The Cult of Stephen in Jerusalem: Inventing a Patron Martyr 019284699X, 9780192846990

Table of contents :
Dedication
Preface and Acknowledgments
Contents
List of Abbreviations
Introduction
1. The Prestige of Stephen
2. The Early Cult
3. A Celestial Patron
4. The Bones
5. More Numerous Feasts
6. A Very Great Sanctuary
Epilogue
Bibliography
Index Locorum
Topical Index

Citation preview

OXFORD EARLY CHRISTIAN STUDIES General Editors Gillian Clark

Andrew Louth

THE OXFORD EARLY CHRISTIAN STUDIES series includes scholarly volumes on the thought and history of the early Christian centuries. Covering a wide range of Greek, Latin, and Oriental sources, the books are of interest to theologians, ancient historians, and specialists in the classical and Jewish worlds. Titles in the series include: The Minor Prophets as Christian Scripture in the Commentaries of Theodore of Mopsuestia and Cyril of Alexandria Hauna T. Ondrey (2018) Preaching Christology in the Roman Near East: A Study of Jacob of Serugh Philip Michael Forness (2018) God and Christ in Irenaeus Anthony Briggman (2018) Augustine’s Early Thought on the Redemptive Function of Divine Judgement Bart van Egmond (2018) The Idea of Nicaea in the Early Church Councils,  431–451 Mark S. Smith (2018) The Many Deaths of Peter and Paul David L. Eastman (2019) Visions and Faces of the Tragic: The Mimesis of Tragedy and the Folly of Salvation in Early Christian Literature Paul M. Blowers (2020) Art, Craft, and Theology in Fourth-Century Christian Authors Morwenna Ludlow (2020) Nemesius of Emesa on Human Nature: A Cosmopolitan Anthropology from Roman Syria David Lloyd Dusenbury (2021)

The Cult of Stephen in Jerusalem Inventing a Patron Martyr HUGO MÉNDEZ

Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP, United Kingdom Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries © Hugo Méndez 2022 The moral rights of the author have been asserted First Edition published in 2022 Impression: 1 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by licence or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Control Number: 2022938770 ISBN 978–0–19–284699–0 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192846990.001.0001 Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

To my loving parents, Hugo and Ida

Preface and Acknowledgments This book traces the rise of a cult to St. Stephen the Protomartyr in the fourth- and fifth-century city of Jerusalem. It argues that local church authorities promoted devotion to Stephen in an orchestrated attempt to reposition the martyr as a patron saint for their city—that is, a symbolic embodiment of its Christian identity and power. The first words of this manuscript were written at Yale University’s Institute of Sacred Music, where I had the immense privilege of being a Postdoctoral Associate in Sacred Music, Worship, and the Related Arts. Years later, it is evident to me how deeply the manuscript breathes the interdisciplinary spirit of the ISM, not least in its attention to liturgical and material evidence. My first words of thanks, then, are directed to Martin Jean, Teresa Berger, and Bryan Spinks, who invited me to that two-year fellowship and who mentored my research in its embryonic stages. But my gratitude extends so much further, to so many other faculty members, fellows, and graduate students in New Haven who enriched my thinking at various stages of this project, exposed me to important research, and offered their constructive criticism on my earliest drafts of this manuscript. While at Yale, I was immersed in the most stimulating academic community one can possibly imagine—one that daily challenged me to think more creatively and synthetically. Among so many individual friends I could thank—and they are truly too numerous to list—Andrew Albin and Paul Bradshaw deserve special mention for having remained interlocutors for the project in subsequent years. I also cannot fail to thank Dale Martin for his consistent encouragement. I continued and eventually completed this project at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill—first as a Carolina Postdoctoral Fellow for Faculty Diversity and subsequently as an Assistant Professor of Religious Studies. I will never understand the providence that allowed me to transition from Yale to a second, equally outstanding center for the study of early Christianity in UNC and Duke, but it was here—in the intellectually rigorous community that I am now so grateful to call home—that I found the support and resources to bring this project to its final form. Immediately, I must single out Bart Ehrman for praise—as spectacularly devoted a mentor as one could have. But I cannot fail to thank other colleagues here—from Karen Hagemann, who helped me find my voice in this manuscript, to Randall Styers and other members of the Department of Religious Studies at UNC for their insights and constant encouragement. Among our graduate students, I owe special thanks to Michelle Freeman for her

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keen interest in this work and sharp editorial eye, and among my friends, I will always be indebted to Mitchell Esswein and Garrison Copeland for reading drafts of this work. I am also profoundly grateful for the support of Sibby AndersonThompkins, Jennifer Pruitt, and my peer fellows. This work has also had other readers and interlocutors, many from scholarly societies. I am especially indebted to the always sharp and rigorous feedback of the “Problems in the Early History of Liturgy” seminar in the North American Academy of Liturgy, singling out Harald Buchinger and John Baldovin for special thanks. From the Society of Oriental Liturgy, I owe thanks to Gabriel Radle, Mary Farag, and Daniel Galadza. I also received important feedback on sections of this manuscript at annual meetings of the Society of Biblical Literature. I cannot express my gratitude enough to David Eastman for helping me conceptualize my project at an early stage in its development, and I would also like to thank Nathaniel P. DesRosiers for his prepared and generative response to a particular presentation of my work. I am also grateful to Damien Labadie for generously sharing his recent work in the final stages of producing this text. Lastly, I am profoundly grateful to the many, many loved ones who have supported me across this journey—too many to count. But among these, I owe my deepest debt to my loving father and mother, whose endless generosity and sacrifices are the ink with which every page of this book is written. It is to them that I dedicate this book. I have attempted, as far as possible, to write a broadly accessible English text. For this reason, all quotations from ancient and modern sources in the body text appear in English. Most are cited from existing translations to avoid any appearance of idiosyncrasy, though some are my own and noted as such in my footnotes. Since most ancient works I use are available in accessible critical editions, I generally avoid reproducing their original-language text in my footnotes, except for those I translated myself. Even then, I offer the original text only for Greek and Latin texts, and not in lesser-studied languages such as Classical Armenian. In the case of Old Georgian materials, I have relied entirely on existing translations. English translations of biblical texts generally follow the Revised Standard Version (RSV), except those from the LXX or reproduced from sources such as the Armenian Lectionary. Since this book was written across several years, it incorporates research I developed in several intersecting projects. Three in particular have contributed directly to the text of this manuscript. Specifically, chapter 2 incorporates and updates text from Hugo Mendez, “The Origin of the Post-Nativity Commemorations,” Vigiliae Christianae 68 (2014): 290–309; chapter 5 incorporates and updates text from Hugo Méndez, “Stephen the Martyr (Acts vi–viii) in the Early Jerusalem Lectionary System,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 68 (2017): 22–39; and chapter 6 incorporates and updates text from Hugo Méndez, “Revising the Date of the Armenian Lectionary of Jerusalem,” Journal of Early Christian Studies 29 (2021): 61–92. In several instances, I have been grateful to revisit and refine my earlier views to integrate newer insights. I hope this book proves all the more helpful to its readers because of these updates.

Contents List of Abbreviations

xi

Introduction

1

1. The Prestige of Stephen

18

2. The Early Cult

31

3. A Celestial Patron

59

4. The Bones

77

5. More Numerous Feasts

100

6. A Very Great Sanctuary

129

Epilogue

152

Bibliography Index Locorum Topical Index

155 169 172

List of Abbreviations AASS AB ABD AL BAR BZ CCSG CCSL CIIP

CSCO CSEL DACL DOP FOTC GL

HTR JECS JSNT JTS LCL MGH AA NPNF OCA PG PL PO POC PSBFSS REB

Acta sanctorum. Antwerp/Paris/Rome/Brussels: Société des Bollandistes. Analecta Bollandiana Anchor Bible Dictionary Le codex arménien Jérusalem 121, vol. 2: Édition comparée du texte et de deux autres manuscrits, ed. Athanase Renoux. PO 36.2. Turnhout: Brepols, 1971 Biblical Archaeology Review Byzantinische Zeitschrift Corpus Christianorum, Series Graeca. Turnhout and Paris Corpus Christianorum, Series Latina. Turnhout and Paris Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/Palaestinae: A multi-lingual corpus of the inscriptions from Alexander to Muhammad, 2 vols., ed. Hannah M. Cotton et al. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2012 Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum. Vienna Dictionnaire d’archéologie chrétienne et de liturgie, ed. F. Cabrol and H. Leclercq, 15 vols. in 30. Paris, 1907–53 Dumbarton Oaks Papers Fathers of the Church. Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press Le grand lectionnaire de l’Église de Jérusalem II, texte géorgien, ed. Michel Tarchnischvili, 4 vols. CSCO 188–9, 204–5; Scriptores Iberici 9–10, 13–14. Leuven: Peeters, 1960. Harvard Theological Review Journal of Early Christian Studies Journal for the Study of the New Testament Journal of Theological Studies Loeb Classical Library Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Auctores Antiquissimi Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church Orientalia Christiana Analecta Patrologiae Cursus Completus: Series Graeca, ed. J.-P. Migne. Paris, 1857–66 Patrologiae Cursus Completus: Series Latina, ed. J.-P. Migne. Paris, 1878–90 Patrologia Orientalis Proche-Orient Chrétien Publications of the Studium Biblicum Franciscanem, Smaller Series Revue des études byzantines

xii SC SH StPB TU VC

   Sources chrétiennes. Paris: Cerf. Subsidia Hagiographica Studia post-biblica Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der altkristlichen Literatur, ed. Adolf Harnack and Oscar Gebhardt Vigiliae Christianae

St. Stephen

Paralytic/ St. Mary of the Probatica

Holy Sepulchre

Temple Mount

MO UN T

OL IV ES

Mary’s Tomb

Golden Gethsemane Gate

OF

Ascension

CARDO

Holy Wisdom

N

JEOSH A

Nea

PHAT (KID RON ) VA LLEY

Eleona

Sion

St. Peter

Siloam

0

Map 1 Major Churches and Shrines of Jerusalem (4th–6th c.)

S 100 200 m

C

Episcopal sees Main cities Roman roads

D

E

PHOENICIA PRIMA

1

Cacsarca Paccas

Tyrus

0

10

20

F

Km Eutimia

2

A

B

Evron

PALAESTINA SECUNDA

Ptolemais (Akko) Sycaminum Certha

3

Dora Caesarea Maritima

4

Capharnaum Zabulon

Neve Carneas

mare tiberiadis

Tiberias Diocaesarea Nazareth Helenopolis Gabae Exalus Naim (Legio) Maximianopolis Iezreel Scythopolis (Bethsan) Ginae Narbata

Hippus

Neapolis?

Abila Gadara Capitolias Dium

Pella

Sebaste (Samaria) Neapolis

Apollonia Sozusa

Acrabbi

5 Onus

Thamna

Gerasa Amathus

Coreae

Antipatris Ioppe

Iordanes Fl.

MARE INTERNUM

PALAESTINA PRIMA

Bacatha

Gadara

Caphargamala Philadelphia Gophna Diospolis (Lydda) Bethoron Ierichus Gazara Iamnia Nicopolis Esbus Bethania Livias 6 Azotus Paralius Aelia (Ierusalem) mons nebo Azotus Hippenus Paremboles Caraiatha Ziza Saphir Maioma Madaba Bethlehem Ascalon Beelmeon Diocletianopolis Eleutheropolis Machaerus Tricomia Anthedon Hebron mare Maiuma Adora mortuum 7 (Constantia) Gaza Engaddi Ziph Gerar Sycamazon Chermela Orda Menois Masada Birsama Areopolis Raphia Berosaba (Bersabe) Malatha Constantiniaces Charachmoba

PALAESTINA TERTIA (SALUTARIS)

8 A

B

Elusa

C

D

Zoara

Map 2 Cities and Episcopal Sees of Palestine (4th–6th c.)

E

F

Introduction In the year 415, John II, the bishop of Jerusalem, interrupted a regional council of Palestinian bishops with a startling announcement: only several kilometers from the gathering, a priest under his care had located a set of ancient burials beneath an empty field—the burials of figures mentioned in the Bible. John’s report immediately captured the excitement of his peer bishops, who were accustomed to such reports in a region that was then “the prime location for the production and dissemination of Christian relics.”¹ As John asked to take leave of the synod and oversee the removal of the bones, two other bishops offered to accompany him. The synod’s proceedings were placed on hold. The three traveled to the small village of Kephar Gamala and took charge of the dig. Shortly thereafter, John sent back an enthusiastic update: one of the skeletons recovered belonged to none other than Stephen—the person traditionally regarded as Christianity’s first martyr (Acts 6:8–7:3). The region of Palestine had seen similar relic discoveries or “inventions” (inventiones) before, but few paralleled the enthusiasm generated by this one. Within a few years of their excavation, portions of the remains were found across the Roman world, attracting fantastic claims wherever they went. Devotees in certain regions reported miraculous healings after contact with Stephen’s bones— reversals of blindness, paralysis, tumors, and other ailments. Others linked the relics to religious revival and conversions. Overnight, the bones became objects of competition—their power sought by emperors, wealthy patrons, and humble devotees alike. The sheer geographical scope of this excitement—touching sites as far away as North Africa, Minorca, Asia Minor, and Italy—has attracted scholarly attention for decades. Studies have traced the introduction of the bones of Stephen into each of these regions and the impacts that followed.² But surprisingly, the impact of the find on Jerusalem itself—the city that actually produced the relics and coordinated ¹ Jacobs, Remains of the Jews, 125. ² By far the best studied terrain is North Africa. Studies of the cult of Stephen in that region include Duval, Loca sanctorum Africae, 624–34; Saxer, “Morts, martyrs, reliques,” 245–79; Riggs, “Apologetic Performance.” See also studies of the Stephen-centric libelli miraculorum in North Africa—including, Fraïsse, “De miraculis” and Duval, “Libelli miraculorum.” Numerous studies also engage Augustine’s discussions of the martyr’s cult in the region and other parts of the Latin West—especially in his sermons for the feast of Stephen (Sermones 314–319; PL 38:1425–1442) and a series of sermons associated with a miracle credited to Stephen on Easter (Sermones 320–324; PL 38:1442–1447). Augustine also treats the cult in de Civitate Dei 22.8 (CSEL 40.604), and Trac. Jo. 130.4 (CCSL

The Cult of Stephen in Jerusalem: Inventing a Patron Martyr. Hugo Méndez, Oxford University Press. © Hugo Méndez 2022. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192846990.003.0001

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their distribution—has received little attention.³ In many studies, the epicenter of the find has remained simply that: a point of origin for histories riding the ripples of the discovery outward. This book is an attempt to rewrite the history of that relic discovery from the inside out—that is, to rearticulate the find around the community that engineered it and continued to influence its reception for several decades. Despite their global reach, the bones of Stephen were, first and foremost, artifacts of his local cult in Jerusalem—objects whose initial purpose, meaning, and even later reception are best understood within the arc of the city’s own developing reflection on the saint. My aim in this text is to trace that arc, re-contextualizing and reinterpreting discrete events—including the production of Stephen’s bones—within that history. In this book, I will argue that the invention of Stephen’s bones fits within a local project long overlooked by scholars but indicated in literary, ritual, and material sources from the city. That project was the repositioning of Stephen as a patron saint for Jerusalem—its celestial guardian and benefactor. In a period in which cities drew on the symbolic capital of local martyrs to claim importance for themselves as spaces, the Jerusalem church increased its investments in the memory of Christianity’s first martyr to similar ends. Stephen was intended to be for Jerusalem what Peter and Paul were for Rome: an embodiment of the city’s Christian identity, prestige, and power.

I.1 Jerusalem in the Fourth and Fifth Centuries The Jerusalem at the center of this text is not the glittering metropolis of the early to mid-first century—the metropolis in which the historical Stephen lived before his untimely death.⁴ It is, rather, the smaller fourth- and fifth-century city which at 36.662). See Dupont, “Imitatio Stephani,” 29, nos. 2–3 for a bibliography of works engaging these sources, as well as such treatments as Leyser, “Homo pauper”; Bastiaensen, “Augustine”; and Fredriksen, “St. Stephen.” A thorough discussion of the cult of Stephen in Minorca, and a translation of its primary source, the Epistula Severi, appear in Bradbury, Severus on Minorca; Hunt, “Stephen in Minorca,” 106–23. On the various purported translations of the relics to Constantinople, and the issues related to these traditions, see Holum and Vikan, “Trier Ivory” On the subsequent translation of Stephen’s relics to Rome, see Lechat, “Catalogus,” 112–16. On the relics in Constantinople, Ravenna, and Rome, see Malmberg, “Triumphal Arches.” Bovon also summarizes the evidence for Western European churches in Stephen’s honor, some linked to his relics, in “Dossier,” 287. ³ Exceptions include those studies that explore the emergence of a dedicated martyrion in the city to house the relics—especially, Clark, “Claims on the Bones”; Lagrange, Saint Étienne; Lagrange, “Sanctuaire de la lapidation.” Another recent exception is Damien Labadie’s study of the cult of Stephen, which devotes several chapters to Jerusalem (“L’invention du Protomartyr Étienne,” 135–292). ⁴ The existence of a historical Stephen has been challenged by Shelly Matthews, who, acknowledging the impossibility of making firm historical judgments on the question, argues that the account of Stephen’s life in Acts is “from beginning to end . . . the fictional creation of its author” (Perfect Martyr, 131–2). Nevertheless, Matthews concedes that several well-documented aporias appear in the story— aporias that suggest to certain writers the author of Acts may be incorporating and “working over

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the time was still recovering from centuries of neglect and obscurity. Between these historical moments, two devastating conflicts—the First Jewish-Roman War (66–70 ) and the Third Jewish-Roman War (132–5 )—had brought about the near-total destruction of the city and the collapse of its Jewish population. The second of these conflicts was followed by “the most far-reaching intervention by the Empire in the social structure of the region.”⁵ The emperor Hadrian moved forward with plans to transform the depopulated city into a Roman colonia, resettling military veterans from Syria and other regions in their place beside a permanent garrison of the Legio X Fretensis.⁶ To support this new population, Hadrian rebuilt the city with a pagan Roman infrastructure, including a theater, public baths, a nymphaeum, and a number of temples. The most significant construction, a temple to the city’s new patron deity, Jupiter Capitolinus, stood provocatively over the old Temple Mount and overlooked similar shrines to Aphrodite/Venus, Tyche/Fortuna, and Asclepius/Serapis further to the west.⁷ Even the name of the new city, Aelia Capitolina, reflected the new pagan and Roman character, uniting a portion of Hadrian’s own name (Publius Aelius Hadrianus) with an epithet of Jupiter (Capitolinus, named for the Capitoline hill of Rome, on which the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus stood).⁸ The fate of the city’s Christian community through this intervention is difficult to determine, but all evidence indicates that it experienced significant discontinuity. To the extent the city sustained a Christian population after 135 , that population consisted mostly of gentiles—not Jews as before—and that population seems to have been negligible in size.⁹ Even at its height, Aelia represented only “an insignificant provincial town . . . considerably smaller than Jewish Jerusalem had been in the first century  in terms of residential area and number of inhabitants,” the latter estimated at no more than 15,000 through the third century.¹⁰ No single place of worship in the city can be securely dated prior to the fourth century. The legalization of Christianity, however, marked a dramatic turning point for the city. Under Constantine I, Aelia/Jerusalem was reshaped by a new imperialsponsored urbanization, this time to support the newly ascendant Christian faith. Lavish churches and shrines rose around the city, most to commemorate events associated with the life of Jesus. The greatest of these constructions was a complex of buildings enclosing the site of Jesus’ crucifixion and the nearby cave-tomb in which Jesus was buried and from which Christians believe he arose. The original earlier materials” (Perfect Martyr, 18, with discussion and bibliography on pp. 18–20). I find the evidence for pre-Acts Stephen traditions compelling, and I believe it forms a firm basis on which to posit a historical Stephen. ⁵ Millar, The Roman Near East, 375. ⁶ Drijvers, “Transformation of a City,” 309. Ancient sources attesting these changes include Cassius Dio, Hist. Rom., 59.12–14 (LCL 176.446–51); Euseb. HE 4.6.4 (SC 31.166). ⁷ Murphy-O’Connor, Keys to Jerusalem, 22. ⁸ Magness, Archaeology of the Holy Land, 271. ⁹ Irshai, “From Oblivion to Fame,” 98. ¹⁰ Drijvers, “Transformation of a City,” 309.

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complex consisted of “the Martyrion of the Savior,” a funerary basilica with an elaborate entrance, and a separate monument built over the purported tomb of Jesus.¹¹ A second phase of construction enclosed the tomb monument within a rotunda (the Anastasis), and enshrined the site of the cross at the southwest corner of the Martyrion (Golgotha).¹² Constantine’s original building program also included the erection of a basilica in the vicinity of Bethlehem over a cave believed to be the site of Jesus’ birth, as well as another over a cave on the Mt. of Olives. By the late fourth century, a basilica also stood over the purported tomb of Lazarus in Bethany, a scant two miles east of Jerusalem.¹³ The construction of these shrines quickly established Jerusalem as a premier center for Christian pilgrimage in the Mediterranean. The leadership of the local church, in turn, capitalized on this advantage by restructuring its ritual life around the use of these shrines. Like other major urban centers of the period, including Rome and Constantinople, Jerusalem came to adopt a mobile pattern of worship: stational liturgy. In this system, the city concentrated its observance of a given feast on liturgies and processions at one of the many basilicas or holy places available to the local community. These celebrations, presided over by the bishop himself, represented “the urban liturgical celebration of the day,” to which “all other services of worship were subordinate . . . in size and scale.”¹⁴ The presence of holy places linked to the events commemorated on many feasts made Jerusalem especially suited for this type of worship. Christians could connect their celebration of various biblical events with the city’s unique sacred geography. The city’s principal celebration of the birth of Jesus, for instance, could take place in Bethlehem, while the celebration of his death could occur at no less a place than Golgotha itself.¹⁵ It is little wonder, then, that the city soon attracted not only new residents but pilgrims by the thousands, as “immense crowds . . . not only [monks], but also laypeople, men and women” flocked to the city on its principal feasts.¹⁶ For Eusebius, the Christianization of the city marked a radical break from its troubled, Jewish past—a redemption of prophetic proportions: New Jerusalem was built at the very Testimony of the Savior, facing the famous Jerusalem of old, which after the bloody murder of the Lord had been overthrown in utter devastation, and paid the penalty of its wicked inhabitants. Opposite this then the Emperor erected the victory of the Saviour over death with rich and abundant munificence, this being perhaps that fresh new Jerusalem ¹¹ The phrase “martyrion of the Savior” first appears in Euseb., VC 3.28 (Cameron and Hall, Eusebius: Life of Constantine, 133, with notes on 274–91). ¹² Kleinbauer, “Antioch, Jerusalem, and Rome,” 128–31. ¹³ On these shrines, see Baldovin, Urban Character, 50–1. ¹⁴ Baldovin, Urban Character, 36–7. ¹⁵ Itin. Eger., 25.6–8, 36.4–5 (CCSL 175.71, 80; McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 156–7, incl. no. 6; 175); AL, entries 1, 43 (Renoux, Codex Arménien, 2:210, 280). ¹⁶ Itin. Eger., 25.12 (CCSL 175.72; McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 159).

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proclaimed in prophetic oracles, about which long speeches recite innumerable praises as they utter words of divine inspiration.¹⁷

In reality, the break between Jewish Jerusalem, Roman Aelia, and Christian Jerusalem was less sharp. The “new” city was still only the latest stratum of a millennia-old tel, firmly mired in the history buried just beneath its surface. Its leadership was beset by insecurities and challenges inherited from previous centuries. One perceived challenge was the city’s lingering association with Judaism. Although the city was an attractive site for Christian urbanization and investment, it was also “a singular ideological and topographical palimpsest”—a city shot through with Jewish history, surrounded by a large Jewish population, and in which, “Jews irrupted into Christians imagination.”¹⁸ For Christians of the era, then, the city was a site where the uncomfortable tensions between Jews and Christians were uniquely felt and where competition between the two groups festered. A second source of insecurity was the city’s still weakened prestige, damaged in the preceding two centuries. Despite its central place in the early Jesus movement, the church of Jerusalem was suffragan to the see of Caesarea Maritima well into the fifth century—the latter being the provincial capital even before Aelia was a desolate and depopulated colonia.¹⁹ An early attempt to rehabilitate Aelia/ Jerusalem’s status fell short at the council of Nicaea. The Nicene fathers acknowledged the city’s prestige in keeping with “custom and ancient tradition,” but they refused to grant the city a higher status than Caesarea in order to protect the “due dignity to the Metropolis,” according Aelia/Jerusalem only “the next place of honor” in the region.²⁰ Other manifestations of the city’s tumultuous past and weakened prestige also persisted through late antiquity. One of the most crucial, if widely overlooked, was liturgical in character. Unlike other ancient sees, the church of Jerusalem lacked a significant local cult of martyrs well into the fifth century—and this at a time when martyr piety was never more crucial to Christian identity and practice.²¹

I.2 Jerusalem and the Cult of Martyrs It is difficult to overstate the influence of the cult of martyrs in late antique Christianity. As Vasiliki Limberis writes, this system of devotion “was so popular

¹⁷ ¹⁸ ²⁰ ²¹

Euseb., VC 3.33 (Cameron and Hall, Eusebius: Life of Constantine, 135). Jacobs, Remains of the Jews, 142. ¹⁹ Irshai, “Oblivion to Fame,” 91–139. Canon 7 (Eng. tr., NPNF 2.14.17). On the martyrological traditions of Palestine, see Buchinger, “Jerusalemer Sanctorale,” 106, n. 47.

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among all levels of Christians, rich and poor, cleric and layperson, rustic and urban dweller, monastic and spouse, that it can be characterized as a rudimentary framework for Christianity in the fourth century.”²² Indeed, she continues, the cult was the lens through which “all aspects of Christian life were best communicated, understood—indeed lived.”²³ The significance of martyr piety in this period can be seen in the remarkable scale of these practices. Combing through the extant material and literary data, Ramsey MacMullen argues that martyr veneration attracted participants in higher numbers than other forms of Christian devotion. The cult, in fact, seems to have been the primary form of religious practice for a significant segment of the imperial population.²⁴ It is no wonder, then, that martyr shrines and related structures began appearing in everincreasing numbers from the reign of Constantine I. Cataloguing the sites known to have had churches prior to the year 400, Ramsey MacMullen notes that “half . . . contained a funerary basilica or martyr-memorial” on their urban peripheries.²⁵ These new constructions, in turn, attracted the majority of Christian pilgrimage activity outside of Palestine. This close link between pilgrimage and martyr piety highlights an important source of embarrassment for Jerusalem. Although the city boasted numerous pilgrimage sites associated with the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, it lacked even a single tomb or monument associated with a local Christian martyr up to the late fourth century.²⁶ The contrast between Jerusalem and other cities in this respect is especially visible in the surviving portions of the travel itinerary of Egeria, a pilgrim from Gaul, c.380. In the text, Egeria repeatedly expresses her profound interest in martyr shrines and devotions wherever she finds them. For instance, she speaks enthusiastically of her visits to “all the martyria [martyr shrines]” in Constantinople, “which are very many there,” and carefully documents her visits to martyria in other regions.²⁷ In her extant descriptions of the holy places of Jerusalem, however, she makes no reference to even a single such structure. Although it is possible some of this material has been lost—the manuscript is partially lacunose—her silence suits what we know of the local topography in this period. It would seem that a significant dimension of Egeria’s interests as a pilgrim was, in effect, suspended through her stay in the city. The irony, of course, is that Jerusalem was associated with many of the outstanding Christian martyrs of the first century. And yet only a small number of these figures were believed to have met their deaths in the city. According to traditions circulating in the period, Peter and Paul met their deaths in the city of Rome, Andrew was killed at Patrae in Achaia, and Philip was crucified in

²² ²⁴ ²⁶ ²⁷

Limberis, Architects of Piety, 10. ²³ Limberis, Architects of Piety, 10. MacMullen, Second Church, 104–11. ²⁵ MacMullen, Second Church, 109–10. Buchinger, “Jerusalemer Sanctorale,” 106. Itin. Eger., 23.9 (CCSL 175.67; Eng. tr., McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 148).

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Hierapolis.²⁸ Those distant cities—not Jerusalem—lay claim to the graves of these saints and their physical relics. No less problematic was the limited memory of the Jerusalem church. Through the numerous disruptions affecting the city in the first and second centuries, the burial sites of even those apostolic figures killed in or around the city were not preserved, if they were ever known. These figures would have included two martyrs whose deaths are described in the canonical Acts of the Apostles: Stephen (Acts 6:8–8:2) and James, the son of Zebedee (Acts 12:1–2). To these names, Pseudo-Hippolytus adds two lesser-known members of the Twelve: James, the Son of Alphaeus, and Matthias, introduced in Acts 1:12–26.²⁹ Finally, the sections of Hegesippus’ history cited by Eusebius indicate local martyrdoms for two early leaders of the Jerusalem church: James, the brother of the Lord, and Symeon, son of Clopas.³⁰ And yet no tomb for these figures is attested prior to the late fourth century. The city’s tumultuous history had also undermined the cult of martyrs in the city in another respect. While other ancient Christian centers like Rome, Alexandria, and Antioch claimed numerous martyrs between 135 and 313 —especially the period of imperial persecutions beginning under the reign of Decius (c.250 )— Jerusalem is associated with no instance of martyrdom through the same period.³¹ In his Ecclesiastical History, Eusebius attests only one local instance of persecution after 135: the arrest of the city’s bishop Alexander within the empire-wide persecutions of Decius. According to Eusebius, however, Alexander did not die a martyr’s death. Being “crowned with the hoary locks of ripe old age” the bishop instead “fell asleep in prison.”³² Turning to the fourth century, Eusebius’ extensive catalog of the Palestinian martyrs under Diocletian includes a reference to only a single martyr native to Aelia: the deacon Valens. But Valens suffered martyrdom as one of the companions of Pamphilius in Cæsarea, and he was likely interred in that town.³³ Consistent with this evidence, no liturgical source from fourth- and fifthcentury Jerusalem indicates a feast to a local, post-apostolic martyr.

²⁸ These traditions are related in Ps.-Hippolytus, De Duodecim Apostolis, 1, 2, 5 (PG 10.951–954). ²⁹ Ps.-Hippolytus, De Duodecim Apostolis, 9, 12 (PG 10.953–954). ³⁰ On the martyrdom of James, see Euseb., HE 2.23.3–18 (SC 31.86–88); cf. Josephus, Ant. 20.9.1 (LCL 456.106–9). On the episcopacy and martyrdom of Symeon, “the second ruler of the church of Jerusalem,” see Euseb., HE. 3.11; 32.1–7 (SC 31.118, 143–5). In Ps.-Hippolytus, De Duodecim Apostolis, this Symeon is identified with Simon the Zealot (PG 10.953). ³¹ Numerous references to martyrs from these cities appear in the collective witness of two early martyrologies—the Depositio Martyrum and the Syriac Martyrology. The former source, embedded in the Chronograph of 354, is reproduced in Mommsen, “Feriale Ecclesiae Romanae,” 71–2. Studies of the Chronograph include H. Stern, Le calendrier de 354; Salzman, On Roman Time; Burgess, “Chronograph of 354”; Divjak and Wischmeyer, Kaldenderhandbuch von 354, 1:174. The latter text was published in Syriac in Wright, “Syrian Martyrology” I, and in English in Wright, “Syrian Martyrology” II. Studies of the Breviarium Syriacum include Schäferdiek, “Martyrologium syriacum,” 5–22; Mariani, Breviarium syriacum, 7–26. ³² Euseb., HE 6.39.2 (SC 41.141; Eng. tr., FOTC 29.65–66). Accordingly, as Harald Buchinger notes, “Bischof Alexander . . . ist nicht im engen Sinne als Blutzeuge zu betrachren” (“Jerusalemer Sanctorale,” 106, no. 47). ³³ Euseb., Mart. Palest. 11.1, 4 (SC 55.153, 157).

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     

By the mid- to late fourth century, then, the church of Jerusalem found itself at a distinct disadvantage in the face of rising demand for martyr shrines and devotions. In its desire to gain the prestige that cult afforded cities, the church had every incentive to develop local martyr cults. From the available evidence, it appears it did so precisely by laying claiming to as much of its ancient biblical past as it could.

Suffering Prophets Most of the martyrological traditions in fourth-century Jerusalem—to the extent we can call them such—seem to have been concentrated around the memory of suffering prophets from the Hebrew Bible/Christian Old Testament. The reason is clear enough: these traditions were simply more plentiful than others. Well into late antiquity, Palestine supported large Jewish and Samaritan populations, which had long since mapped out a sacred topography of the region—a map that included the tombs of certain biblical figures. Not ten years after Constantine, the Bordeaux pilgrim would list no less than twenty-three places related to Old Testament personalities and events in Palestine.³⁴ Presumably, these identifications were inherited from non-Christian locals serving as guides. In his Commentary on Nahum, for instance, Jerome describes Elkosh as “a little village in Galilee,” which though “small and barely showing the traces of old buildings by their ruins . . . is known to the Jews and was shown to me by a guide.”³⁵ There is also substantial evidence of Christian participation at Jewish pilgrimages associated with these sites. Sozomen describes a fourth- and fifth-century summer festival at Mambre associated with the memory of Abraham, which attracted visitors of various religious persuasions “of the country and of the regions round Palestine.”³⁶ “Indeed,” he writes, “this feast is diligently frequented by all nations: by the Jews, because they boast of their descent from the patriarch Abraham, the Pagans, because angels there appeared to men; and by Christians, because he who for the salvation of mankind was later born of a virgin, there manifested himself to a godly man” (cf. Gen 18).³⁷ The fact that he lists “the Jews” first among these three classes suggests that the celebration began as an annual Jewish affair and remained one even into the fifth century.³⁸ ³⁴ Itin. Burd. 589.1–599.9 (CCSL 175.12–20). ³⁵ Hier., Comm. Nah., Preface (CC 76A, 526). ³⁶ Sozomen, HE 2.4.2 (SC 306.246; Eng. tr., NPNF 2.2.261). ³⁷ Sozomen, HE 2.4.3 (SC 306.246; Eng. tr., NPNF 2.2.261). ³⁸ Similar practices of tomb veneration are also attested among the Samaritans, a population that likely represented a second source of tomb traditions for the earliest Christian. Discussions of the competition between Jewish and Samaritan tomb traditions appear in: Wilkinson, “Jewish Holy Places,” 46–7; van der Horst, “Tombs of the Prophets,” 128–9. The Samaritan contribution is especially likely in the case of those sites clustered around the biblical Shechem (Sichem). The tomb of Joseph in that settlement—based on traditions in Josh 24.32; Acts 7.15–16, and known to the Bordeaux pilgrim,

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Although most of these holy sites did not have a martyrological orientation, some were open to that kind of interpretation by Christians—specifically those associated with suffering prophets from the Hebrew Bible. When the early fourthcentury Syrian writer Aphrahat lists the “names of martyrs, of confessors, and of the persecuted,” he begins with an extensive catalog of figures from the Hebrew Bible, including several associated with sites mentioned by the Bordeaux pilgrim.³⁹ From the same itinerary, it is clear that fourth century guides were already pointing pilgrims to the place of the prophet Zechariah’s death—a figure Matthew’s Jesus identifies as a “righteous” victim, “murdered between the temple and the altar” (23:35): And in the construction itself, where stood the temple which Solomon built, they say that the blood of Zacharias which was shed upon the stone pavement before the altar remains to this day. There are also to be seen the marks of the nails in the shoes of the soldiers who slew him, throughout the whole enclosure, so plain that you would think they were impressed upon wax.⁴⁰

James, Simeon, and Zechariah Although the church of Jerusalem could draw on the memory of suffering prophets in attempts to rival the martyrological attractions of other cities, that memory was useful only to a point. To establish a competitive, Christian cult of the martyrs in Palestine, it was necessary to lay claim to the tombs and bodies of at least some of the city’s unambiguously Christian martyrs. From the extant evidence, it appears the church of Jerusalem launched these efforts in the fourth century, initially prioritizing one figure in particular: James (“the Just”), the brother of Jesus. It is easy to understand why the church of Jerusalem would have sought to highlight the cult of James from an early date. Besides his credentials as a local martyr, James spoke to each of the two challenges pressing the Jerusalem church. First, he was an embodiment of the ancient lost prestige of the Jerusalem church— a prestige it desperately hoped to recapture. According to ancient tradition, the brother of Jesus was the first bishop of Jerusalem, the “mother of the churches.”

Eusebius, and Jerome—remained in Samaritan territory before its annexation by Theodosius II in 415 (Jeremias, Heiligengraeber, 33–4). A survey of Samaritan settlements in Palestine up to, and just after, the lifetime of Constantine appears in: Taylor, Holy Places, 64–9. ³⁹ Aphrahat, Dem. 21.22 (SC 359.837–40; Eng. tr., NPNF 2.13.401). The Itin. Burd. also mentions Jacob, Joseph, Elishah, and Hezekiah. ⁴⁰ Itin. Burd. 591.1–3 (CCSL 175.15–16).

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     

Similarly, Galatians highlights James as one of the “pillars” of the church beside Cephas/Peter and John (2:9), while casting him as a figure more influential than Peter in his day (2:12). At the same time, James was also a potentially critical reference point of identity for a church locked in competition with Palestinian Jews, precisely as a known victim of Jewish violence. Josephus reports that James was tried by the Sanhedrin and stoned to death.⁴¹ Hegesippus, in turn, assimilates James to the template of Stephen’s own martyrdom, refiguring his death into a Jewish lynching. According to Hegesippus, the “Scribes and Pharisees” threw James off the pinnacle of the Temple, stoned him while he prayed for their forgiveness, and at last subdued him with a fatal club blow.⁴² The church’s first known investments in the cult of James surface in the fourth century. Writing in that period, Eusebius relates that “the throne of James, who was the first to receive the episcopacy of the Church at Jerusalem from the Saviour himself and the Apostles . . . has been preserved until this day.”⁴³ These investments increased considerably under the episcopacy of the bishop Cyril, a figure intensely interested in enhancing the ecumenical standing of the Jerusalem church: Only in the second half of the fourth century—most likely in tandem with the revitalization of the Jerusalem church and its intense political activity—did the figure of James regain its place of honor. For the first time in almost three hundred years, legendary accounts surfaced, reporting the miraculous recovery of his tomb, which the new accounts located in the Valley of Jehoshaphat. . . . The spirit of the times dictated that such a “discovery” would lead to the structure, and we do indeed hear of a chapel that was built there at some point. The chapel in the Valley of Jehoshaphat grew into a small monastery commemorating the special days of James, now recognized as a saint, and celebrating his feasts. As befits a saint, parts of his body and other relics associated with him circulated to other portions of the city, such as the Church of Holy Zion, and arrived in locations as far away as Constantinople.⁴⁴

The chapel in the valley of Jehosophat is distinguished as the first martyrion in the city dedicated to a figure other than Jesus. The same martyrion also enshrined two other figures purportedly recovered with James, identified only as “the priest Simeon and Zechariah.”⁴⁵ Both names

⁴¹ Josephus, Ant. 20.9. ⁴² Euseb., HE 2.23.3–18 (SC 31.86–88; Eng. tr., FOTC 19.125–127). ⁴³ Euseb., HE 7.19 (SC 41.193; Eng. tr., FOTC 29.120). ⁴⁴ Eliav, “Tomb of James,” 44. The Latin account of this discovery was published by the Bollandists as the “Apparitio sanctorum Jacobi apostoli et primi apostolorum” (AB 8.123–24). An English translation of this text with introductory comments appears in Murphy-O’Connor, Keys to Jerusalem, 135–46. ⁴⁵ Murphy-O’Connor, Keys to Jerusalem, 141.

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feature prominently in the infancy narrative of Luke in connection with the Temple, but only the later Protoevangelium Jacobi identifies Simeon as a priest.⁴⁶ If the Protoevangelium stands behind the inventio, however, we may read a further martyrological significance into these two remaining names. The Protoevangelium famously conflates the priest Zechariah of the Lukan infancy narrative with the Zechariah killed at the temple and purportedly staining the stones of the Temple: But at the hour of the salutation the priests went away, and Zacharias did not come forth to meet them with a blessing, according to his custom. And the priests stood waiting for Zacharias to salute him at the prayer, and to glorify the Most High. And he still delaying, they were all afraid. But one of them ventured to go in, and he saw clotted blood beside the altar; and he heard a voice saying: Zacharias has been murdered, and his blood shall not be wiped up until his avenger come. And hearing this saying, he was afraid, and went out and told it to the priests. And they ventured in, and saw what had happened; and the fretwork of the temple made a wailing noise, and they rent their clothes from the top even to the bottom. And they found not his body, but they found his blood turned into stone. And they were afraid, and went out and reported to the people that Zacharias had been murdered.⁴⁷

Along the same lines, there is also evidence that Christians sometimes conflated the Protoevangelium’s “priest Simeon” with the second bishop of Jerusalem and martyr, Symeon, son of Clopas.⁴⁸ If either or both of these associations stand behind the inventio, the event was probably intended to produce not one but three primitive martyrs of the Jerusalem church.

I.3 Jerusalem and Stephen If the cults of James, Simeon, and Zechariah speak to the priorities and investments of the bishop Cyril, then the cult of central interest to this text—that of Stephen the Protomartyr—speaks to needs of Jerusalem under Cyril’s successors: John II and Juvenal. As I will demonstrate in this book, these two bishops oversaw a dramatic reconfiguration of Stephen’s place in local life, moving a once peripheral figure to the center of the city’s ritual practice and memorialization. By the mid-fifth century, Stephen would dominate the city as James never had, claiming the largest martyrion in the city and not one but three feasts.

⁴⁶ Protev. 24.4 (de Strycker, Protévangile de Jacque, 186–9; Eng. tr., NPNF 2.16.14–15). ⁴⁷ Protev. 24.1–3 (de Strycker, Protévangile de Jacque, 182–7; Eng. tr., NPNF 2.16.14). ⁴⁸ Stökl Ben Ezra, Yom Kippur, 255–6.

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This text will highlight for the first time the full scope of Jerusalem’s cult to the Protomartyr, demonstrating how central it truly was to the devotion and practice of the Jerusalem church. Secondly, it will explore why the cult reached the proportions it did—that is, why the church of Jerusalem selected Stephen for this special attention, and why it invested so heavily in his cult. It will conclude that the church of Jerusalem eventually prioritized the cult of Stephen for one reason: Stephen was a more legible and effective symbol for the ideas the church of Jerusalem once sought to communicate through the figure of James. Although the church made numerous investments in the cult of James, that figure had limited currency outside of Palestine. As far as we know, Jerusalem was the first— and for some time, only—city to dedicate a feast to the brother of Jesus. Stephen, by contrast, was an immensely popular figure in the late ancient Mediterranean, precisely as the first Christian martyr. Similarly, though James was a potential vehicle for anti-Jewish rhetoric, so was Stephen—and perhaps even more so. Stephen’s death, unlike that of James, was actually recorded in a text read by most fourth-century Christians in their public liturgies. And within the emerging New Testament, Stephen stands alone as the only victim of strictly Jewish violence—that is, the only figure killed without the intervention or cooperation of Roman authorities. By the turn of the fifth century, church officials in Jerusalem recognized Stephen’s potential as a vehicle for various local agendas, and they mobilized his memory in new ways.

