A Week in the Life of Rome Page 6
Stachys walked toward his house, but his pace got slower and slower as he tried in vain to think of how he was going to begin the conversation about Tertius and a tutor with Maria. He passed a disabled beggar and spit on the ground in front of her.
“Stachys!” It was Marcus. “Stachys, we talked about this. We do not spit at the crippled.”
“Sorry, force of habit. You know, the evil eye.” He turned to the beggar. “Sorry.” Marcus gave him a look, and so Stachys pulled out his small leather bag and dug out the smallest coin he had. He dropped it on the ground in front of the beggar, who snatched it up quickly. He felt bad for spitting at her, but something bigger was nagging at him. Was the tutor-student relationship really a bad thing? Could he say no to Urbanus? He hadn’t thought about his own childhood in the household of Urbanus’s father in a long time. But he knew one thing. He wished he had had a father who could have said no. But if he had had to play the part of a woman in order to become a man, why shouldn’t his son? Stachys hoped that the God of the Way-followers would see that he had given alms to the beggar. He hoped that this God would help him figure out what to do.
Marcus shook his head. “Stachys, just because someone is poor doesn’t mean they’re envious. And even if they are, they can’t stare at you and make some misfortune happen to you.”
“I know, I believe that, but . . .”
“The evil eye has no power over you. You don’t need superstition to protect you from it. If you’re worried about it, pray like I taught you.”
“Right. Pray. I will. Thanks.” Stachys went into the house, and Marcus followed him in. “Marcus, do you mind if I talk to your mother alone?”
“No, not at all. C’mon, Tertius, let’s go fill up the water jugs.” Marcus and Tertius each took a jug, and they headed out the door toward the nearest fountain.
When Stachys told Maria of Urbanus’s offer, Maria was visibly agitated. She couldn’t look Stachys in the eyes, and Stachys noticed her hands start to shake. After a long silence and a heavy sigh, she forced out the words, “You know . . .” She cleared her throat and tried again, her voice quivering. “You know what the apostles say about that. You know it’s wrong.”
“Now Maria,” he said as calmly as he could. “Sometimes you don’t understand Roman customs. This is what’s expected of a boy who wants a career. Urbanus is doing him a favor.”
After a long pause, Maria shook her head, with her mouth open, but nothing came out. Finally, she was able to whisper, “No.” And then a little louder, “No. No you can’t. You say you want to be initiated to our table, but then you do this. This is not what we do, you know that. The apostles are against it.”
“But that’s because they’re all Judeans,” Stachys protested. “They don’t understand Roman customs, either. And they don’t understand that this will help my career, too—it will help all of us.”
“Peter will never baptize you while you have your son in that situation.”
“About that . . . I’ve been thinking. I’ve been thinking maybe I’ll postpone baptism for a while. My patron will soon be prefect of the grain supply, and I will have the opportunity to advance my business. This is what I’ve been saying, it will help all of us. But I can’t take care of business and maintain my network if I’m too restricted by rules and commandments.”
Maria tried to hold back tears, but soon she began to cry. Stachys let out an exasperated sigh. “Don’t you see that what you’re asking of me—what the Way-followers expect—it’s too much! You’re asking me to become a traitor to the empire. To betray my ancient traditions. Can one swim upstream in the Tiber?” Maria turned away from Stachys and stood with her back to him, sobbing.
Stachys turned and walked out of the house. He felt he could not go back for the evening meal and worship, since he was afraid Maria would have the whole gathering praying about this, and Marcus was going to want to lay hands on him and ask their God to help him with his decision—which meant Marcus would be asking their God to change his mind. Stachys didn’t know where he was walking, but he walked with conviction anyway. Soon he found himself at the river, walking over the bridge into the neighborhood of Trans-Tiber. It seemed as though all of his plans were falling apart. Advancement was in his grasp, and then Urbanus’s request . . . the very thing he thought would bring security now seemed like a threat. He wondered why safety seemed so elusive.
As Sabina directed the household slaves in the preparation of dinner at Urbanus’s house, Urbanus covered his head and began the evening ritual. He opened the shrine cabinet near the front door and took down the bronze statue of the household god. He brought the statue to the center table in the dining room and placed a small amount of food on the statue’s plate as an offering. Then he left an offering in the pantry for the gods of the storeroom as the family and guests gathered in the dining room and reclined on the couches. The reclining benches were set on three sides of the room, in a squared-off U-shape. Urbanus and Sabina reclined at the head of the room, at the top of the U. Their guests took their places, with the highest-ranking guests closest to the hosts and their unmarried daughters seated on chairs behind them. The slaves began serving the first course, beginning with Urbanus.
