...who...but wicked men and weaklings will remain to defend Rome?” Procopius asked with a tipsy stammer.

“God will raise up others as He raised up this generation. That is why what you are doing is of such great import.”

“My letters to the praetorian prefect about the grain supply are pointless—irrelevant two weeks after they are written,” Procopius lamented.

“Not your letters, friend. Your history.”

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“That disorganized pile of waste paper?” Procopius replied, the wine loosening his tongue. “Alas, your words earlier today—was it really today? It feels like weeks ago—your words have put a worry into my heart. What will the ending be? Will our astounding run of blessed good fortune continue? Or will some great disaster turn the tale into an awful tragedy? Or worse, will a sequence of little disasters grind us down into abject failure. You know, when my mood turns this way, I have considered destroying all my notes and abandoning the work completely.”

“Am I truly speaking with the same man who said that he was writing a history to be read for a thousand years?” Belisarius replied in amazement. “Has our victory in the siege somehow drained your cask of optimism?”

“Even victories, it seems, come with a cost in noble lives lost that can never be replaced,” Procopius sighed. “Writing about the death of yet another hearty soul like Longinus makes me never want to write again.”

“That is not well at all,” Belisarius chided, turning deadly serious. “You must persevere and continue to write without flinching and without despair, no matter what outcome God has ordained for our campaign. For if those men died in this cause, their deaths will not be in vain if their names are recorded for posterity so that those who read in the far distant future, hundreds or thousands of years from now, may remember and admire their acts.”

“Of course, you are right,” Procopius grimaced, focusing his eyes on a bonfire burning outside the city. “The purpose of history is to give the future examples of valor to imitate and perfidy to despise. And certainly, the acts of Principius and Longinus did just that.”

“So then you will continue?” Belisarius asked, exhaling a vaporous cloud into the chilly night air.

“Yes, I will continue, Magister,” Procopius replied pensively. “Though I will pray hard that my history doesn’t devolve into a dreary chronicle of disasters and obituaries.”

“Indeed,” Belisarius nodded. “I will do my very best to make sure that you are well supplied with noble deeds and heroic victories to record.”

Procopius smiled a little sadly, but remained silent. Would that you had the power to ensure that, O Magister.

If you want to see how things turn out for Belisarius, check out Book III: Rome the Eternal which is available from Arx Publishing here, on Amazon.com here, on Amazon Kindle here, and other bookselling websites.

Is the floor of Hell paved with the skulls of bishops?

The well-used quote: "The floor of hell is paved with the skulls of bishops," may be found in a variety of forms. Perhaps the most colorful version of it is: "The road to Hell is paved with the bones of priests and monks, and the skulls of bishops are the lamp posts that light the path."

 

This saying has been attributed to one of several Fathers of the ancient Church and to Protestant revolutionaries from more recent times. Most often, it is claimed to be from the writings of St. Athanasius or St. John Chrysostom. After a thorough search, I have come to the conclusion that this saying is of more modern provenance, likely originating from a Protestant polemic which made very liberal use of a homily from St. John Chrysostom. 

 

So to respond to the question posed in the title of this post: Is the literal floor of Hell paved with the literal skulls of bishops? The answer is: No, probably not as such.

That said, I looked up the homily of St. John Chrysostom to which this quote is often attributed, and what I found there is, perhaps, even more daunting than the rhetorically evocative version that most folks are familiar with. The work in question is St. John's Third Homily on the Acts of the Apostles. The passage in question is the following which I am pasting here for future reference:

"I do not think there are many among Bishops that will be saved, but many more that perish: and the reason is, that it is an affair that requires a great mind. Many are the exigencies which throw a man out of his natural temper; and he had need have a thousand eyes on all sides. Do you not see what a number of qualifications the Bishop must have? To be apt to teach, patient, holding fast the faithful word in doctrine [see 1 Timothy 3:2-9; Titus 1:7-9]. What trouble and pains does this require!

 

And then, others do wrong, and he bears all the blame. To pass over every thing else: if one soul depart unbaptized, does not this subvert all his own prospect of salvation? The loss of one soul carries with it a penalty which no language can represent. For if the salvation of that soul was of such value, that the Son of God became man, and suffered so much, think how sore a punishment must the losing of it bring! And if in this present life he who is cause of another's destruction is worthy of death, much more in the next world. Do not tell me, that the presbyter is in fault, or the deacon. The guilt of all these comes perforce upon the head of those who ordained them.

 

Let me mention another instance. It chances, that a bishop has inherited from his predecessor a set of persons of indifferent character. What measures is it proper to take in respect of bygone transgressions (for here are two precipices) so as not to let the offender go unpunished, and not to cause scandal to the rest? Must one's first step be to cut him off? There is no actual present ground for that. But is it right to let him go unmarked? Yes, say you; for the fault rests with the bishop who ordained him. Well then? Must one refuse to ordain him again, and to raise him to a higher degree of the ministry? That would be to publish it to all men, that he is a person of indifferent character, and so again one would cause scandal in a different way. But is one to promote him to a higher degree? That is much worse.

 If then there were only the responsibility of the office itself for people to run after in the episcopate, none would be so quick to accept it. But as things go, we run after this, just as we do after the dignities of the world. That we may have glory with men, we lose ourselves with God. What profit in such honor? How self-evident its nothingness is! When you covet the episcopal rank, put in the other scale, the account to be rendered after this life. Weigh against it, the happiness of a life free from toil, take into account the different measure of the punishment. I mean, that even if you have sinned, but in your own person merely, you will have no such great punishment, nothing like it: but if you have sinned as bishop, you are lost." 

Read the entire Third Homily of St. John Chrysostom on Acts of the Apostles here.

What more is there to say, really? Except this -- may our bishops understand the gravity of what they do when they preach that which is contrary to traditional Church doctrine and morality.

"Why is the believing Catholic not subject to neurosis?" A question posed to Carl Jung in 1939

Social media grenade-launcher Matt Walsh recently posted the following on his FaceBook page: 

"Many people claim to know for a fact that the practice of psychotherapy has been deeply helpful to humanity. To those people, I ask: If therapy is generally so helpful, and more people than ever are doing it, then why are people less able to deal with hardship and cope with suffering than ever before? Is it because our lives are really so much more difficult?" 

It's a fair question.

It's certainly hard to make the case that our lives are so much more difficult than, say, those of our Great Depression era grandparents or great-grandparents. 

Add to this the fact that despite the ubiquity of mental health services in American society, we are in the midst of an ongoing and worsening mental health crisis, particularly among the young. It's almost as if the expansion of mental health services has in some way contributed to the proliferation of mental illness. 

Thousands of articles like the following have been written over the past half-decade examining the problem and ultimately failing to come up with good answers:

Over 50% Of Liberal, White Women Under 30 Have A Mental Health Issue. Are We Worried Yet?