The Cult as Late Ancient Martyr Devotion As a study of Jerusalem’s devotion to Stephen, this study takes its place beside others exploring saints’ cults in well-defined periods and regions.⁴⁹ It illuminates the responsive nature of these devotional systems in yet another spatially and temporally specific context, illustrating how late ancient cities extended or reframed their claims to individual saints to address new situations or to reach new audiences. It underscores the idea that these communities did not simply inherit their claims to these figures; they created and curated them, consciously shaping them to serve specific programs and ends. But the reach of this study extends well beyond a set of cults, let alone the single cult before us. Understanding Stephen’s place in Jerusalem enriches our knowledge of that late antique city as a specific cultural site, especially in a competitive context. Recent studies linking inter-civic competition to the cult of martyrs have explored sites including Rome and Constantinople. This study brings the late ancient city of Jerusalem—a city with known ambitions—squarely into these discussions, illustrating how a community lacking recent martyrological pedigree (like ⁴⁹ For instance, Limberis, Divine Heiress; Skedros, Demetrios; Davis, Cult of Saint Thecla; Demacopoulos, Invention of Peter; Eastman, Paul the Martyr.

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Constantinople but unlike Rome) but privileged with more distant links to the apostolic era (like Rome but unlike Constantinople) adjusted the practice to meet a unique set of challenges. At the same time, the recognition that Stephen functioned as a symbolic proxy for the city of Jerusalem enhances our understanding of Jerusalem’s selfprojections and identity. In its devotion to Stephen, we see how the city understood itself and its past, and how it articulated this self-understanding through and around the biblical martyr it selected as a local patron. We also see how the city sought to communicate this understanding to others, precisely through texts, artifacts, monuments, readings, and ritual practices.

The Cult as Biblical Reception In turn, as an exploration of the later uses of a figure introduced in the New Testament, this study fits within the ever-growing interest in biblical reception, and more particularly, the reception history of Acts (6:1–8:3). It describes one of so many “afterlives” and refigurations of the biblical Stephen, precisely as his memory was summoned in the particular context of fifth-century Palestine. Nevertheless, in the terrain it covers—ceremonies and feasts, stones and bones, shrines and churches—it responds to recent calls to rethink the scope and aims of biblical reception history as it is conventionally practiced. As Timothy Beal has recently argued, the field of biblical reception history has been dominated for too long by a primary focus on literary sources and a fixation on issues of hermeneutics or interpretation.⁵⁰ In this approach, studies explore how the Bible has been interpreted and misinterpreted, read and resisted, by writers through the centuries. Beal, by contrast, argues that we should transition from the idea that the Bible is “received through the centuries in different cultural contexts” to the idea that it is “variously made and remade within these contexts,” as so many “competing, symbolic and material productions . . . generated and generative in different scriptural cultures.”⁵¹ These productions include not only biblical manuscripts but also performances, media, interpretations, and material objects condensing biblical ideas and images, “whose meaning and value are also culturally produced.”⁵² Beale concludes by calling for a turn from the reception history of the Bible to a cultural history of the Bible—that is, “from interpreting scripture via culture to interpreting culture, especially religious culture, via its productions of scripture,” broadly conceived.⁵³

⁵⁰ Beal, “Reception History,” 357–72. ⁵¹ Beal, “Reception History,” 369–70. ⁵² Beal, “Reception History,” 371. ⁵³ Beal, “Reception History,” 357. On the premises and aims of a “cultural-historical” approach to biblical reception, see Beal, “Cultural-Historical Criticism,” 1–20.

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Beal’s interest in a broader set of “symbolic and material productions” of scripture suits the innovative engagement with the biblical characteristic of the late antique city of Jerusalem—a community that characteristically brought “story and text, liturgical action, and a unique place . . . together in relations of equivalence.”⁵⁴ As Cyril of Jerusalem enthusiastically told his catechumens, whereas “others merely hear” the biblical text, “we both see and handle.”⁵⁵ In Jerusalem, pilgrims encountered echoes of biblical memory—Stephen’s service as a deacon and his stoning—in such material artifacts as soil, stones, and bones. The biblical was also condensed or instantiated in other media, including gestures, performances, and rituals. In the city’s mobile, or “stational,” pattern of worship, for instance, devotees traveled to the site of Stephen’s death, recapitulating his final movements, and entering the narrative through their sweat, steps, tears, and songs. In turn, Beal’s conception of the biblical as something continually “made and remade” helps us see Jerusalem not as a passive recipient of the biblical—as its audience—but as its active and intentional producer. The many local expressions of the martyr’s cult reveal the creativity and agency of the Jerusalem church—that is, its moves to appropriate and refashion biblical history into a useable past for the city. They invite us to refocus our attention on the producers themselves— their contexts, their intentions, their investment in various religious, social, and cultural projects, and the culturally specific meanings of their products. In this text, then, we will examine the many memorializations of the biblical Stephen in the city with the aim of interpreting the local culture that produced them. We will explore how they emerged—how they were fashioned from earlier biblical and apocryphal traditions, and woven into the fabric of the city’s topography and ritual—with the aim of illuminating the larger civic and cultural projects in which they functioned. We will see those elements as “a network of representations that encodes . . . the projections and identifications,” desires and anxieties, memories and knowledge, of its producers.⁵⁶ As I will argue throughout this text, the cult of Stephen in Jerusalem was about the working of biblical images in, and for, a very specific context, and with very specific ends. In its content, complexity, and visibility, the cult leveraged the prominence of Stephen to elevate the status of the church of Jerusalem, connoting it as a center—even the center—of a Christianized Roman empire.

I.4 Scope and Sources This text explores the cult of Stephen in Jerusalem, focusing especially on the period between 350 and 500 . This window of time is broad enough to ⁵⁴ Smith, To Take Place, 89. In this, we can pursue the program articulated by Emma England and William John Lyons that “virtually everything the biblical materials” so much as “touch would be open to scholarly investigation” (England and Lyons, “Reception of the Bible,” 3). ⁵⁵ Cyr. Jer., Cat. Lect. 13:22 (PG 33.799–800). ⁵⁶ Garber, Symptoms of Culture, 9.

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accommodate the city’s first contact with the cult of Stephen in other regions through the city’s consolidation of its own claims on the martyr. It also coincides with a remarkably well-attested period in the ritual life of the city represented in a wide array of textual, lectionary, and homiletic sources. A brief word on this period and its surviving evidence, then, is in order.

Historical Scope From the standpoint of historical events, the limited scope of this study allows us to trace the evolution of the cult of Stephen in Jerusalem along a well-defined narrative arc. The starting date of our study positions us sometime before the introduction of the feast of Stephen into Jerusalem. At this time, the cult of Stephen existed in other regions of the Mediterranean but was not yet a feature of the city’s own ritual life. The midpoint of the window, in turn, falls by no coincidence near the invention of Stephen’s relics in 415 . That year marks a true turning point in the history of local devotion to Stephen and divides the history encompassed by this study into two halves. The former half is characterized by the initial emergence of Stephen piety in the city—a time in which the martyr’s cult was no more elaborate than any other in the city, and in which it lacked the international visibility it would later enjoy. The latter period, by contrast, was characterized by the cult’s accelerated growth and international prominence. The end date of the study, in turn, takes us past the zenith of the martyr’s popularity in the city. Although Stephen would remain an important figure in the piety of the Jerusalem church for centuries after, later changes to local ritual life eroded the prominence of his cult.⁵⁷

Historical Sources The decision to limit the study to the century-long window selected here is also determined by the coincidence of this window of time with an unusually rich cache of sources illustrating the ritual patterns of the city. The sheer variety of these sources—including pilgrim itineraries, lectionaries, and homilies—brings many more expressions of the cult into focus than is generally possible within so narrow a window of time. We are able to not only see the ordinary rhythms of this cult but also explore individual episodes in its development. In turn, the staggered dates of our sources allow for a significant degree of diachronic analysis, fleshing out a time-lapse image on the cult’s elaboration in the city. ⁵⁷ One significant shift was the elaboration of the cults of other saints, especially Mary and John the Baptist.

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I.5 Plan of the Book This study moves chronologically, reconstructing the emergence of so many expressions of devotion to Stephen in the city—including, feasts, material relics, architectural spaces, and lectionary readings. Each chapter explores how the development of each of these expressions served to project, substantiate, and deepen the city’s emerging claims on the martyr, supporting an emerging vision of Stephen as a local patron for the city. The first chapter, “The Prestige of Stephen,” traces the long-term motivations for Jerusalem’s investments in the cult. Combing the extant ritual and homiletic evidence, it identifies Stephen as a unique commodity: a figure whose memory carried considerable symbolic capital in late antiquity, with few communities in a position to lay a specific claim to it. At a time, then, when cities seized on the fame of local martyrs to claim importance for themselves as spaces, the city of Jerusalem could hardly ignore its connections to Christianity’s first martyr. What the church lacked in the quantity of its martyrs, it believed it could compensate for in an exclusive, local claim to the figure widely hailed as the “chief of confessors” and “firstborn of the martyrs” in contemporary sources. In turn, the earliest forms of devotion to Stephen in Jerusalem occupy the book’s second chapter, “The Early Cult.” Sometime prior to 415 , the city’s local church integrated a feast for Christianity’s first martyr into its calendar and developed a set of traditions linking him to the Hagia Sion church. The chapter reconstructs the history of these early expressions of Stephen’s cult in Jerusalem, highlighting the extent to which they supported a new, distinctly local understanding of the martyr. Beginning in the early fifth century, local interest in Stephen reached new levels of intensity. In the third chapter, “A Celestial Patron,” I situate Stephen’s meteoric rise within a broader, contemporary shift in martyrological reflection. As the Roman Empire was Christianized, civic pride and identity were increasingly formulated around the fame of local martyrs, who were conceptualized as the heavenly patrons of particular earthly communities. As it stands, the only encomium for Stephen to survive from fifth-century Jerusalem indicates that the city had begun to construct Stephen along similar lines in the same period. The pivotal moment in the elaboration of the cult of Stephen in Jerusalem—the invention of the martyr’s relics—occupies the fourth chapter of the text: “The Bones.” In 415, two Jerusalem clerics—John II, the city’s bishop, and a village priest named Lucian—produced a set of bones that they claimed belonged to the biblical Stephen. Tellingly, Lucian’s own account of that discovery leverages the find to inscribe a special relationship between the martyr and the city, linking and enhancing the spiritual significance of both. The fifth chapter, “More Numerous Feasts,” reads the invention of Stephen not as the climax of the city’s quest to consolidate its local claim on the martyr but as

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the catalyst for more visible gestures, particularly in the area of ritual. Spurred by the events of December 415, the church of Jerusalem made a series of dramatic changes to its festal calendar, generating two new celebrations in honor of the first martyr. In the hands of homilists, the multiplication of these “more numerous feasts” for Stephen supported local discourses affirming a unique patron–client relationship between Stephen and his native church. Finally, the text’s sixth chapter, “A Very Great Sanctuary,” explores the enshrinement of the relics in various churches throughout the city, culminating in the construction of a dedicated “Martyrion of St. Stephen.” In the 430s, Juvenal of Jerusalem secured funds for the construction of a dedicated martyr shrine to Stephen—a structure later expanded into one of the largest and grandest basilicas in the city. This chapter argues that the size of the structure and its prominent place in local ritual life symbolized the unique profile of Stephen among all saints venerated in the city. Through it, the city broadcast its claim on Stephen as its patron martyr and civic symbol.

1 The Prestige of Stephen . . . Stephen the thrice-blessed [was] first to sanctify the earth with his own blood. By a pious context, second in time after the apostles, but first by his brave deeds. Don’t be displeased, Peter, don’t be irritated, James, nor discontented, John, if I not only compare the man with your love of wisdom, but even want to assign him something more. . . . ¹ Asterius of Amasea Although we know little about the historical Stephen, he was, by all accounts, a resident of Jerusalem. In fact, the earliest text to narrate his life and death—the biblical Acts of the Apostles, written near the turn of the second century—stresses his connections to the city at nearly every turn.² As that narrative begins, Stephen is one of several Christians in the city tasked with distributing food to locals in need (Acts 6:1–6). In subsequent verses, Stephen matures into a renowned miracle worker and preacher, whose ministry ensures that “the number of the disciples increased greatly in Jerusalem” (6:7). His success, however, brings him into direct conflict with a faction of local Jews—“the synagogue of the Freedmen”—who bring an intensely local charge against him, saying “he never ceases saying things against this holy place” (6:8–13). The city’s elders seize Stephen and bring him to trial, but the trial soon erupts into violence. In a rage, Stephen’s opponents interrupt the proceedings, seize him, and stone him just outside the city’s walls (6:57–58). Finally, as his story ends, “devout men” from the city gather his remains and bury them—presumably also in the vicinity of Jerusalem (8:3).³ Given these links between city and martyr, one might assume that the earliest examples of devotion to Stephen were developed in and around Jerusalem. Most martyr cults of the period, after all, continued Roman cultural practices focused on remains of the deceased, and were thus highly local in character.⁴ Not so with

¹ Aster. Amas., hom 12.2.2 (Datema, Homilies, 165–6; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 178). ² This dating assumes Acts’ knowledge of Josephus, as argued in Mason, Josephus; Pervo, Dating Acts, 149–201. On the problems attending all attempts to provide a more concrete dating for Acts, see Gregory, “Acts.” ³ Excellent analyses of Acts’ account of Stephen’s life and martyrdom appears in Stefan Krauter, “Martyrdom of Stephen”; Matthews, Perfect Martyr. ⁴ On Roman funerary rites and the cult of the dead, see Toynbee, Death and Burial, 43–72. For a discussion of the links between the early Roman cult of the dead and the early Christian cult of martyrs, see Jensen, “Dining with the Dead,” 107–43. On the origin of relic devotions, see Wiśniewski, Cult of Relics.

The Cult of Stephen in Jerusalem: Inventing a Patron Martyr. Hugo Méndez, Oxford University Press. © Hugo Méndez 2022. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192846990.003.0002

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Stephen. Wherever he was buried, the location of his tomb was lost well before late antiquity—buried in the dust of two Jewish-Roman wars and the massive upheaval of intervening centuries. From all indications, the city of Jerusalem had no formal cult to Stephen before the fourth century. The practice of publicly commemorating Stephen began, counterintuitively, in another region altogether. To understand the patterns of Jerusalem’s devotion to Stephen, then, we must begin outside Palestine. We must understand the forces producing the oldest expression of Stephen’s cult—a 26/27 December feast in his honor—and uncover the meanings attached to that commemoration in its earliest years. We must also understand the factors that encouraged the spread of this feast across and beyond the Roman world—not least to the city of Jerusalem itself. What this early history reveals is the remarkable prominence of Stephen in the imagination of fourth- and fifth-century Christians. In a period that saw the explosion of a new martyr piety, Stephen’s privileges as the “first martyr” made him a unique object of fascination and special focus of devotion among Christians of multiple regions. That flood of popularity and prestige, I will argue, forms the critical backdrop to Jerusalem’s later interest and investments in the martyr’s memory. As Stephen’s star shone brighter, the city with which his memory was so long entangled could not but be drawn to it.

1.1 The Earliest Feast for Stephen The earliest direct reference to a feast for Stephen—or any public devotion to the martyr at all—appears in the Brevarium Syriacum, also known as the Syriac Martyrology.⁵ Written in Syriac, the source is remarkable as “the oldest dated Christian literary manuscript”; its colophon notes that the source was compiled at “Edessa, a city of Mesopotamia” in “the latter month of Tišri in the year 723” of the Seleucid era—that is, in November 411.⁶ Even more significantly, the source is the oldest surviving example of a “universal martyrology”—that is, a comprehensive catalog of the Christian martyrs celebrated in different regions. The first section of the document lists “the confessors of the West”—that is, those martyrs connected with cities in the Roman Empire—while the second lists “the

⁵ Syriac original published in Wright, “Syrian Martyrology I,”. English translation: Wright, “Syrian Martyrology II,”. Discussion in: Mariani, Breviarium syriacum. ⁶ Brock and Van Rompay, Deir al-Surian, 360; so also Lightfoot, Apostolic Fathers, 3:419. The colophon appears on fol. 254r, col. 3 (Mariani, Breviarium syriacum, 3). The document refers to the Epiphany feast in its 6 January entry, but only in passing (Schäferdiek, Martyrologium syriacum, 20; text in Mariani, Breviarium syriacum, 28; Eng. tr., Wright, “Syrian Martyrology II,” 423). On Epiphany as a rival nativity feast to Christmas, see Johnson and Bradshaw, Origins of Feasts, 131–51.

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confessors who were slain in the East”—that is, those martyrs connected with cities in the Parthian empire.⁷ As one might expect for a document condensing the traditions of different regions, the Syriac Martyrology shows a clear dependence on multiple sources. One of these sources—the base text of the document’s first, Western section— appears to have been an Arian religious calendar from Nicomedia, translated from Greek and dating to about the year 360.⁸ Unlike the second section, which compiles saints from the region surrounding Edessa in a simple list form, the first section follows the cycle of the year, listing “the names of the confessors . . . and their days on which they gained their crowns.”⁹ The calendar’s Arian extraction is clearest from its 6 June entry: “at Alexandria, Arius the presbyter.”¹⁰ And tellingly, the largest contingent of martyrs cited in the section is from Nicomedia and its environs, suggesting the calendar’s origins in that local community. The Syriac Martyrology’s entry for Stephen is apparently derived from this older Nicomedian source.¹¹ The entry, formatted like all others in the Western section, occupies the first date on the calendar: 26 December. It is immediately followed by entries for four other figures known from the New Testament: The former Kānūn [December] 26. According to the reckoning of the Greeks. The first confessor, at Jerusalem, Stephen the Apostle, the chief of the confessors.¹² ⁷ The inscription “confessors of the West” appears at the end of the martyrology’s first section (Wright, “Syrian Martyrology II,” 431). ⁸ On the first section’s dependence on a fourth-century Nicomedian source, see Achelis, Martyrologien, 59–60; Erbes, “Syrische Martyrologium II,” 336; Lightfoot, Apostolic Fathers, 3:419; Mariani, Breviarium syriacum, 10–12; Shäferdiek, “Martyrologium syriacum,” 5–21. As Lightfoot notes, since the manuscript already shows copyist errors stemming from the confusion of “Syriac letters having similar forms,” the manuscript “probably is removed by several stages of transcription from the original Syriac” translation of the Greek (Apostolic Fathers, 3:419). Entries from the first section also find cognates in another, Western source with no knowledge of the Syriac Martyrology’s Edessan traditions: the so-called Martyrologium Hieronymianum (see introduction and Latin text in De Rossi and Duchesne, “Martyrologium Hieronymianum,” i–195). ⁹ Mariani, Breviarium syriacum, 27; Eng. tr., Wright, “Syrian Martyrology II,” 423. ¹⁰ The calendar’s Arian extraction is clearest from its 6 June entry: “at Alexandria, Arius the presbyter” (Wright, “Syrian Martyrology” II, 427). ¹¹ Schäferdiek, Martyrologium syriacum, 20–1. An exception is Achelis, who argues that the church of Nicomedia could not have observed these days since it had not yet adopted Christmas: “Since the Nicomedian calendar probably dates back to the 360s, it presumably did not begin with Christmas. The feast of the 25th of December did not settle in the Orient until a little later. Since the apostolic feasts of the 26th, 27th and 28th of December could only have been fixed on the basis of Christmas, they too would have been absent from the Urmartyrology” (Martyrologien, 71). In fact, the church of Nicomedia could have embraced these feasts even as it resisted Christmas (as Roll [Origins of Christmas, 86] assumes). In the absence of a compelling reason to treat these lines as later additions, then, it is safest to assign them to the same Nicomedian source underlying most of the section. The first two feasts also appear in the Martyrologium Hieronymianum, which seems to depend on the same source (De Rossi and Delahaye, “Martyrologium Hieronymianum,” 1–2). ¹² Here, I have edited Wright’s translation (which omits a comma after “the first confessor”) to conform to Mariani’s translation: “confessor primus, Hierosolymis, Stephanus, Apostolous, caput confessorum” (Wright, “Syrian Martyrology II,” 423; Mariani, Breviarium syriacum, 27).

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27. John and Jacob [James], the Apostles, at Jerusalem. 28. In the city of Rome, Paul the Apostle, and Simon Cephas [Peter], the chief of the Apostles of our Lord.¹³ As it stands, these are the only entries dedicated to biblical figures in the text. The fact that these entries are distinct from the others and grouped together suggests that they represent a unified block of festivals. This suspicion is confirmed by the fact that they appear in other, still earlier, sources in a more or less intact sequence. For instance, a parallel set of feasts can be reconstructed for late fourth-century Cappadocia.¹⁴ In the encomium In sanct. Steph. Protomartyris (386 ), Gregory of Nyssa draws comparisons between two feasts celebrated on consecutive days in his local church—one, the 25 December nativity of Jesus, and the other, a 26 December feast of Stephen occasioning the encomium:¹⁵ See, we acquire a feast from a feast and grace from grace. Yesterday the Lord of the universe welcomed us whereas today it is the imitator [Stephen] of the Lord. How are they related to each other? One assumed human nature on our behalf while the other shed it for his Lord. One accepted the cave of this life for us, and the other left it for him. One was wrapped in swaddling clothes for us, and the other was stoned for him. One destroyed death, and the other scorned it.¹⁶

These feasts were apparently followed by a joint celebration of the inner three disciples of Jesus: Peter, James, and John. In a second encomium, evidently preached on the day following his first (that is, on 27 December), Gregory of Nyssa concludes his unfinished remarks on Stephen and transitions to a discussion of the inner three disciples: To Stephen all these stones [with which he was stoned] are suddenly woven together as a herald to the divine Gospel and with him are the martyrs who again shine with the beauty of salvation. We have earlier mentioned the brilliance of piety that shines so brightly, namely, Peter, James, John and those leaders of the apostolic unanimity and crowns of the Church’s glory. . . . . . . The most important leaders were Peter, James and John who were designated as witnesses by Christ, running to the end of their lives and expending themselves by various forms of witness.¹⁷

¹³ ¹⁴ ¹⁵ ¹⁶ ¹⁷

Mariani, Breviarium syriacum, 27; Eng. tr., Wright, “Syrian Martyrology II,” 423. Comings, Liturgical Year, 99–100. On the dating of the homily to 386, see Daniélou, “Chronologie,” 372. Greg. Nyss., In sanct. Steph. I, 1 (Heil et al., Sermones, 2:75; Eng. tr., Richard McCambly). Greg. Nyss., In sanct. Steph. II, 1 (Heil et al., Sermones, 2:100–2; Eng. tr., Richard McCambly).

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Finally, it seems a feast to Paul occupied a date immediately following this 27 December celebration. In an encomium for Basil preached on 1 January, Gregory references feasts to “Stephen, Peter, James, John, and Paul” preceding the current celebration.¹⁸ In this case, we should see Gregory as a witness to a variant form of the same block of feasts attested in the Syriac Martyrology: Syriac Martyrology

Cappadocia

Dec. 26 27 28

Dec. 26 27 28

Stephen John and James Peter and Paul

Stephen Peter, James, John Paul

A third witness from the fourth century, also from Cappadocia, attests at least some of the same festivals. In a homily preached only several years after Gregory’s, Asterius of Amasea praises the genius of his local liturgical calendar for celebrating the feasts of Christmas and Stephen one after the other: How truly holy and beautiful is the cycle of events delightful to us. Feast follows upon feast, the one celebration comes closely after the other. We are invited from prayer to prayer: the birth of the Lord is followed immediately by the honour given to his servant. . . . Yesterday indeed we learned by the periodically returning celebration that the Saviour of the world was born, that the One without flesh put on the flesh, the one without body put on the body, and so then also accepted the suffering for our sake, for nothing else than for his concern for us. Today we look upon the brave fighter stoned for him, so that he gave thanks with his blood for His blood.¹⁹

The only other record of Stephen’s feast appears in the eighth book of the Apostolic Constitutions. A liturgical prescription in that text forbids work on various holy days, so that even slaves may “have leisure to go to church for instruction in piety.”²⁰ The days cited in this section include the Lord’s day and Sabbath, the entirety of Holy Week and Bright Week, the Ascension, Pentecost, “the festival of [Jesus’] birth,” that is, Christmas, as well as “the festival of Epiphany.”²¹ The final part of the constitution extends this prohibition to various saints’ feasts as well: “Let them rest on the days of the apostles: for they were appointed your teachers to bring you to Christ, and made you worthy of the Spirit. ¹⁸ Greg. Nyss., In Basilium fratrem (Heil et al., Sermones, 2:109; Eng. tr., Richard McCambly). ¹⁹ Aster. Amas., hom 12.1.1–2 (Datema, Homilies, 165; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 177–8). On the attribution to Asterius, see discussion in Bovon, “Dossier,” 289, no. 61. Adolf Bretz demonstrates that Asterius’ homily is dependent on that of Gregory of Nyssa, and therefore dates several years after 386 (Asterios von Amasea, 72). ²⁰ Const. ap. 8.33.2 (SC 336.240–1). ²¹ Const. ap. 8.33.2–3 (SC 336.240–3).

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Let them rest on the day of the first martyr Stephen, and of the other holy martyrs who preferred Christ to their own life.”²² Although the Apostolic Constitutions do not indicate the date of this feast for Stephen, it almost certainly corresponds with the 26 December commemoration attested for fourth-century Nicomedia and Cappadocia, as well as early fifth-century Edessa. Studies of the Apostolic Constitutions generally agree that the liturgical material contained in the collection’s eighth book reflects the traditions of a community in the environs of Antioch, c.380 .²³ It is noteworthy, then, that Nicomedia and Cappadocia both lay within the Antiochene sphere of ecclesiastical and liturgical influence. Since no alternative feast for Stephen is attested for this part of the world, one can safely surmise that “the day of the first martyr Stephen” known to the Apostolic Constitutions is the 26 December feast.

1.2 The Origins of the Feast Over a century ago, Louis Duchesne recognized that “there was no historical support”²⁴ for the dates of Stephen’s feast, or for that matter for the feasts that customarily followed it. No source prior to the fourth century transmits the dates on which Stephen—or for that matter Peter, Paul, or John—died.²⁵ Acts tells us that James died in the spring—at Passover—well after December (Acts 7:1–5). Duchesne, then, concluded that the feasts “were fixed arbitrarily.”²⁶ So why were these feasts fixed to 26–28 December in particular? The answer seems to have something to do with Christmas. By their position, the feasts seem to presuppose the existence of Christmas—a feast we often saw paired with them.²⁷ None of these feasts, however, have an obvious link to Jesus’ birth. The answer to this riddle was finally deduced by Hans Lietzmann. As he notes, in many fourth-century Christian communities, Christmas was recognized as the first day of the ritual year—the beginning of the calendar.²⁸ A community wanting to honor the earliest saints, but unsure of when they died, could have easily chosen to fix their feasts to the earliest part of the year. What makes this explanation compelling is that the earliest witnesses to these feasts seem to recognize this logic. As early as 381 , Gregory of Nyssa interprets

²² Const. ap. 8.33.8–9 (SC 336.242–3). ²³ Metzger, Constitutions, 1:55–6. ²⁴ Duchesne, Christian Worship, 267. ²⁵ It is also clear that the dates do not reflect the discovery and translation of the relics of these saints. The relics of Stephen—the first figure commemorated in the block—did not surface until 415. ²⁶ Duchesne, Christian Worship, 267. ²⁷ In his classic work Comparative Liturgy, Anton Baumstark categorized these feasts as “concomitant feasts,” a class that “brings together, immediately after a great Feast in the Liturgical Year, a whole group of commemorations,” for whom no prior historical anniversaries existed (184–5). ²⁸ Lietzmann, Petrus und Paulus, 92–106, especially at 95.

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the meaning of this block precisely by its position at the head of the Cappadocian liturgical year: In a wonderful manner God has established an order [taxis] and sequence [akolouthia] by the feasts we commemorate each year. Our order of spiritual feasts . . . consists in having a knowledge of heavenly reality. [Paul] says that at the beginning the Apostles enjoyed an order which formed prophets together with shepherds and teachers. The order of yearly celebrations concurs with this apostolic sequence. However, the first [celebration] does not concur with the others because the OnlyBegotten Son’s theophany through his birth from a virgin is instituted in the world not simply as a holy feast but as the holy of holies and feast of feasts. Therefore let us number those who follow this order which for us begins with the assembly of apostles and prophets. Indeed people like Stephen, Peter, James, John and Paul possess the apostolic and prophetic spirit after whom comes the pastor and teacher [Basil] who belongs to their order which marks our present celebration.²⁹

For Gregory, the church year begins with the 25 December celebration of Christ’s birth. It then proceeds immediately into a commemoration of “the assembly of the apostles and prophets” on the next day (the feasts of “Stephen, Peter, James, John, and Paul”), and then to a commemoration of “pastors and teachers”—that is, post-apostolic figures. For Gregory, this sequence followed a clear “order”—one that is implicitly chronological. The same idea is clearly represented in the Syriac Martyrology. Unlike the Roman and Nyssan sources, the Syriac Martyrology lacks any reference to a 25 December feast.³⁰ Even so, it still begins in December with the feasts of Stephen, James and John, and Peter and Paul (26–28 December). That our two earliest attestations of the feast of Stephen associate it with the beginning of the liturgical year is telling. But the Syriac Martyrology gives us the added advantage of inspecting the liturgical year as a whole. One can divide that calendar into two parts, the first segment embracing feasts for “apostolic” figures (first three entries) and the rest commemorating “post-apostolic” figures (elsewhere).³¹ Here again we see an implicitly chronological ordering at play.

²⁹ Greg. Nyss., In sanct. Steph. I, 1 (Heil et al., Sermones, 2:76; Eng. tr., Richard McCambly and David Salomon). ³⁰ Instead, the Syriac Martyrology presupposes a celebration of the birth of Christ on “the day of the Manifestation of our Lord Jesus [the Epiphany]” [6 January] (Roll, Origins of Christmas, 86). A discussion of Christmas in the Syriac Martyrology appears in Erbes, “Syrische Martyrologium I”; Erbes, “Syrische Martyrologium II.” On the practice of the Jerusalem church, see Roll, Origins of Christmas, 199–200; Talley, Origins, 125; Baldovin, Ancient Jerusalem, 35–7. ³¹ There is some truth in the medieval characterization of the 26–28 December feasts of Stephen et al., as celebrations of the comites Christi (“the companions of Christ,” i.e., sharers in his sufferings). On the Syriac Martyrology, they are “companions of Christ” precisely as the only contemporaries of Jesus commemorated on the calendar.

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Even if the positions of these feasts are artificial, then, they are not, strictly speaking, “arbitrary,” as Duchesne claimed. There is nothing arbitrary about a position at the beginning of a liturgical calendar. It is a marked position, here attracting a marked category of feasts: the memorials of the original, earliest Christians. Even today, the beginning points of liturgical calendars are unique and thematically charged boundaries that signal or license the values of “origins” or “antecedence.”³² In the fourth century, a desire to exploit these values led at least one early Christian community to organize a series of apostolic memorials around the 25 December axis.

Stephen’s Priority The same chronological idea seems to have shaped the internal ordering of the individual feasts of the block. It cannot be a coincidence that the very first figure in the block is Stephen, Christianity’s first martyr.³³ On the contrary, the Syriac Martyrology calls attention to this very fact, hailing Stephen as “the first confessor, at Jerusalem . . . the Apostle, the chief of the confessors” in its first entry. The arrangement is striking. As the “first-born of the martyrs,” Stephen sits at the head of days in the Syriac Martyrology, presiding over the entire choir of martyrs that follows.³⁴ This is hardly surprising since at this stage, “what girded the entire Christian calendar was the celebration of the martyrs.”³⁵ The Syriac Martyrology reveals a time when the stature of Stephen was so great that his feast anchored the liturgical year itself. Stephen occupies no less of an exalted position on the Cappadocian calendars. The conclusion of Christmas marked the beginning of the annual cycle of saints’ feasts. Homilies of the period suggest Stephen was afforded the first place in that cycle precisely as “the first to have received the crown of martyrdom, the first to have paved the way for the chorus of martyrs and the first to have resisted sin to

³² On the Byzantine calendar, for instance, these values thematically unite the Byzantine Induction or New Year (1 September) and the feast Nativity of the Theotokos (8 September), heightening the theme of “origination”: “Today, O people, is the first fruit of our salvation. For behold, she who was chosen from all generations as Mother and Virgin and habitation of God, comes forth in birth from a barren woman” (Sticheron at the Litija, 8 September). In Western Christianity, the liturgical year begins on the first Sunday of Advent, which is already associated to the “beginning” of salvation history by its anticipation of the incarnation of Christ. Of course, the association of the feast of the Nativity and the beginning of the liturgical year in the fourth-century churches of Rome and Nyssa depended on the same theme. (Compare the eschatological overtones of the modern feast of Christ the King, which inverts these values from its position at the end of the liturgical year, immediately preceding the boundary.) ³³ The express identification of Stephen as the first Christian martyr appears in Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. 3.12.10 (PG 7.904); 4.15.1 (PG 7.1013). ³⁴ Hesych. H., hom 9. In sanct. Steph., 4 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:330–1; Eng. tr., Let us Die, 196). ³⁵ Limberis, Architects of Piety, 14. Also, Nardone’s comment that in this period, “sainthood was still associated with martyrdom” (“Christian Calendar,” 242).

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the point of shedding blood.”³⁶ In his opening remarks for the day after Stephen’s feast, Gregory of Nyssa implies that Stephen has the first right to a feast because he is the Protomartyr:³⁷ Upon entering the world, Christ brought salvation and founded the Church. . . . The disciples followed their Teacher by following in his footsteps, for after Christ there came bearers of Christ; after the Son of Justice, they illumine the world. Stephen was the first to flourish on our behalf . . . he was the first fruit for the Lord from the Church’s fertility. . . . Stephen as the first fruits of what has been cultivated in the form of a crown from the harmony of many and various virtues.³⁸

Subsequent lines of the same homily develop this idea further. Since he is technically speaking on the feast of Peter, James, and John, Gregory defends his decision to continue his remarks on Stephen on the feast day of other saints. He does so by singling out Stephen’s privilege as the “first to receive the crown of martyrdom”: Therefore [praise of] the martyrs will not be without the apostles nor will the apostles be without the martyrs. . . . Indeed blessed Stephen bears their image and the stamp of the cross and was first to receive the crown of martyrdom through death. However, the martyr’s endurance is a sign for teachers and has indeed become a crown on their behalf.³⁹

Asterius underscores Stephen’s unique privileges that much more boldly. In his homily, he insists that Stephen’s position as the “first” martyr earns him greater “admiration” than the figures following him: Everyone who fights for the true religion is eminent, even if he follows as a second or a third the fighters before him. But he deserves not the same admiration as the first. A second is led by his zeal to imitate the preceding and is drawn in that way to his goal. But he who has no predecessor needs invent his bravery on his own and rightly receives the vote of precedence. Mighty was the zeal of our man, mighty therefore also the honor; immortal his remembrance, no forgetfulness covered it, no time darkened it.⁴⁰

These ideas are brought to a head when Asterius more explicitly compares Stephen to the three saints commemorated on the next day by name. For ³⁶ Greg. Nyss., In sanct. Steph. I, 1 (Heil et al., Sermones, 2:76; Eng. tr., Richard McCambly and David Salomon). ³⁷ In fact, the first attestation of the term “protomartyr” appears in Greg. Nyss. In sanct. Steph. Protomartyris II (Heil et al., Sermones, 2:98). ³⁸ Greg. Nyss., In sanct. Steph. II, 1 (Heil et al., Sermones, 2:98; Eng. tr., McCambly and Salomon). ³⁹ Greg. Nyss., In sanct. Steph. I, 1 (Heil et al., Sermones, 2:98–9; Eng. tr., McCambly and Salomon). ⁴⁰ Aster. Amas., hom 12.4.1–2 (Datema, Homilies, 167; Eng. tr., Let Us Die, 179).

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Asterius, the praise of Peter, James, and John must be deferred until the praises of Stephen are complete:⁴¹ . . . Stephen the thrice-blessed [was] first to sanctify the earth with his own blood. By a pious context, second in time after the apostles, but first by his brave deeds. Don’t be displeased, Peter, don’t be irritated, James, nor discontented, John, if I not only compare the man with your love of wisdom, but even want to assign him something more. . . . Yes, you are the elder of the disciples, holy Peter, proclaiming Jesus Christ before all others. But when you were announcing the word of the Gospel . . . this one entered the stadium, carrying off the crown of the contest. He went to heaven and was glorified, even when you were still on earth. And the climax was that the Father Himself and the Son summoned him by a wonderful vision. . . . Let us also consider you, James, brother of John. You were the preacher of Christ, His second prey, after Peter. Who wouldn’t admire your faith? You were simply called and without hesitation you followed. You left your boat, and your father Zebedee. You suffered for faith eagerly, I recognise: Herod, the tyrant, slew you with the sword, though much later than Stephen. But why should I name them one by one? Our man took away before all other saints the prize of martyrdom, being the first to meet the devil in battle and to vanquish him.⁴² . . .

For Asterius, there is no need to extend the comparisons further. As the Protomartyr, Stephen is first among the saints, and all other commemorations must give way to his. The same ordering principle—priority of martyrdom—probably shaped the remainder of the cluster as well. Can it be a coincidence that the second day of the block in Nicomedia and Cappadocia commemorates the second martyr identified in the book of Acts: the apostle James, the son of Zebedee (Acts 12:1–2)? Evidently, the community that developed these feasts took Acts as a guide and reserved the first and second days of the cluster to the purported first and second martyrs of Christian history: Stephen and James.⁴³ Only the honor of James as Christianity’s second martyr would justify a position in the sequence immediately following Stephen but preceding apostles of greater stature (Paul, and perhaps also Peter).⁴⁴

⁴¹ On the attribution to Asterius, see discussion in Bovon, “Dossier,” 289, no. 61. ⁴² Aster. Amas., hom 12.2.2–3.3 (Datema, Homilies, 167; Eng. tr., Let Us Die, 165–6). ⁴³ In my previous treatment of this subject (Mendez, “Post-Nativity Commemorations,” 305–6), I was unaware of the fact that Walter D. Ray has made the same conjecture in his still unpublished dissertation (“Jerusalem Calendar,” 284–5). ⁴⁴ In this light, it also appears John’s claim to the 27 December feast is secondary to that of his brother. John shares his brother’s commemoration through his frequent pairing with him in the gospels (e.g., Luke 5:10; 9:54), and their blood relationship. This pairing occurs even in the record of James’ death in Acts (“[Herod] had James, the brother of John, killed with the sword”; Acts 12:2). Nevertheless, it is James’ death that is fundamental to the feast; the skeletal principle of the block is historical order of martyrdom.

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Spread of the Cluster We cannot know for certain which community developed these feasts. By the time they enter into the historical record—the late fourth century—they had already spread quite far. The sites canvassed above span a geographical range of at least 450mi. (724km). Still, it may be possible to narrow our options. As I noted earlier, the 26–28 December position of the cluster presupposes the practice of observing 25 December as the beginning of the liturgical year. This cluster of feasts, then, must have emerged within a church (1) that was already celebrating the Nativity on 25 December sometime before the earliest attestations of these feasts in the 360s (the approximate date of the Nicomedian calendar underlying the Syriac Martyrology); (2) that recognized that date as the beginning of the liturgical year; and (3) that had no rival feast for Stephen, James, John, Peter or Paul, such as might have precluded the native development of any of these feasts.⁴⁵ The first of these constraints eliminates several cities in the fourth-century Roman Empire. We can, for instance, discard Gregory Dix’s suggestion that “the feast of S. Stephen, December 26th, seems to have originated at Jerusalem in the fourth century (before December 25th had been accepted there as the date of our Lord’s birth).”⁴⁶ The church of Jerusalem elected to adopt the Christmas feast only in the mid-fifth century, and even then abortively.⁴⁷ We can also eliminate Richard Nardone’s suggestion that the feasts were developed in Antioch.⁴⁸ In a homily dated to 25 December 386, the then patriarch of Antioch, John Chrysostom, remarks that it had been “scarcely ten years, in fact, since this day [i.e., Christmas] has been made known to us.”⁴⁹ Evidently, the city adopted the feast no earlier than 375.⁵⁰ The second and third constraints, in turn, exclude several sites in the West. Rome cannot be the source of these commemorations since the earliest record of its martyr feasts—the Chronograph of 354—attests a June rather than a December feast to Peter and Paul.⁵¹ Our earliest North African sources attest the same feast.⁵²

⁴⁵ The first parameter assumes that the Nicomedian calendar underlying the Syriac Martyrology is the source of its first three entries (see note 8). ⁴⁶ Dix, Shape of the Liturgy, 378. ⁴⁷ Roll, Origins of Christmas, 199. ⁴⁸ Pace Richard Nardone, who proposes Antioch as the feast’s originator (“Christian Calendar,” 242). ⁴⁹ Chrysostom, In Diem Nat., 1 (PG 49, 351). On the date of the homily, see Auf der Maur, Feiern, 167. ⁵⁰ By the same token, we can also eliminate other cities known to have adopted Christmas in the same period, especially Alexandria, Constantinople, and the cities of Cappadocia. On the origins of Christmas at these sites, see Roll, Origins of Christmas, 174. Talley, Origins, 138–41. ⁵¹ In the Depositio Martyrum: “III kal. Iul. Petri in Catacumbas. et Pauli Ostense, Tusco et Basso cons” (Mommsen, “Feriale Ecclesiae Romanae,” 1:70). ⁵² Kal. eccl. Carth., ii kal. Jul. entry (PL 13.1222). The entry is fragmentary (“ . . . Jul. Sanctorum . . . Apostolorum”), but as Migne notes, the Western feast of Peter and Paul is undoubtedly in view (PL 13.1221, no. j).

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From its unknown point of origin, the cluster spread eastward, probably bundled with the Christmas feast on which it was dependent.⁵³ In this case, we can superimpose the spread of the cult of Stephen over existing reconstructions for the spread of Christmas.⁵⁴ This would have the cult of Stephen penetrating parts of Asia, Syria, and perhaps even Palestine, sometime in the 370s to 380s. Nevertheless, some cities adopted the feasts without also adopting Christmas, as seen in the Syriac Martyrology.

1.3 Conclusion Sometime before the mid-fourth century, a community hundreds of miles to the west of Jerusalem introduced the first attested expression of a cult to Stephen: an annual memorial feast in his honor. Throughout the chapter, I have used the earliest fourth-century witnesses to the feast—especially the Syriac Martyrology and the homilies of Gregory and Asterius—to interpret its significance. Those documents indicate that the feast was intentionally positioned on the first open date of the ritual year precisely to symbolize Stephen’s significance as Christianity’s first martyr. Just as these early witnesses help us interpret the feast, however, the feast itself may help us interpret a peculiar feature of these witnesses—namely, the consistent ways in which they reflect on the memory of Stephen. It is interesting that the Syriac Martyrology, Gregory, and Asterius share a number of significant themes in common. These include not only Stephen’s prominence as the first martyr but also his pre-eminence over later martyrs (so the Syriac Martyrology and Asterius) and his privileges over the apostles (Gregory and Asterius). Rather than see these similarities as coincidental, we should consider the possible role of Stephen’s feast in promoting these reflections and unifying Christian reflection on the biblical figure of Stephen. A feast preceding that of any other on the calendar, and before those of the apostles in particular, may well have inspired these lines of reflection even outside a direct literary link between homilies. In short, we should see the feast not merely as a vehicle for devotion to the martyr but as a vehicle for the emergence of a more homogenous discourse on Stephen across the Mediterranean—one that underscored the unique privileges of Stephen and elevated him to a unique position in the religious imaginations of fourth-century

⁵³ So Boudewijn Dehandschutter: “the introduction of this festival also implied the introduction of a number of Begleitfeste (‘accompanying feasts’), among which was the celebration of Stephen – exactly the day after Christmas” (“Stephen,” 117). Gregory, of course, picks up both Christmas and the postNativity commemorations in his homily. ⁵⁴ On the sources for, and context of, the spread of Christmas through the region, see Roll, Origins of Christmas, 189–95.