At Stachys’s house, a very different kind of dinner was coming together. Just like they did every night, the families brought food to share. Philologus and Julia arrived with their children, apologizing that they had nothing to bring, but Maria assured them that this was what the agapē was for, and someday they would have an abundance, and others would come empty-handed to benefit from their surplus.
Household Religion
In Roman society the head of a household, or paterfamilias, was considered the priest of the family. He performed rituals of worship and sacrificed to several (often unnamed) deities who were believed to watch over the house and its inhabitants. The priests of Roman religion wore a hood or covered their heads to prevent them from seeing bad omens. Bad omens often came in the form of lightning, birds flying in an unfavorable direction, or other phenomena in the sky. The hood prevented the priest from looking up at the wrong time. Apparently, if the priest didn’t see it, it didn’t count.
Many homes had shrines or altars, and privately owned houses often had idol niches built into the wall near the door. These shrines or niches held small statues of the patron gods of the household. The lares were the good spirits that watched over the house, and the shrine or niche that held the bronze statue was called the lararium. On certain days of the month, flowers were placed at the shrine, and at family meals a small offering of food was put in the lararium as a sacrifice and sign of trust in these unnamed gods. The penates were the gods who watched over the pantry or storeroom. They were the guardians of the household’s food supply. Sometimes the penates were depicted in the form of snakes, after the Greek version of these gods, and in fact, finding a real snake in the pantry was thought to be a good sign since snakes kept rodents away.
Some households also had shrines to Vesta, the goddess of the hearth, as well as Janus, the two-headed god, who looked toward both the past and the future. This god was thought to guard the threshold or doorway and watched over the comings and goings of the family.
For most Romans, religion was a matter of participation in good citizenship and meant keeping up the rituals for the sake of the gods’ protection. What we might call personal devotion was not a part of traditional Greco-Roman religion but did come into Rome with the mystery religions from the East. In time, Christianity was seen as one of these suspicious mystery cults that advocated “personal religion”—that is, religion based on individual or small group conversion and commitment. Although many Romans were suspicious of religions based on personal devotion, they did have their own brand of personal belief, which mostly had to do with what we would call the occult—astrology, horoscopes, fortunetelling, and magic.
Figure 2.4. A typical example of the lares (singular lar), or household idols, this idol was probably used in traditional
(pagan) family rituals in ancient Rome. (National Archaeological Museum, Naples)
Figure 2.5. Another example of the lares (singular lar), or household idols. Note the plate in the deity’s left hand, which could have been used for the placement of a small offering of food as part of a mealtime ritual. (National Archaeological Museum, Naples)
Figure 2.6. An example of a household shrine from a wealthy house, Ostia Antica
Figure 2.7. A mosaic shrine or idol niche (National Archaeological Museum, Naples)
Stachys was conspicuously absent, but Maria acted as though she hadn’t noticed, until it was time for prayer requests. She tried her best to word her concern delicately, but Tertius could sense that it had something to do with him. Marcus gave him a comforting look, and the people at the gathering prayed.
After the call-and-response “Lord, have mercy,” Marcus sat down at the front of the room and spoke. “As you know, ever since our Lord Iesua ascended into the heavens, we have been anxiously waiting for him to return, as he promised. But it has now been seventeen years, and obviously he hasn’t come back yet. Why he delays, we cannot say, but we find ourselves without most of our Judean brothers and sisters, who know the Scriptures and who heard Iesua teach. Even most of the people who were in Jerusalem on that Pentecost are dispersed. And now we hear that some of the Way-followers in Greece have even died without the blessing of seeing the Lord return. So, after speaking with Peter and getting his permission, I’ve started writing a biography of sorts—the story of Iesua, and Peter, and the other disciples. It’s not finished, but I’d like to begin reading sections of it to you at our evening gatherings, so you can hear and remember the stories of what our Lord Iesua said and did.”
The room buzzed with hushed excitement as everyone whispered their approval. Marcus opened a scroll and began to read. “When Iesua left the synagogue—mind you, I’m not trying to write down everything that happened, and it won’t be in chronological order; it’s really just a collection of stories about the things that happened during that time—When Iesua left the synagogue, he went to the house of Simon—that’s Peter, by the way—he went to the house of Simon and Andrew, with Ja—”
Marcus’s throat caught as he tried to speak the name “James,” and everyone became silent as a feeling of melancholy hung over the room. Most of the group had never met the oldest son of Zebedee, but they knew that he had been executed by Herod Agrippa eight years earlier.