Depression rates among US adults reach new high: Gallup

Rates of Depression and Anxiety Are Rising in Young People

Many will no doubt blame the mental health crisis on a host of pop-politico-cultural bugbears: sexism, student debt, racism, transphobia, the COVID shutdowns, MAGA-terror, etc. But could the core reason for this epidemic of mental illness be that fewer people than ever before in the West are practicing Catholics who make regular and devout use of the sacraments of the Church? 

Now before you dismiss this possibility out of hand, I'd like to call your attention to a talk by one of the primordial psychoanalysts of the early 20th century, Carl Gustav Jung. 

Jung was the offspring of a Swiss Lutheran pastor. Several of his uncles were also Protestant pastors, and it was expected that Carl himself would find a career in the ministry. Instead, Jung rejected Christianity and entered the nascent world of psychotherapy as it was developing under Sigmund Freud. During his life, Jung had numerous spiritual experiences, nearly all of which a believing Catholic might consider encounters with the demonic.

All this is to say that Carl Jung was no great friend of Catholicism. 

And yet, in a lecture he gave in London in April of 1939, on the eve of the outbreak of the Second World War, Jung was asked to offer insights on why the believing Catholic was not subject to neurosis, or at least not to the same extent as, say, Protestants or Jews. Jung's answer is fascinating:

"You have heard that I said Roman Catholics are less threatened by neurosis than members of other religious confessions. Of course, there are Catholic neurotics just as well as others, but it is a fact that in my forty years of experience I have had no more than six practicing Catholics among my patients. Naturally, I do not count all those who have been Catholics, or who say that they are Catholics but who do not practice; but of practicing Catholics I have had not more than about six. That is also the experience of my colleagues. In Zurich we are surrounded by Catholic cantons; not quite two-thirds of Switzerland is Protestant and the rest is Catholic. And then we have on the frontier Southern Germany, which is Catholic. So we should have a fair number of Catholic patients, but we have not; we have very few....

"...Now, I have spoken of my own experience in this field, but recently statistical researches have been made in America about the very same question, but from another angle. It is a sort of appreciation of the amount of complexes, or complex manifestations, you find in people. You find the least or the smallest number of complex manifestations in practicing Catholics, far more in Protestants, and the most in Jews. This is absolutely independent of my own researches; a colleague of mine in the United States made these researches and that bears out what I have told you. [See more on this below.]

"So there must be something in the Catholic Church which accounts for this peculiar fact. Of course, we think in the first place of confession....The fact is that there are relatively few neurotic Catholics, and yet they are living under the same conditions as we do. They are presumably suffering from the same social conditions and so on, and so one would expect a similar amount of neurosis. There must be something in the cult, in the actual religious practice, which explains that peculiar fact that there are fewer complexes or that these complexes manifest themselves much less in Catholics than in other people. That something besides confession, is really the cult itself. It is the Mass, for instance. The heart of the Mass contains a living mystery, and that is the thing that works. When I say "a living mystery," I mean nothing mysterious;  I mean mystery in that sense which the word has always had—a mysterium tremendum. And the Mass is by no means the only mystery in the Catholic Church."

Of course, by "the Mass", Jung was referring the Traditional Latin Mass as it was known everywhere by Catholics prior to the late 1960s. After a tangent during which Jung elaborates on ancient symbolism as found in Catholic ritual, he returns to confession with this very curious passage:

"When a practicing Catholic comes to me, I say, 'Did you confess this to the father-confessor?' 

Naturally he says, 'No, he does not understand.'

'What in hell, then,' I say, 'did you confess?'

'Oh, lousy little things of no importance'—but the main sins he never talked of.

As I have said, I have had quite a number of these Catholics—six. I was quite proud to have had so many, and I said to them, "Now, you see, what you tell me here, this is really serious. You go now to your father-confessor and you confess, whether he understands or does not understand. That is of no concern. It must be told before God, and if you don't do it, you are out of the Church, and then analysis beings, and then things will get hot, so you are much better off in the lap of the Church."

So you see, I brought these people back into the Church, with the result that the Pope himself gave me a private blessing for having taught certain important Catholics the right way of confessing." [Source: C. G. Jung, The Collected Works, Volume 18: The Symbolic Life, beginning on page 267]

God only knows if what Jung says above regarding the Pope giving him a private blessing is actually true. His account has a pretty thick overlay of hubris, so it is perhaps best to take it with a grain of salt.

But the fact remains that this former Lutheran spiritualist psychoanalyst who occasionally had communication with potentially demonic beings was astounded by the psychological resilience of practicing Catholics. 

I looked up the American study Jung cited and found out that it was part of a 1938 work entitled Explorations in Personality: A Clinical and Experimental Study of Fifty Men of College Age by Henry A. Murray. Murray was another mid-20th century psychological researcher who was no great friend of Catholics. In his conclusion, Murray writes:

The Catholic subjects were conspicuously more solid and secure....There was relatively little anxiety-linked material bubbling up in the minds of the Catholics. Their repressions were firmer and what occurred in their depths could only be inferred indirectly by interpreting their projections. It was as if their faith in an ultimate authority relieved them of the necessity of independently resolving fundamental issues. Their unconscious fears, one might say, were quieted by the hovering presence of the maternal Church. And if they were unable sometimes to live up to the precepts of their religion, they knew that forgiveness was always at hand. A secret, remorseful confession and once more they would be beneficently accepted members of the flock. It might be supposed that the irrational unconscious tendencies of these Catholics were so satisfactorily interpreted by a wise, human and altogether forgiving Church that they never knew what it was to feel themselves alone and forsaken in a maelstrom of incommunicable feelings and ideas. In the rationalized fantasy system of an effective Church there is a place for everything, and the faithful communicants do not have to face—and thus become conscious of and wrestle with—the naked impulses of their own souls. The problem of good and evil is settled and only the problem of moral will remains. Our Catholic subjects were relatively happy, free from neurotic symptoms, blissfully self-deceived, superficial in their psychological discernments, and always competent to clothe raw facts in the rational vestments of their faith."

Were they really "self-deceived"? Or had they adopted a faith that allowed them to see the world as it truly is, understand it, and react to the challenges presented by life in healthy and resilient ways? Given that Murray's later career included abusive experiments on college students, one of whom was apparently so damaged that he went on to achieve infamy as the Unabomber, I'm not particularly concerned about his judgments on self-deception.

Sad to relate, those very aspects of Catholicism which formed such mentally strong men and women in the past—the Mass, the rituals, the sacraments and confession in particular—were all watered down and de-emphasized in the aftermath of the 1960s. The result has been that today's Catholics, practicing or otherwise, seem just as susceptible to mental illness as the rest of society. 

