“They’re relics from the early fourth century,” Bersei explained, “a time when Emperor Diocletian began his campaign of persecution—burning churches and killing Christians who wouldn’t denounce their faith. It’s also a time when early Christians secretly convened in the catacombs outside Rome to pray among the dead martyrs and saints laid to rest there—some in ornate stone coffins.” He pointed to one mounted on a sturdy platform.
“A sarcophagus,” observed Charlotte, admiring the craftsmanship.
“Yes. A sort of cousin to the Jewish ossuary we’re studying. Many early Christians were converted Jews who undoubtedly developed what were to become Christian burial rituals.”
They had stopped in front of a three-foot-high marble statue. “Here we are.” Bersei turned to her. “Do you know what this image portrays?”
Looking at it, she saw a young man with long curled hair, dressed in a tunic. A lamb was slung over his shoulders and he was holding its legs with both hands. Hanging at his side was a pouch containing a lyre.
“Looks like a shepherd.”
“Not bad. It’s actually called ‘The Good Shepherd.’ It was found in the catacombs. This image is how early Christians depicted Jesus.”
Charlotte gave the statue another once-over. “You’re kidding me.” The shepherd was boyish, with smooth features, its design Greco-Roman—not biblical.
“No. Ironic isn’t it? But keep in mind that this representation blended mythology with the Jesus story. This wasn’t intended to resemble him. It was an attempt to embody the ideal he represented—the protector, the shepherd. Orpheus, the pagan Greek god of art and song, was also blended into this image of Christ. Just as Orpheus’s heavenly music could calm and soothe even the most wild of beasts”—he pointed to the lyre hanging at the shepherd’s side—“Jesus’s words could tame the souls of sinners.”
“Just like the dolphin and the trident represent salvation and divinity.” Now she knew why he had brought her up here.
“Exactly.”
“Why though? Why didn’t they worship icons or the crucifix?” They were everywhere, she thought. Especially in this place. It was hard to imagine Catholicism without its gruesome cross.
“First off, it would’ve sent a clear message to the Romans that they were indeed Christians. It wouldn’t have been wise in an era of systematic persecution. And second, the early Christians didn’t embrace the notion of iconography. In fact, Peter and Paul forbade such things. That’s why images of the crucifix didn’t exist back then. That didn’t happen until Constantine came along.”
“That guy again.”
“Sure. He’s the forefather of the modern faith. Constantine changed all the rules. Crucifixions and even the catacombs themselves were abandoned when he came to power in the fourth century. That’s also when Christ was transformed into a true cult hero—a divine being. Crucifixes sprouted up, grand cathedrals built, and the Bible formally compiled. Literally, the faith went from underground to national stage.”
“It’s amazing—Constantine wasn’t really covered in my history classes—and I went to a Catholic high school! I really don’t know anything about him.”
Bersei took a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders. “In 312 AD, the Roman Empire was split between two factions of emperors—Constantine in the west, and his ally Licinius in the east versus Maximinus and Maxentius. Constantine had decided that the sun god, Sol Invictus, had preordained him to be the sole ruler of the entire empire. So with an army made up of an obscure group known as Christians, he battled his way all the way through northern Italy to within a few kilometers of Rome to the only bridge that crossed over the Tiber River... Milvian Bridge. When rumors spread that Maxentius’s army outnumbered Constantine’s by ten to one, the Christians quickly became demoralized. The dawn before his final push into Rome, Constantine was paying tribute to Sol, when in the sky above, he saw a miraculous sign shaped like a cross—the overlapping X and P, the Greek chi and rho, which were the first two letters of ‘Christ.’ He immediately roused his troops and proclaimed that their savior, Jesus Christ, had told him that ‘with this sign you shall conquer.’ Constantine ordered the blacksmiths to emblazon the symbol on all the shields, and the men had regained their courage. Later that day, the armies clashed in a bloody battle and miraculously Constantine emerged victorious.”
“And his army attributed the victory to Christ’s intervention?”
Bersei nodded. “Yes. And owing a debt to his soldiers, perhaps even inspired by the intoxicating power and persuasion of their passionate faith, Constantine later embraced their religion at the national level. Of course, one must also note that the ‘one god’ worshipped by Christians blended well with Constantine’s self-concept as the sole Roman emperor. However, to honor Sol and to appease the pagan masses throughout the empire who had yet to assimilate into the new religion, Constantine craftily blended many pagan concepts into early Christianity.”
“Such as?”
“Let’s start with the simple things.” Bersei laced his fingers together, eyes scanning the gallery. “The solar halo for instance. Just like our coins from Pontius Pilate, Constantine had minted coins in 315, while his alliance with Licinius was falling apart and about ten years before Constantine took over the entirety of the empire. But Constantine’s coins depicted Sol on them—a solar-haloed Sol in a flowing robe that looks remarkably similar to later Jesus iconography.”
“Interesting.”
“Constantine also cleverly coincided the celebration of Christ’s birth with the December twenty-fifth pagan winter solstice celebration of Sol’s birthday. Of course, I think you won’t be surprised when you hear that the Christian day of worship, once celebrated on Saturday, the Jewish Sabbath, was also moved to a more special day of the week.”
“Sunday.”
He nodded. “Known in Constantine’s time as dies Solis.” Giovanni’s expression darkened. “And then something even more profound emerges during Constantine’s reign. The emphasis on Jesus’s physical rather than spiritual resurrection.”
“What do you mean?”
“The early Greek Gospels used wording that suggested Christ’s body wasn’t necessarily reanimated, but transformed.”
