As we move through Eastertide and approach the feast of the Ascension of Our Lord, we continue to celebrate the early days of the nascent Christian movement, when the disciples were trying to understand the momentous events which had just unfolded. Although the prophetic words of the Old Testament had prepared them in some sense for the long-awaited Messiah, the radicality of what we now refer to as the Incarnation, Passion, and Resurrection left them with confused and conflicted emotions. St. Matthew describes their reaction as simultaneously “afraid, and yet filled with joy” (Mt 28:8, cf. also the Epilogue to Pope Benedict’s recent Jesus of Nazareth Volume II). Luke’s Acts of the Apostles also deepens our understanding of both this historical period, and the tumultuous (and sometimes even seemingly contradictory) feelings that define our lives.
The opening chapter of Acts recounts the disciples coming to understand that Christ’s calling of the Twelve had an ontological significance that transcended mere convention or convenience. The New Israel that was to be the universal church, open to every nation of the world, had its origin and self-identity in the original twelve tribes of Jewish Israel, with whom God had had a special covenant throughout history. Therefore, Judas, the one destined to be lost (cf. Jn 17:12), needed to be replaced to keep that perfected number intact.
Peter, already assuming a leadership role, interpreted the psalms to demand another to take Judas’ office, and so sought to call on one of the original disciples who had been witnesses to Jesus’ entire mission from the time of his baptism in the Jordan through his Ascension. Two men met this qualification, Joseph called Barsabbas and Matthias. (In this historical era, men were the only juridical witnesses allowed in Jewish courts and thus reliable official witnesses, and so women were excluded, even though some may have met these qualifications. Much ink has been and continues to be spilled over Jesus’ decision to call only men to the Twelve and whether this was a “historically conditioned” or “revelatory” choice — see Ordinatio Sacerdotalis, then-Cardinal Ratzinger’s discussion of the 1989 Profession of Faith,” and Francis A. Sullivan’s afterword to his book “Creative Fidelity”).
The disciples prayerfully cast lots, realizing that God knew the hearts of all, and would lead them on the right path in their apostolic ministry (Acts 1:25). The vocation came to Matthias, literally “gift of Yahweh,” and so he rounded out the Twelve. Tradition holds that as the disciples spread out to take the gospel to the ends of the earth, St. Matthias preached in what was then known as Ethiopia, and into the Kingdom of Kush, southward into Africa along the Nile valley.
Interestingly, this legacy has a very vibrant descendent in the Coptic African church to this day. Before the spread of Islam, this fertile valley in Egypt, as well as throughout northern and eastern Africa was predominantly Christian due to the spread of Jesus’ message by followers such as Matthias. Today both Melkite and non-Chalcedonian branches of Christians continue to exist in this region of the world. The former accepted the decision at the Council of Chalcedon which described Christ as having two natures, one human and one divine “unmixed, unchanged, undivided, and inseparable.” The Non-Chalcedonian Copts are often described (whether unfairly or not is another question) with the adjectives miaphysite or monophysite (literally “one natured”), and while obviously Christian, as holding that Jesus only had a divine nature, largely as a reaction against the heresy of Nestorianism which over-emphasized Christ’s humanity to the detriment of his divinity. While sometimes complicated, these interesting controversies helped shape the faith in the way countless Christians around the world practice it today.
From the selection of Matthias, through the great councils battling heresies which usually sought balance between two extreme and opposing positions on a particular issue, down to the present day, we continue to immerse ourselves ever more deeply in the mystery and contemplation of what exactly took place in that stable and on that executioner’s hill outside Jerusalem and in that nearby rock-hewn tomb, and more importantly, what relevance it has for us human beings and the cosmos at large.
All good theology combines these themes of balance and opposing impulses. Justice and mercy, love and pain, abandonment of self and personal fulfillment — all truly great religious men and women see these entities not as an “either/or,” but always as a “both/and.” Thus, we like Matthais can still profess that “We hold the death of the Lord deep in our hearts” without it sounding ridiculous or self-contradictory.
After Matthias’ martyrdom, his relics (along with many other important early Christian artifacts including pieces of the True Cross) were supposedly brought to Rome by Constantine’s mother, St. Helena. We recently celebrated his memory this month on May 14, a relatively recent change to bring his feast closer to that of the Ascension, when these events took place.
Michael M. Canaris of Collingswood is an administrator at Fairfield University’s Center for Faith and Public Life and is on the faculty for the Department of Philosophy, Theology, and Religious Studies at Sacred Heart University.
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