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Christians. In this case, the feast would represent a critical link in the reception history of Stephen. If that link helps us understand the dramatic explosion of interest in Stephen from the fourth century on, it also contextualizes and motivates the church of Jerusalem’s increasing interest in the martyr through the same period. At a time when cities sought to capitalize on the fame of their local martyrs, the church of Jerusalem could hardly have identified a local martyr invested with more symbolic capital in the period than Stephen. Stephen’s cult was widespread and immensely popular. By the same token, in a period in which the church of Jerusalem cited its antiquity as the basis of its prestige, no martyr embodied that antiquity better than “the first to have received the crown of martyrdom, and the first to have paved the way for the chorus of martyrs.”⁵⁵ It is little surprise, then, that the church of Jerusalem gradually deepened its investments in the cult of Stephen. By the late fourth century, the two—city and saint—were well poised for a reunion. In the decades that followed, that reunion gradually materialized, taking shape in word, in stone, and finally in bone.

⁵⁵ Greg. Nyss., In sanct. Steph. I, 1 (Heil et al., Sermones, 2:76; Eng. tr., McCambly and Salomon).

2 The Early Cult For others only hear, but we both see and handle. Cyril of Jerusalem¹ From our limited evidence, it would appear that the church of Jerusalem developed a cult to Stephen by the turn of the fifth century, if not in the last decades of the fourth century. Crucial here is the witness of the Revelatio Sancti Stephani, the earliest account of the discovery of the martyr’s relics.² According to that text’s B recension, the residents of Jerusalem “bore off the relics of blessed Stephen to the holy Sion church” on the basis of a tradition identifying the church as the place where he was ordained an archdeacon.³ That tradition suggests that the memory of Stephen had already begun to condense around certain local sites—places that probably staged at least some formal or informal devotions to the martyr.⁴ No less significant is the claim in Revelatio A that locals waited several days to translate Stephen’s bones, precisely so they could celebrate a relic deposition liturgy in Jerusalem on “the seventh kalends of January,” or 26 December.⁵ Evidently,

¹ Cyr. Jer., Cat. Lect. 13:22 (PG 33.799–800; Eng. tr., NPNF 2.7.88). ² The title “Revelatio Sancti Stephani” is used in Vanderlinden’s critical edition, which reconstructs two competing versions of the document from an extensive survey of the Latin textual tradition (“Revelatio” 178–217, with the text of the two recensions appearing, verso and recto, on 197–217). The first version, composed in Latin with the assistance of Avitus of Braga, takes the form of an encyclical letter to “all the holy churches” (A). The second, original to Greek, is addressed to an unknown priest by the name of Hymesius (B). At present, only the second of Vanderlinden’s recensions appears in an English translation with introductory notes (Ehrman and Jacobs, Christianity in Late Antiquity, 360–5). The same text is reproduced under the title “Epistula Luciani ad Omnem Ecclesiam” in Migne’s presentation in two competing versions (PL 41.807–818, in parallel columns). Migne’s competing versions, however, should not be confused with Vanderlinden’s reconstructed recensions. In this study, I will cite passages in the Revelatio Sancti Stephani according to the (continuous) versification given in Vanderlinden’s critical edition [“Revelatio,” 190–217], noting, where appropriate, the recension. ³ This detail is limited to version B: “Et ita cum psalmis et hymnis asportaverunt reliquias beati Stephani in sanctam ecclesiam Sion, ubi et archidiaconus fuerat ordinatus, relinquentes nobis de membris sancti parvos articulos, immo maximas reliquias cum pulvere ubi omnis eius caro absumpta est” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 48 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 217; Eng. tr., Ehrman and Jacob, Christianity in Late Antiquity, 365, with “Sion” substituted for “Zion”]). ⁴ Wilken, Land Called Holy, 101–25. ⁵ “Et post paucos dies transtulerunt sanctum corpus Stephani in civitatem, VIIo Kalendas Ianuaris” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 48 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 214; Eng. tr. mine]). Several versions of the text derived from recension B place the translation instead on “III nonas Augusti” (Aug. 3) (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 216 and apparatus on 191, 217). This date probably reflects a confusion of the biblical Stephen with Stephen I, the third-century pope of Rome (Delehaye, “Martyrologe hieronymien,” 23–30).

The Cult of Stephen in Jerusalem: Inventing a Patron Martyr. Hugo Méndez, Oxford University Press. © Hugo Méndez 2022. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192846990.003.0003

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Stephen’s festival had already penetrated Palestine and was well known and observed in Jerusalem.⁶ If these details establish the rough contours of the city’s early devotion to Stephen, they open up several more questions about its origins. How did Stephen’s memory become connected to concrete locations in the city like the Sion church? To what extent were the church’s supposed connections to the martyr foregrounded at the site? What position did Stephen’s feast occupy on the local ritual calendar and in the ritual life of the city more broadly? In this chapter, I will address these questions not merely to understand the cult in its earliest phase, but to understand the factors underpinning Stephen’s own dramatic refiguration in the early fifth-century city. In his study of the cult of Peter in Rome, George Demacopoulos conceptualizes the emergence of a “Petrine discourse”—a discourse linking the Roman church to the patronage and authority of Peter—as a process of organizing tradition. In the earliest centuries, Rome possessed only a fluid set of texts, sites, and material objects associated with Peter—a set “developed on multiple and uneven trajectories that lacked clearly defined boundaries or centralizing forces.”⁷ These elements, however, provided the city’s bishops with the resources necessary to make several key discursive turns in the fourth century, supporting a new vision of Peter’s living authority in the city. Jerusalem’s collective memory of Stephen followed a similar arc. In its earliest phases—the phases we will explore in this chapter—that memory consisted of a map of locations and traditions lacking sustained impulses or motivations. It was not oriented towards the claim of a special, exclusive relationship between Stephen and the city of his martyrdom, framed in a vocabulary of patronage. Stephen occupied a mostly peripheral position in the imagination of the fourth-century city. But the ideas condensed in that map—of Stephen as a martyr, cleric, and founding member of the church and of an unbroken continuity between apostolic and late ancient Jerusalem—these ideas became the raw materials for the more dramatic claim on Stephen evident in fifth-century sources. In later centuries, building on the developments explored in this chapter, the church of Jerusalem came to see the “table attendant of Sion” as its heavenly attendant, extending a ministry of service from the city’s imagined pasts.⁸

2.1 Stephen and the Sion Basilica Of the many elements of Jerusalem’s cult to Stephen, perhaps none can claim an older pedigree than the traditions linking the martyr to various sites in and around ⁶ Renoux, Codex arménien, 1:176–7, no. 4; Verhelst, Lectionnaire de Jérusalem, 75. ⁷ Demacopoulos, Invention of Peter, 36–7. ⁸ Hesych. H., hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 2 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:328–9; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 196).

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the city. Those concerning the Sion hill in particular were almost certainly in place by 390 and may have roots as deep as the 340s—probably well before the penetration of Stephen’s feast in the city.⁹ The emergence of these traditions, then, is a natural starting point for our history.

The Sion Hill To understand how Stephen became associated with the Sion hill, one must first understand the tangled history of the site.¹⁰ Despite its name, the area of the city known as “Holy Sion” to fourth- and fifth- century Christians was not coterminous with any of the various areas of the city called “Sion” in the Hebrew Bible. The earliest of these—the “stronghold of Sion” (mĕs:udat s:iyyôn)—was a fortified Jebusite settlement situated on the lower, southeastern hill of the later city. That hill was bound on either side by the modern el-Wad and Kidron valleys and extended from the southern edge of the upper eastern hill (the Temple Mount, called “Moriah” in 2 Chr 3:1) down to the Pool of Siloam. After its capture by David and subsequent transformation into the seat of his kingdom (2 Sam 5:5–10), the site acquired the alternative name, “the city of David” (ʿîr dwd), used in later periods to distinguish it from the Temple precincts to the north. Thus, in the account of the Temple’s dedication, Solomon is said to have brought “up the ark of the covenant of the Lord out of the city of David, which is Sion” to the newly constructed Temple (1 Kgs. 8:1). In this text, the language of “bringing up” reflects the fact that the Temple mount stood at a slightly higher elevation than the older Sion settlement. From later passages of the Hebrew Bible, however, it is clear that the name “Sion” eventually came to be applied to the upper eastern hill on which the Temple stood as well, perhaps as “Sion” was increasingly used as a hyponym for the city of Jerusalem as a whole (cf. Ps. 51:18; Zech. 9:9; Cant. 3:11). In several psalms, “Sion” is the place on which God dwells, precisely as the site of the Temple (Ps. 9:11; 76:2; cf. 84:1–10). Similarly, in Joel 3:17, “Sion” is the “holy mountain.” This usage persisted through the Hellenistic period. In 1 Maccabees, Judas’ soldiers, victorious against the Greeks, “went up to Mount Sion” only to find “the sanctuary desolate, the altar desecrated, the gates burnt, weeds growing in the courts . . . and the priests’ chambers demolished” (1 Macc. 4:37–38). Through the dramatic expansion of the city westward and northward, the location of the Davidic Sion was again displaced. That expansion brought an even higher spur than the others, the hill immediately west of the el-Wad, into the city limits. By the time of Josephus, locals had begun to identify this spur—part of ⁹ This approximate date is dependent on the dating of Cyril’s Catechetical Lectures to the late 340s or early 350s (see discussion under no. 20). ¹⁰ On this history, see ABD 6.1096–7; Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims, 350–1; Magness, Archeology of the Holy Land, 21–4.

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the Herodian “upper city” and today largely enclosed in the modern Armenian quarter—with the city of David: [Jerusalem] was built, in portions facing each other, on two hills separated by a central valley, in which the tiers of houses ended. Of these hills that on which the upper city lay was far higher and had a straighter ridge than the other; consequently, owing to its strength it was called by King David—the father of Solomon the first builder of the temple—the Stronghold, but we called it the upper agora.¹¹

Fourth- and fifth-century Christians inherited this mistaken association and often identified this hill with the biblical “city of David” and “Sion” in their writings.¹² For example, though Eusebius’ use of the term “Sion” is sometimes shaped by biblical uses, his earlier writings associate Sion with a specific area of the upper city.¹³ In his Onomasticon, a guide to biblical place names, Eusebius places Golgotha “in Jerusalem north of Mount Zion,” suggesting that Sion also lay west of the el-Wad.¹⁴ This misidentification, in turn, was reinforced through a popular Christian interpretation of various biblical oracles predicting the destruction of Sion. Through the severe contraction of the city’s population following the JewishRoman wars, the upper city lay largely abandoned, with some part of it dedicated to agriculture. In its ruined state, then, the area seemed an especially likely candidate to be the “Sion” spoken of in Micah 3:12 LXX: . . . Sion will be ploughed like a field, and Jerusalem will be like a garden-watcher’s hut, and the mountain of the house will be turned into a grove of a thicket (Micah 3:12 LXX).¹⁵

A similar prophecy in Isa. 1:7–8 LXX connects the ruined state of “Sion” with the destructive power of “a foreign people,” whom Christians identified with the Romans:¹⁶ ¹¹ As in Josephus, Bell. 5.4.1 (LCL 210:40–3). ¹² “Going from there she climbed Mount Zion, whose name means ‘citadel’ or ‘watchtower’. Long ago David captured this city and built it up” (Jerome, Ep. 108.9.3 [Latin and Eng. tr., Cain, Jerome’s Epitaph, 52–3]). Jerome then proceeds to describe the sights available in the Sion basilica. The Bordeaux pilgrim relates similar traditions: “inside Sion, within the walls, you can see the place where David had his palace” (Itin. Burd., 592 [CCSL 175:16; Wilkinson, Egeria’s Travels, 157–8]). ¹³ See discussion of all Eusebius’ uses of the term in Taylor, Holy Places, 208–9. ¹⁴ Euseb., Onom. 365 (74:19; Gk. and Eng. tr. in Notley and Safrai, Onomasticon, 74). ¹⁵ Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims, 351. The same text appears in Hesychius of Jerusalem’s catalog of Old Testament prophecies anticipating the ruined state of Jerusalem following the Jewish-Roman wars (Hesych. H., hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 9 [Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:332–5; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 198]). ¹⁶ This interpretation is taken up in Cyr. Jer., Cat. Lect. 16.4 (PG 33.924); Epiphanius of Salamis, De mensuris et ponderibus, 14 (PG 43.261; Eng. tr., Dean, Weights and Measures, 30); Hesych. H., hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 9 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:334; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 198).

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Your land is desolate; your cities are burned; foreigners devour your terriory before you, and it has been stripped bare, overturned by a foreign people. The daughter of Sion will remain like a tent in a vineyard, and like a garden watcher’s hut in a cucumber bed, like a besieged city. (Isa. 1:7–8 LXX)

Melding the two texts, the Bordeaux pilgrim (c.333 ) notes that, although a few structures remain on the hill, “the rest are ploughed over and sown upon, as said Isaiah the prophet.”¹⁷ Similarly, Eusebius remarks how “we have seen with our own eyes Sion—once so famous—ploughed with yokes of oxen by the Romans and utterly devastated, as well as Jerusalem deserted like a hut, as the oracle says.”¹⁸ Of the surviving remnants of the upper city accessible and attractive to pilgrims, the Bordeaux pilgrim (333 ) includes three in his itinerary—the house of Caiaphas, the former site of David’s palace, and a single synagogue built atop the site: On this side one goes up Sion, and sees where the house of Caiaphas the priest was, and there still stands a column against which Christ was beaten with rods. Within, however, [that is] inside the wall of Sion, is seen the place where was David’s palace. Of seven synagogues which once were there, one alone remains; the rest are ploughed over and sown upon, as Isaiah the prophet said.¹⁹

The Church on Sion Those traditions linking Stephen to the Sion hill localize his presence at a particular edifice on the site—namely, the Holy Sion, or Hagia Sion, church. No record of this church appears prior to the mid-fourth century, however. The Bordeaux pilgrim makes no mention of a church on the hill. No less significant is the absence of any mention of a church on the site by Eusebius, who references the northwestern hill of the city on several occasions. It is safe to assume that no church stood on the site as late as the 330s. That a church stood on the city’s southwestern hill by 350, however, is apparent from the sixteenth of Cyril of Jerusalem’s Catechetical Lectures, conventionally dated between 347 and 351.²⁰ In that address, delivered in the Holy Sepulcher complex, Cyril accounts it a privilege that he should speak concerning the Holy ¹⁷ Itin. Burd. 592–3 (CCSL 175.16; Eng. tr., Wilkinson, Egeria’s Travels, 157–8). ¹⁸ Euseb., Dem. Evang., 6.13 (PG 22.435; Eng. tr. mine). ¹⁹ Itin. Burd. 592 (CCSL 175.16; Eng. tr., Wilkinson, Egeria’s Travels, 157–8). ²⁰ The dating of Cyril’s Catechetical Lectures to the late 340s or early 350s is rooted primarily in several lines of internal evidence—including, (a) his comment that the heresy of Mani was seventy years old (Cat. Lect. 6.20 [PG 33.571]), (b) mention of plural “emperors,” ostensibly with reference to Constans and Constantius (Cat. Lect. 14.14 [PG 33.841, 844]), and (c) reference to recent wars between the Romans and Persians, ending with the battle of Singara in 348 (Cat. Lect. 15.6 [PG 33.877]). A more comprehensive summary of arguments and hypotheses appears in Day, Baptismal Liturgy, 23–5.

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Spirit so near to “the Upper Church of the Apostles,” where, he claims, the Spirit came to rest upon the disciples: We know the Holy Spirit, who spoke in the Prophets, and who on the day of Pentecost descended on the Apostles in the form of fiery tongues, here, in Jerusalem, at the Upper Church of the Apostles [“τῇ ἀνωτέρᾳ τῶν ἀποστόλων Ἐκκλησίᾳ”]; for in all things the choicest privileges are with us. Here Christ came down from heaven; here the Holy Spirit came down from heaven. And in truth it is most fitting, that as we speak concerning Christ and Golgotha here in Golgotha, so also we should speak concerning the Holy Spirit in the Upper Church [“τῇ ἀνωτέρᾳ . . . Ἐκκλησίᾳ”]. Nevertheless, since the one who descended there jointly partakes of the glory of the one who was crucified here, we speak here concerning the one who also descended there: for their worship is indivisible.²¹

Writing several decades later, Epiphanius of Salamis also attests a “church of God” “in the neighborhood of Sion” linked to events described in Acts. Epiphanius describes this church as a historic structure, however, numbering it among those buildings surviving the destruction of Jerusalem in 70  and known to the Bordeaux pilgrim: And [Hadrian] went up to Jerusalem, the famous and illustrious city which Titus, the son of Vespasian, overthrew in the second year of his reign. And he found the temple of God trodden down and the whole city devastated save for a few houses and the small church of God, [τῆς τοῦ Θεοῦ εκκλησίας, μικράς οὔσης], where the disciples, when they had returned after the Savior had ascended from the Mount of Olives, went to the upper room [Acts 1:12–13]. For there it had been built, that is, in that portion of Sion which escaped destruction, together with blocks of houses in the neighborhood of Sion and the seven synagogues which alone remained standing in Sion, like solitary huts, one of which remained until the time of Maximus [III] the bishop and Constantine the king, “like a tent in a vineyard,” as it is written [Isa. 1:8 LXX].²²

Although Epiphanius’ testimony does not expressly link this “small church” with the fourth-century “Upper Church” known to Cyril, the points of contact between these traditions suggests such a link.²³ In this excerpt, Epiphanius seems to be drawing on local traditions associating the two structures. ²¹ Cyr. Jer., Cat. Lect. 16.4 (PG 33.924; Eng. tr. from NPNF 7:116 with modifications). ²² Epiphanius of Salamis, De mensuris et ponderibus, 14 (PG 43.261; Eng. tr., Dean, Weights and Measures, 30). ²³ Thus, although Epipihanius does not expressly claim that the “small church” survived “until the time of Maximus [III] the bishop and Constantine the king”—as he says of the last of the seven synagogues—the inference seems plausible.

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But how reliable were these traditions? Could a small “church of God,” with links to the earliest followers of Jesus, have persisted on the hill from the first through the fourth centuries ? A positive answer to this question has been offered by scholars who assume a continuity of Christian traditions and institutions in Palestine from the first through fourth centuries .²⁴ In the distinct but interconnected proposals of Bellarmino Bagatti, Jean Briand, Simon Mimouni, Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, Étienne Peuch, and Bargil Pixner, Epiphanius’ testimony is presented as preserving an accurate historical memory, albeit in a distorted form.²⁵ These writers posit that a small church might have stood atop the Sion hill before the fourth century, but that the structure in question should be identified in some way with the surviving synagogue cited by the Bordeaux Pilgrim and Epiphanius.²⁶ In this interpretation, the structure was an ancient synagogue-church serving the city’s Jewish Christian, rather than Jewish, community. In the mid-twentieth century, preliminary support for this thesis came from the only modern excavation on the site of the ancient Sion church, currently occupied by the David’s Tomb/Cenacle edifice.²⁷ Digging below the Turkish-period marble floor of the Tomb hall in 1951, Israeli archeologist Jacob Pinkerfeld unearthed the remains of three earlier building periods on the site: a plaster floor at a depth of 12 cm, a mosaic floor at a depth of 60 cm, and a plaster floor at a depth of 70 cm. The same excavation, in turn, also uncovered ashlar walls below the current floor of David’s tomb. In his excavation report, Pinkerfeld associates three of these walls—the fragmentary north and south walls and the intact east wall—with the original building on the site. In his excavation report, published posthumously, Pinkerfeld dates the three descending floors to the Crusader, late Roman/ early Byzantine, and Roman periods, respectively. In turn, he identifies the original building on the site, represented by the plaster floor and ashlar walls, as a Jewish “synagogue from the first centuries after the destruction of the Temple.” ²⁴ On the characteristic assumptions and approaches of scholars sharing this approach, whom Joan Taylor groups together as the “Bagatti-Testa School,” see Taylor, Holy Places, 1–18. ²⁵ Representative pieces outlining these proposals include Bagatti, Church of the Circumcision, 116–22. Briand, Sion, 35–62; Mimouni, “Mont Sion,” 215–34; Murphy-O’Connor, Keys to Jerusalem, 123–34; Pixner, “Church of the Apostles,” 16–35, 60; “Apostolic Synagogue,” 319–59; Peuch, “Synagogue judéo-chrétienne,” 18–19. A related proposal posits a late second- or early third-century Christian church on the site erected by Christian soldiers of the Legio X Fretensis (Clausen, Upper Room, 182–90). ²⁶ For example, Bagatti speculates that the terms “church” and “synagogue” might have corresponded to “two separate rooms” in the structure: “one for the celebration of the Eucharist on the upper floor, and one on the lower floor for ritual prayers. The first represented the church, the second the synagogue” (Church from the Circumcision, 118). Murphy-O’Connor rightly dismisses this proposal and argues instead that “the church and the synagogue would be one and the same building but looked at from two different perspectives, which reflect the change introduced by the legalization of Christianity” (Keys to Jerusalem, 127). See also Briand, Sion, 35–62; Pixner, “Apostolic Synagogue,” 343–4. As Pixner notes, Epiphanius indicates that “it was the custom of the Jewish Christians to call their churches ‘synagogues’ ” (Pixner, “Apostolic Syangogue,” 344). ²⁷ Findings published in Pinkerfeld, “David’s Tomb.”

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Crucial to the synagogue interpretation was the presence of a large niche in the north wall, “with an eastern deviation of several degrees, i.e. exactly towards the Temple Mount”—a niche Pinkerfeld compares to similar structures in ancient synagogues used to enshrine Sifrei Torah. As the only modern excavation report of the site, Pinkerfeld’s interpretation of the original structure as a synagogue was widely influential in late twentiethcentury discussions of the Sion church. Scholars in the so-called Bagatti-Testa school embraced Pinkerfeld’s conclusions, but with one notable exception— namely, his claim that the structure was a Jewish, rather than Jewish-Christian, edifice. In a 1991 study, Bargil Pixner challenges the idea that a functioning Jewish synagogue could have stood on the hill in 135 , when Jewish access to Jerusalem was severely limited.²⁸ He also argues that the niche on the north wall is not precisely oriented towards the Temple Mount as Pinkerfeld claims, but further westward, towards the present site of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.²⁹ On these bases, Pixner concludes that the original structure on the site was more likely a first-century “synagogue church,” built only several years after 70  to commemorate a site of significance to the community: the “upper room” that once served as the center of the city’s Christian population.³⁰ In her 1993 monograph Christians and the Holy Places, however, Joan Taylor subjected these interpretations of the site to severe scrutiny.³¹ According to Taylor, the idea of a functioning synagogue on the hill—even a Jewish-Christian one—is improbable after 135  when all Jewish access to the city was severely limited.³² More likely, the synagogue known to the Bordeaux pilgrim was an abandoned ruin like the House of Caiaphas mentioned with it, if a more intact one. There are also reasons to doubt that the synagogue was regarded as a Christian structure with a plausible claim to antiquity. First, the Bordeaux pilgrim never links the synagogue to a Christian community, past or present—a surprising omission given his interest in traditions linking sites in the city to the period of Jesus and his disciples.³³ Secondly, it appears that the synagogue was destroyed ²⁸ Pixner, “Apostolic Synagogue,” 319–59. ²⁹ Pixner, “Apostolic Synagogue,” 329–30, with illustration on p. 327. Pinkerfeld’s view appears in “David’s Tomb,” 43. It is also affirmed in Hirschberg, “Ancient Synagogue on Mt. Sion,” 116–17. ³⁰ Pixner, “Apostolic Synagogue,” 332–3. Developing this idea, Murphy-O’Connor argues that Epiphanius’ “small church” should be identified precisely with the sole surviving synagogue he also mentions (Murphy-O’Connor, Keys to Jerusalem, 127). ³¹ Taylor’s discussion of Sion appears in Holy Places, 207–20. ³² “Eusebius explicitly states that synagogues had been established everywhere in Palestine apart from Jerusalem and Mount Zion (Dem. Evang. Vi. 13)” (Taylor, Holy Places, 210). There is no reason to suppose that Jewish-Christian access to the area would have been regulated differently than Jewish access as Pixner does (“Apostolic Synagogue,” 333, 345). On the contrary, Sulpicius Severus reinterprets Hadrian’s anti-Jewish legislation as a means of targeting Jewish Christians in particular (Hist. Sacr. 2.31 [PL 20:147]). ³³ Taylor, Holy Places, 211. Murphy-O’Connor connects the two structures in Epiphanius’ writing on literary grounds, arguing that Epiphanius’ references to a “church” and “synagogue” form a doublet: “A strange feature of Epiphanius’s report is its repetitiousness. It opens by recalling the survival of a few

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through the Christianization of the city. Writing in the year 370, Optatus of Mileve speaks of all seven synagogues as if they were now gone.³⁴ Likewise, Epiphanius’ claim that the synagogue “remained until the time of Maximus the bishop [c.333–350] and Constantine the king,” suggests its destruction by the midfourth century—not its survival as a freestanding building into the late fourth century (so Pixner), or even its transformation into a larger structure (so MurphyO’Connor).³⁵ If this synagogue ruin was widely viewed as the center of the city’s early Christian community, its demolition would have been unthinkable. Evidently, “whatever traditions were in existence concerning the early community and Mount Zion, they were not attached to any particular ruin.”³⁶ Why then was the synagogue ruin razed? Almost certainly to make way for the edifice entering the historical record during this period: the Upper Church of the Apostles known to Cyril. The “time of Maximus the bishop” sits within the period between the visit of the Burdeaux pilgrim, who does not know a church on Sion (c.332 ), and Cyril’s attestation of precisely such a structure (c.350). Within those years, a new Christian construction arose in the Sion neighborhood— one large enough at an estimated 2400 sq. m to displace the synagogue ruin on the hill.³⁷ According to Taylor, it is this structure, and not a Roman-era synagogue, that is preserved in the oldest layer under the David’s Tomb site. Pinkerfeld had identified the original construction on the site with a synagogue on the presence and orientation of a large niche on the north wall of the facility. As Taylor notes,

houses and the little church of God, and concludes by evoking the survival of a few houses and a single synagogue. There are two mentions of Sion in close proximity. It seems as if the author has combined two slightly different descriptions of the same locality, one reflecting Palestinian the other Diaspora language . . . The edifice had not been built as a church; it was a Judeo-Christian place of assembly that served as one” (Keys to Jerusalem, 127). The language of the passage stands in some tension with this reading, as it expressly claims that the church “had been built . . . together with blocks of houses in the neighborhood of Sion and the seven synagogues which alone remained standing in Sion, like solitary huts [Ἐκεῖ γὰρ ὠκοδόμητο . . . καὶ μέρη οἰκήσεων περὶ αὐτὴν τὴν Σιὼν καὶ ἑπτὰ συναγωγαί, αἳ ἐν τῇ Σιὼν μόναι ἑστήκεσαν, ὡς καλύβαι μόνον]” (Epiphanius of Salamis, De mensuris et ponderibus, 14 [PG 43.261; Eng. tr., Dean Weights and Measures, 30]). As Wilkinson writes, “Epiphanius does not speak of the ‘single synagogue’ and the Church of the Apostles as if they were identical” (Jerusalem Pilgrims, 351). The late date of the text—“almost fifty years after the Byzantine church on Mount Zion had been built and had accrued numerous legends to justify its existence there”—also militates against its use as evidence (Taylor, Holy Places, 211). ³⁴ Taylor, Holy Places, 215, citing Optatus of Miletus, De schism. Donat., 3.2 (PL 11.995): “monte Sion . . . in cujus vertice est non magna planities; in quo fuerant [septem] synagogue, ubi Judaeorum populus conveniens, legem per Moysem datam, discere potuisset.” ³⁵ Pixner, following Gisler (“Sancta Sion und Dormitio Dominae,” 351), identifies the synagogue church as a structure to which the “Upper Church” was added, speculating that the synagogue church thereafter served as the “Upper Church’s” diakonion (“Apostolic Synagogue,” 351–2). MurphyO’Connor (Keys to Jerusalem, 7) cites Egeria as evidence for the transformation of the “small church” into the Byzantine structure on Wilkinson’s translation of “Sion, alia modo ecclesia est” as “[Sion] has now been altered into a church” (Egeria’s Travels, 141). In fact, the Latin is better translated “another church now is [there],” indicating that the Byzantine church then occupying the site was not the original structure in which Pentecost occurred. ³⁶ Taylor, Holy Places, 218. ³⁷ Taylor, Holy Places, 210–11, 218.

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     

however, the niche on the north wall is not a central focal point of the structure, as one would expect of a synagogue. Instead, it lies 1.2 m from its northeast corner, only a third of the way along its preserved extent (no northwest corner survives). In turn, the south wall of the facility continues west another 17 m, without ending in a corner. Evidently, the niche was only a feature of one corner of the facility.³⁸ By failing to appreciate the orientation of the site, Pixner also underestimated its size. The substantial width of the ashlar walls of the original structure—1.4 m in most places, but 2.65m behind the niche—is hardly consistent with the “small [mikras] church of God” described by Epiphanius, but quite consistent with the major Byzantine-era basilica known to have existed on the site. Secondly, the size of the ashlars themselves at a width of 0.1–1.1 m suggests resources far exceeding the resources of the displaced but returning first-century Jewish-Christian community imagined by Pixner.³⁹ Although the stones themselves date to the late Roman period due to the quality of the masonry, Pixner observed that their differing heights and signs of transportation damage suggest they were not original to the structure but repurposed from another ruin.⁴⁰ Whereas Pixner speculates that Jewish-Christians transported these stones from elsewhere in the city, Taylor finds it “much more likely that Byzantine Christians were the ones with the resources to utilize these massive building blocks and haul them into position.”⁴¹ But what did the Byzantines intend to build on Sion, and why did they build it? For this, we must turn to Cyril’s offhand reference to the church in his sixteenth catechetical lecture—our earliest reference to the edifice, dating to within fifteen years of its construction. There, Cyril indicates the earliest name, and by extension, titular(s), of the church; he calls it the “Upper Church of the Apostles.” This title is probably an extended form of a shorter, more formal title—in all likelihood, the “Church of the Apostles.” The adjective “upper” is likely toponymic, indicative of the church’s location in the “upper city,” as seen in Cyril’s casual references to the structure as “the Upper Church.”⁴² In later decades, the same church would be called by another toponymic name: Hagia Sion (“Holy Sion”), reflecting the structure’s presence on the Sion hill. The title “Church of the Apostles” clarifies the original purpose and dedication of the edifice: it was constructed as a shrine to memorialize the earliest apostles of Jesus. We know of at least two analogous shrines in the early fourth-century Mediterranean, namely: (1) the Basilica Apostolorum on the Via Appia in Rome, ³⁸ Taylor, Holy Places, 213–16. ³⁹ Taylor, Holy Places, 215–16 (cf. Pixner, “Ancient Synagogue,” 333). ⁴⁰ Pixner, “Church of the Apostles,” 25–8; “Apostolic Synagogue,” 333, 336. ⁴¹ Taylor, Holy Places, 215. ⁴² Pace Taylor, who claims that the name “upper church” intentionally “recalls the upper room where the disciples gathered when the Holy Spirit descended at Pentecost” (Holy Places, 210). The verbal similarity is less striking in Greek: “τῇ ἀνωτέρᾳ . . . Ἐκκλησίᾳ” (Cyril) and “τὸ ὑπερῷον” (Acts 1:13).

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which was built in 311 over the site of an older memorial to Peter and Paul and is now the location of Santo Sebastiano fuori la mura, and (2) the “Church of the Apostles” or Apostoleion in Constantinople, built in the 330s.⁴³ By the end of the fourth century, a third such structure enters the historical record: a Basilica Apostolorum in Milan, built by Ambrose as an homage to the Constantinopolitan church.⁴⁴ Each of these shrines emerged from the desire to inscribe the city’s public devotion to the apostles and claim their patronage. The Vita Constantini claims that Constantine erected the Constantinopolitan shrine “to perpetuate . . . the memory of our Saviour’s Apostles” by creating a space in which “worship” would be “conducted there in honour of the Apostles.”⁴⁵ By lavishing the apostles with the honor of a dedicated shrine in the new imperial capital, however, the emperor also hoped to inscribe a special relationship between the apostles and the new city—one that could stand on a par with Old Rome’s claims to the patronage of Peter and Paul.⁴⁶ A similarly competitive program has been identified in Ambrose’s push to construct a Basilica Apostolorum.⁴⁷ The emergence of these shrines forms the appropriate context for the “Church of the Apostles” in Jerusalem. In an era when leading churches across the empire inscribed their connections to the apostles in dedicated shrines, the church of Jerusalem—the apostolic city par excellence—could hardly fail to make its own competitive statement. The fact that the city lacked an apostolic relic would not have prevented the construction of such a shrine. Work began on the “Church of the Apostles” in Constantinople before the city had claims to even a single such relic.⁴⁸ Since these motives explain why the city would have sought to erect a “Church of the Apostles,” there is no need to claim that the structure “was constructed

⁴³ On the Roman structure, see Brandenburg, Ancient Churches, 69; Holloway, Constantine and Rome, 105–9; Logan, “Roman Basilica Apostolorum,” 1–14; Eastman, Paul the Martyr, 89–94. On competing views of the origins and evolution of the Constantinopolitan structure, see Mango “Constantine’s Mausoleum,” 51–63; Dagron, Naissance d’une capitale, 401–9; Vogt, “Apostelkirche in Konstantinopel,” 111– 17; Leeb, Konstantine und Christus, 93–120; “Kaiserbildes im Kreuz,” 1–14; Krautheimer, Early Christian and Byzantine Architecture, 72–3; Johnson, Roman Imperial Mauseoleum, 119–29. The dating above follows Mango’s reconstruction of the church as a Constantinian mausoleum-church expanded by Constantius II. ⁴⁴ On the Milanese structure, see Krautheimer, Three Christian Capitals, 73–80; Lewis, “Basilica Apostolorum at Milan,” 83–98. ⁴⁵ Euseb., VC 4.58–60 (GCS 7.144; Eng. tr., Carmeron and Hall, Life of Constantine, 176). Glanville Downey (“Church of the Apostles,” 53–80) argues that the passage in question is an interpolation. See discussion in Vogt, “Apostelkirche in Konstantinopel,” 111– 17; Winkelmann, “Authentizitátsproblem,” 238–9; Cameron and Hall, Life of Constantine, 335–7. ⁴⁶ Paulinus of Nola, Carm. 19.329–42 (CSEL 30.129–30; Eng. tr., Mango, “Constantine’s Mausoleum,” 53). ⁴⁷ Krautheimer, Three Christian Capitals, 80; Shepardson, Controlling Contested Places, 222. ⁴⁸ The Constantinopolitan church was built with the intention—novel for the period—of eventually translating relics into it. Nevertheless, it is unclear whether the church possessed a relic until the reign of Constantius II (see discussion in Mango, “Constantine’s Mausoleum,” 63).

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partly in order to allow pilgrims to gather there to recall the events of Pentecost,” as Taylor does, or any other specific event in the life of the apostles.⁴⁹ Notably, the Bordeaux pilgrim, writing only a few years before the construction of the church on Sion, knows of no specific connections between the hill and events in the life of the city’s early Christian community. From the impressive array of local traditions available to him, he is aware only of the hill’s connections to the ancient Davidic dynasty, to seven synagogues, to Caiaphas the priest, and to the trial and scourging of Jesus. In this case, the opposite may be true: the construction of the new church might have encouraged the invention and adoption of traditions indicating those specific links.⁵⁰ The location hardly required such associations to justify it. Its selection could have as easily been a matter of “expediency,” as Taylor also suspects: . . . Mount Zion was an area which largely lay outside the city. This part was full of ruins and fields, and was, accordingly, ripe for development. Without the constrictions of space imposed on structures within the city, the Church of Zion could be as large as the planners wanted. It would serve as a fitting base for the Jerusalem church, which prided itself on being the ‘mother of all the churches’ (Theodoret, Hist. Eccles. v. 9. 17).⁵¹

Free to select any area of the city as the site for a large new “Church of the Apostles,” local authorities settled on the mostly vacant but prominent plain of the Sion hill. At that time, the site had no associations with specific events in the life of the apostles. It needed none. The structure was not erected to mark a particular event, as were the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, the Holy Martyrion-Golgotha-Anastasis complex, the church on the Mount of Olives (the Eleona), and the Lazarium in Bethany. Instead, it was an apostoleion, designed to memorialize the apostles of Jesus—figures with non-specific links to the entire city. In this case, it could have occupied any number of spots within or immediately outside Jerusalem. Nevertheless, in a city whose economy of pilgrimage was built on a “placebound piety,” and which was a breeding ground for invented traditions, old and new, it is hardly surprising that novel associations emerged between the site and the apostles.⁵² The catalyst for such associations might well have been a biblical exegesis that suggested, however vaguely, an apostolic link to the hill. Both Origen and Eusebius cite Isa. 2:3 LXX as a prophecy of Christianity’s spread from Jerusalem: “For the Law will go out from Sion and the word of the Lord from

⁴⁹ Taylor, Holy Places, 215. ⁵⁰ Taylor, Holy Places, 211. This would include Epiphanius’ dubious memory of a “small church” on the site, unattested by previous writers. ⁵¹ Taylor, Holy Places, 218. ⁵² Markus, “Holy Places,” 266.

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Jerusalem” (cf. Mic. 4:2 LXX).⁵³ In the fourth-century city, the verse’s reference to “Sion” might have suggested the hill as a meaningful location within Christianity’s initial spread. From there, it would take only imagination to develop this broad premise into a specific set of identifications, populated by the biblical Acts of the Apostles.

Sion in Local Traditions Stephen’s connections to the Church of the Apostles rest on the site’s supposed connections to places and scenes in Acts. Specifically, fourth-century locals identified the site occupied by the church with up to four residences referenced or presupposed in that text: (a) the “house” where the disciples first encountered the risen Jesus (John 20:19–28; parallel to Luke 24:33–49 and presupposed in Acts 1:1–5); (b) the house containing “the upper room [ὑπερῷον], where [the disciples] were staying” after the ascension of Jesus (Acts 1:13); (c) “the house where [the disciples] were sitting” on the feast of Pentecost (Acts 2:1–4); and (d) the unidentified setting(s) of various later gatherings of the primitive Jerusalem church, including the regular table ministry of the first seven deacons and the Jerusalem council.⁵⁴ In local readings of Acts, all of these houses were, in fact, a single house—and more precisely, a house-church, in keeping with the biblical evidence indicating that early Christians met in houses (cf. Rom. 16:5; 1 Cor. 16:19; Col. 4:15). How much of this complex mythology was in place by the time of Cyril’s brief passing reference to the late antique “Upper Church” (c.350) is unclear. In that text, as we have already seen, Cyril highlights the only tradition immediately relevant to the subject of his lecture on the Holy Spirit—specifically, the descent of the Spirit upon the site. It is possible, however—even probable—that the church had other associations excluded by the scope of his immediate comments. Writing some thirty years later, Egeria attests other traditions as established local memories, long since crystallized in the city’s ritual life. In the first place, Egeria attests a link between the church and Pentecost, noting that the residents of Jerusalem converge on the Sion church every year on the fiftieth day after Easter/Pascha, at “the third hour,” the very time at which the ⁵³ Origen, Contra Celsum 5.33.17 (PG 11.1232); Euseb., Dem. Evang. 1.4 (PG 22.431). ⁵⁴ By the middle of the fifth century, the site was also associated with the “large upper room furnished and ready” that served as the site of Jesus’ last meal with his disciples in the Synoptic tradition (Mark 14:14; Luke 22:12). Surprisingly, however, the edifice does not seem to have been linked to the last supper at this time. Fifth-century liturgical sources attest an annual liturgy commemorating the Last Supper at Sion, at which the Markan account of the meal was read (Mark 14:12–26). This liturgy fell, appropriately, “on the fifth weekday” of Holy Week, that is, on Holy Thursday (AL, entry 39bis [Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:268–9]). No record of such a service appears in Egeria’s diary, however, which attests corresponding celebrations at the Sepulcher complex and the Mount of Olives alone.

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Holy Spirit is said to have descended upon the disciples in Acts 2:15.⁵⁵ In her words, this practice reflects the local belief that it was “on Sion—another church is there now . . . where once after the Lord’s passion a crowd had gathered with the apostles” and received the gift of the Spirit, echoing the testimony of Cyril.⁵⁶ Egeria also describes liturgies at Sion on the night of Easter Sunday and on the first Sunday after Easter, both of which she explains by reference to a local tradition fixing the post-resurrection appearances of Jesus to the same site: Now on the Lord’s Day during Pascha, after the dismissal from the Lucernarium, that is, from the Anastasis, all the people lead the bishop with hymns to Sion. When they come there, hymns appropriate to the day and place are recited, prayer is made, and that passage from the gospel is read where on the same day in the same place where the church is now on Sion, with the doors closed, the Lord came in to the disciples [cf. John 20:19–25],⁵⁷ that is, when one of the disciples was not there, that is, Thomas [cf. John 20:24], and when he returned and the other apostles told him that they had seen the Lord, he said, “I do not believe unless I shall see” [cf. John 20:25].⁵⁸

The identification of the ancient “place where the church of Sion now stands” with Jesus’ earliest appearances to his disciples, and with the events of Pentecost (a, c) make it clear that the residents of the city regarded the site as a regular gathering place for the disciples of Jesus through the entire period immediately following his death. In this case, we can say with relative certainty that the same complex of local traditions also identified the site with “the upper room, where [the disciples] were staying” in the interim between all these events (b): Then they returned to Jerusalem from the mount called Olivet, which is near Jerusalem, a sabbath day’s journey away; and when they had entered, they went up to the upper room, where they were staying: Peter and John and James and Andrew, Philip and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew, James the son of Alphaeus and Simon the Zealot and Judas the son of James. All these with one accord devoted themselves to prayer, together with the women and Mary the mother of Jesus, and with his brethren (Acts 1:9, 12–14).

⁵⁵ Itin. Eger., 43.2 (CCSL 175.85; Eng. tr., McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 184). In fourth-century Syria and Palestine, the ascension and Pentecost formed a single, joint celebration (Kretschmar, “Himmelfahrt und Pfingsten,” 209–11)—a detail confirmed in Egeria’s claim that the fiftieth day after Pascha/Easter includes “the Gospel reading about the Lord’s ascension” (Itin. Eger., 43.5 [CCSL 175.85; Eng. tr., McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 185]). ⁵⁶ Itin. Eger., 43.3 (CCSL 175.85; Eng. tr., McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 184–5). Together, these associations supported the local tradition identifying Sion as the “mother of all the churches.” ⁵⁷ This is the gospel lection indicated in AL 45bis (Renoux, Codex arménien, 313). ⁵⁸ Itin. Eger., 39.4–5 (CCSL 175.83; Eng. tr., McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 182–3).

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Epiphanius, writing some ten years later, provides our first express confirmation of this “upper room” tradition, claiming—as we have already seen—that “the disciples, when they had returned after the Savior had ascended from the Mount of Olives, went to the upper room” on Sion. He is also the first to attest the tradition of identifying the house not merely as a place of residence but as a house-church—a “small church of God”—still standing after the destruction of the city under Titus.⁵⁹ From these claims, we can safely deduce the other major strands of late fourth-century traditions surrounding Zion. That Epiphanius calls this house a “church,” surviving through the time of Hadrian, indicates a tradition that the edifice was used as a center for the primitive Christian community in the city well after Pentecost—not least through other events described in Acts, including the ordination of Stephen.

