The Feast of Saint Bartholomew the Apostle – Mark Winward
Monday was the Feast of Saint Bartholomew the Apostle, transferred this year from Sunday, August 24th, the traditional date of his martyrdom. Bartholomew, or Bar-Tolmai—literally “son of Tolmai”—was one of Jesus’ original twelve disciples according to the synoptic gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Many scholars also identify him with Nathanael, who appears in the Gospel of John. Bartholomew the disciple became Bartholomew the Apostle when the risen Christ, in the Gospel of Matthew, gave the Great Commission, sending them out to “make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” Thus, those sent out with a mission became Apostles, going to the ends of the earth to transform the world.
According to second-century tradition, Bartholomew traveled as a missionary to India and then Armenia, where he was martyred. Eastern tradition holds that he converted an Armenian king, Polymius, to Christianity. Enraged by the king’s conversion and fearing Roman reprisal, Polymius’ brother, Prince Astyages, ordered Bartholomew’s torture and execution. That tradition recounts that he was flayed alive in Albanopolis, Armenia. For this reason, St. Bartholomew is honored as the patron saint of Armenia, as well as gruesomely of tanners, leatherworkers, bookbinders, glovemakers, and butchers. Because of his grisly death, Bartholomew is often depicted in art, iconography, and sculpture holding his own skin. Perhaps the most famous depiction is in the Sistine Chapel, where a restored St. Bartholomew holds his complete skin in heaven.
Yet Bartholomew is hardly alone in such a witness. Jesus knew the sacrifices his followers would make to spread the Good News of his kingdom in word and deed. The great second-century Church Father, Tertullian, famously wrote, “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church.” Especially in the first three centuries of Christianity, believers were beaten, tortured, and killed in ways limited only by the imagination of their persecutors. Their steadfast refusal to deny Jesus as the risen Lord inspired countless others to embrace a faith whose very symbol was a Roman instrument of execution—the cross.
Who would possibly die in such a way for what they knew was a myth? Perhaps the greatest testimony to Jesus’ resurrection is the fate of the twelve Apostles themselves. Bartholomew was flayed alive. Andrew died on a cross. Simon was crucified. James, son of Zebedee, was beheaded. James, son of Alphaeus, was beaten to death. Thomas was pierced with a lance. Matthias was stoned and then beheaded. Matthew was slain by the sword. Peter was crucified upside down. Thaddeus was shot with arrows. Philip was hanged. Only John died a natural death, though even he was exiled to a remote island in the Mediterranean Sea.
The demands that Jesus places on those who follow him are extreme. I must admit, I am perplexed by how we in the Church sometimes blunt this sharp edge of the gospels and Christian history. If we practice our faith as Jesus intended, it cannot be reduced to a tame Sunday School faith confined to the four walls of a church once a week. The faith Jesus calls us to is nothing less than a hungering after God—even to the point of laying down our lives before him. It overturns our priorities, shakes our foundations, and at times sets us against friends and family, making us strangers in this world.
Such sacrifice is nothing less than heroic. Heroic faith is the difference between mere contribution and true sacrifice. Following Jesus Christ can never be reduced to a polite Sunday-morning routine. It demands walking the way of the cross. It demands readiness to face ridicule and rejection for our faith. It demands that we lay everything we possess, and all that we are, at the foot of the cross. And it demands that we kneel before Jesus Christ as the Lord of our lives—our central priority and focus.
The irony of the cross is that it represents far more than sorrow and sacrifice. Just as when Christ first walked that path, the way of the cross leads to eternal and abundant life. Paradoxically, as we surrender the things we place before God, we lighten our burdens, discovering a joy and freedom otherwise impossible. Far from throwing our lives into chaos, living under the Lordship of Christ brings order. And finally, we know peace—for in losing our lives, we truly gain them. The great reformer Martin Luther famously wrote, “A religion that gives nothing, costs nothing, and suffers nothing, is worth nothing.” The converse is surely equally true: a faith that gives everything, costs everything, and suffers everything is most certainly worth everything.