In this holiday season, many are turning their thoughts to religious celebrations. This year I am also aware of the feeling of being profoundly disturbed. Barely a day goes by without another story about a powerful man abusing his position to prey on women and girls. Revelations of corruption at the highest levels of government surface on such a regular basis as to seem barely newsworthy. And then there is the blatant lying. It is one thing to lament how politicians spin the truth. But the English language urgently needs someone to invent a new verb to describe the industrial production and distribution of brazen falsehoods.
As a priest and a parent of two girls, the state of moral anarchy on display is confounding and distressing. I find myself looking for a sense of perspective. Indeed, it does seem that we have been here before. In the third and early fourth century, Roman imperial power was waning. The emperors and their appointees wanted the empire to be great again. They took persecution of minorities to new heights. They sold off government offices to the highest bidder through elections in which votes were paid for. They cracked down on those who refused to participate in state-sponsored religion. They also demeaned women and girls, treating them as lesser human beings. Forced marriages, unwanted sexual advances and forced conversions were weapons the reigning powers used to crush dissent.
Against this backdrop of persecution and demeaning treatment, countless girls and young women took the lead in resisting Roman corruption. Writing much later, Jacbous De Voragine tells a typical story about how Quintianus, a consular official in Sicily, “baseborn, libidinous, greedy, and a worshipper of idols,” sought to pressure a young woman, Agatha. Quintianus wants her to conform to his desires. Agatha resists him, standing firm, and an increasingly frustrated Quintianus orders repeated torture that eventually leads to her death.
The more Rome persecuted, the greater resistance grew. Agatha’s martyrdom inspired another young Sicilian, Lucy of Syracuse. Lucy was caught in the crossfire of Emperor Diocletian’s persecution. Her crime? Feeding the hungry. It is said that Lucy wore a candle on her head to navigate the dark catacombs where people were hiding for fear of their lives. Refusing an arranged marriage, Lucy resisted her oppressors by using her dowry to feed the hungry. Once again, torture was deployed. It failed. Nothing could silence the light-bringing Lucy. Instead, she went to her death proclaiming her love for her fellow human beings and for the God who gave her strength.
St. Lucy’s saint’s day fell on Dec. 13. When we celebrated “Sankta Lucia,” I remembered alongside Lucy all those who have been subject to unwanted attention, abuse and pressure to change their minds. The stories of Agatha and Lucy continue to show us how the vulnerable can always make a difference, even when ranged against much more powerful forces.
Today we are blessed by other strong women, silence breakers, who offer similar hope. There is still much work to be done to advance gender equality. Men need to hear the voices of those who have been silenced and ignored. We also need to do as Billy Bush has recently done, and look into our own hearts and souls to ponder what we are doing to empower girls and women for the future.
It might even be instructive to remember what happened to the rapacious governor, Quintianus. As he was making off with Agatha’s riches, his two horses rebelled. One bit him and the other kicked him into the river. His body was never found. Contemporaries finding themselves riding high and mighty roughshod over the powerless may take note.
Agatha and Lucy chose light over darkness. They also refused to be silenced or diminished. During the holidays may we celebrate and honor all the silence breakers who are doing the same. The truth has the power to do something that the mightiest empire has never achieved: the power to change all of our worlds for the better.
Sharing the truth often hurts. But until we start listening to truth that the powerful would prefer suppressed, we will be destined to repeat the worst lessons of Roman imperial history.
The Rev. Dr. Guy J.D. Collins is rector of St. Thomas Church in Hanover and the Episcopal chaplain to Dartmouth College. He is also the author of Faithful Doubt: The Wisdom of Uncertainty.