Hagia Sion and Stephen Although no fourth-century source expressly links Stephen to the legendary house-church on the Sion hill, there is no reason to doubt that the connection was a firmly established point of local lore by the late fourth century. All figures associated with the earliest Christian community in the city would have been plausibly connected to the image of a small first-century house-church standing at the center of Christian witness in the city. Moreover, texts dating to the first half of the fifth century are consistent in placing Stephen at Sion. As we have already seen, the early fifth-century Revelatio Sancti Stephani B expressly identifies the “holy church of Sion” as the location “where also [Stephen] was ordained archdeacon,” recalling the story contained in Acts 6:⁶⁰ And the twelve summoned the body of the disciples and said, “It is not right that we should give up preaching the word of God to serve tables. Therefore, brethren, pick out from among you seven men of good repute, full of the Spirit and of wisdom, whom we may appoint to this duty. But we will devote ourselves to prayer and to the ministry of the word.” And what they said pleased the whole multitude, and they chose Stephen, a man full of faith and of the Holy Spirit, and Philip, and Prochorus, and Nicanor, and Timon, and Parmenas, and Nicolaus, a proselyte of Antioch. These they set before the apostles, and they prayed and laid their hands upon them (Acts 6:2–7).

⁵⁹ Epiphanius of Salamis, De mensuris et ponderibus, 14 (PG 43.261; Eng. tr., Dean, Weights and Measures, 30). ⁶⁰ “. . . sanctam ecclesiam Sion, ubi et archidiaconus fuerat ordinatus” (Lucian, Revelatio Santi Stephani B, 48 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 215, 217; Eng. tr. mine]).

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This tradition parallels the association of the same “upper room” with the selection of Matthias in Acts 1.15–26, distinguishing Sion as the center of all apostolic ordinations in the city. In turn, in his early fifth-century encomium for Stephen, Hesychius hails the martyr as “a table-attendant of Sion,” suggesting that Stephen executed the (Eucharistic) table ministry to which he was ordained in Acts 6:1–6 within the Sion house-church.⁶¹ He changed tables into altars. He used bread from heaven, not from earth. He transformed the mixing bowl of drunkenness into cups of grace. Instead of wine he mingled the Spirit. Instead of material water he poured mystical and spiritual water.⁶²

On the weight of these traditions, it would appear that the Sion church was as near to a pilgrimage site for the cult of Stephen as existed in the city prior to the invention of his relics. Stephen’s connections to other churches in the city, all of which memorialized events in the life of Jesus, were considerably weaker. In the same breath as he places Stephen at “Sion,” Hesychius also hails Stephen as a “citizen of the Cross . . . relative of Bethlehem, and herald of the Ascension.”⁶³ The former two titles seem merely rhetorical, however, insisting only on Stephen’s kinship with the city. The last, in turn, may only allude to Stephen’s vision of “the heavens opened, and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God” (Acts 7:56). Neither the Revelatio Sancti Stephani nor the Passio Sancti Stephani place Stephen at the ascension. And although the Revelatio Sancti Stephani links Stephen to one other site in the city, placing his martyrdom near “the gate . . . which is to the north [of Jerusalem] and leads to Kedar,” no known church or shrine stood outside that site until the mid-fifth century.⁶⁴ In any case, the tradition placing Stephen at that site may be no earlier than the Revelatio Sancti Stephani itself. This suits the fact that, in the Revelatio narrative, Lucian learns of the location of Stephen’s martyrdom in a dream. The Hagia Sion church covered a large enough tract of earth to exceed the size of any legendary “house-church.” It is not surprising, then, to read Jerome distinguish that part of the church incorporating the “pillar” on which Jesus was

⁶¹ Hesych. H., hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 2 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:328; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 196). ⁶² Hesych. H., hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 5 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:331; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 196). ⁶³ Hesych. H., hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 2 (Aubineau, Les homélies festales, 1:328; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 196). ⁶⁴ “. . . qui lapidatus est a Iudaeis et principibus sacerdotum in Hierusalem pro Christi fide foris portam quae est ad Aquilonem quae ducit ad Cedar” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 10 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 194; Eng. tr. mine]).

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scourged from “the place where the Holy Spirit came down,” speaking of them as discrete spaces:⁶⁵ Going from there she climbed Mount Zion, whose name means ‘citadel’ or ‘watchtower’. . . . Here there was shown a pillar, stained by the Lord’s blood, which holds up the portico of a church; it is said to be the one to which he had been bound and beaten. Also pointed out is the place where the Holy Spirit had descended upon the souls of the one hundred and twenty, thereby fulfilling the prophecy of Joel.⁶⁶

The close identification between the Hagia Sion and the legends of the small house-church suggest that the “place” in question was a central location—perhaps the sanctuary or nave area. And indeed, later sources identify “the upper room” with “the center of the basilica.”⁶⁷ Pilgrims would have experienced their most direct contact with Stephen at this location, directing their veneration of the martyr towards its narrow boundaries and reverencing its floor. It would seem, then, that the cult of Stephen at Sion prior to 415 was one articulated around a particular space—one that adequately condensed the memory of the city’s first martyr for its residents. The power of this space is best captured in the Revelatio Sancti Stephani’s depiction of the city’s residents filing into the Sion basilica to celebrate Stephen’s feast. In the localizing genius of the Jerusalem liturgy, residents and pilgrims gathered at the very place where the martyr himself had assisted Eucharistic feasts to participate in another such feast in his honor. Those celebrations not only reaffirmed the complex mythology of the church, then; they also foregrounded Stephen’s connections to Jerusalem’s mythic past.

A Material Cult at Sion? Although pilgrims would have found the Sion church a compelling site to memorialize Stephen, they might well have left the space unsatisfied without some access to a relic of the martyr. This was, after all, a period in which contact with the remains of saints and other material objects associated with them ⁶⁵ The pillar is first attested in the diary of the Bordeaux pilgrim, who mentions it in connection with the ruins of the house of Caiaphas (Itin. Burd. 592 [CCSL 175.16; Eng., tr. Wilkinson, Egeria’s Travels, 157]). It was later relocated to the Sion church, where it was seen by Egeria, who describes worshippers going “to Sion to pray at the pillar at which the Lord was scourged” (Itin. Eger., 37.1 [CCSL 175.80; Eng. tr., McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 182–3]). Jerome is the first to indicate its incorporation into the Sion church. ⁶⁶ Jerome, Ep. 108.9.3–4 (Latin and Eng. tr., Cain, Jerome’s Epitaph, 52–5). ⁶⁷ Breviarius de Hierosolyma, A and B, 4 (CCSL 175.111; Eng. tr., Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims, 119).

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was highly valorized. As it stands, the rising prominence of Stephen devotion in other cities had already triggered the production of relics claiming some connection with the saint. For example, Augustine reports that Ancona, a seaport city in central Italy, claimed to possess a stone used to kill Stephen by the end of the fourth century, if not also some physical remains of the martyr, housing them in a dedicated shrine: You see, many people know what great miracles are performed through the blessed martyr Stephen in [Ancona]. And listen to something that should astonish you. He has had a shrine there from a long time ago, and it is still there. But perhaps you will say, ‘His body hadn’t yet been discovered, so how could he have a shrine there?’ The reason is indeed not known; but I won’t conceal from your graces the story that has reached us. While Stephen was being stoned, there were also some innocent people standing round, and especially some of those who already believed in Christ. The story goes that a stone struck his elbow, and bounced from there to land at the feet of a religious man. He picked it up and kept it. He was a seafaring man, and the chances of his seafaring brought him ashore at Ancona, and it was revealed that the stone should be deposited there. He obeyed the revelation, and did what he was told; and from that time there began to be a memorial shrine of Saint Stephen there; and rumor was that an arm of Saint Stephen was there, as people didn’t know what really happened. In fact, though, we are to understand that the reason why it was revealed that he should deposit the stone there which had bounced off the martyr’s elbow is that the Greek for elbow is ankon.⁶⁸

An artifact like this would not have been difficult to produce in Jerusalem, and indeed John Wilkinson has suggested that the city possessed its own stone relic by the turn of the fifth century. In support of this view, he cites the Breviarius de Hierosolyma, an ancient advert describing the city’s basilicas and shrines for potential visitors. That text survives in two recensions: a longer “A” (Codex Oxoniensis Laud. Misc. 263 [8–9th c.]; Codex Ambrosianus M. 79 sup. [12th c.]) and a shorter “B,” the latter of which omits some details represented in A but adds others (Codex Sangallensis 732 [811 ]).⁶⁹ In his discussion of the source, Wilkinson hypothesizes that the two recensions expand a shorter Ur-text, “Breviarius M,” whose contents can be ascertained by isolating verbal parallels between the two sources.⁷⁰ Following this method through, Wilkinson reconstructs the text’s description of the Sion basilica as follows: ⁶⁸ Augustine, Sermo 323.2 (PL 38:1445; Eng. tr., Hill, Sermons, 163). ⁶⁹ On the editions of the Brievarius, see discussion in Jerusalem Pilgrims, 3–4. For the text of Breviarius A and B compared in two columns, see CCSL 175.109–12; Eng. tr., Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims, 117–21. ⁷⁰ Wilkinson summarizes his method of reconstruction in Jerusalem Pilgrims, 3–4.

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You go on from there to the basilica containing the column on which the Lord Jesus was struck. There is a mark where he held onto it. From that you go to the [sacrarium/diakonikon]. It contains the stone [from where]⁷¹ St. Stephen was stoned. In the centre of the basilica is the crown of thorns which they gave the Lord. There too is the upper room where the Lord taught his disciples when he had the supper. There too is the rod enclosed in a silver column.⁷²

Wilkinson concludes that “the date suggested by M’s contents”—that is, by its knowledge or ignorance of churches built in the city at different dates—“is the end of the fourth century.”⁷³ In this case, the Breviarius would confirm the presence of a “stone” linked to the martyrdom of Stephen at Sion—and thus a material cult for Stephen on the site—prior to 415. Building on Wilkinson’s dating, then, one

⁷¹ The Latin formulae “lapis [ . . . ] unde lapidatus est sanctus Stephanus” (Breviarius A, B) is more accurately translated “the stone from where Stephen was stoned”—that is, “the stone taken from the location of his stoning.” Still, it is safe to identify this stone as the one used to strike Stephen, since the sixth-century Piacenza pilgrim confirms the presence of such a relic at Sion, using the unambiguous formula “with which Stephen was stoned” (“cum quibus fuit lapidatus Stephanus”; CCSL 175.165). Damien Labadie insists that the Latin must mean “the stone on which Stephen was stoned”—that is, on which he knelt at his stoning (L’invention du protomartyr Étienne, 201). But “unde” is applied elsewhere in the Breviarius for items by which actions are performed—for example, “et ibi est cornus ille unde unctus est Dauid” (“there too is the horn from where David was anointed”; Breviarus B, 2 [CCSL 175.110; Eng. tr., Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims, 118]). To bolster this reading, Labadie draws in the testimony of late Latin writers such as the seventh-century abbot Adomnan—and those dependent on him such as Bede—who mention a stone “on which Stephen was stoned” inside of Sion (“super quam Stephan’s lapidatus” [Adomnan, De Loc. sancta. 1.18.2 (CCSL 175.197; Eng. tr., Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims, 179); cf. Bede, De Loc. sanct. 2.6 (CCSL 175.258; Eng. tr., Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims, 219)]). None of these writers personally visited Jerusalem, however. Adomnan, for one, relied on reports from the Gallic priest Arculf. As Wilkinson argues, it is likely that Adomnan simply misunderstood his source at this point, as he does elsewhere (Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims, 179, no. 34; cf. Ibid., 177, no. 30, 179, no. 35). In fact, Adomnan makes precisely the same sort of confusion later in the same line, misidentifying the column at which Jesus was scourged outside the church with one “on which” (super quam) Jesus was scourged (Adomnan, De Loc. sancta. 1.18.2 [CCSL 175.197; Eng. tr., Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims, 179; discussed in no. 35]). Labadie also cites the fact that certain embellished Passio recensions dating no earlier than the seventh century highlight a stone towards the Mount of Olives on which Stephen stood during a discourse—namely, BHG d, h, and their Slavonic and Georgian translations (see discussion in Labadie, “La Passion hagiopolite,” 126–35 and Labadie, L’invention du protomartyr Étienne, 227–8). In fact, these recensions do not connect the stone with Stephen’s martyrdom but with an earlier discourse beneath the Mount of Olives before his arrest and transfer to a prison near the Kedar road site that becomes the place of his martyrdom (see Passio gr. d, h [BHG 1649d, h], 7–9; Greek texts with French translations in Strus, “La passione di santo Stefano,” 34–9, 53–9). Local traditions claimed that accused persons would stand on stones to be heard during legal proceedings (see, e.g., Itin. Ant. Plac. 23 [CCSL 175.165–6]). ⁷² “Et uadis inde ad alia basilica ubi flagellatus est Dominus et misit manum suam super columnam. Et inde uenis ad sacrario et ibi est lapis ille unde lapidatus est sanctus Stephanus. Et est ibi in media basilica corona spinea unde coronatus fuit Dominus apud Iudaeos. Et ibi est lucerna. Ibi docebat Dominus discipulos suos quando cenauit cum eis. Et ibi est illa uirga inclausa de arco uuoslo” (“Breviarus M,” 4 [Eng. tr. reformatted from Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims, 93; reconstructed from texts of Breviarius A and B in CCSL 175.111]). The term “sacrario” appears in Oxoniensis Laud. Misc. 263, but sacrifitium in Ambrosianus M. 79 sup (CSEL 55.111). The sacrarium corresponds to the chamber known in a Greek Palestinian context as the diakonikon. ⁷³ Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims, 4.

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recent study affirms “the presence of the lethal [stone] in this sacrarium prompted John to locate Stephen’s remains there upon their discovery in 415.”⁷⁴ Nevertheless, there are sound reasons to question Wilkinson’s reconstruction, and indeed a majority of scholars continue to date the Breviarius to the sixth century. First, Wilkinson’s reconstructed “Breviarius M” is hardly a comprehensive portrait of the city’s holy sites for 400 , as it excludes such outstanding churches as the Ascension and Eleona, as well as notable pilgrimage sites known to the fourth-century pilgrims, including the House of Caiaphas. In this case, Wilkinson is on tenuous ground when he attempts to date the document by what churches it references or omits. Along the same lines, Wilkinson’s approach does not control for the possibility that certain materials in M could be preserved in only one of A or B. This fact is deeply problematic for a reconstructed text whose dating is determined as much by what churches it includes as by what it omits.⁷⁵ Lastly, in his narrow interest in instances of verbal overlap between Breviarius A and B, Wilkinson overlooks other points of contact that may suggest their dependence on a common source dating no earlier than fifth century.⁷⁶ Both A and B, for instance, describe Siloam—the site of an ancient pool embellished into a church in the fifth century through the largesse of the empress Eudocia—at roughly the same junctures in their text.⁷⁷ If we cannot definitively date the Breviarius to 400 , then we have no grounds to claim that the Sion church contained a stone connected with the cult of Stephen at the turn of the fifth century. On the contrary, we should consider the possibility unlikely. No such artifact is attested in early descriptions of the Sion church, including the diary of Egeria and Jerome’s account of Paula’s visit. Nor is such an artifact attested in our earliest sources for the cult of Stephen in the city. More likely, the relic emerged at a later time—quite possibly when the purported site of Stephen’s martyrdom was disturbed by construction activity in the midfifth century. The earliest pilgrim itineraries to mention the relic date to the

⁷⁴ Clausen, Upper Room, 39. ⁷⁵ Wilkinson’s dating would shift several decades if, for instance, A’s mention of a church on the site of the House of Caiaphas or B’s mention of the Nea church are original to M. ⁷⁶ Other sections of the text show considerable revision of common materials. As an illustration of that degree of editorial control, compare: “[The silver screen] has silver doors where the Cross of the Lord has been displayed, all adorned with gold and gems . . .” (A) and “There is an exedra at the place where the man was brought back to life and proved which was the Cross of Christ, and this cross is adorned with gold and gems. . . .” (B) (Breviarius de Hierosolyma, 2 [CCSL 175.110; Eng. tr., Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims, 118]). ⁷⁷ In fact, the two sections may preserve successive parts of a single passage and are easily read in this manner (as suggested by Wilkinson’s method of laying out the text): “As you go down to Siloam, there is the pit into which they put St. Jeremiah” (Breviarius de Hierosolyma A, 6 [CCSL 175.112; Jerusalem Pilgrims, 119]); “A basilica is there, where at one time sick persons used to wash and be healed” (Breviarius de Hierosolyma B, 7 [CCSL 175.112; Jerusalem Pilgrims, 119]). If the two are not related in this manner, the demonstrative “there” in B has an unclear referent. Of course, if any part of the core text mentioned Siloam, a date after Eudocia’s construction in the area would make more sense, shifting the terminus post quem of any shared Ur-text forward by roughly a half-century.

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sixth century.⁷⁸ At the turn of the fifth century, then, it would seem Jerusalem was falling behind other cities in the competition for relics of Stephen.

2.2 The Feast of Stephen in Jerusalem Just as the early cult of Stephen in Jerusalem was organized around a particular space, it was also articulated around a particular time—namely, the feast of Stephen attested in other cities of the same period. Our earliest references to this celebration, however, penetrate no further back than the year in which Stephen’s relics were invented. As I noted at the beginning of the chapter, the Revelatio Sancti Stephani documents the residents of Jerusalem celebrating the memory of Stephen at Sion on 26 December 415. Likewise, the Vita Melaniae depicts Melania the Younger attending a public liturgy for Stephen at his dedicated basilica just north of the city in the year 439: The next day [after 25 December] we repaired to the basilica of the holy protomartyr Stephen for the commemoration of his death, and having celebrated the liturgy there, we returned to the monastery. And in the evening, I read aloud first, then three Sisters read, last of all she read from the Acts the account of the death of Saint Stephen.⁷⁹

The later Armenian Lectionary—a witness to the city’s ritual practices between 456 and 479 —provides a third reference to the feast.⁸⁰ Unlike the first two sources, however, it attests not only Stephen’s feast but also the closely related feasts of Paul, Peter, James, and John—our first positive evidence all these feasts were introduced into Jerusalem by the fifth century.⁸¹ Due to its late date, however, the lectionary attests the cluster of feasts in an altered form—one shaped by secondary shifts in its position and internal ordering. The feast of Stephen no longer appears on 26 December, where our first two sources place it, but on 27 December. Still more conspicuously, the second and third days of the cluster appear in an unexpected order, with the feast of Peter and Paul preceding that of James and John:

⁷⁸ Itin. Ant. Plac. 22 (CCSL 175:140). The rationale for installing the relic at the Sion diakonikon is clear: the chamber was a fitting site to remember Stephen, who purportedly exercised a diaconal ministry at Sion. ⁷⁹ Geront., v. Mel. 64 (Gorce, Vie de Sainte Mélanie, 255–6; Eng. tr., Clark, Life of Melania, 76). ⁸⁰ AL, entry 72 (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:368–9). ⁸¹ As we saw in chapter 2, these feasts were characteristically borrowed as a unit. If the feast of Stephen was celebrated in the city prior to 415, it stands to reason that the others were as well.

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Armenian Lectionary (J) 25 Dec. “of James and of David”⁸² 26 Dec. 27 Dec. “of Holy Stephen”⁸³ 28 Dec. “of Paul and of Peter, Apostles” 29 Dec. “of the Apostle James and of John the Evangelist” To understand the origins and meanings of Stephen’s local feast prior to 415, then, we must penetrate beyond these later sources, reconstructing an earlier state of local ritual life. Fortunately, our sources give us at least some data to access and interpret that past.

Christmas and Jerusalem Most cities adopted the feast of Stephen as part of a larger cluster with Christmas as its head. Jerusalem did not. Although the church of Jerusalem adopted the feast of Stephen by the early fifth century, it resisted the introduction of Christmas deep into late antiquity, retaining the older Eastern practice of commemorating the birth of Jesus on the Epiphany.⁸⁴ We know of a short-lived attempt to integrate Christmas into local ritual life by Juvenal, the city’s bishop between 422 and 458 . That attempt, however, collapsed some time prior to the period represented in the Armenian Lectionary, which omits the feast.⁸⁵ Only in the sixth

⁸² Like the extant encomium of Hesychius of Jerusalem for the feast (hom. 10, In Ss. Iacobum et Dauid [Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:351–68]), J positions James’ name before that of David. P, on the other hand, reads, “of David and James” (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:366–7). ⁸³ E attests the same feast on the 26 December, though calendars of the period often include errors of a single day (AL, entry 72 [Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:368–9]). ⁸⁴ It is unclear whether this feast also incorporated a commemoration of the baptism of Jesus in this period. On the character of the Jerusalem feast of the Epiphany, see Renoux, ‘L’Epiphanie à Jérusalem, 171–93. Given its extensive dependence on the ancient practices of the church of Jerusalem, the Armenian rite continues to observe the birth of Jesus on 6 January to this day, having never incorporated the 25 December feast. According to the medieval church historian Nicephorus Callistus, the emperor Julian II (565–578) imposed the observance of Christmas throughout the empire (HE 17.28, [PG 147.291–2]). On the sixth-century introduction of Christmas into the city, see van Esbroeck, “Lettre,” 351–71; “Encore,” 442–4. ⁸⁵ When describing the new Martyrium of Stephen built by Eudocia in 439 , Pseudo-Basil (Seleucia) praises Juvenal as the one “who also began to celebrate the glorious and salutary birth of the Lord” in Jerusalem (“ὅστις καὶ τὴν ἐπίδοξον καὶ σωτηριώδη τοῦ Κυρίου προσκυνουμένην ἀρξάμενος ἐπετέλεσεν γένναν”), undoubtedly with reference to the 25 December ([Pseudo-]Basil of Seleucia, Or. 42.19–20 [PG 85.469]; Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:358–9). On the date of the homily, see Honigmann, “Juvenal of Jerusalem,” 226–7. On this short-lived introduction of Christmas into the city, see Botte, Origines, 19; Méndez, “Armenian Lectionary,” 78–83. That this feast was later removed from the Jerusalem calendar is clear from Justinian’s letter to the Jerusalem church, written in 560  (see discussions in van Esbroeck, “Lettre”; “Encore”).

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century did Christmas become a permanent fixture of local ritual life, precisely when it was imposed by an imperial mandate.⁸⁶ The uncoupling of Stephen’s feast from Christmas would have naturally impacted its meanings and reception in Jerusalem. Whereas in other cities, Christmas marked the beginning of the liturgical year, so that Stephen’s feast occupied a position at the head of the sanctoral cycle, Jerusalem interpreted the Epiphany as the starting point of its liturgical year, so that Stephen’s feast occupied a position a week from the end of the year.⁸⁷ In this case, we would not expect that local homilies for the feast would underscore the feast’s preeminence in the sanctoral cycle. In Jerusalem, Stephen’s memorial occupied no such position. By the same token, the feast’s independence from Christmas in Jerusalem probably also precluded other thematic emphases in local liturgy. Whereas encomia and hymns for Stephen’s memorial in other regions integrate nativity-related motifs and Christological themes, developing connections between Jesus’ incarnation and the death of Christianity’s first martyr, such features were probably atypical in Jerusalem. Although pilgrims and settlers from other regions might have made these connections, they were probably not integral to the reflection and preaching of local presbyters.

25 December Although the church of Jerusalem did not observe 25 December as a nativity festival, it found another use for the date. In the Armenian Lectionary, a memorial “of James and David” (so J) or “of David and of James” (so P, E), occupies the same date on which, “in other cities, the nativity is celebrated.”⁸⁸ This feast seems to have been the occasion of a single, fragmentary encomium of Hesychius “in honor of James, brother of the Lord, and of David, the ancestor of God,” transmitted by Photius.⁸⁹ It is also attested in a confused form by the sixth-

⁸⁶ According to the medieval church historian Nicephorus Callistus, the emperor Julian II (565–578) imposed the observance of Christmas throughout the empire (HE 17.28, [PG 147.291–2]). On the sixth-century introduction of Christmas into the city, see van Esbroeck, “Lettre,” 351–71; van Esbroeck, “Encore,” 442–4. ⁸⁷ Egeria begins her record of the Jerusalem liturgical year with the Epiphany (Itin. Eger., 25.6–11 [CCSL 175.71–2; Eng. tr., McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 156–8]). Similarly, the manuscripts of the Armenian Lectionary outline the year on a January to December pattern, again placing the Epiphany liturgies in the first position (AL, entries 1–2 [Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:210–17]). In this respect, the Armenian Lectionary conforms neatly to the structure of the Julian calendar, which likely had a long pedigree in the city (Ray, “Jerusalem Calendar,” 156–8). ⁸⁸ AL 71 (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:366–7). The reference to the practice of other cities appears in J. ⁸⁹ The fragment is preserved in Photius’ Bibliotheca, cod. 275 (PG 104.241–6). An introduction and critical edition to the homily appears in Aubineau, Homélies festales, 351–68.

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century Piacenza pilgrim, who references it in a secondhand description of liturgies at the Mamre site near Hebron.⁹⁰ There is no reason to doubt that this feast—like all other saints’ days in the Jerusalem calendar—emerged in a decidedly Christian context, despite the attempts of some scholars to connect the feast to known or reconstructed Jewish observances.⁹¹ In all likelihood, the feast was developed within the church of Jerusalem, precisely or primarily as a feast for James. No other city is known to have produced a feast for James in the fourth century. More to the point, the cult of James was strong in Jerusalem, which seized on traditions identifying him as the leader of the earliest Christian community in the city in its attempts to claim preeminence for itself as a space. It is hard to imagine that the city would not have developed a dedicated feast for James in the late fourth century—a period when local devotion to James was especially strong and when the relics of James were invented.⁹² It seems the church opted to simply place his memorial beside those of other “pillars” of the primitive Jerusalem church (Gal. 2:9). So why is David associated with the feast? Probably because his memory was never far from that of James, or for that matter, from the first-known venue for the feast: the Hagia Sion church. A particular current in the fourth-century reception of James stressed the apostle’s Davidic pedigree as a son of Joseph and cast him in royal molds.⁹³ In the fourth century, the kingly authority of James was most vividly symbolized in one of Jerusalem’s earliest-attested relic possessions: the purported “chair” or “throne” (θρόνος) of James.⁹⁴ By the fifth century, if not earlier, images of James as king also interacted with the elaborate mythology surrounding the venue of the feast: the Sion church. In the early fourth century, the Bordeaux pilgrim knew Sion as the place where David’s palace once stood.⁹⁵ That the city opted to place this new feast at the head of the cluster—in the position occupied elsewhere by Christmas—may reflect the significance attached to James locally. In the Jerusalem calendar, James occupies a position of preeminence, ruling over the other names in the cluster as he once ruled over the Jerusalem church. James’ leadership of, and preeminence over, the apostles in Jerusalem is, in fact, an important theme in Hesychius’ homily for the feast. In it, Hesychius hails James as “the chief-general of the New Jerusalem, the leader of the priests, the exarch of the apostles, the summit of the heads, the brightest of the ⁹⁰ Itin. Ant. Plac. 30 (CCSL 175.144; Eng. tr., Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims, 85). ⁹¹ Specifically, liturgical scholars have speculated that the feast continues a Jewish festival commemorating not James [Gk: Ἰάκωβος], the brother of the Lord, and David, but the patriarch Jacob [Gk: Ἰακώβ] and David. Baumstark, for one, calls it “a Jewish feast which had long been celebrated at Hebron in honour of the Patriarch Jacob on 25 or 26 December” (Baumstark, Comparative Liturgy, 184). This view also appears in Renoux, Codex arménien, 366–7; Kretschmar, “Die frühe Geschichte,” 43–5; Verhelst, “Liturgy of Jerusalem,” 455 (see note 82). ⁹² On the discovery of the relics of James, see Murphy-O’Connor, Keys to Jerusalem, 135–43. ⁹³ Epiphanius, Pan. 1.29.3.7–4.3 (PG 41.393–6; Eng. tr., Williams, Panarion, 124–5). ⁹⁴ On the throne’s presence in Sion, see Verhelst, “Liturgy of Jerusalem,” 446–7. ⁹⁵ Itin. Burd., 592 (CCSL 175:16; Wilkinson, Egeria’s Travels, 157–8).

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lamps.”⁹⁶ Similarly, only a few lines after insisting that in Sion, “there have been many [stars]”—an apparent reference to the apostles connected to the site— Hesychius calls James “the brightest of the stars.”⁹⁷ Of course, the introduction of this feast immediately before Stephen’s would have only further eroded the visibility and preeminence of Stephen’s feast. Positioned immediately behind a feast to another saint, Stephen’s dedicated feast no longer projects his status as “the first confessor” and the “chief of confessors”—even among his contemporaries. He assumes, instead, a subordinate position.

27–29 December Finally, we come to the apostolic commemorations of Stephen, Peter, Paul, James, and John themselves. At face value, these commemorations seem to be most closely related to those attested for fourth-century Nicomedia and fifthcentury Edessa—especially as they unite the memories of Peter with Paul within a single, joint feast (unlike in Cappadocia).⁹⁸ Nevertheless, the Jerusalem cluster is different from its Nicomedian and Edessan counterparts in two important respects. Again, the Jerusalem cluster begins a day later, with its feast of Stephen positioned on 27 December rather than 26 December. Secondly, the second and third days of the cluster seem to have undergone a metathesis, so that their relative positions in the cluster were swapped. Since the Revelatio Sancti Stephani presupposes a feast to Stephen on 26 December as late as 415 , the first of these two disruptions to the sequence occurred no earlier than 416 .⁹⁹ In all likelihood, it occurred decades later— specifically through Juvenal’s short-lived attempt to introduce Christmas into Jerusalem in the mid-fifth century.¹⁰⁰ The displacement of these feasts by one day is consistent with the effects of a push shift, in which the introduction of a new element creates a crowding effect, forcing every element of the chain to move down one position. As it stands, we already know of a new feast introduced into this very week in the mid-fifth century—namely, Christmas.

⁹⁶ Hesych. H., hom. 10, In Ss. Iacobum et Dauid, 2 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:368). ⁹⁷ Hesych. H., hom. 10, In Ss. Iacobum et Dauid, 1–2 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:367–8). ⁹⁸ Pace Ray, who dates the feast to the fifth century (“Jerusalem Calendar,” 283, no. 70). ⁹⁹ As Walter Ray argues, “Renoux’s conjecture [in Codex arménien, 1:176 no.44] that the feast might have been inaugurated on the day after the transfer of Stephen’s relics to the diaconicon at Mt. Zion on Dec. 26, 415, seems unlikely. As Renoux notes, the date of Dec. 26 was chosen for the transfer because it already had significance for Stephen. Why use the transfer of the relics on this already significant date in order to rob the date of its significance? (This is not to say, however, that the date had significance already for the Jerusalem church in particular.) Renoux’s hypothesis cannot explain the other dislocation in the Jerusalem calendar, the inversion of the feasts of James and John and Peter and Paul” (“Jerusalem Calendar,” 284, no. 72). ¹⁰⁰ Méndez, “Armenian Lectionary,” 82–3; Galadza, Liturgy and Byzantinization, 264; Ray, “Jerusalem Calendar,” 282–3.

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Of course, the introduction of Christmas would not have necessarily triggered the metathesis of the feasts of James and John and Peter and Paul. So why this second shift? A likely explanation emerges from the readings appointed for each of these days.¹⁰¹ In the Armenian Lectionary, lections from the gospel of John dominate the final three months of the liturgical year. Eight of the last ten gospels assigned in the lectionary, and none native to other stretches of the calendar’s ordinary time, are taken from the same gospel—specifically, 23 August, Thomas (John 20:24–31); 13, 14 September (John 10:22–42); 15 November, Philip (John 1:43–51); 30 November, Andrew (John 1:35–44); 27 December, Stephen (John 12:24–36); 28 December, Paul and Peter (John 21:15–19); 29 December, James and John (John 21:20–25).¹⁰² This striking concentration of readings from John may represent the vestiges of an older plan for the distribution of the gospels throughout the year. Notably, the last two of these gospels—the gospels appointed for the feasts of James and John and Peter and Paul—are continuous readings from the concluding verses of the gospel. Both are also remarkably appropriate for the occasions on which they were read. The first, from John 21.15–19, contains Jesus’ prophecy of Peter’s eventual crucifixion: “ ‘when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.’ (He said this to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God.)” (John 21:18–19). In turn, the gospel for the feast of James and John, taken from John 21:20–25, focuses on the fate of the “disciple whom Jesus loved,” traditionally identified with John: Then Peter, turning around, saw the disciple whom Jesus loved following them— the one who had also reclined on His bosom at the supper and said, “Lord, who is the one who betrays You?” Seeing him, Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, and what about this man?” Jesus said to him, “If I want him to remain until I come, what is that to you? Follow Me!” Therefore, this saying went out among the brethren: that this disciple would not die. But Jesus did not say to him that he would not die, but only, “If I want him to remain until I come, what is that to you?” This is the disciple who is testifying to these things and wrote these things, and we know that his testimony is true (John 21:20–25).

¹⁰¹ Goussen’s claim that the date of 28 December reflects a local counterdating (six-month displacement) of the 29 June feast of Peter and Paul in the West is unpersuasive (Georgische Drücke, 32). In my earliest treatment of this problem, I opted for a different explanation—specifically that the feast of Peter and Paul resisted the push shift, perhaps having become too familiar or prominent a celebration to reassign. The feast of James and John, then, was forced to occupy the last day of the cluster (Mendez, “Post-Nativity Commemorations,” 293). Although this explanation remains plausible, I am now more inclined towards the solution developed in this chapter. ¹⁰² AL 65, 67–70, 72–4 (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:358–9, 362–5, 370–3). Readings from John are also concentrated in the Paschal cycle (AL 45bis, 50–2bis, 58 [Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:312–13, 320–1, 340–1]).

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Just as the Jerusalem lectionary system inaugurates the liturgical year with a (fragmentary) course reading from the first chapters of Matthew during the Epiphany octave, then, it concludes the year with a brief course reading from the final chapter of John.¹⁰³ This coincidence is too remarkable not to be deliberate. Evidently, the church of Jerusalem reorganized the cluster so that the gospels anticipating the deaths of Peter and John were read in sequence, bringing the year to a close on the final pericope of the gospel of John.¹⁰⁴ There is no way of knowing when this shift occurred, but it was in place by the mid-fifth century.

A Cluster of Feasts for the City’s Apostolic Founders Like other cities, then, the church of Jerusalem observed a cluster of December feasts commemorating several of the apostles by the fifth century. But this cluster occupied a different position in the liturgical year than its cognates in other regions: it did not stand at the beginning of the year but at its conclusion. The cluster also had a distinctive local color. With the addition of the feast of James, the cluster calls to mind the primitive community at Sion, offering James a leading position among other names associated with the legendary “small church of God.” None of these differences necessarily undercut the cluster’s importance in the ritual life of the city. On the contrary, the residents of Jerusalem probably saw the late December constellation as a special season on the calendar. Consecutive feasts with shared themes are fairly uncommon in the Armenian Lectionary. Besides the Epiphany octave, Holy Week, and the Paschal octave, only the Dedication feasts in September (Encenia) fit this description.¹⁰⁵ The cluster was probably also significant as it ushered in the close of the church year, bringing the city’s lectionary cycle to a fitting dénouement. Nevertheless, these distinctive features do seem to have undercut the visibility and prestige of the feast of Stephen in Jerusalem. Nestled between celebrations to James, Paul, and Peter, Stephen hardly stands out as a uniquely preeminent figure among his contemporaries. The unremarkable position of the feast supports what we have already noted in the first section of this chapter. Although Stephen was not an unimportant figure in this period of Jerusalem’s history—he had as many

¹⁰³ By the period of the Armenian Lectionary, the church of Jerusalem assigned pericopae from Matthew in three of its first four morning liturgies: 2:1–12 (entry 1bis), 1:18–25 (entry 2), 2:13–23 (entry 4) (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:214–19). In his discussion of the Jerusalem calendar, Talley argues that this course reading was probably once more consistent, with a reading from Matt. 2:1–12 assigned to the second day of the II Epiphany octave (Talley, Origins, 133). ¹⁰⁴ I see no reason to exclude the possibility that the Jerusalem church might have also sought to give Peter and Paul a higher position in the cluster to capture their greater personal prominence vis-à-vis James and John, just as Aphrahat mentions the two before the others (Aphrahat, Dem. 21.23 [SC 359.839; NPNF 2.13.401]). ¹⁰⁵ AL 67, 68 (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:360–3).

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feast days as any other saint of the period—his cult lacked the same prominence it would enjoy in later centuries. At least around the turn of the fifth century, the attention of local leaders was focused more on the cult of James, to whom Stephen is subordinated in this cluster. Only later—in the period of the inventio—did the city of Jerusalem pivot towards Stephen as a patron and local symbol. When the leaders of the church of Jerusalem finally shifted their attention to Stephen, however, they were able to develop messages already contained in this celebration of Stephen. That feast already cast Stephen not only as a universal saint but as a decidedly local one. It imagined Stephen as a member of the city’s first “small church,” loyal to James, preaching beside Peter, and collaborating with John. It presented him, in short, as a fully hagiopolite saint—a saint around which the church would eventually articulate its own identity.

2.3 Conclusion The construction of Stephen as a patron martyr for Jerusalem did not emerge ex nihilo. Rather, it extended and enriched an early network of traditions, practices, and spaces associated with his memory as early as the fourth century. In this chapter, we have examined the two oldest elements of that network—namely, the traditions linking Stephen to the site of the Sion church and the adoption of his 26 December feast beside others for Peter, Paul, James, and John. In each, we have seen traces of ideas and images fundamental to Jerusalem’s later claim to Stephen’s memory. By the fourth century, the Hagia Sion church had become a symbol of a supposed unbroken continuity between the pre-70  church of Jerusalem and the current see of Aelia/Jerusalem. By imagining Stephen’s presence and ministry in that church, the city laid the foundations for its claim to an enduring relationship with the martyr. It also anticipated later moves to localize the memory of Stephen in sites in and around the city. The feast of Stephen also projected specific meanings in Jerusalem that anticipated fifth-century developments. That feast’s position—nestled after a celebration of James and immediately before feasts for Peter, Paul, James, and John—positioned Stephen squarely among so many ancient luminaries of the primitive Christian community of Jerusalem. It suggested a particular way of thinking about Stephen— as a pillar of the Jerusalem church’s past and, potentially, of its present as well. What remains, then, is to understand how these associations and claims— emerging along different trajectories and oriented towards different projects—were at last consolidated into a coherent discourse of Stephen as a civic patron. The emergence of this discourse was hardly inevitable. After all, the local cults of Paul, Peter, and John did not undergo quite the same development as Stephen’s. To isolate why Stephen was selected for this special leap, and to identify the actors involved in this process, one must engage a wider field of fifth-century sources.

3 A Celestial Patron Towns are adorned no less by their buildings than by their patrons. Avitus of Vienna¹ The fifth century represents a turning point in the history of Jerusalem’s devotion to its first martyr. At that time, Stephen moved to the center of the city’s imagination, becoming its most popular saint. Although we will explore the many signs of Stephen’s rising popularity in Jerusalem over the next several chapters, they are especially striking in a single snapshot. The largest ecclesiastical complex in the city was dedicated to Stephen—including a grand and imposing basilica located just outside its principal gate. Stephen was also the focus of three days on the Jerusalem calendar at a time when Mary boasted only two and only a few dozen saints claimed even one.² Jerusalem was also the fountainhead of apocryphal traditions concerning the martyr.³ To the extent that previous studies have recognized this intensifying local interest in Stephen, they have generally traced it to a single event: the inventio of the martyr’s bones in 415. But there are two problems with this analysis. First, from any critical historical perspective, the relics were not a chance or serendipitous find. They were, rather, one of many relic fabrications authenticated by dubious visionary claims and produced by local actors. In this case, they were not so much a cause of the city’s rising interest in Stephen as another symptom of it. One should study their emergence beside, rather than before, other expressions of devotion to the Protomartyr. Secondly, though Stephen’s bones were not the only martyr relics produced in late antique Jerusalem, they were far and away the most

¹ “Ornatur oppida non menus aedibus quam patronis” (Avitus of Vienne, frag. hom. 3 [PL 59.295]). ² The Armenian Lectionary attests a dedicated feast for Mary Theotokos on 15 August (AL 64). Additionally, a homily of Hesychius survives for the fourth day of the Epiphany octave that presents itself as a “commemoration” of Mary in its opening line (Hesych. H., In S. Maria Deipara 1 [Aubineau, Homélies festales, 195]). For evidence that the homily was preached on Epiphany IV, see Aubineau, Homélies festales, 185–89. ³ By far the most important source of these traditions is the Revelatio Sancti Stephani, also known as the Epistula Luciani. That text describes the invention of Stephen’s relics and survives in multiple languages—specifically, Greek, Latin, Syriac, Armenian, Georgian, and Gaelic (a catalog of these versions appears in Bovon, “Dossier,” 295, 304–6, 310–12). Working from the Latin evidence, Vanderlinden reconstructed two original recensions of the document, set side by side in a critical edition “Revelatio Sancti Stephani,” 178–217, with text on 197–217. At present, only Vanderlinden’s B recension appears in an English translation, prepared by Andrew Jacobs (Ehrman and Jacobs, Christianity in Late Antiquity, 360–5).

The Cult of Stephen in Jerusalem: Inventing a Patron Martyr. Hugo Méndez, Oxford University Press. © Hugo Méndez 2022. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192846990.003.0004

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celebrated. The excitement generated by these relics deserves its own special explanation. That explanation, I believe, can be found in a documented shift in martyrological discourse and practice emerging in the late fourth century. Through this period, as Robert Austin Markus writes, special significance “came to be attached to the veneration not just of martyrs in general, but of the local martyr” in particular.⁴ Civic pride and civic identity were increasingly formulated around the fame of local martyrs, who were reimagined as patrons and embodiments of particular communities. In this climate, new churches and shrines rose up around the remains of these figures, and new feasts were dedicated in their honor. These initiatives, in turn, supported cities in their attempts to attract investments from a rising class of wealthy Christian patrons, to participate in the emerging pilgrimage economies of late antiquity, and to claim importance for themselves. In this chapter, I will argue that Jerusalem’s rising interest in Stephen through the fifth century should be understood along the same lines—that is, as an effort to reinscribe the martyr’s local connections, elevate his profile, and reposition him as a patron for the city. Although Stephen had an undeniable ecumenical significance as a biblical figure, he was also a saint with strong connections to the city. Those connections factor heavily in the only encomium for Stephen to survive from fifth-century Jerusalem—a text that casts Stephen in molds used elsewhere to construct local patron martyrs. The homily, however, offers us much more than a confirmation of Stephen’s status in fifth-century Jerusalem. It also offers us a glimpse into the projects for which Stephen’s new status was leveraged. Two projects in particular stand out in the address, each centered on the aspirations and anxieties of the city of Jerusalem. First, the homily mobilizes the memory of Stephen to underscore the unique privileges of the church of Jerusalem—that is, to assert its prestige as the mother church of all Christians. Secondly, Hesychius uses Stephen as a means of grappling with the city’s Jewish past and present. For a Christianized city seeking to distance itself from its Jewish history and locked in rivalry with the Jewish population of Palestine, Hesychius uses the figure of Stephen to construct a supposed Christian superiority over Jews. In the homily, then, we see the Stephen “invented” no less rhetorically than physically by the fifth-century Jerusalem church—a martyr suited to serve its unique agendas and designs.

3.1 The Local Martyr For centuries, Christians had linked the fame of local communities with the fame of the martyrs that had died in them. In his final epistle, Cyprian expresses his ⁴ Markus, End of Ancient Christianity, 142.

