Jerome

The path of the fathers. A Brief Introduction to Patristics The artists Van Eyck and Dürer depicted Jerome bending over the manuscript. He sits at a music stand, like the evangelists in the Carolingian prayer books. The sleepy lion, like a cat, stretched out at the table. Jerome's head is in the radiance of rays: apparently, inspiration descended on him. An hourglass, a cardinal's hat and several books complete the picture... In fact, it was not always like this. “I was born a Christian, from Christian parents; From the cradle I was fed Catholic milk.” But this touching confession of faith should not mislead us. Until the age of thirteen, Jerome remained the only and spoiled child in a wealthy family from Stridon, a town on the border of Yugoslavia and Italy. His parents indulged his every whim. They were in no hurry to baptize their son, let him “have his time.” At first, Jerome went to the local school. He was a gifted but difficult student: a vivid imagination, a tenacious memory, a receptive, ardent, impetuous character. He was soon transferred to the magnificent Milanese and then to the Roman school, where he studied grammar, rhetoric and philosophy. Rome made an indelible impression on the native of distant Dalmatia: “O mighty city, ruler of the world, praised by the apostle!” He became familiar with the metropolitan eloquence, voraciously read the Latin classics, which determined his style and spirit. Subsequently, he attacked Cicero in order to convince himself that he had freed himself from his influence. He moved cautiously away from the teachers who had shaped him. However, unlike the Cappadocians, who were indifferent to pagan antiquity, he had fairly strong ties to Rome and Roman literature. Hard work did not stop young Jerome from having fun. He probably gave himself up to entertainment with all the ardor of his nature. Light, thoughtless connections followed one after another - memories of them would later drive him into the Chalcis desert. Another thing is friendships. He became close to Vonotius and Rufinus. I visited the catacombs with my friends. Rome, after all, was also a city of martyrs. Jerome was too demanding to be satisfied with little. Together with Vonotius, he entered the list of catechumens at the beginning of Lent 366 and was baptized by Pope Liberius on Easter night. A new life was ahead. Jerome leaves for Gaul and stops in Trier, resumes his studies, but at the same time for the first time feels the attraction of monastic life. The decision comes to indulge in contemplation and asceticism: “The time has come to engage in godly deeds.” The family was skeptical about his decision, but he and his friends still accepted obedience from Chromatius. Studying the Scriptures was their first priority. But this religious splendor quickly ended. “A squall came,” as he himself said, and the brotherhood fell apart. Jerome's perseverance was not broken by the test: it did not even discourage him. Without thinking twice, he goes to the East, where monasteries flourished in the deserts. Heaping blasphemies on his persecutors, he took with him the library and notes accumulated in Rome. He had to break up with his family, it wasn’t easy for him; Subsequently, he wrote to Heliodor: “The ruptures that frighten you, I suffered in my time.” While in Antioch, Jerome immersed himself in Bible study and deepened his knowledge of the Hebrew language. From Antioch he moved to the Chalcis desert, dotted with monastic monasteries. He longed for solitude, vigils, repentance and labor. But alas, nature and tastes demanded their way. His spirit was at odds with his soul, he was torn between secular literature and Holy Scripture. “I read the prophets and said to myself: how rude and wild their speech is. And after a night spent in vigil and prayer, I returned to Virgil, Cicero, Plato.” He was visited by a sobering vision, which he himself vividly described. It was during an attack of fever: “My spirit was caught up and appeared before the Judge. I felt a radiance so dazzling that I did not even dare to raise my eyes.” When asked about religion, “I am a Christian,” I answered. “You are lying,” He who sat on the throne objected to me, “you are not a Christian, but a Ciceronian. Where your treasure is, there will your heart be.” Zurbaran depicted this scene: Jerome, naked and bowed before Christ the Judge. And the angels whip him with frustrated belt whips. The hermit's trials continue. The turn came for other temptations. Loneliness fuels the imagination. The body, almost deprived of food and sleep, tries to take over. He is haunted by memories of lovely Roman dancers. “Oh, how many times, being in the desert, in the endless and scorched expanse, devoid of a trace of dwellings and serving as a haven for monks, I again dreamed of immersing myself in Roman pleasures. I saw myself entwined in dances with young maidens. There was