The Massacre at Thessalonica and the Boldness of Ambrose

Thessalonica is a large and very populous city. It belongs to Macedonia, but it is the capital of Thessaly and Achaia, as well as of many other provinces governed by the prefect of Illyricum. A great riot broke out there, and several of the magistrates were stoned and violently attacked. [a] When the emperor heard the news, he blazed with anger. He could not bear the surge of his passion, and he did not even check its first rush with the bridle of reason. Instead he let his rage carry out his revenge. Once the emperor’s passion had been given authority, it acted as though it were a ruler in its own right. It broke the bonds and yoke of reason, drew the swords of injustice right and left without distinction, and killed the innocent and the guilty together. No trial came before the sentence. No one was convicted of the crimes. Crowds of people were mowed down like grain at harvest. It is said that seven thousand died.

News of this terrible calamity reached Ambrose. When the emperor arrived at Milan, he wanted to enter the church as usual. Ambrose met him outside the outer porch and forbade him to step over the sacred threshold. “It seems, sir,” he said, “that you do not grasp how great a deed of bloodshed has been done. Your rage has died down, but your reason has not yet recognized what kind of deed it was. Perhaps your imperial power keeps you from recognizing the sin, and your power stands in the light of your reason. “But we must know how our nature passes away and is subject to death. We must know the dust of our ancestors, from which we came and to which we are swiftly returning. We must not be so dazzled by the gleam of the purple that we fail to see the weakness of the body it clothes. You are a sovereign, sir, over men whose nature is the same as yours, and who are in truth your fellow slaves. For there is one Lord and Sovereign of mankind, the Creator of the universe. “With what eyes, then, will you look on the temple of our common Lord? With what feet will you tread that holy threshold? How will you stretch out your hands, still dripping with the blood of unjust slaughter? How will you receive the all-holy Body of the Lord in such hands? How will you, who in your rage unjustly poured out so much blood, lift the precious Blood to your lips? “Go away. Do not try to add another crime to the one you have already committed. Accept the restriction that God, the Lord of all, agrees should be laid on you. He will be your physician; he will make you well.”

Theodosius had been brought up in the sacred scriptures, and he knew clearly what belonged to priests and what belonged to emperors. So he bowed to Ambrose’s rebuke and went back to the palace sighing and weeping. A long time went by. Eight months had passed when the feast of our Savior’s birth came around, and the emperor sat in his palace pouring out a storm of tears. Now Rufinus was at that time master of the offices. Because he was on familiar terms with his imperial master, he could speak to him very freely. He came up to him and asked why he was weeping. With a bitter groan and still more tears, the emperor said: “You are making light of it, Rufinus, because you do not feel my troubles. I am groaning and grieving over my own calamity. For servants and beggars the way into the church lies open. They can go in without fear and bring their requests to their own Lord. I do not dare set foot there. And besides this, the door of heaven is shut to me, for I remember the voice of the Lord, which plainly says, ‘Whatever you bind on earth will have been bound in heaven.’” [b]

Rufinus replied: “With your permission I will hurry to the bishop, and by my pleading persuade him to lift your penalty.” “He will not give way,” said the emperor. “I know that the sentence Ambrose has passed is just, and respect for my imperial power will never move him to break the law of God.” Rufinus pressed his case again and again, promising to win Ambrose over, and at last the emperor ordered him to go with all speed. Then Theodosius, the victim of false hopes, trusted Rufinus’s promises and followed after him in person. As soon as the divine Ambrose saw Rufinus, he cried out: “Rufinus, you have the shamelessness of a dog. You were the one who advised this terrible slaughter. You have wiped the shame from your forehead, and though you are guilty of this mad outrage against the image of God, you stand here without fear and without a blush.” Then Rufinus began to beg and plead, and told him that the emperor would soon arrive. Burning with divine zeal, the holy Ambrose cried out: “Rufinus, I am telling you in advance: I will stop him from crossing the sacred threshold. If he means to turn his sovereign power into a tyrant’s, I too will gladly submit to a violent death.” At this Rufinus sent a messenger to tell the emperor what mind the archbishop was in, and urged him to stay in the palace. Theodosius had already reached the middle of the forum when he received the message. “I will go,” he said, “and accept the disgrace I deserve.” He went up to the sacred precincts, but he did not enter the holy building. The archbishop was seated in the house of greeting, and there the emperor came to him and begged that his bonds might be loosed. [d]

“Your coming,” said Ambrose, “is the coming of a tyrant. You are raging against God; you are trampling on his laws.” “No,” said Theodosius. “I am not attacking the laws that have been laid down, and I am not trying to cross the sacred threshold wrongfully. But I ask you to loose my bond, to take into account the mercy of our common Lord, and not to shut against me a door that our Master has opened to all who repent.” The archbishop replied: “What repentance have you shown since your enormous crime? You have inflicted wounds that are very hard to heal. What ointment have you put on them?” “It is your duty,” said the emperor, “both to prescribe the ointment and to mix it. It is mine to receive what I am given.” Then the divine Ambrose said: “You let your passion carry out justice. It was your passion, not your reason, that passed judgment. So issue an edict that will make the sentences of your passion null and void. Let the sentences that have been published, imposing death or the seizure of property, be suspended for thirty days to await the judgment of reason. “When those days have passed, let those who wrote the sentences bring out their orders. Then, and only then, when passion has calmed down, reason alone will act as judge. It will examine the sentences and see whether they are right or wrong. If it finds them wrong, it will cancel them. If they are just, it will confirm them. And the delay will do no wrong to those who have been rightly condemned.” The emperor accepted this suggestion and thought it excellent. He ordered the edict to be issued at once and gave it the authority of his own signature. At this the divine Ambrose loosed the bond.

Then the deeply faithful emperor came boldly into the holy temple. But he did not pray to his Lord standing, or even kneeling. He lay face down on the ground and cried out with David, “My soul clings to the dust; give me life according to your word.” [e] He tore out his hair, he struck his head, he wet the ground with his tears, and he prayed for pardon. When the time came for him to bring his offerings to the holy table, he stood up, weeping all the while, and approached the sanctuary. [f] After making his offering as he usually did, he stayed inside, at the rail. But once more the great Ambrose did not keep silent, and he taught him the distinction of places. First he asked him whether he wanted anything. When the emperor said that he was waiting to share in the divine mysteries, Ambrose sent word to him by the chief deacon: “The inner place, sir, is open only to priests. To everyone else it is closed. Go out and stand where the others stand. The purple can make emperors, but not priests.” This instruction too the faithful emperor accepted very gladly. He answered that it was not out of any presumption that he had stayed inside the rail, but because he had understood that this was the custom at Constantinople. “I owe thanks,” he added, “for being cured of this error too.”

So both the archbishop and the emperor showed a great and shining light of virtue. To me both are admirable: the one for his brave words, the other for his willingness to be taught; the archbishop for the warmth of his zeal, and the ruler for the purity of his faith. When Theodosius returned to Constantinople, he kept within the bounds of reverence he had learned from the great archbishop. For when a feast brought him into the divine temple once again, he brought his gifts to the holy table and then went straight out. The bishop at that time was Nectarius. He asked the emperor what reason he could possibly have for not staying inside. Theodosius answered with a sigh: “I have learned, with great difficulty, the difference between an emperor and a priest. It is not easy to find a man able to teach me the truth. Ambrose alone deserves the title of bishop.” So great is the good that comes from a rebuke when it is brought home by a man of bright and shining goodness.