Nevertheless, we can hear echoes of this resilience even today. Anecdotally, some of the most emotionally and psychologically solid people I have ever known may be found among that relatively small remnant of Catholics who steadfastly practice the faith with reverence and devotion. Never have I encountered a group of people who have endured so much personal suffering with such abiding grace. I am continually amazed at how many of these good people are struck with truly gut-wrenching family tragedies. And yet, they are able to endure, heal, and carry on, trusting that Christ will always be with them and that their departed loved ones are even now praying for them before the heavenly throne of God Almighty.

It is not controversial to observe that many of the current-day princes of the Catholic Church have wandered far from the traditional teachings and practices of the Church. Perhaps if these men would pause their awkward shamble after adolescent sexualized mysticism, they might realize that the ancient practice of Catholicism which they largely discarded in the 1960s was among the greatest treasures that God has ever gifted to mankind. 

At the very least, we can posit that the traditional practice of Catholicism is a way to comprehend the triumphs and tragedies of human existence that does not ultimately drive men mad. 

The same can not be said for the neurotic mess that modern Western secular culture has become.

One should never forget about the Persians ~ The Eternal Peace between the Roman Empire and Persia is broken after 8 years

When Justinian secured the so-called "Eternal Peace" with the Persians in AD 532 after the Battle of Daras, it is likely that he realized that the peace on his eastern frontier would not actually be perpetual. But he probably thought it would last longer that seven or eight years. In any event, the emperor made the most the respite, gathering his substantial forces from the east which had previously been on station to face down the Persian menace, and readying them for a thrust to the West.

His first target was the Vandal Kingdom which had ruled Roman Africa for nearly 100 years. Squatting upon one of the richest provinces of the Empire, the Vandalic realm had been a thorn in the Romans' side. Their acts of piracy were legendary, extending even to the sack of the city of Rome itself in AD 455. The stars aligned for Justinian in AD 533. The Vandal throne was occupied by a usurper named Gelimer who was reputedly unfriendly to the Romans. Justinian furthered this instability by instigating rebellions throughout the Vandal realm, while at the same time, mustering an army under the command of his bold Master of Soldiers, Belisarius, to strike at the seat of the Vandal government in Carthage. Landing safely in Africa (a trick that previous Roman commanders had failed to accomplish) Belisarius was victorious at the Battles of Ad Decimum and Tricamarum and, having captured Gelimer, he returned to Constantinople in triumph.

Within a year of this signal victory, however, Justinian was already planning an even greater campaign. It so happened that the situation in Ostrogothic Italy was also unstable. King Athalaric, grandson of King Theodoric the Great, had perished before his time in AD 534. The rule over the Kingdom of the Goths and Italians had then passed to his mother, Queen Amalasuntha, but as the Gothic nobles could not endure a woman ruling over them, Amalasuntha accepted marriage to her cousin, a weasel of a man named Theodatus, who was then crowned king. Within several weeks of this arrangement being formalized, Amalasuntha was dead, strangled in her bath. With such a weak character on the Ostrogothic throne, Justinian decided to make his move. He assembled two more armies to menace the Goths. The first, under Mundus, was to invade Dalmatia and threaten Gothic Italy from the north. The second, under Belisarius, would land in Sicily and march up the Italian boot from the south. 

Though things did not go as smoothly as during the Africa campaign, Belisarius was able to resist the full power of the Goths at the great Siege of Rome and then chase their retreating host back to Ravenna. While Belisarius laboriously captured Gothic held fortified cities in central Italy, however, the new Gothic king, Vittiges, hit upon a strategy to relieve his beleaguered kingdom. He would send agents east to convince the Persians to end the Eternal Peace. 

For their part, the Persians had a young king who had taken the throne shortly after the Eternal Peace was originally promulgated. This man, King Chosroes I (or King Khosrow I), had now come of age, secured his kingdom, and was itching for a fight with the hated Romans. As Procopius relates, the Gothic ambassadors found willing ears for their suggestions at the Persian court:

When Chosroes heard [their arguments], it seemed to him that Vittigis advised well, and he was still more eager to break off the treaty. For, moved as he was by envy toward the Emperor Justinian, he neglected completely to consider that the words were spoken to him by men who were bitter enemies of Justinian. But because he wished the thing he willingly consented to be persuaded. [Procopius, History of the Wars, Book II, Chapter II]

Encouraged by the Gothic ambassadors, Chosroes unilaterally ended the Eternal Peace in AD 540 and invaded the Eastern provinces of the Roman Empire.

With the bulk of his forces fighting in Italy and putting down still simmering rebellions in Africa, Justinian was caught with his pants down. Chosroes and his armies burst through the frontier and began demanding ransom from the Roman cities of the east, sacking any that resisted. Meeting hardly any resistance, he besieged the city of Antioch—the fourth largest city of the Empire after Rome, Constantinople, and Alexandria—and successfully captured and looted it in June of AD 540, returning to Persia with a long train of Roman captives.

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So the moral of the story is, "Don't forget about the Persians." And perhaps it's not completely fair to accuse Justinian of forgetting about them. If one reads Procopius, it seems clear that as soon as Justinian and his court were made aware of the dangerous Gothic overture to the Persians, he attempted to bring the war in Italy to an immediate conclusion, offering the Goths a remnant of their kingdom in northern Italy in exchange for peace. 

Belisarius thought this offer to be extravagant given the dire situation of the Goths at the time. How he settled things in Italy, the resulting delay, and the unfolding catastrophe in the East forms the climax of my most recent novel, Belisarius, Book III: Rome the Eternal.

The Martyrdom of Pope St. Silverius -- Starved to death on the Island of Palmarola in AD 538

Pope St. Silverius is deposed in AD 537. Artwork by Lori Kauffmann.

Throughout the history of the Church, several Popes have been deposed for a variety of reasons. Pope Liberius was deposed and exiled by the Arian emperor, Constantius II in the mid-4th century. Six hundred years later, Pope Gregory VII was deposed by anti-Pope Clement III, the creature of the Holy Roman Emperor, Henry IV. 

During the reign of Justinian, Pope Saint Silverius, who I have written about previously on this blog, was not only deposed—he was martyred by the political forces who coveted his ecclesiastical power as head of the Church. In my previous post, I included an excerpt from the Liber Pontificalis that provided some extraordinary details of the event. Given that the Liber was first compiled in the late 6th century, possibly within living memory of the deposition, it is a solid source, and I used the account provided therein as the basis for that pivotal scene in Belisarius Book III: Rome the Eternal.