not a single drop of blood left in my face from fasting, but desire burned in my exhausted body, and the fire of lust devoured my weak, half-dead flesh. Days and nights are mixed; Having come to my senses, I let out screams. I kept beating my chest. My cell itself, the accomplice of my shameful dreams, became terrible for me. Angry and indignant at myself, I went deeper and deeper into the desert.” Mental work turned out to be the savior. He threw himself into his studies, studied Hebrew, “a guttural and breathy language,” taking an educated Jew as a mentor. Such asceticism, as it turned out, is much more effective than hermit idleness. He found time to compose a biography, or rather, a panegyric to the hermit Paul of Thebes. “His threadbare tunic is more comforting to me than royal purple.” Such lives served as soulful reading for the Christian people of that time, greedy for all kinds of miracles. Around the same time, he compiled a Chronicle, for which he translated partly and partly rewrote the work of the historian Eusebius. This book became fundamental for all research in the field of the first centuries of Christianity. Jerome willingly mixed personal memories into the story, and sometimes even settled personal scores. Thus, having described the departure of Melania the Elder to Jerusalem and praised her virtues, he later disagreed with her in assessing Origen’s legacy and crossed out all the praise. Disputes about Arianism and echoes of the Antiochian schism disturbed the peace of the desert and gave rise to discord between the monks. The hermits split into warring groups: “Covered in ashes and burlap, we excommunicated the bishops,” Jerome sneered. Finally, losing all patience, our hero parted with these unwashed, ignorant and abusive monks, collected his belongings and returned to Antioch. Bishop Paulinus there ordained him; Jerome accepted the ordination without much reluctance, only on the condition that he remained faithful to his monastic calling and would not be restricted in his movements. And then he hit the road again. In 380/381 he found himself in Constantinople, hoping to take advantage of the reputable libraries there. Here he fell under the spell of Gregory the Theologian, who made him a follower of Origen. Origen completely captivated him with his learning; he called him “the newly-minted Teacher of the Church since the times of the apostles.” In the heat of friendship, Jerome translated twenty-eight of his sermons on the books of Jeremiah and Ezekiel. Subsequently, he equally vehemently renounced it. Meanwhile, Pope Damasus obtained imperial permission to convene a new council in 382. Jerome accompanied Bishop Paulinus of Antioch to the council. He took his library and manuscripts with him to Rome. At that time he was thirty-five years old, and he stood on the threshold of life's main achievements. Pope Damasus, himself a polymath and poet, appreciated him, listened to his advice, and then took him as his secretary. He soon found him a monumental task: he tasked Jerome with revising the Latin translation of the Gospels. Then the task was extended to the entire Bible, and this task took twenty years of Jerome’s life: this is where all his knowledge accumulated over many years of wanderings came to the benefit of the Church. Jerome's translation is called the Vulgate. Jerome found himself at the pinnacle of fame. There was talk of him as a possible pope; at least he himself reports this in a letter. Meanwhile, this misogynist is chosen as their advisor, interpreter of the Holy Scriptures and spiritual mentor by the most noble Roman women - Paul, Marcellus, Eustachius. In luxurious Aventine villas, he interprets Scripture to them. His severity attracts and encourages pious women. Such activity arouses more suspicion the more impeccable a person’s reputation is. Rumors spread throughout the city. He replied: “I would talk less with women if men were more interested in the Scriptures.” Yet this was not the custom of the Church. Both the highest Roman society, and especially the fashionable erudite dandies, were angry against the learned monk: not only did he introduce confusion into the established order of secular life, he also presented them with his translation of the New Testament to replace the previous one, to which everyone was accustomed. Jerome brands them, calling them “two-legged donkeys.” The courtiers did not forgive him for the pope’s favor. However, there were also his faults. Jerome's shortcomings were an obstacle to his best endeavors. He was angry, irreconcilable, mocking - his verbal portraits of secular scholars were so caustic and merciless that they provoked retaliatory rage: an atmosphere of hostility thickened around him. It was not enough for him to get even; he returned everything with interest. It was as if he relieved his soul by hurting and disgracing his opponent. He called