Apostle of Anonymity

A Homily for the Feast of St. Bartholomew, Apostle & Martyr

" Lord, what is man, that thou hast such respect unto him? or the Son of man, that thou so regardest him?" (Ps. 144:3). 

And so today's psalmist puts forth the age-old and elusive question: What is man? In the beginning, man was created by a loving God, made in his image and likeness. The man and woman lived every day in perfect community with God. In their state of perfection, every thought, word, and deed was an act of acceptable worship to the Lord. Adam and Eve were homo adorans, worshipping man. 

In fact, this was the purpose for their creation: to worship and adore their creator God and enjoy communion with him. But the fall affected every aspect of the human person. It brought about a divide between God, a division between people, and created an inner division within oneself; a kind of spiritual schizophrenia, if you will. Man's knowledge of God became obscured, as did his true understanding of self.

While St. Augustine may not have explicitly stated, "we never really know ourselves," this idea aligns with his work in Confessions, where he discusses the limits of self-knowledge. He noted that even one's own spirit may not fully understand them, asserting, "O Lord, you alone know what I am." Augustine viewed the human mind as complex and ever-changing, often obscured by sin and self-deception. Ultimately, humanity struggles to understand its own nature: What is man?

Aristotle posited man to be a rational, political animal. Spinoza, the 17th-century humanist, understood man as homo conatus, humanity driven by an innate desire for self-preservation and enhancement. The Industrial Revolution shifted this perspective to Marx's view of man as animal laborans, where his essence lies in his capacity for productive labor for the greater good. The essential need for the human person to find fulfillment in production is the great driver behind technological innovation, which ushers in the understanding of humanity as Technological Man whose life and interests are defined by modern technology, not just as a tool but as an integrated part of his or her identity.

What is man? Woodrow Wilson, our 28th president, once wrote an article entitled "On Being Human," which was published in 1897 in the September edition of Atlantic magazine. "Once it was a simple enough matter to be a human being," he writes, "but now it is deeply difficult; because life was once simple, but is now complex, confused, multifarious." He's wrestling with the essence of what it means to be human. Then, towards the end of the essay, he answers the question,

"Let us remind ourselves that to be human is, for one thing, to speak and act with a certain note of Genuineness, a quality mixed of spontaneity and intelligence. This is necessary for a wholesome life in any age, but particularly amidst confused affairs and shifting standards." 

Let me stop here. Wilson is a modern man; he's writing in the 20th century. For him, to be human is to be genuine, to be authentic; authenticity, or to be one's true self, is to be truly human. Hence, the rise of the Age of Authenticity in which you and I now live, where the central idea is that each individual has a unique, inner way of being human and must discover and express their "true self" rather than conforming to external social, religious, or political norms" (is this beginning to ring true?) The former President continues, 

"Genuineness is a quality that we sometimes mean to include when we speak of individuality. Individuality is lost the moment you submit to passing modes or fashions, the creations of an artificial society, and so is Genuineness. No man is genuine who is forever trying to pattern his life after the lives of other people, — unless indeed he be a genuine dolt." 

For Wilson, our humanity is lost as we submit to the crowd, follow the Joneses, and lack the courage to embrace our TRUE SELVES. In our day, to be inauthentic is the very worst state of being. He continues, 

"But individuality is by no means the same as Genuineness; for individuality may be associated with the most extreme and even ridiculous eccentricity, while Genuineness we conceive to be always wholesome, balanced, and touched with dignity. It is a quality that goes with good sense and self-respect. It is a sort of robust moral sanity, mixed of elements both moral and intellectual." 

Woodrow was a bit of a prophet. He saw the danger in confusing individuality with Genuineness. This is the error of our day. But Wilson understood that to live genuinely meant to live as the best of what God created you and me to be, true to how God intended us to be, moral, righteous, honest, and good; that is Genuineness. The modern concept of individuality is far detached from pursuing genuine humanity.

Individuality seeks what it wants for its own gain and benefit: it lives for and serves itself, without regard to the old traditions and institutions by which people knew who they were: family, community, country, and God. Hence, the rise of homo iuris, the autonomous man. Modern man's innate hunger for authenticity and need for public validation of his authenticity (that we are, in fact, human) is an endless striving and contending to be more authentic than everyone else. From this need for public recognition and validation of being arises Performative Man.

In this present age of authenticity, intensified by social media, people feel pressured to present a "true" version of themselves, over and over and over again. Social media platforms become the stage where the "authentic" self designs and crafts performances to appear spontaneous and real. Performative Man must get her name out there. His body, out there, achievements, opinions, lifestyle, and so on. In today's world, to be fully human is to go viral.