Most of what we know of Silverius's brief reign comes from the Liber Pontificalis and the writings of Procopius. To the best of my knowledge, the only written work of Silverius that survives is an epitaph that he wrote for his father, Pope Saint Hormisdas. After his deposition, Silverius was exiled to the city of Patara in Asia Minor. According to the account of Liberatus of Carthage in his Breviarium, it soon became clear to the resident bishop, a certain Licinius, that Silverius had been slanderously accused and wrongfully deposed. Licinius took it upon himself to go directly to Constantinople to advise the emperor Justinian of this fact. The bishop's effort had the desired effect because following this meeting, the emperor sent Silverius back to Italy to receive a proper trial.

But Silverius would never get the opportunity to defend himself. Upon his arrival in Italy, the deposed Pope was seized and hustled to the tiny island of Palmarola about 20 miles off the west coast of Italy, roughly halfway between Rome and Naples. 

A craggy islet about a mile long and a quarter of a mile wide, Palmarola is part of the Pontine Archipelago, a grouping of small islands which were used as places of exile during Roman times. One of the other islands in the group—known as Ventotene today and Pandateria in antiquity—once housed the disgraced Julia the Elder, daughter of Augustus Caesar. The same island also served as the place of exile for Agrippina the Elder, granddaughter of Augustus. Saint Flavia Domitilla, granddaughter of the emperor Vespasian, was also exiled there on suspicion of being a Christian.

But Pandateria at least has a harbor and some residents. Tiny Palmarola is uninhabited. It is said that Pope Silverius starved to death after being abandoned there. To this day, a shrine in his honor may be found on Palmarola. 

Here is how I have described the scene in Belisarius: Rome the Eternal. Silverius is a recurring character in the first half of the book, and I have given him a fictional servant named Philo to serve as an interlocutor:

Chapter XXIX

“Something’s wrong,” Philo whispered. “The pilots were supposed to conduct us into the harbor, but instead, they are taking us back out to sea.”

“We are in God’s hands, Philo,” Pope Silverius replied. “His will be done.” The Holy Father had become thinner since his exile in the east. A rough gray beard now covered his previously smooth chin. A raspy cough rattled in his chest, as he pulled his cloak tighter about him to ward off the chilly wind.

“That may be, but nevertheless, I am going to say something,” Philo persisted.

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“Friend, I beg you...” Silverius trailed off. But his servant was already making his way to the stern from whence the ship was conned. Silverius returned to his prayers, gazing out over the choppy sea. January was a terrible time for travel by sea and the sailors dreaded it. To this point, they had credited their unusually safe passage from Asia at this inauspicious time of year to Stella Maris smiling kindly upon their very special passenger. But their attitude had shifted after their arrival outside the harbor at Ostia. A large dromon had intercepted them and four men came across in a skiff, braving the rough seas. All aboard had assumed they were harbor pilots—until the ship’s prow was turned toward the south, back from whence they had come.

Striding with care along the pitching deck with Philo stumbling behind him, a hooded Calligonus approached Silverius with a stony expression. “My apologies but there has been a change of plans. It is too dangerous for you to land at Ostia now. We will therefore conduct you to a place of safety until the perils have passed.”

“Where?” Philo asked. “Neapolis? We seem to be sailing south.”

Silverius said nothing. He recognized Calligonus immediately as one who had been present at his deposition and none too friendly.

“Neapolis is not safe either, I’m afraid,” Calligonus said.

“Safe for whom?” Silverius asked. “Belisarius and his wife? Or for Theodora, perhaps?”

Calligonus gave a sly smile, bowed his head and walked away. 

“What do you mean?” Philo said, clutching Silverius’s sleeve, alarm rising in his voice. “Where are they taking us, Holy Father?”

“God knows,” Silverius replied.

Several hours of sailing brought them to within sight of a small islet with vaulting cliffs of sheer rock, almost white, emerging from a rolling azure sea. Using a combination of sail and oars, the crew maneuvered the ship to a sheltered spot about two bowshots offshore where they dropped anchor.

“May I present your new home,” Calligonus said as he once again approached Silverius and Philo.

“Does this rock even have a name?” an agitated Philo asked.

“It is called Palmarola,” Calligonus replied. “I am told that no one lives there at all, so you will have a new patriarchal see all to yourself with plenty of gulls and lizards to hear your homilies. Now, if you please. I would ask you both to step smartly into the boat. Your basilica awaits.”

“Is there even any fresh water?” Philo cried.

“That’s a fair question,” Calligonus puzzled. “You will have to find out.”

Pope Silverius and his servant climbed down into the heaving boat with friendly hands from the sailors, all of whom seemed to dread what was happening. “Remember us in your prayers, Holy Father,” one of them said softly. “What we do today we are forced to do.”

“Have no concern, my son,” Silverius replied. “Even Saint Peter was led where he did not wish to go.”

“Forgive us!” a few called aloud from the deck.

Silverius made the sign of the cross over the ship as the boat pulled away. “I shall always remember the kind sailors who risked the winter seas for me.”

Moments later, the boat grounded on a beach of brown sand. The three henchmen of Calligonus hurried Silverius and Philo out of the boat, dumped some meager supplies on the beach, and hastened to row back to the ship. Within an hour, the ship had sailed out of sight.

Resigned to his fate, Silverius soon found a small grotto which would at least offer shelter and a place to pray if nothing else. He put the supplies in order and attempted to set up a place of repose for them that was somewhat protected from the chilly wind. Philo, meanwhile, made a circuit of the tiny island which did not take him long.

“Based on what I have seen, we will starve within two weeks,” Philo declared. “Sooner if it doesn’t rain at all.”

“I doubt I will last even that long,” Silverius said, suppressing a cough. Even the light work he had done had exhausted him.

“Perhaps they will drop food and water for us?”

“I don’t think so, my friend,” Silverius smiled a little sadly. “I think Our Lord Jesus has offered us the palm of a bloodless martyrdom. Let us embrace it, come what may.”

Philo sighed, fingering the stiff fronds of a dwarf palm which he had collected during his walk. “A small, pathetic palm to match the stunted trees that clutter this tiny rock.”

Silverius smiled luminously. “There is no such thing as a small martyrdom. Let us fill this island with our prayerful voices so that blessings may flow from it for centuries to come.”

If you enjoyed that passage, you'll probably enjoy the entire book which is available for purchase at the Arx Publishing website. Other excerpts from this book may be found at these links:

• "He weathered their rage like some craggy rock in a howling tempest." ~ Belisarius and the lead-up to the Great Siege of Rome
• Saint Benedict Chases the Devil off a Boulder
• "They went with all speed to the palace carrying weapons and raising a great tumult" ~ March 23, AD 536, Mutiny of Justinian's Army in Africa

Palmarola today. The shrine of St. Silverius is atop the peak at left.

At press: Rome the Eternal

 I have not been able to post much over the past few months and here is the reason:

Book III in my Belisarius series has just gone to press after 13 years of work. Good grief, that's a long time. 

I'll be posting some excerpts over the next couple weeks as the official release date approaches. If you read the previous books and want to pre-order this one, have at it.