Vigilantius (“Wakeful”) Dorminantius (“Drowsy”). He wrote to Helvidius: “Now you can be calm. Your crimes will glorify you." His morality was impeccable, but his tongue was unrestrained. Some pages of his teachings on virginity, addressed to young Eustachia, probably made her blush. It may be a sinful thing, success with noble matrons was for him a kind of self-affirmation: the restless Dalmatian always needed it. Like many spiritual teachers, he was suspicious. Wasn't the basis of his quarrel with Rufinus a rivalry over cherished souls? He prescribed the strictest deprivations for his flock, especially insisting on chastity: in his severity he resembles Tertullian. Moreover, the patrician women who besieged him did not at all contribute to his academic pursuits. One way or another, the general consensus recognized Jerome as the culprit in the untimely death of young Blesilla, daughter of Pavla: they said that he had starved her to death with fasting. The situation in Rome became tense. To add insult to injury, Pope Damasus also died. His successor, as one might expect, was not particularly disposed towards Jerome. Cursing “Babylonian” Rome, the learned monk again collected his belongings and sailed to the East with his brother Paulinian, philosophically noting that “both bad and good rumors will be dealt with in truth in the Kingdom of Heaven.” He was followed by several Roman aristocratic women with their friends, servants and household members. Jerome decided to settle in Judea. But where? There was already Rufinus and the monastery of Melania in Jerusalem. He chose Bethlehem. Three convents were established with Pavla's funds. Jerome founded a men's monastery, making it up mainly of Western monks, and took charge of it. His sermons addressed to the monks have been preserved. In them one can see a very pious mentor, firm in his faith. He continually launches into exegetical digressions and, like many preachers, is no longer able to stop. He cannot understand why the listeners begin to nod off. He watched Augustine's oratorical success with a jealous eye; he himself admitted this in his letters. He understood that his student had surpassed him here. Like Evager, he taught monks to copy manuscripts; this became one of the worthy traditions in the West. Here opens a long period of his creativity, which lasted more than thirty years, until his death. He had at his disposal a rich library and a thorough card index, accumulated through diligence during his travels. To begin with, he translated all the books of the Old Testament from Hebrew, and not from Greek (Septuagint), as had been done before him. He was the first Latin Father who knew Hebrew. He gave the initial development of the principles of scientific exegesis. These radical changes caused a storm of protests; Jerome was accused of arbitrary treatment of canonical texts. Augustine also joined the detractors, considering the whole enterprise disastrous. His comments are shallow in content and careless in form. Jerome was a scholar and philologist, but not a theologian or mystic. Filled with strong self-confidence, he decisively separated himself from Origen (as required by the enmity with Rufinus). His impetuous disposition also harmed the cause. He worked hard: the notes to the Book of the Prophet Obadiah took him (as he himself reports) two nights, and he commented on the Gospel of Matthew in just two weeks. In the same years (in 392) he wrote his History of Great Men. Following the example of Suetonius, he compiled a catalog, in our opinion, a biographical dictionary of persons who became famous after Christ. This is the first Latin patrolology of Christian history. Here, everyone is given as many lines as Jerome’s admiration or dislike requires. The list opens with information about Simon Peter and ends with the compiler’s own biography. He did not suffer from excess modesty. His correspondence includes 117 authentic letters. People turned to Jerome for advice from everywhere; St. also wrote to him. Augustine. Jerome's answer has reached us, so self-satisfied that it could have completely quarreled both of them if Augustine had the same disposition and less humility. “I advise you, young man,” he wrote, “not to poke your nose into the Holy Scriptures and not to anger the old man.” From the letters emerges an ascetic and insightful confessor, prone to caustic irony and capable of emotions and tears. They are distinguished by grace, liveliness, and often harshness, which, alas, no asceticism could soften. Without interrupting his solitary labors, Jerome took an active part in the struggle begun by Bishop Epiphanius of Salamis. A straightforward man, a born inquisitor, Epiphanius in his collection of eighty heresies, which he called the “box of poisons,” assigned Origen number 64. The Alexandrian religious teacher was given a biased, unjust verdict, and Palestine was seized by