Now, let us contrast the performative self with St. Bartholomew, whose feast day we are celebrating with fellow Anglicans and Christians all over the world. He is one of the twelve Apostles known to us only by his being listed among them in the Gospels according to Matthew, Mark, and Luke. His name means "Son of Tolmai," which isn't actually a name. That is why he is traditionally identified with Nathanael, Phillip's friend, the "Israelite in whom [Jesus said in John's gospel] is no guile!" Other than that, we have no special information about Bartholomew, and he is never central to any biblical narrative.

We know his name, but nothing substantial about his ministry and service to God. We have no record of all the people he "saved." No account of the funds he raised for the poor, or the number of couples he married. We don't know anything about how great a catechist he was, or the fire he'd bring in the pulpit. There is no record of his generosity to strangers, care for widows, or protection of orphans. It would appear that neither Scripture nor history provided him with much of a "platform." In a real sense, he is the apostle of obscurity and anonymity. Naturally, we want to know a great deal more about him, but it has pleased God to hide it from us. And we may be sure that, whatever good we might have gained from knowing more particulars about his holy works and ways, nothing could do us more good in this performative age of authenticity, than to quietly follow the pattern which he has set before us; of doing our work faithfully in God's household, without seeking to be praised or known for it.

St. Paul writes, "being in the Form of God," (Phil. 2:6-7), that is, being from all eternity God, even as the Father is God, one with the Father and the Holy Ghost, He "made Himself of no reputation, and took on Him the form of a servant." He took on Him, not only the outward appearance, but the very true nature of man, who by willful sinning had become the slave or servant of sin. Again, "being rich," (2 Cor. 8:9) the Owner of heaven and earth and of all things therein, He for our sakes made Himself "poor;" gave it all up; was as though He had nothing of His own, not even where to lay His Head. In this respect again, He took on Him the form of a slave; was, among men, as homo servitium: One that serves.

In Jesus' time, to be a slave was to be bound to serving within the household (oikos), the private realm where slaves and women were confined. They labored away, taking care of the necessities of their master's household. The voice and actions of slaves were forbidden to participate in the polis, the public sphere, the "space of appearance" where they could engage in political action and speech among equals. This exclusion from public life made a salve truly anonymous (not known publicly) and his life's labor obscured.

There was a certain obscurity in the servitude of Christ, a self-proclaimed slave who came to serve humanity by laboring in love and charity. He never sought the crowd. He forbade the recipients of his miracles from speaking his name. In fact, he wasn't in any particular hurry to 'perform' miracles. In fact, if it weren't for his mother, he may not have manifested his divine power in Cana.

From the beginning of His life to the beginning of His Ministry, He existed in a community of anonymity. Living in a backwater town with his poor and lowly parents, he learned and mastered the simple and unheralded carpenter's trade. And from the beginning of His Ministry to the end of His earthly life, He went about doing good. He was continually doing something for others, never for himself or for recognition or the earthly praises of men. Jesus said we are to be aware (leery and very cautious) of those who want to be noticed — those who want their name to get around. Jesus warned his disciples, "Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes and like greetings in the marketplaces and have the best seats in the synagogues and the places of honor at feasts" (Mk. 12:38-39). Yes, watch out for those who, in their practiced self-effacing and deferential ways, seek the limelight. We must ruthlessly judge such treacherous thoughts in our hearts and confess the sin of subtly angling for more recognition. We mustn't be like the apostles in today's Gospel, as we see them striving with one another, wrestling like Jacob, yet not for a blessing but for status and public recognition.

Let's be honest, our flesh finds obscurity and anonymity challenging to deal with. It whispers: "Your obscurity is an insult and an indignity to what you are really doing. You deserve the headlines just as much as others." My friends, such thoughts have to be confessed and abandoned. In other words, we need to embrace the ministry of anonymity, knowing that we serve almighty God "unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid." He sees the good intent of your heart, and the good works you do in his name are ever before his eyes.

There is a famous scene called the Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel in which Michelangelo painted St Bartholomew, holding his own skin in his left hand, depicting Bartholomew's death by flaying. We know that he was martyred for the name of Jesus. Even with this bit of history, we still know very little about the apostle we commemorate today. Yet, despite the scarcity of details about him, St Bartholomew stands before us and tells us that attachment to Jesus can be lived and witnessed without performing sensational deeds; it can, in fact, be done in godly anonymity.

Ultimately, what we know about Bartholomew matters little. What truly matters is that Jesus knew Him, which means He knows us intimately and has called us to Himself. And He wants us to serve him, without delay, without reservation, with all that we are and have. In doing so, we can, like Bartholomew, be transformed more and more into the image of Christ, glorifying Him in our lives and our deaths. By this, we become homo est gloria dei, the image and glory of God. My friends, this is the reason Jesus endured suffering and death— so that you and I might become fully human. Amen+