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desire to be martyred in Carthage that “the whole people” of the city “should be glorified by the confession of their prelate in their presence.”⁵ Indeed, he continues, “the honor of our church, glorious as it is, will be mutilated if I . . . receiving my sentence or my confession at Utica, should go thence as a martyr to the Lord, when indeed, both for my own sake and yours, I pray with continual supplications, and with all my desires entreat, that I may confess among you, and there suffer, and there depart to the Lord even as I ought.”⁶ The prestige added to a given local community by martyrdom was appreciated even in other cities. In the late second century, Tertullian grounded the prestige of the Roman church in part on the martyrdom of its two greatest members: “what a happy church that is, on which the apostles poured out their whole doctrine with their blood; where Peter had a passion like that of the Lord, where Paul was crowned with the death of John.”⁷ Up to the fourth century, this idea was relevant within Christian communities alone. From the time of Constantine, however, it took on wider social and political ramifications, becoming an increasingly important building block of the new, Christian urban cultures emerging in the period. “The Roman empire was an empire of cities,” as Simon Cleary observes.⁸ Cities were the primary seats and foci of imperial administration, and it was in cities that “the cultural formations of the Roman world were displayed and reproduced.”⁹ The project of Christianizing the empire, then, involved a reconfiguration of the Roman city, transforming urban landscapes, and exchanging older symbols and practices used to reinforce civic fraternity with Christian ones. In this process, the increasingly popular cult of the martyrs played a decisive role, especially as it assumed many of the functions of older pagan civic cults. Local martyr traditions provided cities with new collective histories, and new sources of civic identity.¹⁰ Accounts of the sufferings and deaths of martyrs (acta martyrium), reread within Roman discourses of civic virtue, honor, and heroism, cast martyrs as embodiments of the nobility of individual cities.¹¹ In this respect, they supplanted pagan deities and heroes in their symbolic roles.¹² Martyrs also displaced pagan deities in their civic functions. Whereas Hellenistic and Roman societies had oriented communal association and solidarity around public devotion to tutelary gods and spirits, who served “as the basis of the unity of ⁵ Cyprian, Epistula 81 (CSEL 3/2: 841). ⁶ Cyprian, Epistula 81 (CSEL 3/2:841). ⁷ Tertullian, De Praes. Haer., 36 (CSEL 70:45–6). ⁸ Cleary, Roman West, 97. ⁹ Cleary, Roman West, 97. ¹⁰ On martyr traditions as resources for a revised collective history, see, for example, Trout, “Damasus,” 517–36. On the link between this reframed collective history and identity formation, see Sághy, “Martyrdom and Collective Identity”; Dunkle, Enchantment and Creed, 143–73. Broader reflections on martyrs as a resource for the construction of Christian identity on all levels appear in Castelli, Martyrdom and Memory. ¹¹ The city “is ennobled, perhaps with some irony, not by heroic deeds of the pagan past but because of the relics of so noble an apostle” (Dunkle, Enchantment and Creed, 155). ¹² For martyrs as antitypes to pagan gods and heroes in this and other respects, see Roberts, Cult of the Martyrs, 32–3, 49–50, 63.

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the polis,” late antique cities redirected these loyalties towards local martyrs.¹³ The communal celebration of the martyr’s feast, then, and invocations of the martyr on other occasions, became crucial elements in the enactment and performance of local identity. The result was a multifaceted “Christian alternative to the civic patriotism of the pagan empire.”¹⁴ The presence of martyr relics and shrines was also integrated into the “laus urbis,” which had long incorporated praise of a city’s buildings.¹⁵ This shift, in turn, fueled demand for the construction of still more magnificent shrines that could project the glory of the martyr and the city. In place of pagan shrines and epigrams, Christian ones arose, reordering urban landscapes, and inscribing the city’s new collective history and identity in stone. In turn, the construction of these churches opened new economic opportunities for the city, especially as they attracted pilgrims from other regions. By reconfiguring local economies and identities, local martyr cults also repositioned individual cities in the fierce civic rivalries of the period. Civic rivalry was a constant theme of late Roman imperial life, pitting cities in open competition for honorific titles, special privileges, and various forms of imperial investment.¹⁶ In the Christian empire, cities also vied for regional primacies and influence in the evolving ecclesiastical hierarchy of the period. Here again, martyr traditions played an important role. As local prestige was reformulated around claims to martyrs, cities locked in competition increasingly drew from the symbolic capital of local martyrs in their attempts to claim importance for themselves as spaces.¹⁷ A wealth of martyr traditions underscored the antiquity of a city and the divine favor bestowed upon it. To the extent that monumental constructions had long been a resource to “assert the political power of a city, and challenge the aspirations of a rival city” in the Roman world, cities could also leverage the presence of local relics to attract investment in shrines to house them.¹⁸

Accumulating Martyrs One sign of the increasing importance of the local martyr in late antique life can be found in the moves taken by many cities to enhance their catalogs of martyrs. This ¹³ Cole, “Civic Cult and Civic Identity,” 299. For martyr cults as the successors of the cults of tutelary gods and spirits, see Dix, Shape of the Liturgy, 380–2; Gagov, “Culto delle reliquie,” 484–512; Orselli, Culto del santo patrono, 40–61; Palmer, Prudentius on the Martyrs, 95–6. ¹⁴ Matthews, Western aristocracies, 148. See also Roberts, Cult of the Martyrs, 27–37. ¹⁵ Roberts, Cult of the Martyrs, 28. The classical form of the “laus urbis” is described by Menander Rhetor, 1.11 (LCL 539.74–87). ¹⁶ On various arenas of civic rivalry in the late Roman Empire, see Burrell, Neokoroi; Heller, “Les bêtises des Grecs.” ¹⁷ See, for instance, Chadwick, “Peculiar Claim,” 313–18; Sághy, “Martyrdom and Collective Identity,” 17–35. ¹⁸ Thomas, Monumentality, 127.

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could involve the recovery of known local martyrs through the fabrication of relics associated with them (inventio). It could also entail the discovery of putatively “lost” martyrs. For Ambrose, the sudden “discovery” of two local martyrs, Protasius and Gervasius, allowed the church of Milan to escape “no slight lead of shame” over its own lack of local martyr traditions. “Barren of martyrs hitherto,” the church could now take her place beside other cities and “rejoice in the distinctions and instances of her own sufferings.”¹⁹ Even cities with impressive martyrological associations felt the need to invent martyrs in the midst of this arms race. In Rome, Damasus I led a concerted campaign to supply “the city with saints and feast days that had never before existed or had been remembered so dimly that they had to be reinvented,” while introducing the idea that a still greater number of unknown saints were “buried in the Roman catacombs.”²⁰ Other cities enriched their catalogs of local martyrs by laying claim to martyrs from other regions, especially by acquiring portions of their relics (translatio). Paulinus of Nola casts relic translation as a necessary response to the fact that “initially the faith had not been spread through the whole world to the same extent,” so that certain cities lacked extensive martyr traditions, if they had any at all.²¹ In turn, he traces the practice to the efforts of the Constantinian dynasty to imbue their “New Rome” on the Bosporus with a prestige as great as the empire’s former capital: Indeed, when Constantine²² was founding the city named after himself and was the first of the Roman kings to bear the Christian name, the godsent idea came to him that since he was embarking on the splendid enterprise of building a city that would rival Rome, he should also emulate Romulus’ city with the bodies of the apostles. He then removed Andrew from the Achaeans and Timothy from Asia. And so Constantinople now stands with twin towers, vying with the eminence of great Rome, or rather resembling the defenses of Rome in that God has ¹⁹ “Principes populi quos alios nisi sanctos martyres eaestimare debemus, quorum iam in numerum diu ante ignorati Protasius Gervasiusque praeferuntur, qui sterilem martyribus ecclesiam Mediolanensem iam plurimorum matrem filiorum laetari passionis propriiae faecerunt et titulis et exemplis?” (Ambrose of Milan, Ep. 77 [22], 7 [CSEL 82/3.131]). ²⁰ Thacker, “Rome of the Martyrs,” 36; Sághy, “Martyrdom and Collective Identity,” 20–1. Among these invented martyrs, unknown prior to his supposed inventio, is the martyr Eutychius, who appears to Damasus in a dream revealing the place of his burial (Epig. Damas. 21 [Ferrua, Epigrammata damasiana, 146]). ²¹ “Nam quia non totum pariter diffusa per orbem / Prima fides ierat, multis regionibus orbis / Martyres abfuerant, et ob hoc, puto, munere magno / Id placitum Christo nunc inspirante potentes, / Ut Constantino primum sub Caesare factum est, / Nunc famulis retegente suis, ut sede priori / Martyras accitos transferrent in nova terrae / Hospitia” (Paulinus of Nola, Carm. 19.317–24 [CSEL 30.129]). ²² The reference to “Constantine” here is an error. According to the Chronicon Paschale, it was Constantius II who transferred the relics in 356 (emperor from 337–61): “Indiction 14, year 19, the 10th consulship of Constantius Augustus and that of Julius Caesar. . . . on day 3 in the month Dystrus [March], the remains of the holy apostles Luke and Andrew were brought to Constantinople through the zeal of Constantius the Augustus, with zeal and piety, amidst psalmody and hymnody, and were laid to rest in the Holy Apostles” (542.7–11; Eng. tr., Whitby, Chronicon Paschale, 33).

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Refiguring the Local Martyr Another sign of the shifting value of local martyrs was the mobilization of a new system of metaphors to communicate their functions—one anticipated in earlier ideas of the martyrs as intercessors but representing a distinct discourse. Drawing from classical vocabularies of civic, familial, and personal allegiance, ancient Greek and Roman cities had long hailed their tutelary god and spirits as “citizens,” relations, and civic “patrons.”²⁴ From the fourth century on, these metaphors were increasingly applied to local martyrs in public inscriptions, encomia, and other media. Underpinning each of these flexible and multifaceted images was a consistent understanding of a transactional relationship between the martyr and city. In this relationship, the martyr has lasting obligations towards the city, bringing protection, healing, divine favor, and fame to those under his or her care. Paulinus hailed the town of Nola as “happy with Felix as your protector, illustrious with him as your sacred citizen, and strengthened with him as your heavenly patron.”²⁵ Similarly, Ambrose hailed Gervasius and Protasius as a divine bestowal of “greater protection” and a “favor” upon Milan.²⁶ The bestowal of these benefits, in turn, merited special devotion from the community, particularly in its close adherence to, and enthusiastic sponsorship of, his or her liturgical cult. Maximus of Turin, for instance, insisted to his own congregation that communities were obliged to observe the anniversary of a local martyr’s death with especially intense devotion, precisely because of the martyr’s identification with, and care for, the community: We ought to celebrate very devoutly the anniversary of all the holy martyrs, brethren, but the solemnity of those who have poured out their own blood in the places where we live is to be observed in particular by us with total veneration. Now, although all the saints are everywhere and are useful to

²³ Paulinus of Nola, Carm. 19.329–42 (CSEL 30.129–30; Eng. tr., Mango, “Constantine’s Mausoleum,” 53). “The initiative must have come from the imperial government” (Mango, “Constantine’s Mausoleum,” 52–3). More recent discussions of the date of these translations include Woods, “Relics of Ss. Luke and Andrew”; Burgess, “Relics of Sts Andrew and Luke,” 5–36. ²⁴ On classical notions of tutelary gods as citizens, relations, and patrons, see Versnel, Coping with the Gods, 94–9. ²⁵ “O felix Felice tuo tibi praesule Nola, / inclita cive sacro, calesti firma patron” (Paulinus of Nola, Carm. 13.26–7 [CSEL 30.45]). ²⁶ “Gratia tibi, domine Iesu, quod hoc tempore tales nobis sanctorum martyrium spiritus excitasti, quo ecclesia tua praesidia maiora desiderat” (Ambrose of Milan, Ep. 77 [22].10 [CSEL 82/3.132]).

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everyone, nonetheless those who have put up with suffering for our sake intercede specially for us. For when a martyr suffers, he suffers not for himself alone, but also for his cocitizens . . . for his cocitizens as an example . . . for his cocitizens for salvation. . . . Among them there is still a certain familiarity with us; they are always with us; they tarry with us. . . . And therefore, brethren, let us venerate in this world those whom we ought to have as defenders in the one to come. For we shall not be able to be separated from them if we are joined to them as much in devotion as in body.²⁷

The same metaphors used to inscribe an exclusive relationship between cities and martyrs—co-citizenship and kinship—could be manipulated to contest the claims of other cities to the same martyrs. Damasus’ martyrial epigrams, for instance, mobilize images of adoption or naturalization to enhance Rome’s claim to Peter and Paul over above the claims of other regions: Here you should know that the saints dwelt at one time You who seek the names of both Peter and Paul. We freely acknowledge that the East sent them as disciples For Christ’s sake and the merit of his blood They followed Him across the stars And sought heavenly regions, kingdom of pious souls Rome has merited to claim them as citizens. Damasus wished to proclaim these things, O new stars, to your praise. A long time ago, the story says, Greece sent you here. By your blood, you changed countries; And love of the Law made you our fellow citizen and brother. Having suffered for the Holy Name, You are now a dweller in the Lord and keep the altar of Christ. I beg you, glorious Martyr, to favor the prayers of Damasus.²⁸

For Damasus, Peter and Paul have “changed countries” and citizenships, with Rome—the city in which they died—now claiming their allegiances.

3.2 Stephen as Local Martyr The church of Jerusalem was no stranger to inter-civic contests and competition. For over a century, the political agenda of Jerusalem’s bishops “was dominated by [a] desire to make Jerusalem the most important city in the Christian world” and ²⁷ Maximus of Turin, Sermo 12.1–2 (CCSL 23.41–2; Eng. tr., Ramsey, Sermons, 31–3). ²⁸ Epig. Damas. 20, 48 (Ferrua, Epigrammata damasiana, 142, 195; Eng. tr., Sághy, “Martyrdom and Collective Identity,” 31, 33).

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their see “the most authoritative one in Palestine.”²⁹ It makes sense, then, that the church was no less a competitor in the arena of martyr cults—actively laying claims to figures with local connections and leveraging those claims to its advantage. When we turn to fifth-century Jerusalem sources, one figure in particular stands out as the object of those claims: Stephen. The intensifying local interest in Christianity’s first martyr, evident in the city’s many investments in his cult, correlates with clear shifts in the way local sources represent Stephen—shifts conforming closely to the discourse outlined above. Since so much of our evidence for the emerging Christian concept of the patron martyr is derived from homilies, including martyr encomia from Maximus, Paulinus, and Ambrose, it is useful to consider how Stephen is represented in homilies from Jerusalem. As it stands, only one such piece survives from fifthcentury Jerusalem: an encomium penned by the famed Jerusalem presbyter Hesychius sometime after 439. As we will see, the opening paragraphs of that homily take up tropes familiar from other sources constructing local patron martyrs, stressing the idea of a special relationship between Stephen and the city of his martyrdom.

Hesychius and His Homily Despite Hesychius’ fame, we know surprisingly little about his life. A Greek menologion from Grottaferrata informs us that he was born in Jerusalem, and that he lived as a monk before being called to the priesthood by the local bishop— probably John II (d. 417).³⁰ Over subsequent decades, however, Hesychius established himself as one of the most prominent and popular clerics of the church of Jerusalem. He was, above all, a talented preacher; his surviving sermons evince a classical rhetorical education rooted in the Atticizing Greek oratory of the Second Sophistic. He was also a prolific exegete, penning commentaries on Leviticus, the Psalms, Canticles, several prophetic books, and Luke. The date of Hesychius’ death is unknown, though it appears he lived beyond 451.³¹ Hesychius’ encomium for Stephen, in turn—one of over a dozen festal homilies by his pen still extant—is preserved in a single uncial Greek manuscript dating to the eighth or ninth century: Saint Catherine’s, Sin. Gr. 493 (ff. 167–90).³² The ²⁹ Drijvers, Cyril of Jerusalem, 153. ³⁰ Delehaye, Synaxarium Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae, 28 March (cod. BC), col. 567, lin. 37–8. ³¹ Theophanes dates his death to 434/5  (Chron. A.M. 5907 and 5927 [de Boor, Theophanis Chronographia, 83]), but John Rufus has him alive during the Council of Chalcedon (Plerophories, 10 [PO 8.23]). In their discussion of the ancient witnesses to Hesychius, van Hoof, Manafis, and van Nuffelen conclude that Hesychius lived through Chalcedon and “aligned himself with the opposition against Juvenal after the Council of Chalcedon” (Hesychius of Jerusalem, 505–17). ³² There, it appears beside works attributed to figures including John Chrysostom and Cyril of Jerusalem.

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homily’s attribution to the famed Jerusalem preacher is widely accepted on the basis of its stylistic similarities to his other known works, as well as its points of contact with the ritual patterns of fifth-century Jerusalem as attested in the Armenian Lectionary.³³ Early in the homily, Hesychius cites the antiphonal psalm appointed in the lectionary for the feasts of Stephen: “Lord, you have crowned us with the shield of your favor” (Ps. 5:13b). The bulk of Hesychius’ remarks, in turn, interact with the content of the day’s epistle, especially the accusations brought against Stephen (Acts 6:11–14), the thrust of Stephen’s own rebukes against his accusers (Acts 7:51–53), and the account of Stephen’s death (Acts 7:54–60).³⁴ The opening words of the encomium—“in Stephen’s honor let all the earth celebrate his feast”—indicate that it was first delivered on the 26/27 December “commemoration of Stephen” attested across the late fourth-century Mediterranean.³⁵ In turn, the homily’s apparent knowledge of the Eudocian basilica of St. Stephen, dedicated in 439, suggests its composition in the midfifth century. Whatever its particular date, however, the homily reveals concerns likely permeating Hesychius’ reflection on the martyr across several decades. A close study of Hesychius’ extant festal homilies reveals his tendency to revisit the same themes, images, and rhetorical devices in homilies preached on different occasions but sharing common subject matter. His two extant homilies at the Church of Lazarus (Lazarium), for instance—one preached on the sixth day of the Epiphany octave (11 January) and the other on the Saturday “before the Passover of the Law” (Lazarus Sunday)—share considerable content.³⁶ In this single encomium for Stephen, then, we are likely exposed to patterns characteristic of

³³ A comprehensive defense of the authenticity of the homily appears in Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:306–14. ³⁴ The homily makes no reference to the other two readings prescribed for Stephen’s feast in the Armenian Lectionary—that is, Ps. 20 LXX or John 12:24–26. It does include references to a dozen other texts, however. Most notable among these is the only portion of the Stephen cycle omitted from the day’s prescribed readings: Acts 6:1–7, which describes the ordination and table ministry of Stephen (Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 2, 5 [Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:328, 330]). Against this rich and wide-ranging use of biblical materials, Hesychius makes little use of apocryphal traditions—a point lamented by Francois Bovon in his discussion of the homily among other early sources on Stephen (Bovon, “Dossier,” 289–90). The text lacks those details of Stephen’s life included in the Revelatio Sancti Stephani, as well as those incorporated into later works including the Passio Sancti Stephani and Vita Fabulosa. Nevertheless, it contains at least some local color. Taking up regional traditions surrounding the “Upper Church of the Apostles” on Sion, Hesychius fixes Stephen’s diaconal ministry at that site, describing the martyr as “a table-attendant of Sion” early in his remarks (Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 2 [Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:328]). ³⁵ This conclusion is strengthened by the lack of any nativity or paschal themes or imagery in the homily, which one would expect in a homily preached on either of Stephen’s two alternative feasts (see ch. 5). By way of comparison, Hesychius’ homily for the Epiphany VI celebration at the Lazarium is rich in images associated with the birth of Jesus, anchoring the feast in the themes of the Epiphany octave (Hesych. H. hom. 11, In S. Lazarum; hom. 12, In S. Lazarum [Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:369–462]; see discussion in Méndez, “Lazarus”). ³⁶ Hesych. H. hom. 11, In S. Lazarum; hom. 12, In S. Lazarum (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:369–462). On the occasion of hom. 12, see Méndez, “Lazarus.”

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Hesychius’ preaching on Stephen across several decades—preaching that influenced the local reception of the martyr, especially given Hesychius’ local popularity and the length of his career.

The Glory of Jerusalem One indication of Stephen’s special status in the fifth-century Jerusalem church lies in the sophistication of the encomium. In Antoine Wenger’s estimation, the piece “is undoubtedly the most beautiful” of Hesychius’ extant homilies, surpassing even those for Easter and the feasts of Mary, Peter and Paul, and James and David in stylistic quality.³⁷ The full cache of poetic devices characteristic of Hesychius’ writing—including metaphors, anaphors, homoeoteleuta, chiasms, parallelisms, and antitheses—are not only represented in this homily but “accumulated with such density and handled with such mastery” as to give this homily its own special quality. Indeed, Wegner concludes, “the author has outdone himself to celebrate Stephen, the first martyr, the glory of Jerusalem.”³⁸ This rhetorical tribute is, no doubt, fitting for a saint who made Jerusalem “the theatre of his own eloquence.”³⁹ But it coheres especially well with the climate of intense devotion to Stephen in which it was delivered. Hesychius approached this particular homily with special passion because he saw the city’s first martyr as a figure of unique importance, whose commemoration probably attracted larger than average crowds. The local significance of Stephen is, in fact, the first sustained interest of the homily and the focus of our interest in it. In its opening lines, Hesychius begins by insisting that Stephen’s contributions to the universal church enjoin upon all Christians the obligation of celebrating his annual feast. Interestingly, however, Hesychius underscores only Stephen’s preaching in this segment—his “words,” “laws,” “doctrines,” and “teaching”: In Stephen’s honor, let all the earth celebrate his feast: indeed he cultivated all of it constantly by his words, and filled the inhabited world, with all its people, with holy laws. He sowed doctrines of piety everywhere, the churches in their entirety he allowed to strive for the light of his teaching.⁴⁰ ³⁷ Wenger, “Hésychius de Jérusalem,” 462. ³⁸ Wenger, “Hésychius de Jérusalem,” 462. ³⁹ Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 2 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:328; Eng. tr., Allen et al., “Let Us Die,” 196). ⁴⁰ Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 1 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:328). The claim that Stephen “sowed doctrines of piety everywhere” is unlikely to reflect an unwritten tradition whereby Stephen engaged in missionary labors in other regions, as his early companion Philip (Acts 6:5; 8:2; 8:4–40). Instead, Hesychius seems to be referencing the universal reach of Stephen’s teaching through the circulation of the Acts of the Apostles, if not also the transmission of a larger body of unrecorded oral teachings (cf. Acts 6.10).

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From the outset, he frames the relationship of most Christians to Stephen as one mediated by the word—but tellingly, by the word alone. For Hesychius, this idea becomes the basis for a synkrisis—a comparison, frequent in panegyric—constructing Jerusalem’s more intimate and privileged relationship with the martyr. Extending the metaphor of Stephen’s teaching as “light,” Hesychius casts Jerusalem not as the recipient of Stephen’s light but as its very source: For just as the sun, when it rises somewhere from one corner of heaven, has been allotted the task of illuminating visible creation in its entirety, so the crown of graces, beaming rays out of Jerusalem, filled entire cities and regions, nations and peoples, tribes and languages with a knowledge of God that is inextinguishable.⁴¹

These lines contain overt echoes of a thread of local discourse praising Jerusalem as the mother and teacher of churches. Especially juxtaposed with earlier references to the “words” and “laws” disseminated by Stephen, the statement evokes a prophetic verse applied to Jerusalem attested in other sources from the city: “from Zion the law will come out, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem” (Mic. 4:2 LXX; cf. Isa. 2:3 LXX). In turn, the title “crown of graces” (ὁ τῶν χαρίτων Στέφανος)—an obvious play on the martyr’s name, which literally means “crown”—casts Jerusalem as a source of grace to the world. Early in the homily, then, Hesychus’ attempts to enhance Stephen’s prestige serve to enhance the glory of Jerusalem. The conventions of panegyric invited joint praise of a figure and the figure’s native city or land. Menander prescribes that the basilikos logos—a template widely adapted in martyr panegyrics—should incorporate “the topic of [the subject’s] homeland” or “city [polis]” after the proemia, if these places are distinguished, celebrated, or otherwise “famous.”⁴² Manipulating this template, Hesychius prioritizes the link between city and martyr in his address, so that the “praises of Stephen” and the “praises of Jerusalem” go hand in hand. Having positioned the martyr in a closer relationship with Jerusalem than with other cities, the preacher returns full circle to the theme of pious obligation. In lines reminiscent of Maximus’ appeal to the residents of Turin, Hesychius insists that the residents of Jerusalem should have an exceptional attachment to Stephen’s cult by virtue of their special relationship with the martyr. Just as Stephen’s contributions to the universal church oblige the world to celebrate a single feast in his honor, his more intimate connections to Jerusalem justify even more celebrations of his memory locally: ⁴¹ Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 1 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:328). ⁴² Menander Rhetor 2.1.7–9 [LCL 539.140–3]. On the dependence of martyr panegyrics on the form of the basilicas logos, see Allen et al., Let Us Die, 27–8.

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      But we rightly owe him more numerous feasts, since he is a citizen of the Cross, a relative of Bethlehem, a descendant of the Anastasis, a table-attendant of Sion (cf. Acts 6:2), a herald of the Ascension. It is in our midst that he fixed his abode and his tents; it is in our midst that he obtained the election to his ministry and the part of his martyrdom. In this spot he had his sacrificial altar and the bema of his blessing, the field of his teaching, the theatre of his eloquence. From this spot he was taken up into heaven, and left us to go to Christ.⁴³

Hesychius’ project of claiming Stephen for Jerusalem reaches its full flowering in these lines. As Aubineau writes, the initial series of epithets “evoke a panorama of prestigious churches” in and around Jerusalem, here used as metonyms for the city itself. Crucial for our analysis, however, are the specific molds in which Hesychiuys casts Stephen. In rapid succession, the preacher presents Stephen to the city’s residents as a fellow “citizen” (πολίτης), a “relative” (οἰκεῖος), and a “descendant” (ἔκγονος)—the very metaphors taken up in contemporary homilies to construct local patron martyrs. Two other epithets in the series—“tableattendant” and “herald”—recall Stephen’s diaconal ministry to the church of Jerusalem, adding to Stephen’s bonds of allegiance and blood a third tie: fellow membership in the local church. Phrasing all these claims in the present tense (“he is”), Hesychius inscribes a present and continuing relationship between Jerusalem and Christianity’s first martyr imposing certain continuing obligations (“we . . . owe him . . .”)—the core elements of the contemporary discourse of the local patron martyr

3.3 Stephen as Anti-Jewish Symbol Hesychius’ homily does more than frame Stephen as an embodiment of the unique privileges and prestige of the Jerusalem church. It also casts him in other, far more problematic molds. Several of these cluster around Christian opposition to Judaism. Hesychius casts Stephen as an exemplar polemicist against Judaism, a prophet of the future, Christian Jerusalem, and a victim of Jewish violence. This gradual turn towards anti-Jewish rhetoric in the homily is not unfamiliar. Similar messages pervade sermons for the feast of Stephen from the pens of such earlier luminaries as Gregory of Nyssa, Asterius of Amasea, and John Chrysostom, as well as the literary works of authors like Augustine.⁴⁴ In Hesychius’ homily, ⁴³ Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 2 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:328; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 196). ⁴⁴ Several studies have explored how the narrative of Stephen’s martyrdom has contributed to discourses of Christian supremacy over Jews and to anti-Jewish programs. On Gregory of Nyssa, see Leemans, “Reading Acts.” On Augustine, see Fredriksen, “St. Stephen.”

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however, we see the same rhetoric tailored to Jerusalem’s own tense relationship with its Jewish past and present—a pressing issue for the city’s Christian residents.

Refuter of Jews Perhaps not surprisingly, Hesychius’s turn towards anti-Jewish rhetoric takes shape almost as soon as he begins discussing the day’s principal lection: the account of Stephen’s martyrdom in Acts 6–8. In the form attested by the Armenian Lectionary, that lection opens with a depiction of Stephen’s ministry, inclusive of his healing ministry and theological disputes with specific factions in Jerusalem:⁴⁵ And Stephen, full of grace and power, did great wonders and signs among the people. Then some of those who belonged to the synagogue of the Freedmen (as it was called), and of the Cyrenians, and of the Alexandrians, and of those from Cilicia and Asia, arose and disputed with Stephen. But they could not withstand the wisdom and the Spirit with which he spoke. (Acts 6:8–11)

In his discussion of these verses, however, Hesychius discards these nuances of identity entirely. He presents Stephen as a figure “forceful . . . in refuting the Jews,” collapsing Stephen’s opponents under a single label—a label wide enough to include contemporary representatives.⁴⁶ But Hesychius goes further. While recasting Stephen as an opponent of “the Jews” collectively, he also refigures the martyr into an embodiment of the ideal posture of Christians even towards contemporary Jews—a posture of confrontation, reproof, and correction. Within the same section, Hesychius explains that Stephen’s words are a lasting resource for Christians: Stephen’s zeal is a shield for believers, and his tongue is a sword for the pious, and his frank speech is a training for confession, his courage is an exhortation to bravery, his eloquence is material for theology, his teaching is the catechesis of the law, the knowledge of prophets, the realisation of gospels, his contemplation of heavenly mysteries – I should say more than heavenly – is an exegesis.⁴⁷

The preacher’s use of martial imagery here—shield, sword, training, and courage—takes its immediate inspiration from the antiphonal psalm verse, quoted ⁴⁵ On the identity of these groups, see Fitzmeyer, Acts, 356–8. ⁴⁶ Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 6 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:331; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 196). ⁴⁷ Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 3 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:331; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 196).

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in the same section: “Lord you have crowned us with the shield of your favor” (Ps. 5:13 LXX). In a discussion of teaching, however, that imagery evokes a specific kind of engagement—namely, the adversarial dance of debate between “believers” with nonbelievers. In short, Hesychius presents Stephen’s engagements with Jews as a model for Christian life. Stephen prepares the Christian to assert Christianity’s teachings and norms against Jews, not least on matters related to “the law” and “prophets.” In the lines that follow, Hesychius adds a second layer to this idealization. There, the preacher casts Stephen’s sparring with Jews—his “forceful . . . refuting” of their claims—as aligned with God’s own posture towards Jews and an extension of God’s own implied struggle against them. Stephen—precisely as the “upright” and “pure” person—fights “on the shepherd’s behalf” against his Jewish opponents: He opened his mouth and captured everyone’s attention; he moved his tongue and death took to flight, falsehood was chained, charity progressed. Although a lamb, he fought on the shepherd’s behalf against the wolves; although a dove, he subjected snakes to the eagle . . . however numerous the arrows of the false accuser, the artisan of truth is not wounded. However numerous the darts thrown by the evil one, they fly and are impelled in vain – they do not pierce the upright person, they do not hit the guileless person, they do not bite the pure person.⁴⁸

For Hesychius, this confident, adversarial Stephen, soldiering against Jewish hostility, embodies the ideal Jerusalem Christian.

Constructing Jews Just as Hesychius uses the figure of Stephen to construct the ideal Jerusalem Christian, he uses the same figure to define the city’s continuous “other”—that is, local Jews. The beginnings of this project are manifest in the contrasting binaries he sets up around the figure of Stephen in the passages considered so far. If Stephen is the “lamb,” his Jewish opponents are “wolves.” If Stephen is the “dove,” Jews are “snakes.” This project of constructing Jews in negative terms takes on more elaborate proportions in the next section of the homily, however. As if following the lection’s narrative progress closely, Hesychius then turns to the arrest and trial of Stephen:

⁴⁸ Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 6 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:330, 332; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 197).

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And [Stephen’s opponents] stirred up the people and the elders and the scribes, and they came upon him and seized him and brought him before the council, and set up false witnesses who said, “This man never ceases to speak words against this holy place and the law; for we have heard him say that this Jesus of Nazareth will destroy this place, and will change the customs which Moses delivered to us” (Acts 6:12–14).

In his comments on these verses, Hesychius is pressed to address a clear tension in his text. Acts construes the claim that Stephen “speaks words against” the Temple as a “false” accusation. But the speech of Stephen that follows (Acts 7:1–53) takes a decidedly anti-Temple tone.⁴⁹ It problematizes the Temple’s very existence on the grounds that “the Most High does not dwell in houses made with hands” (7:48), and it frames those who defend the Temple as “stiff-necked people, uncircumcised in heart and ears” (7:51). As if negotiating this apparent contradiction, Hesychius claims that Stephen’s opponents are declared “false witnesses and accusers” not because they are misrepresenting Stephen’s words—his words are indeed directed against the Jewish “holy place”—but because they frame Stephen’s speech against the Temple as “blasphemies against God” (6:11). Speaking to the absent Jewish other, Hesychius rails: “you declare not true what is true, because you call blasphemies (cf. Acts 6:11) against God the prophecies which were made by him and about him, and you consider future events which he himself has threatened an abolition of the Law.”⁵⁰ In the lines that follow, Hesychius elaborates on this point, assembling a long catalog of biblical oracles that prophesy divine wrath upon Jerusalem and the destruction of the Temple. In their original setting, these oracles represented ex eventu predictions of the Babylonian conquest and exile. Following local streams of exegesis, however, Hesychius applies them to the devastation of Jerusalem following the Jewish-Roman Wars—a devastation he credits to the willingness of “the Jews” to “crucify the savior and redeemer.”⁵¹ Several of these oracles are familiar; they are the very same applied to Sion by figures like Eusebius and Cyril—for instance, “the daughter of Sion will remain like a tent in a vineyard, and like a garden watcher’s hut in a cucumber bed” (Isa. 1:8 LXX; cf. Mic. 3:12 LXX). For Hesychius, however, the scope of these prophecies is not limited to Jews of the first and second centuries . Rather, he claims, the same oracles anticipate and explain the humiliation of the Jewish people into his present: “up to today

⁴⁹ “Although the author of Acts tells us the anti-temple charge against Stephen comes from false witnesses, once we read the speech itself, we can see that Stephen’s message does seem to oppose the temple” (Martin, “Jesus in Jerusalem,” 13; see entire discussion on 12–14). ⁵⁰ Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 8 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:332; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 197). ⁵¹ Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 16 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:340; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 200).

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God has not put a stop to . . . threats to these senseless people, but has made threats more serious and more important.”⁵² By treating Jews of all periods as a collective—“these people”—the preacher implicitly imposes on contemporary Jews the same characterizations he ascribes to Stephen’s opponents. They too are “sick from disbelief,” and their hearts are also “filled” with “darkness and ignorance.”⁵³ In Hesychius’ rhetoric, then, Stephen is not merely an opponent of a certain circle of Jews in his day. He is a foil and adversary of Jews of all generations—a people Hesychius lumps into a single mass. This negative essentialization of an entire community is disturbing, but it is hardly idiosyncratic. Rather, the preacher finds the resources for this move in the biblical text before him. In Acts, Stephen himself constructs the Jewish people as an implacably obstinate and violent group: “Hard of heart and uncircumcised in heart and ears, you always resist the Holy Spirit. You are like your fathers. Which of the prophets did not your fathers persecute?” (Acts 7:51). Quoting portions of the same sentence, Hesychius follows the author of Acts in linking those traits to the murder of Stephen: “Of course the children of the Jews did not tolerate these words, but ground their teeth [Acts 7:54] like wild beasts, surging to devour Stephen while he was still addressing them. . . . disorderly shouts followed his orderly speech about God, shouts followed shouts. . . . Lacking arms, they armed themselves from the ground, in the absence of swords they improvised with stones . . .”⁵⁴ In the liturgical commemoration of Stephen, then, Hesychius pursues a project significant to the fifth-century church of Jerusalem—namely, the erasure of Palestine’s “Jewish” past and the marginalization of its Jewish present. He uses the day’s lections as a platform to support the myth of Christian Jerusalem—a myth premised on a divine rejection and punishment of Jews. And in the image of Stephen dying at the hands of a Jewish mob, Hesychius finds a vehicle for essentializing and impugning Jews of all generations. For the preacher, however, the feast of Stephen is not merely an occasion to repudiate contemporary Judaism; it is also a means of doing so. At the outset of the homily, Hesychius praises the fact that the residents of Jerusalem “often put crowns on [Stephen’s] nuptial canopy”—that is, the site of his crowning in martyrdom, his execution—and that they “sing a marriage hymn” on the martyr’s feasts.⁵⁵ At a later point, however, he alleges that “[the Jewish people] went into the nuptial canopy, but did not welcome the bridegroom [Stephen]” and that

⁵² Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 12 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:336; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 198). ⁵³ Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 14 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:338; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 199). ⁵⁴ Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 25 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:346; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 203). ⁵⁵ Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 3 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:328–31; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 196).

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“they decorated the bridal chamber with crowns, but refused marriage.”⁵⁶ In these words, identity and cult converge again. The preacher casts the community’s veneration of the martyr as a practice that distinguishes them from Jews and that enacts their Christian identity.

3.4 Conclusion To understand why the church of Jerusalem invested so heavily in the memory and veneration of Stephen in the fifth century, one must understand who Stephen was to the residents of the city at that time. Hesychius’ encomium provides important clues in this regard. In its presentation of Stephen as kin, as co-citizen, and as the object of the community’s most fervent devotion, the encomium finds its closest parallels in contemporary texts that construct martyrs as local patrons. Evidently, Hesychius’ homily is engaged in the same project, constructing Stephen as a symbol of the church of Jerusalem’s unique identity. The homily’s exegesis of Acts 6–8, in turn, traces out that identity in so many contours, presenting the church of Jerusalem as the glory and teacher of the world, as an opponent of Jews and Judaism, and as a past and potential victim of Jewish violence. What we gain from this chapter, then, is a new understanding of the significance of the cult of Stephen to the late ancient church of Jerusalem. The difference between that cult and most others practiced in the city was not merely a difference in size, quantifiable in the number of shrines or feasts. It was, rather, a difference in kind. Stephen was a distinct kind of saint in Jerusalem, one analogous to Peter and Paul in Rome and Gervasius and Protasius in Milan. He had a unique function in the memory of the city. Accordingly, the many investments made in his memory should be analyzed in that light. In this case, we should also see those local investments—churches and feasts, relics and miracle reports—as having a rhetorical force. That is, we should read them as the means by which the church of Jerusalem asserted and deepened a particular kind of claim on a particular kind of martyr. Other studies have indexed cognate moves by certain North African cities such as Uzalis and Hippo as attempts “to cast the Church’s proto-martyr as the city’s dominus and patronus communis” at each site:⁵⁷ As Saint Stephen’s remains were distributed among various African churches and the miracles attributed to the proto-martyr proliferated beyond all expectations, Augustine and his episcopal colleagues became very keen on publicizing

⁵⁶ Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 14 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:338–9; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 199). ⁵⁷ Riggs, “Apologetic Performance,” 110.

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It is time to read Jerusalem’s parallel initiatives—some earlier, some later—in the same light. In them, the church of Jerusalem condensed its shifting understanding of Stephen into a network of representations, broadcasting its claim to Stephen to the world.

⁵⁸ Riggs, “Apologetic Performance,” 105–6.

4 The Bones You heard, when the account of his passion was read from the canonical book, the Acts of the Apostles, how he was stoned by the Jews, how he commended his spirit to the Lord, how also at the end he knelt down and prayed for those who were stoning him. From that day to these times his body lay hidden. Recently, however, it came to light, as the bodies of holy martyrs usually do come to light, by a revelation of God, when it so pleased the Creator. Augustine of Hippo¹ Of the many relics produced in the fifth century, none had as far-reaching an impact as the bones of Stephen. The intense popularity of the martyr’s cult prior to 415 created conditions ripe for the enthusiastic reception of the martyr’s remains, if not an actual demand for them.² It is little surprise, then, that reports of the find spread only slightly more quickly than the relics themselves, which were almost immediately divided and distributed, bone by bone, through the networks of patronage then linking the Mediterranean world.³ And as these relics spread, they reshaped the universal cult of Stephen, enriching it with a new set of material and ritual expressions, and renewing enthusiasm in its central figure. As easy as it is to place the invention in a global perspective, however, we run the risk of forgetting that the find was fabricated within a particular local community—the fifth-century church of Jerusalem—and as yet another expression of its own local devotion to Stephen. The relics, after all, were produced by two clerics of the Jerusalem church: John II, the city’s bishop from 387 to 417, and Lucian, the priest of a nearby village under John’s jurisdiction. And immediately upon their discovery, the relics were first installed within one of the most significant churches in the city of Jerusalem. The origins of the relics and their later reception, then, are at least partly bound up in the intentions of those local actors who produced and publicized them—intentions anchored firmly in the ¹ “Audistis, cum passionis eius lectio legeretur de libro canonico Actuum Apostolorum, quemadmodum lapidatus sit a Iudaeis, quemadmodum Domino commendaverit spiritum suum, quemadmodum etiam in extremo genibus fixis oraverit pro lapidatoribus suis Huius corpus ex illo usque ad ista tempora latuit; nuper autem apparuit, sicut solent apparere sanctorum corpora martyrum, revelatione Dei, quando placuit Creatori” (Augustine, Sermo 318.1 [PL 38:1437–38; Eng. tr., Hill, Sermons, 147]). ² Wiśniewski, Cult of Relics, 105. ³ “Stephen’s relics began to travel almost immediately after their discovery, first to North Africa and Minorca, and some years later to Constantinople” (Bradbury, Severus of Minorca, 23).

The Cult of Stephen in Jerusalem: Inventing a Patron Martyr. Hugo Méndez, Oxford University Press. © Hugo Méndez 2022. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192846990.003.0005

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experience of the church the two served as clerics. My aim in this chapter is to shed a light on these intentions—that is, to read the invention of Stephen’s relics as an initiative of the local church of Jerusalem, born of its own interests. Uncovering these interests is not as simple as understanding the historical circumstances and contours of the invention itself. As Gerda Heydemann reminds us, there is “nothing self-evident in the . . . use of relics”; rather, “relics themselves necessitate discourse,” especially in the form of written accounts of their discovery and translation meant to “establish a discursive authority” over these objects and textualize their significance for audiences.⁴ In the case of the invention of the relics of Stephen, we are fortunate to possess the earliest textualization of the find—a firsthand account of the discovery by Lucian, promulgated under the authority of John: the Revelatio Sancti Stephani. The Revelatio represents an encyclical letter, written to publicize the discovery and enshrinement of the relics among “all the holy churches in Christ Jesus across the world.”⁵ Woven through the document’s narrative of the find, however, is a sustained rhetorical program supporting the city’s increasingly assertive claims on Stephen. Specifically, the Revelatio positions Stephen as the special patron of Jerusalem, whose preeminence underwrites the preeminence of the city and its bishop. As I will argue below, the account develops this idea through a simultaneous insistence on the martyr’s universal significance and his local particularity. First, the narrative casts the excavation of the martyr’s bones—the locus of his dormant power—as a matter of global interest and urgency. Building on the biblical characterization of Stephen as a miracle worker (Acts 6:8), the account casts Stephen as the only figure powerful enough to save the world from a catastrophic drought threatening the fabric of civilization. At the same time, the account deconstructs the martyr’s universality by linking his power and fate exclusively to the church of Jerusalem. In the text, the bishop of Jerusalem is the necessary broker of Stephen’s miraculous power—exclusively entrusted with the task of recovering the martyr’s relics for the benefit of all cities and nations. The text also singles out Christian Jerusalem as the preordained resting place of the relics and the unique conduit of their power.⁶ The end result refigures the biblical Stephen into “the patronus, the invisible, heavenly concomitant of the patronage exercised palpably on earth by the bishop” and the city that would dispense his miraculous power to the world.⁷

⁴ Haydemann, “Hagiography and Authority,” 191. ⁵ “. . . sanctae ecclesiae omnibus sanctis qui sunt in Christo Iesu in universo mundo . . .” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 1 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 190; Eng. tr. mine]). ⁶ “Though that power operates in the world, it unites terrestrial communities under God in a single Christian community, whose point of access on earth is the tomb of the martyr” (Roberts, Cult of the Martyrs, 27–8). ⁷ Brown, Cult of the Saints, 38.