strife; It was here that Jerome burned everything he worshiped, took up arms against Origen, and quarreled with the Bishop of Jerusalem and with his friend Rufinus. These are the fruits of irrepressible jealousy. Origen's opponents almost succeeded in disarming the dissenters by imposing their terms of agreement on them; but then the whole Church was indignant, and Augustine was the first. Even the death of Rufinus (in 411) did not tame the old Dalmatian. Having learned about it, he exclaimed: “The scorpion was crushed on Sicilian land.” It was blind and senseless hatred, unworthy of an old ascetic, who clearly could not defeat the evil old man within himself. The last years of Jerome's life were sad. He was overcome by illnesses, his vision weakened day by day. He lost his closest friends, first of all Pavel; “Farewell, Paul,” he said, “help your elderly friend with prayer.” He was then fifty-seven years old. Then it was Marcella's turn. Like the entire West, Jerome was shocked by political events - the invasion of the barbarians and especially the fall of Rome in 410, which stunned the world as much as the fall of Jerusalem in other centuries. “Rome is under siege. I don't have enough voice. I dictate, and sobs interrupt my words. It is captured, the city that ruled the universe." The illness aggravated the sorrows. In his notes to Ezekiel he complains: “These plates I dictate by the flickering light of my lamp. The interpretation of Scripture helps me to dispel some of the sadness of my broken soul. And in addition to external adversities, my eyes are weakening, threatening to go blind over the years, and in the uncertain flickering of the lamp it is difficult to re-read the Hebrew texts, written so small that you can barely understand them even in daylight, in sunlight.” His life was threatened by Saracen robbers, and he had to hastily flee (410–412). For a time he was invigorated by the Pelagian strife. Victory over heresy illuminated his soul. He congratulated Augustine, to whom his last letter, covered with pre-sunset goodness, was addressed. Life gradually took away from him, and he somehow became accustomed to hardships: “Those who are haunted by the thought of death often have no time for earthly concerns,” he wrote. Exhausted, blind and alone, the old fighter finally found peace in the Lord on September 30, 419 or 420. Jerome said of himself that he was “at the same time a philosopher, rhetorician, grammarian and dialectician, versed in Hebrew, Greek and Latin, a connoisseur of three languages,” which was truly unheard of for a Latin at that time. As a writer, he has his merits and demerits, which he admits with serenity, apparently without suffering from wounded pride. He is a classic of the language and embodies the type of philologist. He is especially concerned about literary grace. His correspondence is a masterpiece of style: even using expressive expressions, he never sins against taste. His severe asceticism was always combined with an almost painful irritability and an excess of sensitivity. He is a fierce debater. If he manages to defeat the enemy, he finishes him off. Losing in an argument, he uses a pen soaked in poison. He is vain and touchy, not disposed to cordiality and sympathy. Despite obvious literary tact, he is largely deprived of human tact. Noble Roman women knew how to tame this scolding ascetic, communicating on his favorite soil of Scripture. When his scholarship was recognized, he was unconditionally ready to share everything he knew and could. Even though Jerome did not adopt their evangelical meekness from the Roman women, the women still felt in their hearts that this rude man was a vulnerable and almost defenseless man. The persecutor and sarcastic Rufina wept like a father over the coffin of Blesilla. This man touches and disarms us all the more because he does not hide his shortcomings at all. He doesn't have the unctuousness of a churchman at all. Faith did not at all soften his human traits, no matter what! The personality is revealed in him very clearly: both in appearance and in speech. But everything is good for the Lord. The Bethlehem ascetic also agreed with Him. And he, imbued with a lyricism unusual for him, spoke about the mystery of Christmas and with his mental eye contemplated the One in whom “the earth bore its fruit.” His diligence and learning are aimed at clarifying the Scriptures, his austere life inspires respect and averts slander, his obvious love for the Church and careful attitude towards orthodoxy - all these are the merits of the learned ascetic before posterity. And the Lord looked upon all this in His mercy. We are indebted to Jerome for his work, which rendered an enormous service to the Church. Both in life and after his death, he remains an unfading light. Following Origen, he laid the foundation for scientific exegesis. His authority was so great in the Middle