A Little Flower grows in New Jersey ~ The story of Blessed Miriam Teresa Demjanovich

Who is Blessed Miriam Teresa Demjanovich? Do you know? I didn't. Sure, I had heard her name because she is included in The American Martyrology as part of the entry for May 8. But details about her life? I knew literally nothing. Of course, the primary reason for that was my woefully deficient Catholic education wherein we spent much time reading forgettable books by Judy Blume, and almost no time reading about the glorious history of Christendom or the lives of the saints.

And that's why I absolutely love books like An American Little Flower: Blessed Miriam Teresa Demjanovich. Books like this are what American Catholic kids should be reading. Heck, they should have been reading them 40 years ago!

Similar to a book I reviewed previously, (see Pierre Toussaint: A Citizen of Old New York), An American Little Flower: Blessed Miriam Teresa Demjanovich, introduces young readers to the story of a little-known Catholic Blessed from the United States. Blessed Teresa lived practically unknown in and among our own grandparents and great grandparents, growing up in Bayonne, New Jersey during World War I and its aftermath. Her story opens a window into the hardworking immigrant communities of the 1910s and 20s as they struggled to make a better life for themselves and their children. Readers not only learn about Blessed Teresa's early life, her upbringing in the bosom of a loving family, her closeness with Christ and her call to the religious life, they also come to see how the outbreak of the Great War affected her family in very real ways. 

Click here to find out more.

One of the most interesting passages in the book has to do with acts of sabotage committed by German agents operating in the US. On June 30, 1916, a gigantic explosion rocked a munitions depot on Black Tom Island in New York Harbor. The shock from the explosion was so great that it was felt as far away as Philadelphia. Teresa and her family were much closer than that, so the event had a real impact. Worse, one of the culprits was believed to be a Slovak immigrant acting on behalf of the Central Powers. Given that the Demjanovichs were also Slovaks, this brought the event very close to home. The Black Tom explosion, along with other acts of German sabotage, would play a role in propelling the US into the Great War on the Allied side.

Another aspect of An American Little Flower that I particularly enjoyed was Teresa's devotion to Saint Therese of Lisieux. As the title of the book indicates, young Teresa was influenced by the life of the original Little Flower and her Little Way of holiness. Nothing quite inspires ordinary people to become saints like the examples of other saints. A similar message may be found in another book I that I read recently: Unbreakable: Saints Who Inspired Saints to Moral Courage by Kimberly Begg. The first saint mentioned in this book is St. Joan of Arc, who was herself inspired by St. Michael, Saint Margaret and St. Catherine. So it seems that Blessed Teresa Demjanovic could trace her lineage of sanctity back through St. Therese of Lisieux, through St. Joan, through Sts. Margaret, Michael and Catherine back to Christ Himself who is, of course, the ultimate inspiration for all the saints. One wonders what future saints Blessed Teresa will inspire?

This book is yet another very worthy entry in the august Vision Series, published by Ignatius Press. This is the second entry in the series written by author GinaMarie Tennant. If that name sounds at all familiar, it may be because I posted an author interview and review of Miss Tennant's first book, Louis and Zélie: The Holy Parents of Saint Thérèse a couple years ago on this blog. As enjoyable as her first book was, I found An American Little Flower to be even more engaging. Perhaps this is because the main character was born and raised in New Jersey—as someone recently quipped to me, "If New Jersey can produce a saint, there's hope for all of us." Or maybe it was because the book focused on Blessed Teresa's early life which Miss Tennant seemed perfectly comfortable writing about.

An American Little Flower is highly recommended for young readers. No doubt this book will become a staple for Catholic homeschoolers and find its way into the various curricula. Assuming that Blessed Teresa will eventually be raised to the altars, Miss Tennant should be congratulated for making her name known to a wide audience in advance of that event.

A Prayer for the Synod on Synodality

Mosaic of Christ casting demons out of a possessed man and into swine.

I have no plans to follow this event which, by its name alone, sounds like a gigantic exercise of corporate clericalism, and expanding clericalism to include a whole host of tedious aging radicals and busybodies from new demographics. Given the cast of characters who have been invited, I have zero hope for a good outcome. The best thing that can possibly come out of it is nothing—nothing but a ringing endorsement of what the Church already teaches and has taught for hundreds and thousands of years.

But the Holy Spirit often uses wicked and bad-intentioned men to work His Will in ways that none of us can comprehend or predict. So in that spirit, I offer this prayer to our Father in Heaven:

"Almighty God, I pray that all who propose to speak on behalf of the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church be granted the gifts of wisdom, charity, eloquence and clarity, that they may expound the eternal Truths of Jesus Christ and His Gospel persuasively and with zeal.

For any who attempt to alter, pervert or contradict those same eternal Truths, may a spirit of confusion descend upon them, may their efforts come to naught, and may they be shunned by all Christian men and women who desire the unadulterated Gospel of Jesus Christ and the unchangeable teachings of Holy Mother Church.

I  ask this in the name of Jesus Christ, Son of the Everliving God. Amen."

Yes, some men really do think about the Roman Empire every day

There's a social media trend going around where women ask the men in their lives how often they think about the Roman Empire. The women are then duly surprised when the man says some variation of "Pretty much every day." 

If you're a reader of this blog, you're probably one of those people. Admittedly, I am as well. So, in that vein, here are some ridiculous memes that I made. Enjoy!

"Among laymen, none are superior to him in devotion and zeal for the Church." ~ A review of "Pierre Toussaint: A Citizen of Old New York"

Pierre Toussaint, from a miniature painted ca. 1825 by Anthony Meucci.

I recently picked up a copy of Pierre Toussaint: A Citizen of Old New York by Arthur and Elizabeth Odell Sheehan (published by the good folks at Hillside Education) of at a homeschool conference on Long Island. Truth be told, I knew next to nothing about Toussaint before I began reading, though I can honestly say I had wanted to know more about him. I especially wanted to know what heroic virtues this man possessed that has him on the path to canonization as a saint of the Catholic Church.

Click here for more info.

Well, to start with, Venerable Pierre Toussaint's life story is anything but typical. It is a study in contrasts and paradoxes. It began in a country that was considered a paradise on earth at the time — Saint-Domingue, a French colony on the island of Hispanola in the Caribbean which is today known as the nation of Haiti. But like many European colonies in the western hemisphere, Saint-Domingue was burdened at its creation with the original sin of slavery. Pierre himself was born a slave, though perhaps atypically, he was born into a French family that did not consider its slaves as mere property but as children of God with souls who could love and be loved.

