UTERUS ECCLESIA DOMESTICA

“The beauty of the soul shines out when a man bears with composure one heavy mischance after another, not because he does not feel them, but because he is a man of high and heroic temper.”

-Aristotle

My son’s health continues to decline. I often wonder if my past transgressions are punished by my erroneous decisions. Could the gods mitigate their wrath on me and my family?  In the army, I was forced to travel provinces across the Empire, foraging and conquering for the glory of Rome.  As the commanding centurion, the Primus Pilus (First Spear), my hands spilt copious blood. While my victories were vast, my miseries were many. What good was it to gain the glories of the Greco-Roman world, if I had merely lost my soul?[1] During my quests away from home, I seldom quenched my loneliness with prostitutes and cheap libations. Anything to numb my inexplicable anger and rage. I lived as if I was dying and only when I faced death, I felt alive. Upon my return home from my quests, I learned that one of the prostitutes whom I fornicated became pregnant with my bastard son. Not being able to tell my wife Flora about my past affairs, I adopted my bastard son as my servant. He was a gracious and obedient young lad as to which I esteemed and loved. His fleeing health became apparent while performing an errand on my behalf. O, how I suffered to see him decay in a short period of time.
In her nescience, Flora boasted how good of a man I was for caring so deeply for my house servant. If she only knew of my past vices. My constant lie rotted my soul. I often wondered whose body was putrid and decaying, mine or my son’s. Cassius was my blood. One thing that the army ruthlessly taught me was to embrace honor and glory. Everything is sealed in blood. As my son’s health continued to exacerbate, I became desperate to find a cure for him. I had consulted many doctors across the empire, but a cure was taciturn. Cassius was dying and my gods were silent. Death pierces the veil; it shatters that which was and no longer is. We all must experience it. Some earlier than others. But why do the gods allow suffering and why is it now a part of my life? The separation from our loved ones in death is the gravest and scariest threshold. I often wonder how in the womb we are extracted. Does this experience ever suffocate the fetus? When we take our first breath, do we know where the wind goes and where it comes from? When we take our last breath, we give ourselves back to a purpose bigger than ourselves for Aristotle attests: “Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.”[2]While my mortal flesh longed for the world, my soul aspired for the heavens.

In efforts to appease the gods, I travelled to Caesarea of Philippi. At the Temple of Pan, God of fertility, I incinerated an effigy of myself lifting prayers on behalf of Cassius. The stench in the Temple was overwhelming and the musky odor of animal sacrifices prevailed in my military uniform (lorica segmentata)[3] for weeks. As I exited the temple, I noticed a group of Galilean Jews congregating by the Temple’s rear amphitheater. Jesus of Nazareth was in their midst and his words swiftly caught my attention. As Jesus addressed his disciples, Jesus asked: “Who do people say I am?” As the disciples nonchalantly blurted out different things about him, he then inquired intently: “But who do you say that I am?”. A silence lingered for a few seconds until a short and buffy man by the name of Simon echoed with confidence: “You are the Messiah, the son of the living God.” Jesus’ words overpowered my soul as if I had known Jesus the Nazorean my whole life. His ensuing affirmation crumbled everything I had come to believe about Rome:
 
Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah. For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my heavenly Father. And so I say to you, you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it. I will give you the keys to the kingdom of heaven. Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.[4]            

Was not everything sealed in blood? War had taught me how to plan and I was proficient at strategy. Yet, I could not gather myself after copious tears. I wanted the faith Peter had. I wanted to believe in a living God whose concern and love for me would bind my wounds and heal my son. I knew that if I were to speak to Jesus, I would first need to speak to Simon Peter. I waited, planned, and plotted. How could a decorated Roman soldier approach a Jew and demand anything about faith? My thirst for truth garrisoned my flesh in search for life. When the Jewish caravan of Jesus’ disciples, entered Capernaum, I took a leap of faith and petitioned Simon Peter to approach Jesus. When Simon agreed, I stepped forward like a little child asking his father for forgiveness. My words imploded in my chest, cascading unconfined torrents of tears. I felt safe and vulnerable before Jesus’ presence and my armor felt incredibly heavy. To my knees I collapsed and with the little honor I mustered, I now begged: “Lord, my servant is lying at home paralyzed, suffering dreadfully.[5] He is not only my servant, but he is also my son. You see, I have not lived a faithful life to my wife and children, but I couldn’t convene him to the streets after his mother’s passing. Please Lord, heal him.” “Take me to him and I will cure him”, Jesus peacefully replied. As the wind swept my face, my lips and tongue suddenly found the words to proclaim: 

 
Domine, non sum dignus ut intres sub tectum meum: sed tantum dic verbo, et sanabitur puer meus. Lord, I am not worthy to have you enter under my roof; only say the word and my servant will be healed. For I too am a person subject to authority, with soldiers subject to me. And I say to one, ‘Go’ and he goes; and to another, ‘Come here,’ and he does it.[6]

Now looking up to Jesus’ concerned gaze, I humbly uttered with a trembling breath: “Lord, I am a Roman soldier, and you are a Jew. If you were to come to my home, you would be desecrated and would need cleansing. O my Lord, I believe, I adore, I hope, and I love you. I ask pardon for not having believed, not having adored, not having hoped, and not having loved you.[7]” In what appeared an eternity, Jesus took my shoulders and heft me to my feet. He then embraced me and whispered candidly: “Go my son. Your vivid faith has healed your son.”

The joy I felt at this encounter changed my life. Nothing could come close to the moment I had lived with Christ. I felt as if I was being born again in my mother’s womb, remembering her embrace and warmth as she protected my delicate infant body. Such is the love of God, and I felt it for the first time. As I sprinted toward my home, another servant hurled himself toward me. His face elated with joy confirmed what had already happened. “It’s Cassius,” he grumbled, gasping for air. “He is healed and well. I know my friend. Jesus of Nazareth healed him,” as I interjected with confidence. “But how? He never touched Cassius!,” my servant inquired in astonishment. “Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek for they will inherit the land.”[8] Jesus’s words at the Mount of Beatitudes came rushing to my thoughts. I realized that at one point my mind had heard Christ, but my heart was deaf to his teachings. As I entered my home and greeted my wife, I discarded the pagan effigies aligning the small altars in the sacred room. I told my wife the truth about Cassius and I asked her for forgiveness. “I do not know how. But Jesus of Nazareth healed Cassius. Jesus is the son of God, the true living God. From here on in, our home, will be known as the Uterus Ecclesia Domestica-the womb of the Domestic Church for my son was dead and is now alive. Blessed be God forever.” Having embraced Cassius, he entuned a beautiful hymn that his deceased mother taught him. I later learn that the hymn came from Psalm 50 (51) and was sung in Aramaic, Jesus’ spoken language…

[1] Matthew 16:25
[2] Aristotle
[3] Translation from Latin: segmented armor
[4] Matthew 16: 13-19
[5] Matthew 8: 5
[6] Matthew 8: 5-9
[7] Angel of Peace Prayer shared with the Shepherd children at Fatima
[8] Matthew 5: 4-5