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4.1 The Revelatio Sancti Stephani The intense enthusiasm for the relics of Stephen after 415 created a wide market for accounts detailing their actual discovery.⁸ The earliest of these accounts, the Revelatio Sancti Stephani, is significant for its direct links to a figure involved in the find. In its various recensions, the text expressly presents itself a first-person narrative of the discovery by Lucian, a village priest “of the church of God which is in the village of Kephar Gamala in the territory of Jerusalem.”⁹ The text subsequently achieved a wide circulation, influencing later works—most especially the primary apocryphal account of Stephen’s martyrdom (Passio) developed over the next several centuries.¹⁰

⁸ François Bovon, for instance, notes the survival of “no less than thirteen different texts related to [Stephen’s] cult and the story of his relics” in Latin sources, not including documents related to the later translation of those relics to other regions (“Dossier,” 304). ⁹ “Lucianus . . . presbyter ecclesiae Dei quae est in villa Caphargmala in territorio Hierosolymorum” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 1 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 190; Eng. tr. mine]). The village likely corresponds with the present-day Palestinian town of Jemmala, located 25 km northwest of Jerusalem. Arguments in favor of this identification appear in Di Segni and Gibson, “Greek Inscriptions,” 136–7. Émile Puech (“Mausolée”) attempted a positive identification of Kephar Gamala on the basis of an inscription at Beit Jimal, but a persuasive rebuttal of his evidence appears in Di Segni and Gibson, “Greek Inscriptions,” 117–41. ¹⁰ The Passio Sancti Stephani survives in at least a dozen recensions across a number of languages (see Bovon, “Dossier,” 295–300, 311–12). The earliest recension of the text survives in multiple Georgian witnesses. Nicholas Marr first published fragments of the text from a tenth-century Georgian codex in 1926 (Le synaxaire géorgien, 657). Thirty years later, Akaki Shanidze published the first complete edition of the text, recovered from a separate Sinaitic Georgian manuscript dating to the year 864 (Sinuri Mravaltavi 864 ts’lisa, 59–62). Shanidze’s edition was subsequently translated into French by Michel van Esbroeck (“Jean II de Jèrusalem,” 101–5). Another edition, recovered from a separate source, was published by Ivane Imnaïshvili (Kartuli enis ist’oriuli krest’omatia, 244–7). The core Passio is pseudepigraphal, switching from third-person narration to first-person narration in the voice of Pontius Pilate: “and I, Pilate” (Passio 12; French tr., Esbroeck, “Jean II de Jérusalem,” 105). Unlike the Revelatio Sancti Stephani, then, it is not a document one can safely connect to the leadership of the church of Jerusalem (pace Esbroeck, “Jean II de Jérusalem,” 99–107; Labadie, “Passion Hagiopolite,” 125–6). The text sustains a high view of Stephen, with Jesus hailing the martyr as: “the jewel of great price . . . pastor of future martyrs . . . head of the servants of God,” and rhetorically asking, “who will be your equal in this world and in the life to come and the rest (eternal)?” (Passio 3; French trans. in Esbroeck, “Jean II de Jérusalem,” 103). It may well have a Palestinian origin, though this is by no means certain (despite the views of Esbroeck, “Jean II de Jérusalem,” 99–107; Labadie, “Passion Hagiopolite,” 122–3). The date of the text is also unclear. The Passio clearly postdates the Revelatio Sancti Stephani, since it shows obvious signs of dependence upon it—for example, the text associates Stephen with the figure of Gamaliel, it places his martyrdom outside the gate that leads to Kedar, it describes how his body was exposed to the elements, and it even depicts Stephen predicting the eventual discovery of his relics (see arguments in Labadie, “Passion Hagiopolite,” 121, no. 19). But the text seems to have emerged at least several decades after 415  as it is shot through with Christological concerns first taking shape later in the fifth century. Specifically, the Passio presents Stephen as a zealous and sophisticated articulator of the position of the Council of Ephesus (431 ), who defends the application of the title “Theotokos” to Mary (Passio 2, 4; French tr., Esbroeck, “Jean II de Jérusalem,” 102–3). In this case, the text must date after 431, though how far after is unclear. Later recensions of the document date to the sixth or seventh centuries. For all these reasons, the document is not a secure source for examining the early cult of Stephen in Jerusalem, and thus it is excluded from this study.

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The circumstances of the Revelatio’s first publication are described in a contemporary letter by Avitus, a priest of Braga resident in Jerusalem, to the bishop and clergy of his church (the “Epistula Aviti”)—a letter appended to the document at the earliest known stage of its transmission.¹¹ In his epistle, Avitus claims to have secretly obtained a small portion of the relics of Stephen, including “the dust of the flesh and the nerves” as well as “solid bones,” which he has sent his local church with the carrier of his letter: the younger Iberian priest, Paul Orosius.¹² In turn, from a stated desire to confirm the faith of his countrymen in the authenticity of the relics, Avitus claims to have also enclosed “the very letter and description, copied out in my own writing, of that holy priest to whom the revelation was made,” that is, the Revelatio.¹³ The Revelatio itself, in turn, survives to the present day in a complicated textual state, with multiple competing recensions distributed across Latin, Greek, and Syriac versions.¹⁴ In his covering letter, Avitus expressly claims that “I dictated first in [Lucian’s] own Greek language and later translated into Latin.”¹⁵ As Paul Peeters notes, this line hardly indicates the existence of a Greek Ur-text, on which the extant Latin recensions depend but indicates that the text developed as the Greek-speaking Lucian first shared his reminiscences orally, and Avitus prepared a Latin account from them. In this case, he reasons, the oldest Latin tradition should carry “the full value of an original.”¹⁶ In turn, subsequent work on the manuscript tradition by Émile Vanderlinden clarified the existence and designation of two original versions of the document, both by Lucian: a shorter text, prepared as an encyclical letter to all the holy churches (A) and an expanded (50% longer) account addressed to a certain bishop Hymenius (B).¹⁷ In the former, Vanderlinden isolates Peeters’ Latin original, ¹¹ A critical edition of that text appears in Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 188–9. An English translation by Andrew Jacobs appears in Christianity in Late Antiquity, 361. On the identity of Avitus, see Altaner, “Avitus von Braga,” 450–66. ¹² “Quamobrem misi vobis per sanctum filium et compresbyterum meiim Orosium reliquias de corpore beati Stephani primi martyris, hoc est pulverem carnis atque nervorum et, quod fidelius certiusque credendum est, ossa solida atque manifesta sui sanctitate novis pigmentis vel odoribus pinguiora” (Avitus of Braga, Epistula Aviti, 8 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 189; Eng. tr. Ehrman and Jacobs, Christianity in Late Antiquity, 361]). ¹³ “Ut autem nulla possit esse dubitatio, ipsam ad vos, subditam scriptis meis, sancti presbyteri cui haec revelata sunt epistolam conscriptionemque transmisi, quam, me pro fide veritatis plenius cognoscendae rogante et expetente, dictavit graeco primum ipse sermone, sed per me postea in latinum versa est” (Avitus of Braga, Epistula Aviti, 9 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 189; Eng. tr., Ehrman and Jacobs, Christianity in Late Antiquity, 361]). ¹⁴ A comprehensive catalog of the Latin manuscripts appears in Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 180–5. The various Greek and Syriac editions are, in turn, outlined by Bovon (“Dossier,” 295, 305–6). ¹⁵ “. . . dictavit graeco primum ipse sermone, sed per me postea in latinum versa est” (Avitus of Braga, Epistula Aviti, 9 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 189; Eng. tr., Ehrman and Jacobs, Christianity in Late Antiquity, 361]). ¹⁶ “. . . toute la valeur d’un original” (Peeters, Tréfonds oriental, 56). ¹⁷ Vanderlinden’s reconstruction of the textual relationships between the Latin manuscripts appears in “Revelatio,” 185–7. His critical edition of the reconstructed A and B texts appear on 190–217, with A on verso (even) pages and B on recto (odd) pages. It is important not to confuse Vanderlinden’s

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prepared by Avitus. Lucian expressly references Avitus’ cooperation in the reconstructed text of that document.¹⁸ In B, by contrast, Vanderlinden identifies an independent text written at approximately the same time, but original to Greek. This text, he speculates, might have been an alternative account, promulgated “by order of bishop John.”¹⁹ The most conspicuous difference between the two recensions is their length and detail, with B almost 50% longer in size than A. Otherwise, the two versions disagree in no substantial historical details, and “present a basically coherent account.”²⁰ Accounting for their differences where appropriate, the two texts are equally useful to our reconstruction given their early date, common provenance, and common source.

The Revelatio as Inventio Account From the standpoint of genre, the Revelatio Sancti Stephani compares strongly to other relic invention accounts of the period. Like these accounts, the Revelatio publicizes the discovery of a relic and details the circumstances and personalities connected to its recovery. No less characteristically, the Revelatio also has an apologetic thrust. It takes pains to demonstrate the authenticity of the relics and dispel any possible suspicions over the find. Some tombs venerated by Christians in Palestine—for example, the Cave of the Patriarchs near Hebron or Rachel’s tomb near Bethlehem—had been sites of Jewish pilgrimage for centuries. But several tombs entering the historical record in late antiquity were probably of more recent vintage. Some might have been inspired by earlier Jewish traditions placing a given burial in a given region; others might have amounted to educated or arbitrary guesses. These tombs, however, appear to have been “discovered” or “rediscovered” by Christian actors.²¹ The archetypical pattern of Palestinian relic inventions, then, was a means of

A and B versions with two competing versions presented in edited collections predating his work. The first published version of the Revelatio, prepared by the theological faculty at Louvain, appeared in Vlimmer, Augustini, ff. 187v–190. This text, in turn, served as a base for one of two editions of the Revelatio presented in side-by-side columns in the Sancti Augustini Opera (1696), published by the Benedictine community of St. Maur, and later reprinted in vols. 32–47 of Migne’s Patrologia Latina (PL 41.807–18). ¹⁸ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 1 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 190). In Vanderlinden’s own words: “A représente certainement le texte d’Avit emporté par Orose, et par là il acquiert une autorité hors de pair. Aux arguments péremptoires de Tillemont et du P. Peeters, on peut ajouter que la lettre d’Avit elle-même fait allusion à A et que Gennade s’en inspire” (“Revelatio,” 189). ¹⁹ Citing Greek loan words in the recension, and the text’s apparent reliance on a text other than the Vulgate, Vanderlinden concludes, “B remonte indépendamment de A à un original grec. . . . Ces indices, et quelques autres, dont le développement entraînerait trop loin, laissent penser que Β représente la version officielle de la lettre de Lucien, faite par ordre de l’évêque Jean” (“Revelatio,” 189). ²⁰ Bradbury, Severus of Minorca, 17. ²¹ Stemberger, Christians and Jews, 107.

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negotiating the novelty or artificiality of these finds, dispelling contemporary suspicions surrounding them. The primary elements of that pattern are attested at least as early as the discovery of the relics of Habbakuk and Micah, the outlines of which are transmitted in Sozomen’s history: As I understand, God made known the place where both these bodies were deposited by a divine vision in a dream to Zebennus, who was then acting as bishop of the church of Eleutheropolis. The relics of Habakkuk were found at Cela, a city formerly called Ceila. The tomb of Micah was discovered at a distance of ten stadia from Cela, at a place called Berathsatia. This tomb was ignorantly styled by the people of the country, “the tomb of the faithful”; or, in their native language, Nephsameemana. These events, which occurred during the reign of Theodosius [379–395 ], were sufficient for the good repute of the Christian religion.²²

From the first, both traditions assume the ignorance of “the people of the country” with respect to the location of the tombs of Habbakuk and Micah. The account acknowledges that no knowledge of these burial sites survived. The second account, however—the one describing the tomb of Micah—suggests that a trace of the burial tradition was embedded in the name of the region “ignorantly” transmitted by the local inhabitants. The site takes the Aramaic name of the site—Nephsameemana (“tomb of the faithful”)—as evidence that some important, though unknown, “faithful” personage was interred there. In this account, Christians are hardly putting anything like an elaborate Jewish or Samaritan folklore into concrete form. They are instead exploiting an unspecific folk etymology, possibly inherited from the local Jewish or Samaritan population of the region, to substantiate their decision to excavate at the site. This reliance on folk etymologies is, in fact, a consistent feature of Palestinian inventio accounts. In his presentation of the invention of Zechariah—a relic discovery contemporary with, and possibly connected to, that of Stephen—Sozomen notes that the lost relics of the prophet were recovered in a garden outside the town of “Kephar Zechariah.”²³ As we will see, those of Stephen and Gamaliel were discovered in “Kephar Gamala.”²⁴

²² Sozomen, HE 7.29.2–3 (SC 516.218; Eng. tr., NPNF 2.2.397). ²³ Sozomen, HE 9.17.1 (SC 516.427). According to Wiśniewski, “It is not certain whether the [inventiones of Zechariah and Stephen] actually took place in the same year and which happened earlier, but it is very probable that they were not distant in time. If so, either John organized the discovery of Stephen in order to respond to that of Zechariah or Zebennos organized the discovery of Zechariah in order to respond to that of Stephen” (Cult of Relics, 107–8). ²⁴ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 11–14.

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These details point to a more nuanced use of Jewish and Samaritan tradition in the late fourth century. Although Christians could not substantiate their new finds directly on the basis of Jewish or Samaritan traditions, it seems they were hardpressed to substantiate them apart from those traditions. Evident here is a late antique discomfort with any site or find that did not bear obvious signs of antiquity. Some reference, then, to Jewish and Samaritan culture—whether in the form of an “Aramaic” site name or an “ignorant” transmission through “the people of the country”—was necessary to authenticate an individual find. As each account continues, supernatural revelation bridges the gap between local folk etymology and an actual program of excavation. That revelation can be a divine premonitory dream; other times it is an apparition of the historical figure buried at the site.²⁵ The traditional account of the invention of Habbakuk is an example of the former type. In it, God makes known the place of Habbakuk’s tomb to the bishop of Eleutheropolis through a dream. In the account of the recovery of the body of Zechariah, however, it is the neglected prophet himself who appears to Calemerus in “a dream, and manifested himself; pointing out a particular garden” “by the road leading to the city of Bitheribis.”²⁶ Beyond purported instances of revelation, other forms of authentication also appear in these narratives. In some, miraculous signs attend the opening of tombs to confirm that the remains contained within them do indeed belong to a sacred personage. In others, a tomb’s authenticity is confirmed in inscriptions or other textual evidence beside the burial, often written in Hebrew or Aramaic to imbue these words with an air of antiquity. In Egeria’s account of the discovery of the relics of Job, for instance, those excavating the find confirm the patriarch’s presence inside a stone tomb when “they found ‘Job’ carved on its cover.”²⁷ In Sozomen’s account of the invention of Zechariah, this confirmation takes a more elaborate form—the discovery of an apocryphal text describing the circumstances of the burial: It is said that Zechariah, the superior of a monastic community at Gerari, found an ancient document written in Hebrew, which had not been received among the canonical books. In this document it was stated that when Zechariah the prophet had been put to death by Joash, king of Judah, the family of the monarch was soon visited by a dire calamity; for on the seventh day after the death of the prophet, one of the sons of Joash, whom he tenderly loved, suddenly expired. Judging that this affliction was a special manifestation of Divine wrath, the king ordered his son to be interred at the feet of the prophet, as a kind of atonement

²⁵ The Revelatio Sancti Stephani integrates both forms of revelation (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani, 29–31, in recension A). ²⁶ Sozomen, HE 9.17.2 (SC 516.446; Eng. tr., NPNF 2.2.427). ²⁷ Itin. Eger., 16.6 (CCSL 175.58; Eng. tr. mine).

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This recovered “ancient document written in Hebrew” provides an ancient witness to the site’s authenticity in the absence of contemporary Jewish traditions able to do the same. To the extent the inventio genre circumvents the need for a living Jewish memory of these burials, it also attempts to explain why that memory could have died out—and for so long. It posits that God allows tombs to remain undiscovered until persons worthy of finding such treasures emerge.²⁹ For instance, Sozomen frames the “marvelous and divine” discovery of the relics of both Zechariah and Stephen under the Eastern emperor Theodosius II (408–450) as an example of the privileges God bestows on those who serve him: “it seems as if God openly manifested His favor towards the present emperor,” he writes, “by revealing the sacred bodies of many persons who were of old most distinguished for piety.”³⁰

4.2 The Narrative As Peter Brown notes, central to the Revelatio Sancti Stephani is the contemporary conviction that relic discoveries brought “deliverance and pardon to the present,” and “announced moments of amnesty”—especially as they provided new forms of access to the power of the martyr.³¹ The two recensions of the Revelatio draw out this theme in the common context they assign to the discovery. In each, the invention occurs at a time of crisis for humanity. The number and gravity of human sins have become so great that a worldwide drought threatens to extinguish human life altogether.³² The only force that can resist this impending destruction is the miraculous influence of Stephen, locked away in his longhidden relics. The Revelatio Sancti Stephani, then, follows the activities of heavenly and earthly agents to recover the relics from their hidden location, and secure their power for the salvation of the world. The first human agent of note is Lucian himself, who according to both accounts, learns of the location of the relics of Stephen through a series of three ²⁸ Sozomen, HE 9.17.4–5 (SC 516.446–8; Eng. tr., NPNF 2.2.427). ²⁹ “A sense of the mercy of God lies at the root at the discovery, translation, and installation of relics. In such a mood, the relic itself may not have been as important as the invisible gesture of God’s forgiveness that made it available in the first place; and so its power in the community was very much the condensation of the determination of that community to believe that it had been judged by God to have deserved the praesentia of the saint” (Brown, Cult of the Saints, 92). ³⁰ Sozomen, HE, 9.16.4 (SC 516.442). ³¹ Brown, Cult of the Saints, 92. ³² References to drought appear in Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 50 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 203, 207) and B, 18, 26 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 203, 207).

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visions. Recension A fixes the time of the first precisely at the “third hour of the night” on 3 December 415.³³ While sleeping—probably incubating—in the church baptistery, as was his custom, Lucian descends into a trance-like state. He is greeted with the vision of an old man “of priestly dignity,” having a long beard, holding a golden rod, and wearing a white robe woven with golden crosses.³⁴ Striking Lucian three times with his rod, the apparition summons the village priest to deliver a message to the bishop of Jerusalem: “Lucian, Lucian, Lucian. . . . Go into the city that is called Aelia, that is, Jerusalem, and tell holy John, who is its bishop: How long are we to remain closed up, and when are you going to uncover us? And especially since it is fitting that we be revealed in the times of your priesthood. Quickly open our tomb, where our relics lie in negligence, and through us God and his Christ and the Holy Spirit will open the door of his mercy in this world. For the world is in peril from the many sins done in it every day.”³⁵

Upon questioning, the apparition reveals himself as the same Gamaliel who taught Paul in Jerusalem (cf. Acts 2:23), and who claims to have received a Christian baptism.³⁶ He redirects Lucian’s attention away from his own burial, however, noting that he is buried with others “much more worthy to have honors heaped on them,” including chiefly “my lord Stephen, who was stoned by the Jews and chief ³³ “Die parasceve, (hoc est feria sexta) quae est tertio nonas decembris, consulatu Honorii decies et Thepdosii sexies Augustorum, adveniente nocte dormiente me in cubili meo in loco sancto baptisterii in quo consuetudo erat mihi dormire et custodire ecclesiastica quae erant in ministerio, hora tertia noctis (quae est prima custodia vigiliarum) quasi in exstasi effectus semivigilans . . .” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 3 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 192]). B confirms the same day of the week (Friday) and time but does not indicate the date or year (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 3 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 193; Eng. tr. mine]). ³⁴ “. . . vidi virum senen longum hieroprepen (hoc est dignum sacerdotem), canum, barbam prolixam habentem. palliatum alba stola cui inerant gemmulae aureae habentes intrinsecus sanctae crucis signum” (Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 4 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 192; Eng. tr. mine]). In this image, as Andrew Jacobs writes, “the layering of identities is complex”: “Gamaliel’s appearance is clearly meant to be both otherworldly—thus the glowing golden wand and shining, gilded garments— yet particularly Jewish: his abundant beard and his long, white, ‘priestly’ hair give his specter a certain aura of the Old Law” (Remains of the Jews, 183–4). And yet, even these latter Jewish markers are Christianized, as in the crosses woven into his garments, and in A, the figure’s facility in Greek (“et dicit mihi graeco sermone”; Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 6 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 194]). Unlike the Rabban Gamaliel I of tannaitic literature, this Gamaliel is a walking symbol of Christian Jerusalem, “intricately layered with the shades of past and present, of appropriation and colonization” (Jacobs, Remains of the Jews, 189). ³⁵ “Luciane Luciane, Luciane . . . vade in civitatem quae dicitur Aelia (quae est Hierusalem) et die sancto Ioanni qui est in ea episcopus: quamdiu clausi sumus et non aperis nobis? Et maxime quia in temporibus tui sacerdotii oportet nos revelari. Aperi nobis festinanter monumentum ubi in neglegentia positae sunt nostrae reliquiae, ut per nos aperiat Deus et Christus eius et Spiritus Sanctus ostium clementiae suae|in hoc mundo. Periclitatur enim saeculum ex multis casibus qui fiunt in eo cotidie” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 5–8 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 192; Eng. tr. mine]). ³⁶ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A and B, 14 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 198–9). Traditions identifying Gamaliel as a convert to Christianity, no doubt based on his defense of Christians in Acts 5:33–39, are attested in Recognitions of Clement, 1.65–7.

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priests in Jerusalem.”³⁷ Whereas Acts 8:3 records only that “devout men buried Stephen, and made great lamentation over him,” the apparition claims that after being stoned outside the gate “which is to the north and leads to Kedar,” Stephen was deliberately left exposed to the elements for a day and night so that it “would be consumed by the wild beasts.”³⁸ Nevertheless, the corpse was left undisturbed by wild animals, which according to B, would not dare to touch the holy body.³⁹ In turn, Gamaliel himself claims to have arranged for both the recovery of the body under the cover of night and its transfer to his personal estate in Kephar Gamala, where he committed the body to his own new tomb after forty days of mourning.⁴⁰ As the vision closes, Gamaliel also indicates that the tomb contains two more occupants: Nicodemus, whom he claims suffered at the hands of the Jews for receiving baptism, and his son, Abibas, who embraced Christianity at the same time he did and who died in chastity.⁴¹ Gamaliel also identifies the location of the

³⁷ “. . . ipse est domnus meus Stephanus, qui lapidatus est a Iudaeis et principibus sacerdotum in Hierusalem . . .” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 10 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 195; Eng. tr. mine], paralleled in B, 10 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 194]). ³⁸ “. . . ut a feris consumeretur corpus eius” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 10 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 194; Eng. tr. mine]). ³⁹ “. . . Et tamen nec canes eum nec aves tangere praesumpserunt” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 10; paralleled in A, 10 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 194–5]). In recension B, the survival of Stephen’s relics reflects the greatness of the saint himself: “Et tamen nee canes eum nee aves tangere praesumpserunt” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 10 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 197]). ⁴⁰ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 11 (“et poni eum in meo monumento novo”) and B, 11 (“et deponite eum in monumento meo novo”). Undoubtedly, the reference to the new tomb supports an attempt to assign Stephen a Christ-like stature. Gamaliel’s specific function in the burial narrative parallels that of Joseph of Arimathea to Jesus’ death (Matt 27:57–60; Mark 15:43–46; Luke 23:50–53; John 19:38–42). Like Joseph, Gamaliel not only takes guardianship of the body of the innocent victim, fulfilling the mourning rituals required for it (John 19:39–40), he goes so far as to lay the body in his own “new tomb” (Matt. 27:60). This particular elaboration of Stephen tradition, then, must be contextualized within a broader Christian appreciation of the likeness of Stephen’s death to Jesus’ own—a theme of interest in Luke itself (Moss, Other Christs, 33–4, 54–6). Another set of parallels between Joseph of Arimathea and Gamaliel is significant to the anti-Jewish program of the epistle. Like Joseph, “a respected member of the council” (Mark 15:43) and “a disciple of Jesus, but secretly” (cf. Matt. 27:57), Gamaliel is “a Pharisee in the council” (Acts 5:4), and in the Revelatio Sancti Stephani, a crypto-Christian as well. ⁴¹ A later section of the epistle will identify Abibas as a rabbinic sage in his own right, applying to him Greek and Latin equivalents of the Aramaic tanna (“δευτερώτης τοΰ νόμου . . . iteratus in lege”; lit., “a repeater of the law”). As Vanderlinden writes: “L’expression δευτερώτης τοΰ νόμου ne se rencontre que dans des textes d’origine palestinienne du ive et ve s.: Eusèbe (PG 21.852, 892) Epiphane (PG 41.172, 244) Jérôme (PL 25. 1301). Elle désigne un tanaïte ou docteur juif. Le syriaque la rend par une périphrase: « il enseignait les divines Ecritures »” (“Revelatio,” 204, no. 24). See also Jacobs, Remains of the Jews, 184. Before the vision closes, Gamaliel reveals that his wife Edna, and eldest son Shelemiah, refused to embrace Christianity, and for that reason, chose to be interred at a different site: Kephar Semelia (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A and B, 15 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 200–1]). (In this example of alienation, it is difficult not to perceive Gamaliel and Abibas as victims of intolerance in their own right.) Not one of the names appointed for Gamaliel’s family members in the Revelatio is attested in Jewish tradition. Jewish tradition indicates that Gamaliel fathered a son, Simeon b. Gamaliel (‘Avodah Zarah 1.17–18), and a daughter, who married Simeon b. Nethanel (‘Avodah Zarah 3.9–10). If the origins of the names Abibas and Edna are uncertain, however, the name “Shelemiah” appears to be a reverse eponym, derived from the name of the village of Kephar Semelia. In effect, the epistle constructs a folk history of the region, anchored in a narrative of early against the nascent Christian faith.

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tomb. The relics, he reports, lie in a local field known as “Delagabri,” which the text glosses in Latin as “virorum Dei” (“men of God”).⁴² Rising from the dream in a flood of uncertainty and fear, Lucian prays that the vision might be followed by a second and third to prove that the first was no illusion, uniting his petition to a fast.⁴³ His request for additional visions is granted the following Friday, 10 December. At the same hour of the night as before, Gamaliel appears to the priest. On this occasion, however, he is furious, berating the priest for his skepticism and inaction. In an effort to confirm Lucian’s faith in the discovery, Gamaliel presents Lucian with a vision of four baskets, revealing the arrangement of the bodies in the crypt. In B, the basket representing Stephen’s burial container is distinguished from the others by its excess of the “most beautiful roses,” “overflowing” beyond the basket.⁴⁴ Still reticent to approach John even after this second vision, Lucian prays and fasts for seven days more, pleading for one last vision. Finally, on the third Friday of the month, 17 December, Gamaliel appears to the incubating priest a final time. In this instance, he is livid with anger.⁴⁵ In recension B, the apparition goes so far as to claim that Lucian has only prolonged the affliction of the world through his failure to heed the visions.⁴⁶ When the priest at last agrees that he will in fact approach John, Gamaliel imparts to Lucian a premonition of his first encounter with the bishop. In it, John tells his priest that he will take a “strong ox” from his “field”—foreshadowing the eventual translation of Stephen’s body to Jerusalem.⁴⁷ Lucian protests, but to no avail. Upon awaking from the dream, the village priest finally fulfills his allotted task and recounts the content of the visions to bishop John and his clergy. John, responding positively to Lucian’s request, entrusts the priest with the task of excavating the field.⁴⁸ With the help of other locals, Lucian discovers the crypt and recovers three burial containers from it. In the more detailed chronology of A, the priest delays opening the containers until John has been alerted of the find and can personally oversee the climactic moment of the excavation. Upon receiving word of the discovery from a deacon, John takes leave of a regional synod of Palestinian bishops at Diospolis (or Lydda, modern-day Lod), taking with him

⁴² Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 16 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 201]. The corresponding passage in recension A identifies the field only as “Delagabri, quod interpretatur virorum Dei” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A 16 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 200]). ⁴³ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 17 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 201), with parallel statement in A, 17 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 200). ⁴⁴ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 22–4 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 202, 204). B contains a parallel to this vision in 22–4 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 203, 205). ⁴⁵ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 25–6 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 206). ⁴⁶ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 26 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 207). ⁴⁷ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 30–1 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 208). ⁴⁸ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 35 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 208, 210).

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two other bishops at the same gathering: Eutonium of Sebaste and Eleutherius of Jericho.⁴⁹ Upon the arrival of John and his peer bishops, the burial containers are finally opened. A supernatural fragrance—the so-called “odor of sanctity”—fills the site of the excavation.⁵⁰ Healings follow, confirming the authenticity and significance of the find to the assembled crowd.⁵¹ Convinced by these signs, John orders the tomb shut again in recension A, and makes plans for the translation of the relics of Stephen.⁵² That translation occurs several days later, on 26 December. According to both accounts, a large crowd of clergy and laity assembled at Kephar Gamala, taking up the body of Stephen with psalms and hymns and conducting it to Jerusalem. Recension B specifies the church of Sion, “where Stephen was ordained an archdeacon,” as the site of the deposition of the relics.⁵³ Recension A, in turn, indicates that this momentous occasion was also greeted with climactic miraculous signs, drawing praise from all those in the city.⁵⁴ Building on the biblical characterization of Stephen as a figure “full of grace and power,” who performed “great wonders and signs among the people” of Jerusalem, the text depicts Stephen resuming his ministry in the city, now through the influence of his physical remains.

4.3 Stephen and Jerusalem The centrality of Stephen throughout the Revelatio is clear. Although the text recounts the discovery of not one but four figures at Kephar Gamala, it devotes almost exclusive attention to Stephen by its end. For example, despite an early emphasis on the collective intercessory activity of the four entombed saints, the text positions Stephen as the exclusive source of the miraculous signs recounted at ⁴⁹ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 44 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 214). Augustine names both bishops among the fourteen fathers at the Synod of Diospolis “who sat as judges over Pelagius” (Augustine, Contra Julianum, 1.19, 32 [PL 44:652, 663; FOTC 35.22, 39]). ⁵⁰ On the “odor of sanctity,” see Rothkrug, “Odour of Sanctity” and Harvey, Scenting Salvation, 227–229. ⁵¹ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 46 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 214). An encounter with otherworldly scents at the tomb of the martyr is widely attested in literature of the period, both as a sign of the saint’s “proximity to God” and of the saint’s “ ‘good will’ toward the faithful who could share in the olfactory experience” (Brazinski and Fryxell, “Smell of Relics,” 3). For this idea, Brazinski and Fryxell depend on Martin Roch’s description of the “language of olfaction” (L’intelligence d’un Sens, 2, 645). Recension B embellishes the scene further with the presence of an earthquake (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 45 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 215]). ⁵² Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 48 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 214). Recension B does not refer to this gap of several days, nor of the “septimo Kalendas Ianuarias” date, but transitions immediately into a description of the translation of the relics. ⁵³ “Et ita cum psalmis et hymnis asportaverunt reliquias beati Stephani in sanctam ecclesiam Sion, ubi et archidiaconus fuerat ordinatus. . . .” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 48 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 215, 217; Eng. tr., Ehrman and Jacobs, Christianity in Late Antiquity, 365]). ⁵⁴ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 48 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 214).

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the climax of the account. In both A and B, the release of the odor of sanctity and the healings that follow are linked to the recovery of Stephen’s relics in particular.⁵⁵ Stephen is also the only figure both versions invoke and praise for deliverance from the drought.⁵⁶ The message is clear: the global salvation effected by the invention is produced precisely by the power of Stephen—a martyr so powerful, he can single-handedly save the world. Stephen’s relics are also the only objects of competition in the Revelatio. When in the third vision, Lucian contests John’s claims to the relics of Stephen, he disregards John’s offer of the relics of Gamaliel, Nicodemus, and Abibas altogether. The only truly desirable relics—and thus, implicitly, the only truly powerful ones—are those of Stephen. It is understandable, then, that Stephen’s relics are the only set translated and enshrined at the conclusion of the account. The centrality of Stephen in the Revelatio is matched, in turn, by the text’s equally disproportionate interest in the city of Jerusalem. It is true, on the one hand, that the Revelatio casts the discovery as an event affecting all nations and peoples and involving actors from other Palestinian towns. But the text singles out the Jerusalem church’s role in securing and activating the power of Stephen. The world is delivered precisely when Stephen’s body returns to his home city. Especially in A, this deliverance is set against a biblical background—namely, the earlier expulsion of Stephen from the city in Acts. The text casts the earlier state of the bones of Stephen, lying in disregard outside the city gates, as a profound act of injustice by “the Jews of Jerusalem.”⁵⁷ Fittingly, then, the worldwide drought ends not at the excavation of the burial container containing Stephen’s remains, nor at its opening, but only upon the return of those remains to Jerusalem. As the citizens of the region piously enshrine the body of Stephen, a torrential rainfall descends upon the entire earth: “and the earth drank its fill, and all here glorified the Lord, because of Stephen, his holy one, and because our Lord Jesus Christ had deigned to open to his imperiled world the heavenly treasure of his mercy and loving-kindness.”⁵⁸ In short, A gives the residents of Jerusalem an indispensable role in the release of Stephen’s power. Their repudiation of the city’s (Jewish) legacy of violence against Stephen, epitomized in their reverence for Stephen’s remains, secures salvation for the world.

⁵⁵ In A, the odor of sanctity is released precisely when the burial container of Stephen is opened (45 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 214]). In B, it is released when the relics of Stephen are found in the eastern part of the tomb, causing an earthquake (45 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 215]). B also differs from A in directly linking all the miracles recounted in the text to the odor (46 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 215]). ⁵⁶ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 50; B, 49 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 216–17). ⁵⁷ “. . . a Iudaeis Hierosolymis” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 10 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 194, 196; Eng. tr., Ehrman and Jacobs, Christianity in Late Antiquity, 362]). In the next verse, Gamaliel indicates that the saints buried with him are worthy of that honor (“digni enim sunt maximis honoribus cumulari” (B, 8, with a parallel in A, 8 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 194–5]). On the strong anti-Judaism of the Stephen cycle in Acts, see Matthews, Perfect Martyr. ⁵⁸ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 50 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 215; Eng. tr. mine).

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B coheres with these themes in A but also emphasizes the importance of depositing Stephen’s relics at the city’s mother church: Holy Sion. In the B account of the second vision, Gamaliel entrusts Lucian with the message that John must not only recover the burial containers of Stephen and his companions but must also prepare “a place of prayer” to ensure that “through our intercession the Lord will have mercy on his people.”⁵⁹ Since recension B makes no reference to an episcopal prayer at Kephar Gamala, the “place of prayer” envisioned is probably the Holy Sion church itself—the only worship site singled out at the climax of the text: “so with psalms and hymns, they bore off the relics of blessed Stephen to the Sion church, where the archdeacon has been ordained.”⁶⁰ Through this deposition, that church becomes a permanent nexus between the martyr’s heavenly life and earthly flock, conducting his miraculous power to the world. Also unique to recension B is the further claim that this privileged function of the Sion church is its proper due, given the site’s antiquity and prestige. When Lucian objects to the removal of the body of Stephen from Kephar Gamala, John gently corrects his priest, explaining that Jerusalem, “the more famous city,” is served by several carriages, but is “short one ox for the greatest carriage—[an ox] that you say is hidden in your holding.”⁶¹ Interpreting the vision for his readers, Lucian explains that he then “understood that holy Stephen himself was that great ox and that those carriages about which he spoke were the holy churches and that Sion, the first church itself, was the greater carriage.”⁶² Sion, of course, was not without its own relic possessions in this period.⁶³ Remarkably, however, John implies that not one of these possessions was sufficient to complement Christianity’s “first” and “greatest” church, here seen through the lens of the “mother of all churches” discourse. The Revelatio, then, is as concerned with the preeminence of the Sion church as with the preeminence of Stephen, tracing the steps by which the city at last found a saint worthy of the church the text sets above all others. As it insists on Stephen’s preeminence, the text underscores the prestige of the Sion church.⁶⁴

⁵⁹ “Surge ergo et vade et die illi ut aperiat nobis et faciat locum orationis, et per intercessionem nostram misereatur Dominus populo suo” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 18 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 203]). ⁶⁰ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 48 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 217). ⁶¹ “Et dicit mihi episcopus: «ita placuit carissime, quoniam civitas nostra vehiculis ministratur et unum bovem ad ilium maximum carrum minus habemus, quem tu dicis in possessione tua celare. . . .” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 31 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 209; Eng. tr. Ehrman and Jacobs, Christianity in Late Antiquity, 364]). ⁶² “Intellexeram enim quia sanctus Stephanus ipse esset bos ille maximus et quia carri illi de quibus dicebat sanctae essent ecclesiae, et Sion prima ecclesia ipsa esset carrus maior” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 32 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 209; Eng. tr. Ehrman and Jacobs, Christianity in Late Antiquity, 364]). ⁶³ Besides the relic possessions mentioned by the Bordeaux pilgrim, the site also held the remains of other saints, including, at a later time, those of James, brother of Jesus (Apparitio sanctorum [AB 8.124, li. 35–6; Eng. tr., Murphy-O’Connor, Keys to Jerusalem, 142]). ⁶⁴ This rhetorical program, in turn, may reflect a concrete historical motivation for the enshrinement of the relics at Sion. There is at least some evidence that John undertook a significant renovation

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4.4 Stephen and the Bishop Just as relic discoveries enhanced the prestige of entire cities, they also enhanced the prestige of the local bishops who authenticated and secured them.⁶⁵ In his public address at the deposition of Gervasius and Protasius, for example, Ambrose insists that “although this is the gift of God, I cannot deny the grace which the Lord Jesus has granted in the time of my bishopric”—specifically, that “I have secured these martyrs for you.”⁶⁶ It should come as no surprise, then, that the Revelatio stresses not only the importance of the Jerusalem church but the importance of its bishop as well.

An Anti-Episcopal Slant? The claim that the Revelatio endorses John requires some defense since the only dedicated study of John’s role in the Revelatio, penned by Carole Burnett, has argued the opposite point. Burnett claims that the Revelatio’s A recension—the version prepared by Avitus of Braga—is hostile to John. At the outset of her study, Burnett notes that Avitus was aligned with critics of John in Palestine. Building on this premise, she contends that recension A was susceptible to an “anti-episcopal slant,” arguing that Avitus worked by editorial sleight of hand to undermine whatever prestige John might have gained by his association with the discovery. At least some of these edits, she contends, impugn John’s character. For example, Burnett notes that Lucian repeatedly expresses anxiety about approaching John with his visions in the narrative. She then interprets this anxiety as a signal that “trust is absent from the relationship between this priest and this bishop.”⁶⁷ Additionally, she claims that John’s insistence on claiming the relics of Stephen

of the church during his episcopate. Notably, the eighth-century Georgian Lectionary memorializes John as one of two builders of the Sion church: “[Sixth Friday of Lent] Commemoration of John the Archbishop of Jerusalem, who first built Sion, and of Modestos, who built it second after the Fire” (GL 565 [CSCO 188.98/189.80]). If this entry is incorrect in crediting the “first church” to John, it may reflect an accurate historical memory of a significant construction program centered on the Sion church in the episcopacy of John. Along similar lines, a separate Georgian homily memorializes Theodosius the Great (379–95 ), a contemporary of John’s, as the emperor who “built, enlarged, and glorified” the Sion church—language more clearly evocative of a renovation (van Esbroeck, Homiliaires Georgiens, 314–15.). If indeed John superintended such a renovation in the late fourth and early fifth centuries, the timing of the inventio of Stephen can be compared to the timing of the inventio of Gervasius and Proatasius in Milan. In both cases, a relic discovery surfaced at an opportune time to enhance the prestige of a new church construction. In this case, John found an exceptional saint to grace his renovated Sion church— one whose fame was equal to the exalted claims made for the structure. ⁶⁵ The classic case is that of Ambrose of Milan (Brown, Cult of the Saints, 36–7, 94). Another early example described in recent literature is the martyr cult at the catacombs sponsored by Damasus of Rome (Sághy, “Bishop of Rome,” 55). ⁶⁶ Ambrose, Ep. 77 (22), 12 (CSEL 82:3.134; Eng. tr., FOTC 26.380). ⁶⁷ Burnett, “Westward Slant,” 342.

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over and against Lucian’s protestations demonstrates that the bishop is “ungenerous” to his faithful priest and “self-serving.”⁶⁸ In fact, one can read each of these details in the opposite light—that is, as credits to John. First, mentions of doubt and self-doubt in characters are characteristic features of inventio accounts, designed to resolve the doubts of readers. In the story of the inventio of James, Zechariah the priest, and Simeon, for example, the hermit Epiphanius struggles with the possibility that his revelations are only demonic deception. Casting Epiphanius as a reluctant and doubting messenger does not suggest a broken relationship with his bishop; rather, it underscores that Epiphanius is no charlatan.⁶⁹ When Epiphanius finally approaches his bishop, Cyril of Jerusalem, the bishop also reacts with skepticism, refusing to sponsor the dig without firmer evidence of the priest’s claim.⁷⁰ As Jerome Murphy-O’Connor observes, however, this reluctance is a “noble and sensible reaction,” indicating that Cyril is “more concerned with truth than the glory that the relics . . . would bring to his diocese.”⁷¹ In fact, an apparition validates the bishop’s skepticism later in the narrative, assuring Epiphanius, “I understand the motives of the bishop who did not believe you.”⁷² Only after Epiphanius recovers the relics and invites Cyril to the scene of the find are the bishop’s legitimate doubts at last overcome. From then on, Cyril enthusiastically takes up the task of translating and enshrining the relics.⁷³ Secondly, John’s insistence that he must translate the relics of Stephen to Jerusalem, if superficially “ungenerous” to Lucian, suits the inner logic of the Revelatio. Again, the text casts Stephen’s restoration to Jerusalem as a necessary step to reverse the injustices heaped upon him. More importantly, the arc of the narrative vindicates John’s decision. The drought ends precisely when the relics return to Jerusalem. No more convincing is another data point Burnett cites—namely, that recension A denies John the prestige associated with the find by removing him “from the scene of the actual inventio.”⁷⁴ It is true that recension A does not place John at the initial excavation of the relics. In that narrative, John orders Lucian to dig and report back to him if and when a find is made; he arrives in Kephar Gamala only for the climactic opening of the burial containers.⁷⁵ By contrast, recension B depicts John and his colleagues supervising the entire excavation.⁷⁶ But this ⁶⁸ Burnett, “Westward Slant,” 344. ⁶⁹ Tellingly, the Revelatio also characterizes Lucian as a reluctant messenger. ⁷⁰ According to the text: “To get rid of him the bishop gave him a small sum, and said ‘We have never heard it said that James was buried in that place. I do not know what you are trying to tell me, unless you invent such stories as an excuse to leave your cell.’ With these words he sent the old man away . . .” (Apparatio sanctorum, li.6–9 [AB 8.124; Eng. tr., Murphy-O’Connor, Keys to Jerusalem, 142]). ⁷¹ Murphy-O’Connor, Keys to Jerusalem, 138. ⁷² Apparatio sanctorum (AB 8.124, li. 11–12; Eng. tr., Murphy-O’Connor, Keys to Jerusalem, 142). ⁷³ Apparatio sanctorum (AB 8.124, li. 34–6; Eng. tr., Murphy-O’Connor, Keys to Jerusalem, 142). ⁷⁴ Burnett, “Westward Slant,” 344. ⁷⁵ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 35 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 210). ⁷⁶ Burnett, “Westward Slant,” 343.