During Pierre's early life, the slave-supported paradise of Saint-Domingue would become hell on earth for the original colonizers. The ideals of the French revolution took root in the colony and encouraged former slaves like Toussaint Loverture and Jean-Jacques Dessalines to consider freedom the birthright of all men. With the advent of Napoleon, a slave rebellion broke out in Saint-Domingue which quickly escalated into a war of atrocities, with the French and Haitians vying to outdo each other in brutality. Eventually, the French lost. But their cruelty toward their former slaves was not forgotten. By way of revenge, General (and later Emperor) Jean-Jacques Dessalines systematically slaughtered the 3-5,000 French who remained in the country.

Pierre Toussaint witnessed little of this, however. As the conflicts increased, Pierre's French family, the Bérards, fled Saint-Domingue in 1787 for what they believed was temporary refuge in New York City. Little did they know that they would never return to their homes again. Pierre himself would live in New York for nearly 60 years.

Over the course of those 60 years, the fortunes of the Bérard family would decline. They would have been completely ruined and destitute if not for the abilities of their indefatigable slave, Pierre. While in New York, Pierre was apprenticed to a man who was an expert hair-dresser. In an era where arranging women's hair was a complicated art form, Pierre became a master. His talents were soon in high demand among the rich ladies of New York. But Pierre was no mere mindless automaton who curled and coiffed all day long. He had other talents, among them an approachable demeanor, an ear for listening, a quiet wisdom, and a genuine care for the trials and tribulations of others. 

In a short time, Pierre became the sole support of the Bérards. Jean Bérard, the scion of the family, had returned to Haiti in 1791 an attempt to reclaim his family's property, only to die of sickness shortly after his arrival. His widow, Marie, was now destitute. During this time, Pierre supported her with his earnings as a hair-dresser. She would later marry another French refugee, only to perish in 1807. Upon her death, Marie Bérard gave Pierre his freedom.

With freedom and a marketable skill in tremendous demand, Pierre could have lived the easy life of a wealthy ne'er-do-well. He did exactly the opposite. He transformed his earnings into charitable good works. He purchased the freedom of another slave, Juliette Noel, then married her. He also displayed an almost supernatural sense of magnanimity, secretly assisting many distressed French refugees in New York. Former slave-holders found themselves beholden to a former slave. And Pierre never lorded this paradox over them. Instead, as Our Lord suggested, he kept his works of mercy discreetly quiet so that his beneficiaries could save face.

Euphemia Toussaint, Pierre's adopted
daughter, from a miniature painted ca. 1825
by Anthony Meucci.

When Pierre's sister Rosalie died, Pierre and Juliette adopted her infant daughter, Euphemia. Unable to have children of their own, Pierre and Juliette would raise Euphemia as their child. Tragically, the child would die at age 14 of tuberculosis. This incident and the pain it caused Pierre is described poignantly in Pierre Toussaint: A Citizen of Old New York.

Incredibly, Pierre's devotion to the French family that held him as a slave extended decades after his freedom. Word reached Pierre that his godmother Aurora, the sister of Jean Bérard, had fallen upon hard times in France. Pierre and Juliette kept up a lively correspondence with Aurora over many years, sending her expensive presents to help alleviate her straits. In one letter, regarding some dresses and Madras handkerchiefs Pierre and Juliette had sent her, Aurora wrote: "To judge from the dearness of the articles here, I fear you may have made some sacrifice to purchase them, and this idea gives me pain." [Lee: Memoir of Pierre Toussaint]

Examples of Pierre's charity are too numerous to mention in their entirety. His hard work, intelligent money management, and scrupulous penny-pinching meant that he had resources enough for a comfortable home for Juliette and Euphemia, and largesse for both the poor and the Church. Pierre's devotion as a Catholic is the stuff of legend. Whatever rudeness Pierre endured as a black man in antebellum New York was redoubled by the fact that he was a very public Papist in an era where Catholicism was considered by many to be the moral equivalent of treason. Neither of these social handicaps thwarted Pierre. It is said that Pierre attended Mass every day of his life after his arrival in New York.

Pierre also took up the philanthropic works of the Church as his own. He donated and helped raise money for the first Catholic cathedral in New York City—Old Saint Patrick's. According to Hannah Lee, who knew Pierre and compiled a memoir of his life, Pierre endeavored to do the 19th century equivalent of "paying it forward":

"One of the methods in which Toussaint did essential good was by bringing up colored boys one after another, sending them to school, and, after they were old enough, teaching them some useful business. In all these plans of charity Juliette united." [Lee: Memoir of Pierre Toussaint]

Juliette, wife of Pierre Toussaint, 
from a miniature painted ca. 1825
by Anthony Meucci.

Pierre Toussaint: A Citizen of Old New York chronicles many of Pierre's charitable works. Written in 1950, the authors could not know that Pierre would be declared Venerable by Pope John Paul II in 1996, though doubtless they would have celebrated the announcement. It should be kept in mind that this book is not an historical novel like many of the others I review. It is more of a biography with numerous dramatized scenes sprinkled throughout. As such, it easily holds the attention of the reader and is especially well-suited for young Catholics. It is a perfect addition to a homeschool curriculum for those who "read their way through history" as it covers a somewhat obscure period of US and world history. It allows for tangential discussions of such historical events as the revolution in Haiti, the Napoleonic wars and their aftermath, slavery both in the US and abroad, numerous devastating epidemics, the free Black community in New York, the growth of Catholicism in the US during the early 19th century, and life in America cities more generally during the early years of the Republic. 

But perhaps the most important contribution made by this book is that it successfully spurs curiosity about the humble and virtuous Pierre Toussaint. Based on the research I have done on him subsequent to reading this book, there is much more that could be said about him. But that was not the object of this brief review, so I will close with a quote taken from Fr. Quin's oration subsequent to Pierre's funeral Mass which seems to exemplify the esteem in which Venerable Pierre Toussaint was held at the time of his death: 

"There were few left among the clergy superior to him in devotion and zeal for the Church and for the glory of God. Among laymen, none." [Lee: Memoir of Pierre Toussaint]

Such high praise seems to presage that Venerable Pierre Toussaint will be recognized as a saint in due course. Read Pierre Toussaint: Citizen of Old New York now so that you'll be well prepared when that happy day arrives.

Padre Pio for a new generation of young Catholics: A Review of "Wounds of Love" by Phillip Campbell

Detail from the cover of Wounds of Love: The Story of Saint Padre Pio.

Like Jeanne d’Arc or Francesco di Bernardone, Francesco Forgione was one of those unique individuals gifted by God to the human race to assure us of His love, His understanding, and above all else, that He is not deaf to our sufferings and entreaties. But unlike these other great visionary saints, Forgione was not a streak of light which flashed across the firmament and returned quickly to heaven. 

Saint Joan’s mission lasted about two years before she was martyred at age 19. 

Saint Francis of Assisi was 45 when he passed to eternity, roughly 20 years elapsing between his call and his death.

Click here for more info.