Ages that, falling into anachronism, they began to call him a cardinal. Renaissance figures paid tribute to him. Erasmus published his works. He brought joy and inspiration to artists of the 15th-18th centuries. He was revered more than all other men of Christian antiquity. His true human form is in his writings. Jerome interprets the story of the Nativity: a poor man was born, surrounded by poverty, from a poor mother. Turning his thoughts to this incident, the stern monk softens and becomes agitated. By the humility of the Son of God we were saved, by His poverty we were enriched. Sermon on Christmas Day “And she laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn” (Luke 2:7). The mother laid Him down, but Joseph did not dare to touch the child, knowing that he was not born of him. Amazed and happy, he did not dare to touch the child. “And she laid Him in a manger.” Why in the nursery? Then, so that the prophecy of the prophet Isaiah would come true: “The ox knows his owner, and the donkey his master’s manger” (Isaiah 1:3). It is also written: “You keep man and beast, O Lord” (Ps 35:7). If you are a man, bread is your food. Animal? your destiny is a manger. “Because there was no place for them in the inn”: the wickedness of the Jews filled the entire city. And Christ did not find a place for himself in the Holy of Holies, where gold and precious stones glitter, silk and silver shimmer; no, it was not gold and luxury that surrounded him, he was born in a place of rot, for this is how I see a manger (where there is a manger, there is a place of rot), in the stench of our sins. He was born in a manger in order to lift up those born in the dust: “He raises the poor from the dust” (Ps 112:7). He was born on the dunghill where Job dwelt and from where he was exalted. “Because there was no room for them in the hotel.” May all the poor find consolation: Joseph and Mary, the mother of the Lord, did not have a slave, lower than a servant; from Galilee, from the city of Nazareth, they came on foot and carried luggage; they themselves were gentlemen and servants. And a wonderful thing: they took refuge in a stall, but did not go into the city. Their poverty was timid, and they stayed away from luxury. And judge for yourself about their poverty: they entered a stall, and it is not said that it was on the way; no, a side path led to him: they strayed from the beaten path onto the gospel path. And they entered a distant path. And there was no other place for the Lord to be born except in the stable; stalls with oxen and donkeys! Oh, if only I could see this stable of God’s rest! And in our own way, we honor Christ by removing His manger from the dirt and replacing it with silver. But for me, the former ones were more precious: it is the pagans who need gold and silver. The Christian faith places the nursery above the litter. And He who was born in this stable despised gold and silver. I do not condemn those who think to honor Christ with such luxury (it is not for me to condemn those who decorated the church with golden bowls): but the Lord, the creator of the world, is wonderful to me, born not in gold and silver, but on rot. Through our long speeches we heard the Baby crying in the manger, and we bowed to Him: let us bow in peace even now. Let us lift Him up in our raised arms and worship the Son of God. From a long time ago there was thunder in the heavens from Almighty God, and it did not save; there was a cry, and he saved. Why am I telling you all this? Because pride does not save, but humility does. The Son of God was in heaven, and was not honored; descended to earth and they worshiped him. He held the sun, the moon and the angelic army at hand, and was still not honored: and was born on earth as a man, became man fully and inseparably, in order to redeem the whole earth. And what is not human in Him is not subject to salvation: He would have taken on flesh, rejecting the soul, and there would have been no salvation for the soul. What if He saved the smaller part and neglected the most important? Or you can say this: “I received the soul for its salvation; and although the soul is higher than the body, feelings are its most important part; So, if He did not sanctify the feelings, then He saved only the soul, and that is by no means the most important thing in it.” But you answer: “I did not accept human feelings, so that human sins, in other words, bad intentions, would not settle in His heart.” But if He could not control His own creation, then how can you blame me for not being able to cope with His rebellious forces? We, however, missed our subject and started talking beyond the need: the intention was different, but the language carried us astray. Let us prepare to listen to the priest and hear with a sensitive ear all that which we were not privileged to say, and let us bless the Lord, to Him be glory forever and ever. Amen.