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historical discrepancy hardly suggests a negative program. Again, in the inventio of James, Zechariah, and Simeon, Cyril is also not present for the excavation. His absence suits his rational skepticism as well as his episcopal dignity; as a bishop, he is too important to attend to the menial task of digging. Similar notions may underpin Revelatio A’s account of the excavation. More to the point, several details of A seem to associate the bishop more directly in the find than B, compounding the prestige he gained from the discovery. In both recensions of the Revelatio, John plays a role in confirming the discovery. But recension A goes somewhat farther in this regard, casting John as a necessary authority for the authentication of the relics. According to the Revelatio, locals confirmed the identity of the relics on the basis of an ancient inscription recovered at the site reading “ ‘Celihel,’ or ‘crown of God’ [a Semitization of ‘Stephen’], ‘Nasoam,’ which means ‘Nicodemus,’ and ‘Gamaliel.’ ”⁷⁷ In recension A alone, however, Lucian credits these translations to the expertise of “Pope John, as I myself have heard from the holy bishop”—a line suggesting that only John possessed the requisite skills to decipher these epigrams.⁷⁸ The text, in short, casts John as a deeply learned individual with the necessary authority to help a simple country priest connect his visions to concrete bones. Subsequent lines of the text position John still more centrally in the inventio. Recension B, as we have seen, places John at the scene of the excavation, but recension A depicts the bishops actually opening the burial urn of Stephen.⁷⁹ Far from removing John “from the scene of the actual inventio,” then, recension A reserves the chief privileges associated with the discovery to him. He is the first to behold the relics of Stephen in the company of his peer bishops and is, in the most proper sense, the one who exposes and “reveals” the long-hidden bones.⁸⁰ By extension, John is also the crucial agent in releasing the healing power residing in the relics. In recension B, cures occur automatically upon the opening of the burial containers, as the martyr’s “odor of sanctity” emanates from his relics and fills the excavation site.⁸¹ In recension A, however, it is precisely “by a prayer made by all the bishops, and all the brothers which were with them,” that “many and diverse signs of healing were accomplished.”⁸² The text, in short, gives John a lead role in activating the relics.

⁷⁷ B has these inscriptions as: “Hebrew words, although carved in Greek letters” (hebraica quidem verba, literis autem grasecis), Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 43, paralleled in A, 43 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 212–13 [Eng. tr., Ehrman and Jacobs, Christianity in Late Antiquity, 365]). ⁷⁸ “Hoc interpretatus est papa Ioannes, sicut et ipse audivi ab ipso sancto episcopo” (Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 43 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 212; Eng. tr. mine]). ⁷⁹ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A and B, 42–3 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 212–14). ⁸⁰ In this respect, John plays a more direct role in the inventio of Stephen than Cyril does in the account of the inventio of James, Zechariah, and Simeon. As noted above, in the latter episode, the bodies are recovered before Cyril arrives to translate them to Sion. ⁸¹ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 45–7 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 215). ⁸² Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 46 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 214).

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From Memory to History In the end, it is impossible to read Revelatio A—the text prepared by Avitus from Lucian’s oral reminiscences—as anything other than a textualization of the prestige John of Jerusalem gained from the relics. In this respect, A is not different from B but consonant with it. Tellingly, in both accounts, Gamaliel’s pleas to release the relics of Stephen are directed exclusively to John, not Lucian.⁸³ No less tellingly, both accounts single out John for this privileged task from an apparently high view of his personal merits. Again, Gamaliel instructs Lucian to communicate to “the holy bishop,” that “it is especially fitting that we be revealed in the times of your priesthood.”⁸⁴ The Revelatio, in short, casts the find as a sign of divine approval of John’s ministry, cohering with the principle that bishops gained prestige from relic finds as “their merita, their personal high standing with God . . . had gained the mercy of new protectors for their community.”⁸⁵ That this exalted portrait of John survives even in a version of the Revelatio prepared by his opponents speaks to the prestige he gained through the find.⁸⁶ Evidently, the episode was a credit to John in a way that could not be easily dismissed, manipulated, or elided in later memories of the episode. Beneath this presentation, then, we should detect a concrete historical fact—namely, that John was no mere accessory to the discovery. Stripping away Lucian’s significant contributions to the find, it would seem that John played a pivotal role in authorizing the find. It would seem he traveled to Kephar Gamala, interpreted the objects as authentic relics, and placed his own episcopal weight behind Lucian’s claims. To the extent, then, that we recognize the relics as a fabrication, we should see them as partly John’s fabrication, riddled with his fingerprints and staked to his reputation. Not coincidentally, the Revelatio also casts John as the most crucial publicist of the discovery, elevating a minor dig in an obscure village into the epicenter of a wave of excitement engulfing the empire. Even before he examined the find for himself, John ensured that the discovery would receive wide attention throughout Palestine by taking dramatic leave of a regional synod in progress, traveling to Kephar Gamala with two other bishops. It is also interesting that John did ⁸³ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A and B, 6 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 194–5). ⁸⁴ ““Et maxime quia in temporibus tui sacerdotii oportet nos revelari” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 6 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 194; Eng. tr. mine]). The parallel in B has “in your time” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 2:8 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 215]). ⁸⁵ Brown, Cult of Saints, 95. In his public address at the deposition of Gervasius and Protasius, Ambrose insisted that though the relics “are a gift of God, yet I cannot deny the favor that the Lord Jesus has granted to the time of my priesthood; since . . . I have at least obtained these martyrs for you” (Ambrose, Ep. 77 [22], 12 [CSEL 82:3.134; NPNF 2.10.438]). ⁸⁶ That prestige may also explain Augustine’s strategic praise of John even in his polemic against the decisions of the Diospolis synod. Augustine refers to John as “the holy overseer of the church of Jerusalem” and credits him with “great propriety” (De gestis Pelagii, 37 [CSEL 42.93]).

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not remove the relics immediately, in what would have been a smaller affair. Rather, he organized a spectacular procession and adventus ceremony coinciding with the saint’s feast. In so doing, he ensured large crowds from among clergy and laity of the region, heightening the visibility of the affair. And, of course, John arranged that the procession would end in an installation liturgy at Sion—an event in which he would preside, and during which he could personally define the significance of the find for the large crowds on hand. In short, the entire inventio episode was very much scripted to be an episode enhancing John’s profile.

4.5 Stephen and “the Jews” The idea that relic discoveries are signs of favor on certain parties has a negative corollary. It means that others not involved with the find—those who disregard the relics, those from whom the relics remain hidden—are under divine disfavor. In the Revelatio Sancti Stephani, one group is implicated on all these counts: “the Jews.” In the narrative, it is “the Jews” who try to destroy Stephen’s relics by leaving his body exposed “so that he would be devoured by wild beasts and birds.”⁸⁷ It is also “the Jews” who force Gamaliel to abscond the body of Stephen, effectively cutting the world off from the martyr’s supernatural powers. On the literary level, this anti-Jewish program supports the project of aggrandizing Jerusalem and underscoring its preeminence. The construct of Christian Jerusalem, after all, was founded upon, and bound up with, a repudiation of the city’s Jewish past. But the same link was probably also operative on the historical level. As it stands, Palestine’s many relic discoveries were characteristically at the service of anti-Jewish projects. So too the inventio of Stephen.

Prior Inventiones As I noted earlier, Stephen’s body was hardly the first produced in the region. It was, rather, one in a series of holy bodies to surface in Palestine through the late fourth and early fifth centuries. Others reportedly recovered in this period include the remains of James, Zechariah, and Simeon before 386, the remains of Habbakuk and Micah before 395, the remains of Zechariah in 415, and the remains of Isaiah in 442. At first glance, relatively little connects these names. ⁸⁷ “. . . ut a bestiis et avibus devoraretur” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 10, paralleled in B, 10 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 194–5]).

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Ostensibly, these figures were recovered merely to fill existing lacunae in the catalog of Christian holy objects. But in fact, each of these figures had special significance to Christians—not least in their continuing polemics against Judaism. On the one hand, all of the prophets assembled in this list—Habbakuk, Micah, Isaiah, and Zechariah—were the supposed authors of biblical texts contested by Jews and Christians of the period. Cyril’s twelfth Catechetical Lecture—delivered in Jerusalem—highlights each of these figures as witnesses against the Jewish people for their rejection of Jesus.⁸⁸ Against these debates, the practice of producing the bodies of these particular prophets seems strategic—a means for Christians to more visibly claim their legacy and authority. But the names in the above list also factored into Christian polemics in a second, still more pointed way. Most of the figures united in the above list were counted by Christians as victims of Jewish hostility and violence. The most obvious example is James, the brother of Jesus, who became the subject of a rich web of martyrdom accounts. But Isaiah fits this mold as well as one of several biblical prophets transformed into a kind of pre-Christian martyr. Already in the first century, Christians saw Isaiah as a figure who predicted the coming of Jesus; Matthew, for example, reads Isaiah’s oracle that “a virgin shall conceive and bear a son” as a prediction of Jesus’ supernatural birth (Isa. 7:14 LXX; Matt. 1:23). By the fourth century, this canon of Christian interpretation had become quite extensive; Cyril of Jerusalem cites dozens of oracles from Isaiah in his Catechetical Lectures to argue that Isaiah “foresaw [Jesus’] coming in the flesh.”⁸⁹ In turn, the same centuries saw a second development in the reception of the biblical Isaiah. Apocryphal texts like the Ascension of Isaiah cast Isaiah’s death in martyrological terms, reporting that the Israelite king Manasseh was so angered by Isaiah’s prophecies that he arrested Isaiah and had him sawn in half.⁹⁰ In the Christian redaction of the Ascension, Isaiah incurs the wrath of his countrymen precisely for his messianic predictions. Cyril reads Isaiah’s death in a direct line with Jewish opposition to Jesus. Similarly, the cult of Zechariah seems to have been an especially prominent vehicle of anti-Jewish sentiment in the region. In Matt. 23:35, Jesus charges the murder of “Zechariah the son of Barachiah . . . between the sanctuary and the altar” upon the Jewish religious leaders of his day, linking their guilt to the impending destruction of the Jewish Temple (cf. 24:1–2).⁹¹ This verse inspired a tradition of Christian pilgrimage to the Temple Mount to venerate the purported site of Zechariah’s death. According to the early fourth-century pilgrim of Bordeaux, “in the sanctuary itself, where the Temple stood which Solomon built there is a marble slab in front of the altar which has on it the blood of Zecharias” as ⁸⁸ Cyr. Jer., Cat. Lect. 12.20–1 (PG 33.749–54; FOTC 61.239–40). ⁸⁹ Cyr. Jer., Cat. Lect. 13.3 (PG 33.775–6; FOTC 64.646). ⁹⁰ Asc. Isa. 5:1. ⁹¹ The death of Zechariah, son of Barachiah, is described in 2 Chron. 24:20–22.

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well as “the marks of the nails of the soldiers who killed him, as plainly as if they had pressed into wax.”⁹² A half-century later, Jerome reports that “rather simple” Christian guides in the area would “point out reddish stones among the ruins of the sanctuary and the altar, or at the exits of the gates which led to Siloam,” and claim “that these were stained by the blood of Zechariah.”⁹³ Jerome himself refused to correct this error, “because it arises from their hatred of the Jews and pious belief.”⁹⁴ The recovery of Zechariah’s victimized body would have only produced a new, material flashpoint for the pervasive “hatred of the Jews” festering at the Temple site.

Recovering Stephen That the body of Stephen—another victim of Jewish violence—was recovered not two months after the body of Zechariah hardly seems coincidental. Instead, we should see it as a discovery in the same vein. It was, in its time, an attempt to produce evidence of historical Jewish violence, to embarrass Jews, and to stoke the fires of anti-Jewish sentiment. The anti-Jewish orientation of the discovery is confirmed by the figures paired with Stephen. As Oded Irshai argues, it is probably no coincidence that one of these figures—Gamaliel—was the namesake of the recognized leader of Palestine’s Jews during the period: the nasi Raban Gamaliel VI (c.370–429). Not two months before the excavation of Stephen’s relics, the eastern emperor Theodosius II issued an official reprimand of Gamaliel, depriving him of “the rank of honorary prefect” (Lt. praefectus praetorio; Gk. ἔπαρχος τῶν πρατωρίων).⁹⁵ The same intervention, dated 22 October 415, also legislated a severe curtailing of the rights of Gamaliel VI and, by extension, of all Jews living in Palestine: Hereafter he shall cause no synagogues to be founded, and if there are any synagogues in desert places that can be destroyed without sedition, he shall have it done. He shall have no power to judge between Christians; and if a dispute should arise between them and the Jews, the governor of the province shall decide it. If he himself or any other of the Jews attempt to pollute a Christian or a man of any sect, freeborn or slave, with the Jewish stigma [that is, circumcision], he shall be subjected to the severity of the laws. Moreover, if he retains in

⁹² “Et in aede ipsa, ubi templum fuit, quem salomon aedificauit, in marmore ante aram sanguinem zachariae ibi dicas hodie fusum; etiam parent uestigia clauorum militum, qui eum occiderunt, per totam aream, ut putes in cera fixum esse” (Itin. Burd., 590–91 [CCSL 175.15–16; Wilkinson, Egeria’s Travels, 30]). ⁹³ Hier., Comm. Matt., on Matt. 23:35 (SC 259.183; Eng. tr., FOTC 117.267). ⁹⁴ Hier., Comm. Matt., on Matt. 23:35 (SC 259.183; Eng. tr., FOTC 117.267). ⁹⁵ Codex Theodosianus, 16.8.22 (Eng. tr., Pharr, Theodosian Code, 470).

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Against this backdrop, the church of Jerusalem’s claim to the body of the elder Gamaliel would have had a clear competitive and provocative edge, adding insult to months of injury. The same can be said of the Revelatio’s subordination of Gamaliel to Stephen, a symbol of the Jerusalem church.

4.6 Conclusion The invention of 415 illustrates how late antique actors could manipulate biblical images, pious archeology, public ritual (processions, depositions), and the genre of the inventio account to achieve certain ends. For the actors involved in the discovery of Stephen’s relics in particular, one intended end was the inscription of an enduring relationship between a martyr venerated across the Mediterranean and the city of Jerusalem. Those actors built this claim on the city’s possession of the relics of Stephen. To make the claim effective, however—especially at a time in which those relics were already being divided up and distributed to other communities—it was necessary to control not only a set of bones but the meanings attached to their discovery as well. By design, the agents responsible for the production of the relics were in a prime position to establish that sort of discursive authority over the discovery and to define its significance. John’s carefully timed announcement of the find and personal involvement in its public translation gave him ample opportunity to shape its reception among his peer bishops, flock, and interested visitors. In turn, as a priest under the supervision of the bishop he affectionately called “papa,” Lucian would have had no difficulty reproducing and enriching John’s interpretation of the find in his own public recollections of the event. The various versions of the Revelatio Sancti Stephani, representing one or more “official” accounts of the discovery, textualize the pro-Jerusalem and pro-John messages imposed on the find locally. First, the Revelatio refigures Stephen into a dedicated guardian and intercessor for the city—a discourse that likely charged the historical deposition liturgy itself. ⁹⁶ “. . . ac deinceps nullas condi faciat synagogas et si quae sint in solitudine, si sine seditione possint deponi, perficiat, et ut inter christianos nullam habeat copiam iudicandi; et si qua inter eos ac iudaeos sit contentio, a rectoribus provinciae dirimatur. Si christianum vel cuius libet sectae hominem ingenuum servumve iudaica nota foedare temptaverit vel ipse vel quisquam iudaeorum, legum severitati subdatur. Mancipia quoque christianae sanctitatis si qua aput se retinet, secundum Constantinianam legem ecclesiae mancipentur” (Codex Theodosianus, 16.8.22 [Eng. tr., Pharr, Theodosian Code, 470]). With the death of the incumbent Gamaliel VI in 425 , the institution of the Jewish patriarch—“the living symbol of an autonomous Jewish Palestine, and its living tie to the Diaspora”—was itself dissolved (Dubnov, History of the Jews, 2:200).

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In each version of the text, John identifies Stephen as a saint destined to “serve” the church of Jerusalem in particular. He will pull its wagons and plow its field so that “the holding” of the church will be “measured and maintained.”⁹⁷ The image presented is one of a saint who will tend to the needs of the local church and direct his energies towards its care.⁹⁸ At the same time, the text presents the bishop and residents of Jerusalem as the unique brokers and mediators of the power of Stephen. By his merits, recognized even in heaven, John is singled out to produce and activate the relics of Stephen. He enshrines them in Jerusalem, which becomes the new seat of the saint’s miraculous influence. And following the discovery, John fulfills the traditional role of bishops as “privileged agents, personally involved in administering the lovingkindness of God” by authorizing the further dissemination of Stephen’s relics.⁹⁹ That dissemination begins with the donation of a portion of the relics to Lucian, who shares his allotment with Avitus and Orosius. It continues with Orosius’ dissemination of the relics across the West, as well as several higherprofile donations of the bones by later bishops of Jerusalem to cities including Constantinople and Rome. In the Revelatio, then, we see the earliest written traces of a discourse that was to definitively shape the cult in later decades—namely, the biblical Stephen as the unique custodian and custody of the city of Jerusalem. What the Revelatio verbally affirms, however, was left to the local church to further consolidate in its ceremonies and financial investments. From 415 on, Jerusalem was to take visible leadership of the martyr’s universal cult, more aggressively reining in its “strong bull ox.”

⁹⁷ “Ad quem aio: « Ut quid possessio est domne mi, si non habeo bovem ilium per quem regatur et alatur possessio?»” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 31 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 209; Eng. tr., Ehrman and Jacobs, Christianity in Late Antiquity, 364]). ⁹⁸ That care would seem to extend even to the ultimate salvation of the local community. In B, Gamaliel explains that he brought the relics of Stephen to his estate “hoping that I might have a part with him in the resurrection” (“credens me partem cum eo in resurectione habere”) (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 11 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 196; Eng. tr., Ehrman and Jacobs, Christianity in Late Antiquity, 362]). By possessing the body of Stephen, then, the church of Jerusalem stands to receive similar benefits. ⁹⁹ Brown, Cult of Saints, 94.

5 More Numerous Feasts But it is we who rightly owe [Stephen] more numerous feasts. . . . It is in our midst that he fixed his abode and his tents; it is in our midst that he obtained the election to his ministry and the part of his martyrdom. In this spot he had his sacrificial altar and the bema of his blessing, the field of his teaching, the theatre of his eloquence. From this spot he was taken up into heaven, and left us to go to Christ. Hesychius of Jerusalem¹ It is tempting to leave the city of Jerusalem after the inventio of 415 and follow what Victor Saxer describes as a “tidal wave” of enthusiasm for Stephen sweeping over the Mediterranean world.² In the decades following the discovery, portions of the relics of Stephen found their way into multiple regions and multiple hands, propelled by new competitive forces. Their penetration into different regions, in turn, left a significant mark on fifth-century martyrological discourse, material culture, pilgrimage patterns, and local Jewish-Christian relations. As Augustine opined, even a record of the miracles attributed to the relics could “fill many volumes,” and indeed, the literature on this subject alone is rich—considerably richer than treatments of the cult in Jerusalem after 415.³ The inventio was hardly the conclusion of Jerusalem’s own quest to consolidate its local claim on Stephen, however, and it is hardly the end of our own discussion of the cult in Jerusalem. Quite the opposite, the discovery of the martyr’s bones marked the beginning of a more intense phase in the development of his local cult—one that sought to project in still stronger terms the unique relationship between Stephen and Jerusalem in order to enhance the prestige of the latter. Within that phase, the ritual celebrations of the city—that is, its communal liturgies, prayers, and hymns—were to play an early and crucial role. As Cilian O’Hogan writes, “a crucial aspect of self-representation and self-presentation was the Christian liturgical calendar, by which cities could display their religiosity.”⁴ At a time when local church officials had greater control over the particulars of their ritual life—that is, before the homogenization and spread of the Roman

¹ Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 2 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:328; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 196). ² An overview of that enthusiasm appears in Bradbury, Severus of Minorca, 16–25. ³ Augustine, de Civ. Dei 22.8 (CSEL 40.604). ⁴ O’Hogan, Prudentius, 85.

The Cult of Stephen in Jerusalem: Inventing a Patron Martyr. Hugo Méndez, Oxford University Press. © Hugo Méndez 2022. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192846990.003.0006

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and Byzantine rites, for example—those displays could be intensely local and distinctive. Communities seeking to affirm special links between martyr and city could create or adapt their saint feasts to “enact civic identity.”⁵ In this chapter, I will read a series of changes to the Jerusalem ritual calendar as evidence of precisely such a program. The years following the inventio saw a dramatic expansion of the number of celebrations dedicated to Stephen in Jerusalem. By the mid-fifth century, these feasts included not only his late December feast day, acquired from other cities, but two new celebrations: one on the second day of the Epiphany octave (Epiphany II or 7 January) and another on the third week of the Paschal octave (Bright Tuesday). These two new feasts, I will argue, stem from distinct but related initiatives to affirm the city’s connections to the Protomartyr. The introduction of a feast for Stephen on the second day of the Epiphany—the first open date of the Jerusalem liturgical year—arose from a clear awareness of, and desire to emulate, the practice of those cities that accorded Stephen the first position in the annual cycle of martyr feasts. Not to be outdone in their patronage of Stephen’s cult, local church authorities belatedly bestowed upon the Protomartyr the same visible privilege bestowed upon him by other cities. Stephen was to occupy a preeminent position in the local ritual calendar, anchoring the Jerusalem year as a whole. No less indicative of Stephen’s rising significance in the city was the transformation of the third day of the Paschal octave into a lesser memorial of the martyr. The memory of the Protomartyr was invoked even in the highest octave of the church year. In their visibility and number, these “more numerous feasts” for Stephen illustrate the city’s intensifying devotion to the Protomartyr through the period—a devotion Hesychius would anchor in the city’s unique obligations to its native son.

5.1 Sources for the Jerusalem Liturgy We are fortunate to possess a broader range of sources for the ritual life of Jerusalem than for any other fourth- or fifth-century city—a testament to the excitement the city’s liturgy generated among pilgrims. Moved by the city’s spectacular processions and impressive ceremonies, many visitors were eager to relate their experiences in written accounts of their journeys or catalog local attractions for other potential visitors. As a result, Jerusalem became a prime hub for the production of pilgrim itineraries, diaries, and guidebooks, many composed in Latin. Other visitors went so far as to acquire translated liturgical sources from the city, hoping to replicate the city’s ritual practices in their native regions.

⁵ O’Hogan, Prudentius, 84–5.

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Pilgrim Itineraries Of the extant pilgrim itineraries, the most significant for the study of the early Jerusalem liturgy is the Itinerarium Egeriae, or the diary of Egeria, a Latinspeaking pilgrim to the Eastern Mediterranean from Gaul.⁶ Discovered in Arrezzo by J. F. Gamurrini in 1884, the text survives in a single manuscript with only its middle sections extant.⁷ Included among the surviving portions, however, is an extensive discussion of “the daily services they have in the holy places” in Jerusalem, as well as those performed “on the special days,” known to Egeria from her extended residence in the city between 381 and 384 .⁸ The latter includes detailed descriptions of major ceremonies and religious sites associated with the Epiphany, Lent, Holy Week, Easter/Pascha, and Pentecost in Jerusalem, and a partially lost description of the September Encaenia festival.⁹ Besides attesting the extent of the city’s network of shrines on the eve of the cult’s introduction into the city, the diary also provides a wealth of details concerning the liturgical customs and peculiarities of the city outside the scope of its ritual books.

Lectionary Sources At least two translations of the fourth- and fifth-century city’s ritual books survive, offering us our most comprehensive portraits of the city’s worship patterns. The first is the Palestinian Syriac Lectionary, or Climacus III—a lectionary written in Christian Palestinian Aramaic and preserved in the Sinai palimpsest Codex Climaci Rescriptus.¹⁰ The striking similarities between this lectionary and sources

⁶ Itin. Eger. (CCSL 175.35–90). Eng. translation in Wilkinson, Egeria’s Travels, 91–147; McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 103–95. On the name and identity of the author, see discussion in McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 3–15. On her place of origins, see Ibid., 20–2. ⁷ Those portions of the text now missing can be partly reconstructed from the twelfth-century Liber de Locis Sanctis, which makes extensive use of Egeria’s own complete account as a source. The Latin text appears as an appendix to the Itinierarium Egeriae in Geyer and Cuntz’ edition as Peter Diaconi Liber de Locis Sanctis (CSEL 175.93–103). An English translation appears in Wilkinson, Egeria’s Travels, 179–210. ⁸ On the dating of Egeria’s residence in Jerusalem, see McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 22–7. ⁹ The first portion of the manuscript describes Egeria’s travels between an ascent to Mount Sinai through a visit to Jerusalem. The daily services performed in Jerusalem are described from 24.1–25.6 (CCSL 175.67–71). A missing leaf in the manuscript obscures the transition to Egeria’s description of the annual services, which is anticipated at 25.4 (CCSL 175.70) and continues in 25.6–49.3 (CCSL 175.71–90). The text ends immediately after introducing “the fourth day” of the Encaenia (49.3; CCSL 175.90). The Encaenia, a feast Egeria says “ranks with Easter and Epiphany” in the city (49.3; CCSL 175.90), commemorated the dedication of the Constantinian churches in the city. ¹⁰ Lewis, Codex Climaci Rescriptus, 4–185. The lectionary text, copied in the sixth century, appears beneath a ninth-century Syriac copy of the writings of John Climacus (hence, Climacus Rescriptus) beside other Aramaic materials. The text is called Climacus III because Lewis recognized it as the third of six manuscripts repurposed for the palimpsest.

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of known Jerusalem provenance, including several discussed below, suggest its dependence on ritual sources from within the city. More specifically, the practices described in Climacus III seem to reflect a period after the visit of Egeria—that is, the early fifth century.¹¹ A still more complete witness to the Jerusalem liturgy is preserved in the many medieval manuscripts of the (Old) Armenian Lectionary. As far as we know, the earliest Armenian Christians followed the Syro-Antiochene rite of Cappadocia, the starting point of Gregory the Illuminator’s mission. Sometime in the mid-fifth century, however, monks in and around Jerusalem translated the city’s Greek ritual books into Armenian, possibly for use in bilingual monasteries.¹² Over the next several decades, these books spread to other Armenian populations, becoming the basis of the lectionary system still used in modern Armenian churches. Several medieval manusceripts, showing little to no signs of later, Armenian interpolation, are useful witnesses to the city’s ritual patterns between 456 and 479 .¹³ F. C. Conybeare published the first such witness, a defective text dating to the tenth century (Paris Bibl. Nat. arm. 44; that is, P), under the title “the Old Armenian Lectionary and Calendar.”¹⁴ In its incipit, that document claims to contain “a record of the assemblies which are held in Jerusalem in the holy places of Christ.” Decades later, Athanase Renoux published a second, more complete, manuscript in this tradition: Jerusalem St. James Monastery Arm. 121 (that is, J), the core of which dates to the twelfth century.¹⁵ Strictly speaking, the most primitive manuscripts of the Armenian Lectionary are not actually lectionaries but books providing instructions for the celebration of the many liturgies of the church year.¹⁶ Each entry in these texts identifies the focus of the day’s commemoration before designating a specific site in or around the city as the station, or host venue, for “the local church’s main liturgical celebration of the day . . . presided over by the bishop or his representative.”¹⁷ As a general principle, the station of the day was selected in view of its associations with the events or personages commemorated (e.g., the noon service for Holy Friday was held before the exposed wood of the Holy Cross, in the Golgotha

¹¹ On the provenance and dating of this source, see Ray, “Jerusalem Calendar,” 15–16. Ray adopts a relatively early date for the text (“c.400”) since he assumes Renoux’s early dating of the Armenian Lectionary to 417–439 . ¹² On the Armenian Lectionary’s Greek origins, see Athanase Renoux, Codex arménien, 1:21, no. 23. Paul Peeters considered the lectionary “Armenian only in language” and suitable for “an Armenian community incorporated into a Greek monastery in Jerusalem or the Jordan Valley” (recounted in Capelle, “Fête de la Vierge,” 14, no. 36). ¹³ On the date of the Armenian Lectionary, see Méndez, “Armenian Lectionary.” ¹⁴ Conybeare, Rituale Armenorum, 507–27. See analysis of P in Renoux, Codex arménien, 1:184; 2:157–9. ¹⁵ Renoux first published the text in “Lectionnaire arménien.” A year later, he issued the following supplement to his first article: “Addenda et Corrigenda.” An extended discussion of the document appears in Renoux, Codex arménien, 1:183–4; 2:155–7. ¹⁶ Baldovin, Urban Character, 64. ¹⁷ Baldovin, Urban Character, 37.

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shrine). Each entry then outlines the “canon” for the day, that is, the set of readings prescribed for the first half of the eucharistic liturgy. In Jerusalem, four readings were ordinarily prescribed on any given day.¹⁸ The first consisted of a single psalm read antiphonally.¹⁹ A single cleric would intone the psalm in its entirety, while the faithful would respond in regular intervals with the singing of a single, fixed responsorial verse.²⁰ Notably, the entries of the Armenian Lectionary indicate only the responsorial verse of the psalm. After the conclusion of that psalm, the day’s first “lesson” was read, with an interpreter assisting:²¹ And because in that province some of the people know both Greek and Syriac, others Greek alone, and others only Syriac . . . a presbyter always stands by, who, when the bishop is speaking in Greek, translates into Syriac so that everyone may hear what is being explained. The readings also that are read in church, because they must be read in Greek, someone always stands there to translate into Syriac for the sake of the people, so that they may always learn. Indeed, those who are Latin here, that is, who know neither Syriac nor Greek, lest they be disheartened, also have things explained to them, because there are other brothers and sisters who are bilingual who explain to them in Latin.²²

Ordinarily, this lesson consisted of a single passage taken from the New Testament, whether Acts or an epistle. However, the Armenian Lectionary appoints multiple readings in certain select circumstances. On commemorations of Old Testament saints, for instance, an appropriate reading (or set of readings) was typically obtained from the Old Testament. In that case, another reading from a New Testament epistle or Acts was necessarily included before the gospel.²³ ¹⁸ Significant deviations from this pattern are attested in the entries for the most significant commemorations of the liturgical year, especially the Epiphany vigil and numerous entries in the Lenten and Holy Week periods (consider, e.g., AL 1, 17–18, 38, and 44). Besides the multiplicity and peculiar arrangements of the readings appointed at these times, these entries also show such unusual features as the presence of an antiphonal psalm rather than an Alleluia immediately before the gospel (entry 1), and, during Lent, the absence of any lessons from the New Testament, including a gospel (e.g., AL 18–32; 35–7). ¹⁹ Compare the Byzantine prokeimenon of Antiochene ancestry (Kucharek, Byzantine–Slav Liturgy, 413). ²⁰ This is the pattern Egeria suggests in her account of the “Lord’s day” liturgy at the church of the Anastasis, albeit with reference to a different set of three antiphonal psalms: “one of the presbyters recites a psalm and all respond” (Itin. Eger. 24.9 [CCSL 175.69; Eng. tr., McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 153]). ²¹ In the tradition of the church of Antioch, this lesson was the second of the day. An additional reading, evidently extracted from the Old Testament, preceded the antiphonal song, as in the Apostolic Constitutions: “And after the reading of the Law and the Prophets, and our Epistles, of the Acts and of the Gospels, the ordained salutes the assembly with these words. . . .” (Const. ap. 8.5.11 [SC 336.151]). For further discussion, see Baldovin, Ancient Jerusalem, 23; van de Paverd, Geschichte der Meßliturgie, 82–137. ²² Itin. Eger. 47.3–4 (CCSL 175.89; Eng. tr., McGowan and Bradshaw, 192–3). ²³ E.g., AL 53, 60–4, 71 (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:330, 346–54, 368).

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Alternatively, on “all the commemorations of the holy martyrs,” the Armenian Lectionary appoints an additional reading “from the acts of their martyrdom.”²⁴ Another extra-scriptural lection was also read on “the day of the appearance of the Holy Cross in the sky,” namely, “the letter of Cyril, Bishop of Jerusalem, to the Emperor Constantius.”²⁵ These lessons ranged from a single verse to several chapters in length.²⁶ Immediately preceding the day’s gospel, another psalm was sung with “Alleluia” as its antiphonal response.²⁷ At the conclusion of this psalm, the gospel itself was read before one or more homilies expounding upon the day’s readings and themes. As Egeria remarks, in Jerusalem it was customary “that as many of all the presbyters seated who wish preach, and after them all, the bishop preaches. . . . While these sermons are being delivered, there is a long delay and so it is [not] before the fourth or even the fifth hour that the dismissal is done.”²⁸ It is likely that cursus, or continuous, readings of individual biblical books played a significant role in the Jerusalem lectionary system at more primitive stages of its development. Vestiges of these are visible throughout the lectionary, particularly in solemn liturgical seasons. The lessons appointed through the early Epiphany octave, for instance, include what was once a complete cursus of the Matthean infancy narrative.²⁹ Cursus readings also prevail in the Lenten and Paschal periods, particularly on the second week of Lent (from 1 Reg. LXX [1 Sam. MT], Proverbs, and Jeremiah), the Wednesdays and Fridays of Lent (from Exodus and Joel, and Deuteronomy and Job, respectively), and on the Week following Pascha/Easter, known in Jerusalem as “the Great Week” (from Acts). Nevertheless, the principle guiding the selection of most lessons in the Armenian Lectionary was the mutual enrichment of text and celebration. In general, the readings appointed for a particular day’s liturgy were tuned precisely to the focus and themes of that day’s commemoration, a principle already fixed by the time of Egeria: “Above all it is very pleasing and very admirable here that both the hymns and the antiphons and the readings as well as the prayers that the bishop recites always have such expressions that they are always appropriate and suitable both to the day that is being celebrated and to the place in which it is being

²⁴ AL 10. For instance, the entry for the 9 March, “Commemoration of the Forty Saints” of Sebaste, calls for “the acts of their martyrdom” to be performed in addition to the “canon” for the feast (AL 14). ²⁵ AL 54. ²⁶ AL 9 assigns a gospel consisting of only Luke 2:21. By contrast, AL 36 appoints a reading from Genesis 6:9–9:17 (roughly three chapters of material), and AL 3 appoints a reading from Acts 6:8–8:2 (roughly two chapters long). ²⁷ The same pattern, in an abridged form, is continued in contemporary rites, including the Byzantine. ²⁸ Itin. Eger., 25.1 (CCSL 175.1; Eng. tr., McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 155). Compare “all the presbyters also preach and then the bishop” (Itin. Eger. 26 [CCSL 175.72; Eng. tr., McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 160]). ²⁹ AL 1, 2, 4. On the gospels for Epiphany I–III as a “primitive cursus . . . built on the course reading” of Matthew, see Talley, Origins, 133.

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done.”³⁰ This practice is most obvious in liturgies commemorating biblical events, which generally prescribe those biblical passages describing the events in question. The principle is somewhat less clear to discern in the case of the psalms selected for each day, which were introduced to complement one or another of the day’s readings. The alleluia psalm presents an especially significant challenge in this respect since the Armenian Lectionary cites only the incipit of that psalm, often omitting those verses with clearer connections to the day’s themes.³¹ Although Renoux argues for a close thematic relationship between this psalm and the gospel reading that immediately followed it, in some entries, the psalm appears to have stronger links to the antiphonal psalm or first lesson preceding it.³²

5.2 The Epiphany II Feast As I noted in chapter 2, the Armenian Lectionary identifies only the 27 December feast as a commemoration “of St. Stephen” proper. Nevertheless, it is clear that the mid-fifth-century Jerusalem church commemorated Stephen on other dates as well. Our clearest evidence of this practice appears in Hesychius’ encomium for Stephen. In his remarks, Hesychius insists not only that the residents of the city “rightly owe” Stephen “more numerous feasts” because of Jerusalem’s unique and local connection to the martyr but that they actually do commemorate the martyr on multiple occasions throughout the year: This explains the frequency of the festal spectacles we hold in his honor. And we often put crowns on his nuptial canopy, we frequently go up leaping for joy to his wine-press, and we sing a marriage hymn as we say the words of the harvest song: “Lord, you have crowned us with the shield of your favor.”³³

The “harvest song” Hesychius cites in the above excerpt—“Lord, you have crowned us with the shield of your favor” (Ps. 5:13)—is, of course, the antiphon appointed for the late December feast of Stephen in the Armenian Lectionary. The antiphon contains an unconcealed wordplay on the name Stephen ³⁰ Itin. Eger. 47.5 (CCSL 175.89; Eng. tr., McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 193). ³¹ Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:176. Walter Ray is still more forceful when he articulates this principle: “what is given of the psalm by the lectionary . . . supplies little information for making judgments about the choice of psalm” (“Jerusalem Calendar,” 75). In his own exploration of the Armenian Lectionary, Ray not only focuses on intertextual links (e.g., shared vocabulary, images, etc.) but also gives significant attention to the distribution of psalms across the Jerusalem calendar as an indication of their character. ³² Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:177. The Alleluia psalm appointed for the late December feast of Stephen in Jerusalem should be counted among the many exceptions to this rule in the readings (see ch. 4). ³³ Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 3 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:328–31; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 196).

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(Gk. Στέφανος), whose name literally means “crown.” But the same antiphon also finds a place in several other entries of the lectionary. Strikingly, the first of these entries, the second day of the Epiphany octave (7 January), appoints a nearly identical set of readings as the 27 December commemoration, save only a single, additional lesson from Titus 2:11–15, and selects the “Martyrion of St. Stephen” as its station:³⁴ [Entry] 3 – The second day [of the Holy Epiphany], they gather at the Martyrion of Saint Stephen, and this canon is performed: Psalm 5, Antiphon: “Lord, as with a shield, [crown us] with your favor” [5:13b LXX] Reading from the Acts of the Apostles: “Stephen, a man full of grace and strength . . . and devout men buried Stephen and made great lamentation over him.” [6:8–8:2] Reading from the Letter of the Apostle Paul to Titus: “For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation for all people. . . . let no one despise you.” [2:11–15] Alleluia, Psalm 20 [LXX; 21 MT]: “Lord, in your strength, [P: the King will rejoice]” [20:2 LXX] Gospel according to John: “Truly, truly, I say to you, Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies . . . if anyone serves me, the Father will honor him . . .” [12:24–26]³⁵ What we are presented with in this entry is nothing less than a duplicate of the 27 December commemoration of Stephen. This conclusion is bolstered by the later reception of the same feast in the Armenian tradition. In the later, Armenianized lectionaries, the day is expressly identified as a feast for Stephen in a formula parallel to the one used for 27 December:³⁶ [Entry] 50 – The second day [of the Holy Epiphany], of St. Stephen . . . [Entry] 93 – 27 December, of St. Stephen . . .³⁷

³⁴ The indication of the “Martyrion of St. Stephen” in this entry definitively excludes the possibility that the feast in view here could have been a later Armenian celebration inserted anachronistically into the lectionary. Although the modern Armenian rite celebrates the nativity of Jesus on 6 January, consistent with the fifth-century Jerusalem practice, it commemorates Stephen only in late December (in modern practice, on 25 December). ³⁵ Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:217. ³⁶ That witness is Yerevan 832. On this manuscript, see Renoux, Čašocʿ, 3:538–61. ³⁷ Yerevan 832, entries 50, 93 (Renoux, Čašocʿ, 3:606, 626). This Epiphany II feast in the Čašocʿ may be a cognate of a similar feast on the Syriac Orthodox calendar, displaced one day by a memorial of the beheading of John the Baptist: 6 January, “Denho”

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Whatever its precise character on the fifth-century liturgical calendar of Jerusalem, then, it appears the Epiphany II station can safely be counted among the “more numerous feasts” and “frequent festal spectacles” for Stephen cited by Heschyius. On that day, only two weeks removed from the 27 December “commemoration of Stephen” proper, the residents of Jerusalem assembled again in celebration of the martyr, taking up the words of the same “harvest song” recited on that date. The presence of at least these two celebrations of Stephen within the same twoweek period is remarkable for a period in which many apostolic figures had not yet found a place in the Jerusalem calendar. Unfortunately, few attempts have been made to explore the origins of each and explain the redundancy between them. Still less has been done to understand the relationship between these feasts in the perception of the Jerusalem church. To what extent did the content of these celebrations overlap? In what way were these celebrations, despite their shared readings, distinct from one another?

Origins of the Epiphany II Station To the extent previous studies have explored the shared features of the 27 December and Epiphany II celebrations, they have done so only cursorily. Over a century ago, F. C. Conybeare cited these duplicate celebrations for Stephen as evidence that the calendar system “implied in the lectionary was already a conflation of at least two earlier ones” available to the Armenians, “one of which placed Christmas on December 25, the other on January 6,” evidently with individual feasts for Stephen following each celebration.³⁸ Conybeare’s interpretation of the Armenian Lectionary as a conflation of two calendars with different starting points, however, has long since been discarded. The lectionary faithfully captures a single period in the ritual life of Jerusalem.³⁹ Renoux, by contrast, links the emergence of the Epiphany II celebration of Stephen to the inventio of 415. In Climacus III, the readings appointed for Epiphany II were still identical to those appointed for the feast of the Epiphany itself: (‘Dawn’; i.e., the Epiphany); 7 January, “Beheading of John the Baptizer.” 8 January, “Mar/Lord Stephen, chief among the deacons and first of the martyrs.” The memorial for John the Baptist evidently corresponds to the Synaxis of John the Baptist in the Byzantine rite, which preserves its primitive form as a “concomitant feast” of the Epiphany (so Baumstark, Comparative Liturgy, 182). In the Byzantine tradition, the stichera appointed for the feast are exclusively interested in John’s role at the Baptism: “Beholding you, O Christ, coming to him and requesting baptism, the Forerunner cried out trembling . . . ‘you should baptize your servant!’ ” (7 January Stichera on “Lord I have cried,” for the Forerunner [Tone 1], n. 3; cf. the gospel at the Divine Liturgy: John 1:29–34). In the West Syriac tradition, however, this feast has been specialized into a commemoration of John’s martyrdom. ³⁸ Conybeare, Rituale Armenorum, 512. ³⁹ Renoux, Codex arménien, 1:184; 2:157–9; Méndez, “Armenian Lectionary.”

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Canons for Epiphany I, II in Climacus III Date: Occasion: Psalm: Epistle: Alleluia: Gospel:

Epiphany I . . . [Theophany] ... . . . Titus 2:15 Psalm 109 LXX Matt. 1:18–25 [end]

Epiphany II “Second Day of the Theophany” Psalm 2 LXX Titus 2:11–15 Psalm 109 LXX Matt. 2:1–8

Moreover, Egeria records that the Epiphany II liturgy was celebrated at the Golgotha station in the Holy Sepulchre complex, and not a site connected with St. Stephen.⁴⁰ According to Renoux, the two changes—the change in station and the change in readings—likely went hand in hand, as cause and effect. In his view, the Epiphany II station likely merged from an attempt to integrate the newly dedicated site of the relics—the diakonikon of Sion, which he identifies as the “Martyrion of St. Stephen”—into a prominent liturgical season: the Epiphany octave.⁴¹ This change in station, in turn, triggered a shift in the readings selected for the day: from readings appropriate for the Epiphany season to a canon strongly associated with that site. The difficulties with Renoux’s hypothesis largely center around its discussion of the “Martyrion of St. Stephen” and the importance it gives to the site within its reconstruction. First, there is no evidence that the diakonikon of Sion was an independent station in the city, distinct from the larger basilica of Sion, in the fifth century.⁴² There is, then, no room for a reconstruction that depends on its use and characteristics as a separate station. More importantly, the diakonikon of Sion was also probably not the “Martyrion of St. Stephen” associated with these feasts of Stephen in the Armenian Lectionary. That martyrion, instead, should be identified with Eudocia’s Church of St. Stephen, as I will argue in the next chapter. Moreover, Renoux’s claim that a simple shift in station could have triggered the wholesale assimilation of the Epiphany II celebration to the features of the late December feast of Stephen is also questionable. Although the Armenian

⁴⁰ Itin. Eger. 25.10–11 (CCSL 175.71–2). Golgotha was also the site of the liturgy for the third day of the octave. “This Holy Sepulchre-Golgotha area consisted of several shrines and a basilica within a walled precinct”; the Constantinian “basilica, called the Martyrium,” stood “over the place where Christ’s cross was discovered” (Baldovin, Ancient Jerusalem, 7). Thus, for Egeria, “the Great Church on Golgotha” (so here: 25:10) is “the Great Church, the Martyrion” (cf. 32:1; translation mine). In AL, this station is referred to as the “Holy Martyrion in the City” (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:193–4). However, as Wilkinson notes, “the site as a whole” was also “described by the name Golgotha, and Egeria invariably used the name in this sense, as Cyril had before her” (Egeria’s Travels, 42). The Anastasis rotunda, another part of the Holy Sepulchre-Golgotha complex, was recognized as the site of Christ’s tomb (see Baldovin, Urban Character, 47–8). ⁴¹ Renoux, Codex arménien, 1:184; 2:157–9. Compare: “the enshrining of the bones of the city’s most famous martyr was evidently important enough to induce a change in the stational pattern” of the Epiphany (Baldovin, Urban Character, 94). ⁴² Méndez, “Armenian Lectionary,” 72–76.