Saint Pio of Pietrelcina, on the other hand, spent almost the entirety of his long life as a suffering servant of Jesus Christ. Afflicted with ill-health, physical infirmities, the Stigmata, and demonic attacks which left him battered and bruised, Padre Pio was also subjected to slanderous assaults on his character, all over a period of nearly seven decades. Yet during that time, he was able to touch the lives of thousands upon thousands of people, uniting his suffering to that of Christ and translating it into God's grace to heal sinners from all over the world. And his reach was truly immense. At his shrine at San Giovanni Rotondo, there is a wall of shelves filled with thousands of letters received by Padre Pio—in a single year. 

Nearly as many people recall unforgettable personal encounters with the gruff Capuchin saint of San Giovanni Rotondo, either in the flesh, or in the spirit. It is said that he heard about five million confessions over the course of his priesthood. And there are numerous miracle stories. One such story that I heard in person is that of Philadelphia native Frank Tenaglia (1965-2019) who credited Padre Pio with healing him of a grave childhood illness—a miracle which allowed him to praise God with his amazing voice for many years. 

Though there are myriad books about Padre Pio's extraordinary life, very few of these are accessible to younger readers. This has now changed with the release of Wounds of Love: The Story of Saint Padre Pio by Phillip Campbell. I have been waiting for a book like this for years. It’s no easy task to condense the long and eventful life of someone like Padre Pio into the historical fiction format which appeals to young readers, but Phillip Campbell has done a masterful job. His focus on the early life of St. Pio is pitch-perfect. While most readers think of Padre Pio as a rather grumpy elderly man, Campbell’s presentation spends more time introducing readers to the young Francesco Forgione growing in grace and holiness in the bosom of a loving family.  

Wounds of Love includes some of the most famous anecdotes associated with Padre Pio, including the well-known incident reported by General Nathan F. Twining of a Capuchin monk appearing in the sky to thwart Allied bombing runs on San Giovanni Rotondo during World War II. Campbell also relates a few more obscure ones, including one that I had never heard before, despite having read several books on Padre Pio in the past. In Chapter 12, the novel delves into the slanders aimed at Padre Pio by those within the Church in the early 1960s. In an effort to gather evidence against him, someone apparently wiretapped his confessional. Originally, I thought that this outrageous story belonged more to the “fiction” than to the “historical” side of the narrative. But upon further research, I discovered that this inconceivably awful tale was true—and that Padre Pio actually did discover the microphone himself and cut out the wire with a penknife! 

In sum, Wounds of Love is a fantastic book and I heartily recommend it to readers of all ages. If you need additional proof of how the story draws you in, I gave it to my 17-year old son to read and he polished it off in about a week. What's more, he immediately moved on to a more in-depth biography of Padre Pio that we have on our bookshelves. 

Mission accomplished, Mr. Campbell!

Who was Veronica? Tracking down one of the most beloved figures from Christ's Passion

Christ heals the woman with a flow of blood as depicted in the
Catacombs of Marcellinus and Peter in Rome, 4th century AD.

One of the more enigmatic figures from early Christian history is Saint Veronica—the woman known to Catholics from the Sixth Station of the Cross, who is said to have wiped the face of Jesus while He carried His cross on the road to Calvary. There is a memorable and beautifully presented sequence of scenes featuring Veronica in Mel Gibson's Passion of the Christ. But nowhere is the woman or the incident described mentioned in Sacred Scripture. 

To learn about Veronica, we must turn to extra-biblical sources. The first mention of a woman named Veronica associated with Our Lord may be found in an apocryphal work known alternately as the Acts of Pilate or the Gospel of Nicodemus. The scholarly consensus is that this work does not come from Apostolic times, but was written during the Patristic period sometime after the middle of the 4th century AD. Even so, it is considered a suitably ancient work and it likely includes traditions held by the community of the very early Church. The work records the names of several otherwise unnamed minor personages mentioned in the Gospels, such as the centurion at the crucifixion (Longinus) and the two thieves crucified along with Jesus (Dismas and Gesmas). Also named is the woman whom Jesus healed of a hemorrhage of blood in Matthew 9:20-22:

There was found there also a woman named Veronica [or Bernice], and she said: Twelve years I was in an issue of blood, and I only touched the edge of his garment, and directly I was cured. [Acts of Pilate, Chapter 7]

This is important because it connects Veronica with another, more reliable ancient source: The Ecclesiastical History of Eusebius. In this work, we find the following fascinating passage:

Since I have mentioned this city [Caesarea Philippi] I do not think it proper to omit an account which is worthy of record for posterity. For they say that the woman with an issue of blood, who, as we learn from the sacred Gospel, received from our Savior deliverance from her affliction, came from this place, and that her house is shown in the city, and that remarkable memorials of the kindness of the Savior to her remain there.

For there stands upon an elevated stone, by the gates of her house, a brazen image of a woman kneeling, with her hands stretched out, as if she were praying. Opposite this is another upright image of a man, made of the same material, clothed decently in a double cloak, and extending his hand toward the woman. At his feet, beside the statue itself, is a certain strange plant, which climbs up to the hem of the brazen cloak, and is a remedy for all kinds of diseases.

They say that this statue is an image of Jesus. It has remained to our day, so that we ourselves also saw it when we were staying in the city.

Nor is it strange that those of the Gentiles who, of old, were benefited by our Saviour, should have done such things, since we have learned also that the likenesses of his apostles Paul and Peter, and of Christ himself, are preserved in paintings, the ancients being accustomed, as it is likely, according to a habit of the Gentiles, to pay this kind of honor indiscriminately to those regarded by them as deliverers. [Ecclesiastical History of Eusebius Pamphilus, Book VI, Chapter 18]

Recall that Eusebius was writing in the early 4th century AD. There is so much packed into the above passage that it will probably require a post of its own at some point.

The Chronicle of John Malalas (written in the late 6th century), elaborates on this episode, relating that Veronica petitioned Herod (probably Phillip the Tetrarch also known as Herod Phillip II) for permission to raise a statue to Jesus. Incredibly, Herod not only agreed but ordered her to set up a larger statue than she had first proposed:

King Herod, hearing this prayer of hers, was surprised at the marvel. And fearing the mysterious healing, he said: “this healing, O woman, is worth a larger statue. Go then and set up whatever statue you wish, praising with zeal him who had healed you.” And straightway Veronica, who was formerly bleeding, set up in the midst of her city Paneas a bronze statue to the Lord our God Jesus Christ, of hammered bronze mixed with a small portion of gold and silver. That image stands to this day in the city of Paneas, having been carried many years ago from the place where it had stood in the midst of the town to a holy church. I found in that city of Paneas a memorandum about it by a certain Bassus, a former Jew become a Christian, with the life of all the former reigning kings in the territory of Judaea. [Chronicle of John Malalas, 10.239]

Malalas's notice here is important for two reasons. First, he connects Veronica's name with the woman healed of a flow of blood in the late 6th century, demonstrating that he was familiar with the Acts of Pilate or another ancient source with the same information. Second, he's writing in the Greek east, not the Latin west where Veronica's name and role would become more legendary in the Middle Ages.