Marcus tried to suppress his emotion. James had always been good to him when he was an eleven-year-old boy desperate to keep up with the men as they followed Iesua around and listened to his teachings. In truth, everyone was good to young Marcus, but James was especially kind to him, perhaps because Marcus’s Hebrew name, John, was the same as James’s younger brother. Or maybe it was because James knew that Marcus’s father, Maria’s first husband, had died trying to protect John the Baptizer from execution. Marcus could remember when his father went to ask the Baptizer whether he was the one or whether they should wait for another. He could remember waiting for his father to come home that day, but he never came home. Marcus cleared his throat and continued. “He went to the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. Simon’s mother-in-law lay sick with a fever. They immediately told him about her. He approached, grasped her hand, and helped her up. Then the fever left her and she waited on them.”
The group murmured with elation to hear a story of Iesua healing someone. “A miracle!” they said.
But Maria was silent. Remembering the murder of James brought the doubts rushing back to her mind. How could the Lord let that happen? James, and Stephen, and Marcus’s father. She worried that someday that kind of danger could come to Rome, and then what? Would she lose her son, too?
Marcus addressed the group. “Do you confess with your mouth that Iesua is Dominus?”
“Yes,” they all said in unison.
“Do you believe in your heart that the Father raised him from the dead?”
“Yes.”
“Then you will be saved.”
After another prayer, Marcus said, “Tonight’s Thanksgiving Bread was brought by Ampliatus and his family, from their home just north of here on Lata Street.” Ampliatus handed the loaves of bread to Marcus, who held them up. “Although we meet in different homes, in different parts of the city, we are one—and we are one with all Way-followers who meet in every city, in every part of the world—and so we share the one bread to remind us of our unity.” He looked at Prisca. “We remember that we are also one with those brothers and sisters who should be here in Rome with us but who are banished and scattered, like Prisca’s father and mother, Aquila and Priscilla. Iesua said, I am the bread of life. Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, yet they died. This is the bread that comes down out of heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread that came down out of heaven. If anyone eats this bread, he will live forever, and this bread that I give for the life of the world is my flesh. Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in him. This is the mystery of our faith. The Christos has died; the Christos is risen; the Christos will come again.”
Marcus led the group in the Our Father and then said, “Brothers and sisters, John the Baptizer pointed to Iesua and said, ‘Look—here is the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.’ Now let’s take some time to examine our spirits and ask ourselves whether we have failed to obey the commandments of the Lord.” He paused for a while, and then went on. “With that in mind, we confess our sins to the Lord. Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, grant us peace.”
Then Marcus held the bread up for everyone to see. “Iesua said, Take this, all of you, and eat it: this is my body which will be given up for you.” Marcus held up the cup of wine and said, “Take this, all of you, and drink from it: this is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. It will be shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven. Do this in memory of me. Look—here is the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” Marcus broke the bread and began to pass the pieces around.
Philologus, Ampliatus, and young Clemens were ready with their baskets. Marcus put three large pieces of the Thanksgiving Bread into the three baskets, and the deacons took off out the door to bring the bread to the other gatherings. Then the group settled into a more relaxed posture and shared a meal of all the things the people had brought from their homes, including fish, cheeses, a mixture of fried sardines and anchovies, a stew of lentils and lupin beans with zucchini, and bread with hummus.
As the meal was winding down, Rhoda started singing, and the others joined in. She sang each line, and the rest of the gathering echoed:
He is the image of the invisible God
The one who brings forth all of creation
For all things were created by him
All things have been created through him and for him
He is before all things
And all things are brought together in him
He is the Source
First to come forth from the dead
So that in all things he might be the ultimate one
For it seemed good for all the fullness to reside in him
And through him to reconcile all things to himself
Having made peace through him
When the singing was done, and Philologus and the other deacons had returned, they lit some torches and took the leftovers from the meal out to some people who were known to the group to be hungry.
3
THE DAY OF MERCURY
FOR STACHYS, THE DAY BEGAN in the best possible
way that a Roman client could hope—with an invitation to dinner at his patron’s house that evening. Stachys knew he should be happy about the invitation, but he was not naive. He knew that the invitation came with strings attached and that at some point in the evening, Urbanus was going to press him for an answer to his request. It would come at a time when it would be extremely difficult to say no.
Stachys walked home from Urbanus’s house in the rain. By the time he reached the Fontinalis Gate, he was soaked and feeling sorry for himself. Still, he didn’t go inside right away. He stopped and looked at his house. The house that once was his to rule as he saw fit was now taken over by this gathering of Way-followers with all their strange and foreign rules. What had Maria done to him? He could barely remember when he first realized that he would rather have her around than some younger, more Roman wife. He had moved her from her apartment across the river, along with her son, Marcus, and her freedwoman, Rhoda. What exactly had he promised her about seeking membership in the Way-followers? He couldn’t really remember, and he couldn’t remember whether he knew what he was getting himself into. He only knew that from that time on it was like falling down a hill, and he found himself in the school of the Way-followers, with the expectation that when Marcus thought he was ready, he would be baptized. He sighed and walked through the door as a crack of thunder shook the house.