While it is not impossible that this Veronica also wiped the face of Our Lord during his passion, I was unable to locate any early records corroborating this event. The earliest sources mentioning it seem to be from the high Middle Ages. It is interesting to note, however, that the name of Veronica is associated with one of the earliest recorded images of Christ, apparently commissioned by a saintly woman who saw Our Lord in the flesh.

As for the mysterious artifact known as the Veil of Veronica, that will have to be the subject of a future post.

Goodreads Giveaway ~ Phillip Campbell's Story of the Philippines: God's Rampart in Asia

Click here for more info.

One of the books cited frequently on this blog is The Story of the Philippines: God's Rampart in Asia. Written in the style of Campbell's Story of Civilization curriculum for Catholic students, The Story of the Philippines is a readable capsule summary of the long and complex history of the Filipino people, complete with poignant and amusing vignettes written in Campbell's appealing style.

Well, through Thursday, April 13, 2023, you can enter to win a free copy of this book on Goodreads. Details may be found by clicking the link below:

The Story of the Philippines ~ Giveaway on Goodreads.

Five gratis copies of the book are available. 

As it is meant for young readers, the book includes several really nice illustrations by artist Lori Kauffmann who, as it turns out, also did the cover art for all of my Belisarius books.

Here are a few examples of here illustrations that accompany and enhance The Story of the Philippines:

Chinese Traders visit the Kingdom of Tondo.

MacArthur and Osmeña return to the Philippines, October 1944. 

Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos.

Regular readers of this blog know that that the Philippines, the Spanish-American War, and the Battle of Manila Bay are regular topics. Here are links to several related articles:

• The First Mass in the Philippines, March 31, AD 1521 ~ An eyewitness account by Antonio Pigafetta
• "For many a year they will remember the two stout galleons of Manila." ~ The victory of the Spanish over the Dutch at the Battle of Naval de Manila, AD 1646
• The Destruction of Fort Drum, the Famous Concrete Battleship of Manila Bay
• "Open with all guns." The Battle of Manila Bay, May 1, 1898
• Telling the Story of the Philippines ~ Eastern History for the Catholic Student

The First Mass in the Philippines, March 31, AD 1521 ~ An eyewitness account by Antonio Pigafetta

The first Mass in the Philippines at Limasawa by Lori Kauffmann. This image
appears on the cover of The Story of the Philippines: God's Rampart in Asia 
by Philip Campbell.

In the year of our Lord 1521, on Easter Sunday, March 31, the first Mass on what would later be known as the Philippine archipelago was said on a small island known as Limasawa. Little did those attending that Mass realize that the seed planted that day would blossom into a brilliant faith that, 500 years later, would make the Philippines one of the most devoutly Catholic nations in the world.

An account of that epochal event exists, written by Antonio Pigafetta, a Venetian accompanying Ferdinand Magellan on his voyage of circumnavigation, who kept a detailed journal of events: Here is Pigafetta's account, along with some extra details of what happened next:  

On Sunday, the last day of March, and feast of Easter, the captain sent the chaplain ashore early to say Mass, and the interpreter went with him to tell the king that they were not coming on shore to dine with him, but only to hear the mass. The king hearing that sent two dead pigs. 

When it was time for saying Mass the captain went ashore with fifty men, not with their arms, but only with their swords, and dressed as well as each one was able to dress, and before the boats reached the shore our ships fired six cannon shots as a sign of peace. At our landing the two kings were there, and received our captain in a friendly manner, and placed him between them, and then we went to the place prepared for saying Mass, which was not far from the shore. Before the mass began the captain threw a quantity of musk rosewater on those two kings, and when the offertory of the Mass came, the two kings went to kiss the cross like us, but they offered nothing, and at the elevation of the body of our Lord they were kneeling like us, and adored Our Lord with joined hands. The ships fired all their artillery at the elevation of the body of our Lord. 

After Mass had been said each one did the duty of a Christian, receiving our Lord. After that the captain had some sword-play by his people, which gave great pleasure to the kings. Then he had a cross brought, with the nails and crown, to which the kings made reverence, and the captain had them told that these things which he showed them were the sign of the emperor his lord and master, from whom he had charge and commandment to place it in all places where he might go or pass by. He told them that he wished to place it in their country for their profit, because if there came afterwards any ships from Spain to those islands, on seeing this cross, they would know that we had been there, and therefore they would not cause them any displeasure to their persons nor their goods; and if they took any of their people, on showing them this sign, they would at once let them go. Besides this, the captain told them that it was necessary that this cross should be placed on the summit of the highest mountain in their country, so that seeing it every day they might adore it, and that if they did thus, neither thunder, lightning, nor the tempest could do them hurt. 

The kings thanked the captain, and said they would do it willingly. Then he asked whether they were Moors or Gentiles, and in what they believed. They answered that they did not perform any other adoration, but only joined their hands, looking up to heaven, and that they called their God, Aba. Hearing this, the captain was very joyful, on seeing that, the first king raised his hands to the sky and said that he wished it were possible for him to be able to show the affection which he felt towards him. 

The interpreter asked him for what reason there was so little to eat in that place, to which the king replied that he did not reside in that place except when he came to hunt and to see his brother, but that he lived in another island where he had all his family. Then the captain asked him if he had any enemies who made war upon him, and that if he had any he would go and defeat them with his men and ships, to put them under his obedience. The king thanked him, and answered that there were two islands the inhabitants of which were his enemies; however, that for the present it was not the time to attack them. The captain therefore said to him that if God permitted him to return another time to this country, he would bring so many men that he would put them by force under his obedience.

As it worked out, Magellan did make an attack—an ill-advised assault on Lapu Lapu and his warriors at the Battle of Mactan about a month later. The Spaniards were repulsed with heavy losses, among them Ferdinand Magellan himself who was struck by poison arrows, stabbed, and eventually hacked to pieces. A nice vignette-account of this battle and Magellan's end may be found in Philip Campbell's Story of the Philippines: God's Rampart in Asia.

As for Antonio Pigafetta, he witnessed the battle but was able to escape when the Spanish withdrew. He would eventually make it back to Spain with the few survivors of the voyage. A few years thereafter, he managed to get his journal published. It has survived to this day, and is one of the key primary sources of the Age of Exploration. 

Pigafetta would later join the Knights of Rhodes who had recently been expelled from their island fortress by the Turks. It is at this point that Pigafetta disappears from history. What few details remain of his life may be found in this bio-bibliographical note.