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Lectionary also appoints the “Martyrion of St. Stephen” as the station for the 9 March “commemoration of the Forty Saints,” for instance, that celebration does not utilize the canon appointed for Stephen.⁴³ A further explanation must be found for why the complete canon for Stephen was imported into the Epiphany octave, producing what the residents of the city, including Hesychius, recognized as a true “feast” for Stephen.⁴⁴ An inversion of Renoux’s scheme appears in Walter Ray’s unpublished study of the Jerusalem calendar.⁴⁵ Unlike Renoux, Ray rejects the possibility that the church of Jerusalem could have natively developed two redundant commemorations for Stephen, particularly in such close proximity to one another. Instead, he claims that only the reformed Epiphany II station was native to Jerusalem and that it alone represented a true commemoration of Stephen. In turn, he speculates that the late December feast must have represented a commemoration of a different kind—namely, a memorial of the discovery and translation of Stephen’s relics: We saw . . . that this commemoration of Stephen [on the day after the Epiphany] is fairly recent; it does not appear in Lewis’ Climacus III and Egeria does not know it. It is difficult to believe that, had there been a commemoration of Stephen already at the end of December, the Jerusalem Church would have instituted another so close to it. The reverse, however, is entirely possible, since the December feast in Jerusalem was attached to the memory of the transfer of Stephen’s relics into the church on Mt. Zion on December 26, 415. It seems reasonable to suppose that the December feast of Stephen in Jerusalem was inaugurated on that date.⁴⁶

⁴³ This is clear from P and E: “and the same canon as for the other saints is executed” (P), “the same canon as for the other martyrs is executed” (E) (AL 14 [Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:230]). J reads, somewhat more ambiguously, “they gather at the Holy Martyrion of Saint Stephen, and the same canon is performed, and the acts of their martyrdom” (Ibid.). Commenting on this phrasing, Renoux speculates that the “same canon” might have been the typical canon for Stephen (Codex arménien, 2:231, no. 2; so also Verhelst, Lectionnaire de Jérusalem, 96), though he leaves open the possibility that this is the typical canon “for all the commemorations of the holy martyrs,” introduced in the 11 January entry (AL 10). The latter option is almost certainly correct given the witness of P and E. ⁴⁴ These simple changes in station also cannot explain the emergence of a full set of readings for Lazarus on Epiphany V. Instead, the origins of that celebration must be found in an attempt to create a separate commemoration of the raising of Lazarus (11:1–53), distinct from a celebration of the meal encounter with Lazarus “six days before the Passover” (12:1–11) (Méndez, “Lazarus”). ⁴⁵ Ray’s proposal is somewhat confusing. As his discussion begins, he credits the presence of “an almost identical feast of Stephen on the day after Epiphany, only eleven days after the feast of December 27” to “a failed introduction of Christmas in the early fifth century” (Ray, “Jerusalem Calendar,” 284–5). By the end of his discussion, however, he establishes a chronology whereby the 27 December feast of Stephen is already in place in Jerusalem prior to the introduction of the 29 December feast of James and John in Jerusalem, which he suggests “might have come in with the failed Christmas feast” (Ray, “Jerusalem Calendar,” 286). ⁴⁶ Ray, “Jerusalem Calendar,” 284.

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On the one hand, Ray is correct to reconstruct a non-hagiopolite origin for the late December feast of Stephen, given its attestation in other regions at least a halfcentury earlier.⁴⁷ But the Epiphany II station does not seem to be an independent creation of the Jerusalem church. Upon closer inspection, it too seems to be inspired by the way Stephen was commemorated in other regions. Like the 26 December feast for Stephen celebrated in late fourth-century Cappadocia, the reformed Epiphany II station positions a memorial for Stephen (1) on the first date immediately following the beginning of the local liturgical year, that is, (2) behind a memorial for the birth of Jesus, (3) at the head of the annual cycle of martyr commemorations. Whereas Christmas inaugurated the liturgical year in Cappadocia, however, the Epiphany—a feast still commemorating the nativity in Jerusalem—inaugurated the hagiopolite liturgical year.⁴⁸ Thus, the vigil liturgy of Epiphany, celebrated in the vicinity of Bethlehem, marks the first entry in the Armenian Lectionary:⁴⁹ Other regions (e.g., Nyssa, Amasea): Jerusalem: New Year = New Year = Nativity (i.e., Christmas; 25 December) Nativity (i.e., Epiphany; 6 January) Stephen (26 December) Stephen (7 January) These parallels can hardly be coincidental. As I noted earlier, the practice of commemorating Stephen at the head of the annual order was, in fact, a signature practice of the cult of Stephen in this period, championed in contemporary homilies from across the Mediterranean. Viewed in this context, the reformed Epiphany II station almost certainly emerged in imitation of the practice of other communities.⁵⁰ Ray’s relative ordering of the two feasts is also problematic. Although he finds it “difficult to believe that, had there been a commemoration of Stephen already at the end of December, the Jerusalem Church would have instituted another so close to it,” the opposite is no less true. If the church of Jerusalem had long since developed a feast for Stephen within the Epiphany octave, why would it not have utilized that imminent occasion for the translation of Stephen’s relics? This alternative would have required a delay of no more than eleven days—a tolerable, if not trivial, length of time. In turn, the dramatic unveiling of Stephen’s relics would have occurred during the Epiphany octave, one of the principal celebrations

⁴⁷ See discussion in ch. 1. ⁴⁸ Note the nativity themes in the lessons for the vigil and day liturgies of the Epiphany (AL 1, 2 [Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:210–6]). Also, consider the 25 December entry in P, E: “during this day, in other cities, they celebrate the nativity of Christ” (AL 71 [Codex arménien, 2:366]). ⁴⁹ AL 1 (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:214). ⁵⁰ The earlier and widespread attestation of the 26 December feast excludes the inverse possibility, that is, that it was modeled after the Epiphany II station at Jerusalem.

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of the year, when spectacular crowds would have been expected in Jerusalem. Why forego this broad exposure for Stephen’s relics—a source of immense pride to the city, and a powerful magnet for future pilgrimage—to import a second, non-native, and redundant feast in such close proximity to the first celebration? And for that matter, how could the church have executed this elaborate solution in so short a space of time? (If the timetable indicated in the Revelatio Sancti Stephani is accurate, the discovery of the relics occurred only five days before 26 December.) More likely, as I have argued above, the 26 December feast for Stephen was already being observed in Jerusalem in 415, and the sudden invention of the relics of Stephen in late December was timed to coincide with this existing festival. It is certainly striking that the Revelatio Sancti Stephani, the traditional account of the transfer, lends no support to Ray’s reconstruction. That source only records that the remains of the martyr were translated on “the seventh kalends of January,” with no further indication that the event coincided with the introduction of a new annual feast in Jerusalem.⁵¹ Furthermore, it is obvious that the late December cluster of feasts reflected in the 27, 28, and 29 December entries of the Armenian Lectionary spread throughout the Mediterranean with remarkable speed, penetrating Cappadocia no later than 390, and Syria no later than 411 (in all likelihood, its introduction into each of these regions preceded these first attestations by several years.) There is no reason to doubt that this cluster could have been introduced into a pilgrimage center like Jerusalem in the decades preceding 415—a target window at least a half-century in length.⁵²

The Priority of the Late December Feast for Stephen Notably, the late December feast of Stephen exhibits several primitive characteristics not exhibited by the reformed Epiphany II station—characteristics that suggest its older age. First, only the 27 December feast is juxtaposed with feasts for John and James (29 December) and Peter and Paul (28 December); the Epiphany II memorialization of Stephen stands in isolation. Of these two arrangements, the former is decidedly more likely to have been primitive. Again, both feasts can be traced to the late December cluster of feasts also attested in Nicomedia and Nyssa. That cluster spread across the churches of the Mediterranean as it filled perceived lacunae in the cycle of annual commemorations. Those communities that already commemorated saints within the

⁵¹ “Et post paucos dies transtulerunt sanctum corpus Stephani in civitatem, VIIo Kalendas Ianuaris” (Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 48 [Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 214; Eng. tr. mine]). ⁵² E. D. Hunt cites the 26 December entry in the Syriac Martyrology, “the first confessor, at Jerusalem, Stephen the Apostle,” as positive evidence that the feast was observed in Jerusalem in 411 (Holy Land Pilgrimage, 218 n. 84). The entry may indicate only the place of Stephen’s death, however.

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cluster, however, only adopted feasts for those saints they did not commemorate. The Calendar of Carthage, for instance, attests only the 26 December feast of Stephen, and (in a modified form) the 27 December feast of James and John. Evidently, the Carthaginian church never adopted the 28 December feast of Peter and Paul since it had long before adopted a feast for these apostles of Western origin, on 29 June. In this case, the reformed Epiphany II station for Stephen could scarcely have preceded its 27 December counterpart. Prior to its contact with the late December cluster of feasts for Stephen, James, John, Peter, and Paul, the church of Jerusalem lacked feast days in honor of any of these figures. This is obvious from (1) the absence of vestigial memorials for these figures elsewhere on the calendar and (2) the eventual incorporation of the 28 and 29 December feasts for these figures, undoubtedly to fill this lacuna. But once it had come into contact with the postNativity cluster, the church of Jerusalem integrated it as an intact unit into its own calendar. (Of course, by the period represented by the Armenian Lectionary, these feasts were displaced to 27, 28, and 29 December.) The feast of Stephen, then, must be the more primitive celebration of the Protomartyr at Jerusalem. A closer inspection of the canons prescribed for the 27 December and Epiphany II celebrations in the Armenian Lectionary supports this conclusion. As I noted earlier, these canons are identical, save for an additional New Testament lesson prescribed for the latter (Titus 2:11–15). Since the Armenian Lectionary ordinarily appoints only a single New Testament reading for each celebration, this extra reading expands a simpler, and by extension, more primitive canon for Stephen, parallel in structure to those appointed for the closely related December feasts of Peter and Paul and James and John. That primitive canon is retained in only one entry of the lectionary: the “commemoration of Stephen” on 27 December. Fortunately, the origin of the additional lesson for the reformed Epiphany II station is not hard to discover: Titus 2:11–15 is the same epistle appointed for both the vigil and dawn liturgies on Epiphany itself, the preceding entries in the lectionary (nos. 1, 2). More importantly, Titus 2:11–15 is also the epistle indicated for the second day of the Epiphany octave in the period represented by Climacus III: Climacus III “Second Day of the Theophany” [per Egeria: “in Golgotha”] Psalm 2 LXX Titus 2:11–15 Psalm 109 LXX Matthew 2:1–8

Armenian Lectionary “The second day of the octave . . . at the Martyrion of Stephen” Psalm 5 LXX Acts 6:8–8:2 Titus 2:11–15 Psalm 20 LXX John 12:24–26

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Evidently, this older lesson was retained through the transformation of the station to preserve a link between the station and the broader Epiphany octave. The lesson not only explores the central themes of the Epiphany as a “salvation-redemption feast,” it also contains two instances of wordplay on the term “Epiphany”:⁵³ For the grace of God has appeared [ἐπεφάνη] for the salvation of all, training us to renounce irreligion and worldly passions, and to live sober, upright, and godly lives in this world, awaiting our blessed hope, the appearing [ἐπιφάνειαν] of the glory of our great God and Savior Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us to redeem us from all iniquity and to purify for himself a people of his own who are zealous for good deeds. Declare these things; exhort and reprove with all authority. Let no one disregard you. (Titus 2:11–15)

Analyzed in this manner, the canon for the reformed Epiphany II station is a derivative product, fusing the Epiphany-themed epistle from the older station at “the greater church, which is in Golgotha” with the canon originally developed for the 26 December feast of Stephen.

A Second Feast for Stephen At this juncture, it is appropriate to review what can be said, with at least relative certainty, about the origins of the late December feast for Stephen at Jerusalem. First, in the fourth through fifth centuries, the church of Jerusalem was in extended contact with communities that, like the churches of Nicomedia and Cappadocia, commemorated Stephen within a unit of feasts falling in late December. These commemorations were directly integrated into the Jerusalem calendar as the first discrete memorials for these saints in Jerusalem. Secondly, this borrowing occurred before 415, since the 26 December feast of Stephen was already known and celebrated in Jerusalem at that time, as indicated in the Revelatio Sancti Stephani. Thirdly, it is clear that the canon for Stephen, employed on all his feasts by the early fifth century , was developed for this 26 December feast. Let us also briefly review what we have said so far about the origins of the reformed Epiphany II station. Evidently, the 26 December feast of Stephen was borrowed a second time into the Jerusalem calendar—not on 26 December but on the second day of the Epiphany octave. This date was selected in mutatis mutandis imitation of the practice of other churches, which assigned Stephen the first open date after the beginning of the liturgical year in Jerusalem. Furthermore, the typical canon for Stephen first developed for the 26 December feast was modified

⁵³ Mauck, “Christmas octave feasts,” 28–32.

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for use on the second day of the Epiphany octave as well to keep a link between that festivity and the larger celebration. Since this reformed Epiphany II station was unknown to Egeria or Climacus III, it dates to the fifth century. In all likelihood, the Epiphany II station for Stephen emerged after the inventio of 415. In the inventio, Jerusalem lay claim to Stephen’s cult in the most dramatic way possible: producing his relics. From then on, the church was in a position to assume leadership of that cult as its unrivaled center. As it consolidated these claims, however, the church of Jerusalem would be wary of other regions surpassing its devotion to Stephen. Attention gradually fell on the signature practice of Stephen’s liturgical cult: the practice of placing Stephen at the head of the calendar. Although Jerusalem had long before adopted the 26 December feast for Stephen that inaugurated the year in other regions, that feast stood at an unmarked position in the peculiar plan of the Jerusalem calendar, beside no synchronic liturgical axis. This arrangement now proved intolerable. Transferring the late December feast to a position near the head of the local liturgical calendar was not a satisfactory solution for at least two reasons. First, pilgrims from around the Mediterranean were familiar with a 26 December feast for Stephen.⁵⁴ Secondly, the 26 December date was still historically significant as the occasion of the translation of the relics of Stephen in late December 415. Only the creation of a second feast for Stephen would have been appropriate. Of course, these two restrictions suit a time when the local commemoration of Stephen still stood on 26 December.⁵⁵ Although the practice of celebrating a saint on two distinct dates in the city was unusual, it was not indefensible. A contemporary discourse claiming that cities had special obligations towards their patron saints may well have justified granting Stephen a more elaborate cultus in the city than was typically granted to individual martyrs. This is, of course, the very discourse we find in Hesychius’ encomium for Stephen, in which he insists that the residents of Jerusalem do indeed “owe Stephen more numerous feasts” given the saint’s numerous connections to the city.⁵⁶ Despite the impressive overlap between the two festivals, however, it is likely that the local church drew at least some distinction between them. Writing in Jerusalem only several years after Melania’s death in 439, Gerontius expressly identifies the 26 December feast of Stephen as “the memorial of his falling ⁵⁴ As I have noted above, that feast occurred on 26 December in most regions. In early fifth-century Constantinople, however, it had probably already shifted to 27 December to make room for the 26 December “Synaxis of the Theotokos” that precedes it to this day in the Byzantine rite (Ray, “Jerusalem Calendar,” 283). ⁵⁵ In other words, the fact that Jerusalem did not simply move its own late December feast for Stephen suggests that these changes occurred at a time when Jerusalem might have been resistant to moving that feast in general—and thus, a time before the actual displacement of that feast. This established an absolute terminus ante quem of c.440, though the feast was probably established at a still earlier time—earlier, I believe, than the changes to the Bright Tuesday station described below. ⁵⁶ Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 2–3 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:328; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 196).

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asleep.”⁵⁷ Evidently, the 26 December feast was not merely a feast to the martyr to the residents of the city but a date strongly associated with his death. This specialization is not unusual. On the contrary, other lines of evidence suggest the church of Jerusalem eschewed redundant observances of the same event, even where we find more than one date dedicated to the memory of the same figure. Of the two known festivities for Mary in the fifth-century city, for instance, only one was focused on her death in particular.⁵⁸ Similarly, of the two festivities at the Lazarium indicated on the Armenian Lectionary, only one foregrounds the actual death and raising of Lazarus.⁵⁹ A similar distinction likely applied to the feasts of Stephen. While Stephen was commemorated on multiple days in the city, his death was probably foregrounded on only one: the 26/27 December feast long established as his memorial in other regions. This may explain why the Armenian Lectionary designates only the late December date as the “commemoration of Saint Stephen” proper (entry 72), despite the shared content of the two celebrations.⁶⁰ Even if it was not the “commemoration of Saint Stephen” proper, however, the Epiphany II celebration was no less prominent than its late December counterpart. In fact, it might even have been more prominent. As I noted earlier, the late December feast experienced a disruption in the mid-fifth century that forced it off a date not only of universal significance to the cult but also one with deep local roots as the historical anniversary of the translation of Stephen’s relics. This startling shift suggests that the significance of the 26 December date was already eroding in this period, perhaps especially as it was undercut by a new feast for Stephen with stronger local meanings. In turn, the position of this new feast within the Epiphany octave—one of the most important seasons of the Jerusalem year—may well have ensured higher attendance figures for the feast, not least from seasonal floods of pilgrims. At these festivals, pilgrims would have heard refrains familiar from homilies for the 26 December feast of Stephen in

⁵⁷ Geront., v. Mel. 64 (SC 90.254–6; Eng. tr., Clark, Life of Melania, 76). In Gerontius’ narrative, this detail has an important rhetorical function. Melania’s recognizes the imminence of her death on the date on which the Protomartyr himself died, underscoring her close identification with the martyrs, especially in her personal sanctity. She exclaims “I am going to the Lord” on the feast of Stephen proper (Geront., v. Mel. 64 [SC 90.261; Eng. tr., Clark, Life of Melania, 78]) before succumbing to death on the Lord’s day (Geront., v. Mel. 64 [SC 90.266–8; Eng. tr., Clark, Life of Melania, 81]). ⁵⁸ The first celebration is the 15 August feast “of Mary Theotokos” (AL 64 [Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:354]); the second is the fourth day of the Epiphany octave (AL 5 [Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:218]), which Hesychius expressly calls a “commemoration” of Mary in his sole extant homily for the day (hom. 6 [Aubineau, Homélies festales, 194]). For evidence that the homily was preached on Epiphany IV and not 15 August, see Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1.184–9; Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:219, no. 5. ⁵⁹ The gospel describing Lazarus’ death appears only on Epiphany VI (AL 7), not on Lazarus Saturday (AL 33). ⁶⁰ The perceived connection between a saint’s “commemoration” and death would eventually trigger the transformation of Mary’s 15 August “commemoration” into a feast for Mary’s death (GL 1149–55 [CSCO 204.30–1/205.27–8]; see Shoemaker, Ancient Traditions, 116–24).

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other regions, beginning with rhetorical comparisons of the birth of Jesus and the heavenly birth of Stephen.

5.3 A Third Feast for Stephen The pronounced local enthusiasm for Stephen following the discovery of his relics may help us understand yet another peculiarity in the Armenian Lectionary. The “harvest song” Hesychius associates with the “numerous feasts” of Stephen was not only a feature of the 27 December and Epiphany II celebrations in fifthcentury Jerusalem. It is also a feature of the third day of the Paschal octave (i.e., Bright Tuesday)—a celebration conspicuously fixed to the Martyrion of St. Stephen. The canon for the day also prescribes the Alleluia psalm typical of feasts for Stephen (Ps. 20 LXX): [Entry] 47 – On Tuesday, they gather at the Holy Martyrion of the Protomartyr Stephen, and this canon is performed: Psalm 5, Antiphon: “Lord, as with a shield, with your favor, [J, E: you have crowned us”] [5:13b LXX] Reading from the Acts of the Apostles: “And they were diligent in teaching the apostles and the fellowship and the breaking of bread and to prayer . . . which God spoke by the mouth of his holy prophets” [2:42–3:21] Alleluia, Psalm 20 [LXX; 21 MT] “Lord, in your strength, [the King] will rejoice.” [20:2 LXX] Gospel according to Luke: “And behold, two of them went that same day to a village . . . and they told them what (had happened) on the way, and how he was made known to them in the breaking of bread.” [24:13–15] As an occasion on which the people of Jerusalem assembled in the “nuptial canopy” of Stephen to sing “the words of the harvest song,” this celebration meets the specifications of Hesychius’ “more numerous feasts” for Stephen. It should, then, be considered a third celebration in this category. In fact, without evidence of this third celebration, it would be difficult to understand Hesychius’ reference to “numerous” events for Stephen at Jerusalem. Two celebrations are not especially numerous, but three certainly are. In this case, it would appear that the Armenian Lectionary registers all of the celebrations of the Protomartyr known to Hesychius. In its only attested form, however, the station is less overtly a feast for Stephen than its 27 December and Epiphany II counterparts. Although its canon is

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partially modeled after the typical canon for Stephen, the epistle and gospel prescribed for the day are not those typical of other celebrations of Stephen in the lectionary but ones appropriate for the octave. The epistle continues a cyclical reading of the Acts of the Apostles begun on the morning of Pascha/Easter itself: “Sunday of the Holy Pascha” Monday [after Pascha] Tuesday [after Pascha] Wednesday [after Pascha] Thursday [after Pascha] Friday [after Pascha] Saturday [after Pascha] Sunday [after Pascha]

Acts 1:1–14 Acts 2:22–41 Acts 2:42–3:21 Acts 3:22–4:12 Acts 4:13–31 Acts 4:32–5:11 Acts 5:12–33 Acts 5:34–6:7

The gospel, in turn, completes a cyclical reading of the Lukan resurrection accounts begun the previous day.⁶¹ Since the feast lacks the complete canon for Stephen typical of the late December and Epiphany II celebrations, it seems unlikely that the celebration was meant to foreground Stephen, at least originally. More likely, the choice of the “Martyrion of St. Stephen” as the day’s station motivated the Stephen-themed elements of the celebration.⁶² In late antique Jerusalem, the setting of a given feast often had a strong bearing on the readings appointed for the day. For instance, the Antiphonal and Alleluia psalms recited for the Wednesday of the octave, celebrated in Sion, are distinguished by their prominent references to “Sion.”⁶³ Similarly, the psalms for the Thursday of the octave, celebrated on the mount of Olives, contain prominent references to a “holy mountain.”⁶⁴ In this case, then, the local principle that readings should be “appropriate and suitable . . . to the place” is sufficient to explain all the features of the celebration.⁶⁵ Here one can

⁶¹ The canon for the Monday after Pascha appoints a reading from Luke 23:50–24:12 (AL 46 [Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:314]). ⁶² So Renoux, albeit from the incorrect assumption that the Martyrion of St. Stephen corresponds to the diakonikon of the Hagia Sion church (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:315, no. 1). Against this view, see discussion in ch. 6. ⁶³ AL 48 (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:316). Specifically, the psalms appointed are “O Jerusalem, praise the Lord; O Zion, praise your God!” (Ps. 147:12 LXX); “For you, O God, a hymn is fitting in Zion, and to you a vow will be repaid” (Ps. 64:2 LXX). Psalms for “Sion” also feature on the liturgies for Pascha and the Monday after Pascha—specifically, Pss. 64, 147, and 149 LXX (AL 45, 45bis, 46 [Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:310–14]), None of these celebrations was set in Sion itself during the period of AL, however. ⁶⁴ AL 49 (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:318). Specifically, the antiphonal psalm reads: “Lift high the Lord, our God, and worship in his holy mountain, because holy is the Lord, our God” (Ps. 98:9 LXX). The Alleluia psalm, in turn, begins with the line “O Lord, who will dwell in your quarters? And who will dwell on your holy mountain?” (Ps. 14:1 LXX). ⁶⁵ Itin. Eger. 47.5 (CCSL 75.89; Eng. tr., McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 193).

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draw a contrast to the Epiphany II celebration, whose altered content and foregrounded focus on Stephen requires additional motivation. As it stands, there is good evidence that this shift in station occurred in the middle of the fifth century. As Renoux notes, certain witnesses—most notably Yerevan 985—preserve older rubrics that presuppose the Holy Sepulchre complex, rather than the Martyrion of St. Stephen, as a venue for the Bright Tuesday celebration.⁶⁶ In this case, the celebration probably moved to the Martyrion of St. Stephen no earlier than the earliest possible date for the translation of the Armenian Lectionary—that is, no earlier than 456.⁶⁷ The Bright Tuesday celebration, then, would be the last of the three “feasts” of Stephen to emerge in Jerusalem. In turn, the reception of this new station as a “feast” for Stephen was probably a secondary development, possibly an analogy to the Epiphany II celebration that was probably already in place in the city. Unlike the Epiphany II celebration, the Bright Tuesday celebration did not duplicate all the features of the commemoration of Stephen. Nevertheless, the two days were similar insofar as they shared two readings, were positioned within major festal octaves, and were celebrated in the same station. Those similarities might have led locals to consider even the Bright Tuesday station a feast for Stephen, as indeed Hesychius does. In fact, we may well credit local church authorities like Hesychius for consolidating the reception of the station as a third—albeit more informal—celebration of Stephen. The fact that it is none other than a local homilist who informs us that the Bright Tuesday station was a “feast” for Stephen suggests that he, and his peers, were probably accustomed to integrating encomia for the martyr on the occasion. As a point of comparison, one of Hesychius’ surviving encomia to Mary was delivered on Epiphany IV, a date that presents as an unremarkable Epiphany station in the Armenian Lectionary, but which Hesychius identifies as a “commemoration” for Mary in the homily due to its incorporation of a reading from Luke 1:26–38.⁶⁸ The practice of delivering such encomia on octave days might have facilitated their reception as actual “feasts” for particular saints in ways not indicated in the Armenian Lectionary. In turn, as encomia for Stephen cross-pollinated with the themes of Holy Week and Pascha/Easter, the Bright Tuesday celebration may well have taken on its own unique features relative to its counterparts. In the structure of the Armenian Lectionary, the feast is undeniably a Paschal celebration, incorporating several psalms appropriate to the season. Hypothetically, that Paschal orientation might have strengthened individual themes associated with the cult of Stephen,

⁶⁶ Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:30–32. ⁶⁷ See arguments in Méndez, “Armenian Lectionary,” 76–90.

⁶⁸ See no. 58.

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including the close link between Jesus and the servant who followed him in death—a theme developed in the readings appointed for the feast.

5.4 The Commemorated Stephen Up to this point, we have explored how the number and position of Stephen’s many feasts on the Jerusalem calendar projected particular ideas about the martyr—especially his special relationship with the residents of Jerusalem. But these feasts were not merely points on a calendar, communicating one and only one idea at a time. They were, rather, occasions for a more complex set of words and gestures, each of which might reinforce, extend, or complement the meanings invested in the days themselves. Fortunately, the Armenian Lectionary does not merely indicate the existence of these feasts; it also delineates their individual elements—specifically the particular psalms and lessons appointed for all three feasts of Stephen. A close study of these lections sheds light on two kinds of reading engagements—those of the lectionary’s compilers and those of later audiences. First, since these lections were selected for use on individual feasts, studying them reveals the ways in which local church officials themselves interpreted these texts, illuminating the ideas or images they privileged in their encounter with these scriptures. It also indicates the kinds of connections the compilers of these lectionaries hoped their audiences would grasp and internalize. Since, presumably, some congregants grasped these intended meanings—whether as the lectionary succeeded in guiding readers towards these privileged readings, or as homilies provided additional scaffolding to this end—this study also illuminates the connections that arose in the minds of certain locals hearing these texts proclaimed.⁶⁹ As we will see, those connections develop a set of ideas familiar from other sources from the Jerusalem cult of Stephen. The day’s primary lections support ⁶⁹ “Paratextuality” is a useful lens for conceptualizing the work of juxtaposed lections. In the work of Gérard Genette, a “paratext” is any element accompanying a text, written or oral, which, though not part of the text itself, frames it. Although such an element may have metatextual functions— commenting on various aspects of the text—its position immediately beside the text places it in a unique relation to the text; it stands as “a threshold”—“a zone between text and off-text . . . of transition but also of transaction,” shaping and directing the reading encounter with the adjacent material as “an influence at the service of a better reception [of] the text and a more pertinent reading of it” (Paratexts, 2). For all intents and purposes, the individual lections appointed on a given feast in Jerusalem can be analyzed as “paratexts” for the lections before and after them. The various lections were read in succession—each standing at the threshold of the next. More importantly, the prevailing assumption among the residents of Jerusalem was that the texts were related to some extent, as the fourth-century pilgrim Egeria recognized: “the hymns and the antiphons and the readings as well as the prayers that the bishop recites always have such expressions that they are always appropriate and suitable both to the day that is being celebrated and to the place in which it is being done” (Itin. Eger. 47.5 [CCSL 175.89; Eng. tr., McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 193]).

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ideas of Stephen as a preeminent and privileged saint, precisely by stressing the martyr’s similarities to Jesus. In turn, the lection from Acts and the two psalms capture the anti-Jewish atmosphere of the cult, precisely in its negative caricatures of Jews and Judaism.

Psalm 5 LXX Each of the psalms appointed for the feasts of Stephen contain wordplays on Stephen’s name (Gk. Στέφανος), exploiting either the noun “crown” (στέφανος) or the verb “to crown” (στεφανόω). The first psalm incorporates the verb. It also makes this wordplay especially obvious, spotlighting it in the antiphonal response of the congregation: “Lord, as with a shield, crown us with your favor” (Κύριε ὡς ὅπλῳ εὐδοκίας ἐστεφάνωσας ἡμᾶς; Ps. 5:13b LXX).⁷⁰ In the original psalm, the “crowning” in question is a metaphor for the vindication of the psalmist (“the righteous one”; cf. 5:13 LXX) over and against slanderous accusations leveled against him (5:7, 9–10 LXX). The entire psalm is, in fact, framed as an extended complaint against that slander, which pleads God’s consistent displeasure against those who deal treacherously with others: Because you are not a god who desires evil; nor will you dwell with one who acts wickedly. Lawbreakers will not endure before your eyes; you hate all who practice lawlessness. You will destroy all who lie; the Lord detests a bloodthirsty and deceitful person. . . . There is no truth in their mouths, their heart is empty. Their throat is an open grave. With their tongue they deal treacherously. (Ps. 5:5–7, 10 LXX)

This motif of slander establishes another crucial link between the psalm and Acts 6–8, the lesson read immediately after it. Set in dialogue with the narrative of Stephen’s death, the hymn’s reference to “all who lie” evokes the memory of the Hellenists who “set up false witnesses” (Acts 6:12). Similarly, its reference to “bloodthirsty” “lawbreakers” could encompass the “council” that lynched Stephen, “the righteous one” par excellence (Acts 6:54–60). In this case, the images

⁷⁰ Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:217.

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applied to “the righteous one” and his enemies in Psalm 5 likely shaped the characterization of the primary actors in Acts 6–8 in the celebration. In the original psalm, the vindication of “the righteous one” is imagined as a purely temporal intervention. The favor of God shields him from the evil “deliberations” of his enemies, who “fall by their own schemes” (Ps. 5:11 LXX). In turn, the “righteous one” enjoys the rewards common to all “who place their hope” in God: And let all who place their hope upon you rejoice in you forever. They will rejoice exceedingly, And you shall dwell among them, and all who love your name will exult in you. For you bless the righteous one, O Lord; you crowned us as with a shield of goodwill. (Ps. 5:12–13 LXX)

On a feast for Stephen, however, these rewards would likely be interpreted as eschatological ones. The psalm’s reference to a “crowning” certainly evokes the bestowal of a “crown of life” upon those “faithful even to the point of death” in Rev. 2:10, 11 (cf. James 1:12). Similarly, the psalm’s reference to the faithful rejoicing “forever” in the presence of God, who “shall dwell among them,” evokes common Christian images of the immortal, celestial life of the martyrs. In this particular set of lections, then, the first psalm looks beyond the temporal history of Acts 6–8, imagining the bliss of the triumphant Stephen in heaven. That orientation towards the eternal destiny of Stephen, however, also creates space for the anticipation of an eschatological punishment for Stephen’s adversaries—a punishment the lectionary may train its readers to expect in the words “lawbreakers will not endure before your eyes” and “you will destroy all who lie” (Ps. 5:2, 7 LXX). The idea of a retributive punishment on Stephen’s persecutors might seem to stand in tension with Stephen’s own dying prayer: “Lord, do not hold this sin against them” (Acts 7:60). But the case is more complex than it seems at first glance. Within Acts itself, it is worth noting that Stephen’s prayer “is woven into a narrative in which the Jewish persecutors of Stephen are condemned.”⁷¹ The theme of an imminent judgment against unrepentant Jewish institutions appears in earlier chapters of Acts, beginning with Acts 2:17–19. More importantly, in the last scene before the beginning of the Stephen cycle, Gamaliel argues that any attempts by his Jewish peers to persecute the nascent Christian community may result in them becoming theomachoi—“fighters-against-God”—and thus, in peril of divine displeasure and judgment (5:39). In this case, one can validly argue, as Shelly Matthews does, that “the prayer for forgiveness is rendered inefficacious

⁷¹ Matthews, Perfect Martyr, 99.

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by the author who preserves it.”⁷² The reception history of Acts is also rich in attempts to tame the prayer into something less than a blanket absolution of Stephen’s enemies in order to uphold “the widely-held talonic framework of cosmic justice in which unrepentant evildoers ultimately meet their requisite punishment.”⁷³ For instance, in a late fourth-century homily, Asterius of Amasea argues that Stephen “prays not, as some incorrectly presume, that the sin of his enemies should remain unavenged and guiltless,” since such a prayer would have him “opposing the . . . legislation which would give the murderers what they deserved.”⁷⁴ Instead, Asterius continues, Stephen’s dying prayer should be interpreted as a prayer for the conversion of Jews, glossing the prayer as follows: “Give them fear because of compunction; bring them to regret what they dared, let them not die away in circumcision, draw them through repentance to knowledge about you, kindle in their hearts the flame of the Spirit. If they repent in that way, it will be manifest that you hold not that sin against them, but by the bath of grace they will wash away your and my blood and be free of any charge.” So it happened and the drama came to its end.⁷⁵

The recitation of Psalm 5 immediately before the text of Acts might have trained listeners to consider these broader interpretive possibilities. That layering process overwhelms the last trace of Stephen’s message in the eleventh verse of the LXX psalm. Having concluded his description of his adversaries, the psalmist actively pleads that his enemies be “judged” and “expelled” for their treachery against him. A more startling departure from the content and tone of Acts 7:60 can hardly be conceived: “Judge them, O God; let them fall by their own schemes. According to the magnitude of their ungodliness, expel them because they have provoked you, O Lord”. (Ps. 5:11 LXX)

On a feast of Stephen, congregants might have interpreted the voice of the psalm—besieged by false accusers—as the voice of Stephen. In effect, the

⁷² Matthews herself claims that the text does not require that the prayer be efficacious. Rather, in her view, the prayer merely serves to “embody the dominical teachings on enemy love and non-retaliation, and assert the ethical superiority of Christianity over Judaism” (Perfect Martyr, 100). Pervo, by contrast, interprets the efficacy of the prayer narrowly, that is, only insofar as it tills “the ground for the conversion of Saul” (Acts, 199). ⁷³ Matthews, Perfect Martyr, 99. ⁷⁴ Aster. Amas., hom. 12.10.1 (Datema, Homilies, 170; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 182). ⁷⁵ Aster. Amas., hom. 12.10.2–3 (Datema, Homilies, 170–1; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 182).

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lectionary choices seem to colonize the voice of Stephen, laying a very different, darker sentiment on his lips.

Acts 6:8–8:2 The significance of the next lection in the sequence—the reading from Acts— cannot be overstated. At a length of 70 verses, this lection dwarfs all others in size. It is, in fact, more than twice as long as all the other prescribed readings combined. Moreover, as the only reading to describe the death of Stephen, the lection represents the core narrative of the celebration. The Armenian Lectionary ordinarily appoints a reading from the acta martyrum on “all the commemorations of the holy martyrs.”⁷⁶ In Stephen’s case, however, the biblical account of his death served this task just as easily. As it stands, the portion of Acts appointed for the 27 December celebration by the fifth century is limited to those verses describing the opposition, trial, and death of Stephen (6:8–8:2)—the material typically forming the acta of an individual martyr. Conspicuously absent from the reading is the account of Stephen’s ordination (6:1–7). That unrepresented portion of the Stephen cycle was read on another occasion—the Sunday after Pascha/Easter—as the final portion of a nearly intact lectio continua of the first few chapters of Acts. There it was paired with the account of Gamaliel’s intervention on behalf of Peter and the other apostles before the Sanhedrin (Acts 5:33–42):

Epistle Readings in the Paschal Octave⁷⁷ Day

Epistle

Pascha/Easter (Morning) Bright Monday Bright Tuesday Bright Wednesday Bright Thursday Bright Friday Bright Saturday Bright Sunday

Acts 1:1–14 Acts 2:22–41 Acts 2:42–3:21 Acts 3:22–4:12 Acts 4:13–31 Acts 4:32–5:11 Acts 5:12–33 Acts 5:34–6:7

⁷⁶ AL 10, cf. 14 (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:224, 230). ⁷⁷ AL 45, 46–52 (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:312, 312–22). Acts 1:15–26 was read the week before, on Holy Thursday (AL 38 [Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:266]). The juxtaposition of Gamaliel and Stephen in the final reading of this cycle may reflect the close association of the two in such local sources as the Revelatio Sancti Stephani.

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The reading from Acts interacts with various themes woven in the other readings. On the one hand, “the depiction of Stephen’s stoning by a riotous and barbaric mob of Jews conforms perfectly to” attempts “to implicate Jews who do not accept messianic claims concerning Jesus as essentially murderous.”⁷⁸ Secondly, the reading from Acts supports the idea of Stephen as an “alter Christus”—a controlling theme of the day’s gospel reading, compatible with attempts to underscore the martyr’s singular privileges and preeminence.⁷⁹ Like the Synoptic Jesus, Stephen is brought to trial on the testimony of “false witnesses” who accuse him of blasphemy (Acts 6:13; cf. Mt. 26:60). Similarly, Stephen’s interrogation, like that of Jesus, also ends when he claims that the “Son of Man” will come on the “right hand of power,” throwing his opponents into a rage (Acts 7:56–59; cf. Mark 14:62–65; Matt. 26:64–68). Finally, Stephen’s dying words echo those of Jesus in Luke. Both figures commend their spirits to God (Acts 7:59; cf. Luke 23:46) and offer a prayer for the forgiveness of their executioners: “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do” (Acts 7:60; cf. Luke 23:34).⁸⁰

Psalm 20 LXX As its opening words demonstrate, Ps. 20 LXX is a royal psalm: (“O Lord, the king will delight in your power” [v. 2]). Consistent with this background, the Armenian Lectionary ordinarily appoints the psalm on the feasts of emperors—specifically, on the 19 January “commemoration of the Great King Theodosius” and the 22 May “commemoration of the Emperor Constantine.”⁸¹ Its incorporation into this set of readings, however, reflects the presence of the noun “crown” in its third verse, framing another wordplay on the name of “Stephen”: “Because you anticipated [the king] with blessings of kindness, / you set on his head a crown of precious stone” (ὅτι προέφθασας αὐτὸν ἐν εὐλογίαις χρηστότητος ἔθηκας ἐπὶ τὴν κεφαλὴν αὐτοῦ στέφανον ἐκ λίθου τιμίου; 21:3 LXX). In the original psalm, this verse refers to the divine conferral of kingly authority on the Davidic line. In the context of Stephen’s feast, however, the “crowning” should again be taken as a reference to the reward of the triumphant martyr. Although the motif of “crowning” has a special resonance on a celebration of Stephen, it was, in fact, a basic feature of all the late December feasts observed in Jerusalem. The motif is continued in at least one of the epistles appointed for each

⁷⁸ Matthews, Perfect Martyr, 25. ⁷⁹ On the martyr as “alter Christus” see Moss, Other Christs. ⁸⁰ A list of parallels appears in Pervo, Acts, 168. ⁸¹ AL 12, 56 (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:228, 336).

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of the next two days in the J ms. of the Armenian Lectionary.⁸² It appears, for instance, in the final verse of the Pauline epistle for the 28 December feast: “From now on there is reserved for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have longed for his appearing” (2 Tim. 4:8). The same image also occurs in the concluding verse of the reading from James, appointed for the 29 December feast: “Blessed is a man who perseveres under trial; for once he has been approved, he will receive the crown of life which the Lord has promised to those who love Him” (James 1:12).⁸³ The tight integration of the themes and motifs used in the 27–29 December cluster speaks to their perceived unity in the period. The closing feasts of the Jerusalem calendar were, in a manner of speaking, the “crowning” feasts of the year in which the church celebrated its greatest victors, beginning with Stephen himself. Subsequent verses of the Alleluia psalm detail other privileges bestowed upon the one “crowned,” each of which resonate with the image of the triumphant martyr in the afterlife (cf. Rev. 5:10). In Ps. 20:4 LXX, the psalmist portrays God granting the gift of “length of days forever and ever,” a line that can be read as the bestowal of immortality upon the martyr. The two couplets that follow similarly evoke the image of the martyr standing in celestial radiance, if not in the very presence of God: Great is his glory with your salvation; you will place upon him glory and magnificence, because you will give him blessing forever and ever; you will gladden him in joy with your face. (Ps. 20:4–6 LXX)

Read immediately after the reading from Acts 6–8, these verses provide a fitting epilogue to the account of Stephen’s death, envisioning his glory beyond the grave. Conversely, later segments of the hymn return to the motif of judgment first introduced in the antiphonal psalm. In these segments, however, the language and imagery employed to describe the punishment of those inclined to evil are considerably harsher than those used in Psalm 5: May your hand be found against all your enemies. May your right hand find all those who are hating you. You will set them as an oven of fire for the time of your appearance, O Lord. ⁸² Since the 28 and 29 December feasts are both joint feasts, they appoint two epistles—each dedicated to one of the figures commemorated on the day. Thus, the canon for the 29 December feast of Peter and Paul includes readings from 2 Pet. 1:12–19 and 2 Tim. 4:1–8, while the canon for the 29 December feast of James and John includes readings from James 1:1–12 (via confusion with James, the brother of the Lord), and 1 John 1:1–9 (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:370–2). P will remedy this confusion by replacing the lection from James 1:1–12 with the account of James, the son of Zebedee’s martyrdom in Acts 12 (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:372). ⁸³ Besides the “crown” imagery in v. 12, this reading features the epistle’s only reference to the name “James” (1:1).

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With your wrath you will confound them, and fire will devour them. You will destroy their fruit from the earth, and their seed from the sons of men, because they inclined evil things against you; they devised a will that they were not able to establish. (Ps. 20:9–12 LXX)

Here again, the lectionary seems to direct its readers towards the view that Stephen’s enemies remained liable to punishment. For certain ears, however, the claims that God will also destroy the “fruit” and “seed” of these “enemies” could have had a still darker resonance—suggesting that even later generations of Jews were subject to divine retribution for the death of Stephen.

John 12:24–26 If the reading from Acts 6:8–8:3 only implicitly draws parallels between the trials and deaths of Jesus and Stephen, the Gospel makes this association more direct: Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. The one who loves his or her life loses it, and the one who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor. (John 12:24–26)

In the short discourse in which it is embedded, the initial metaphor of the dying “grain of wheat” anticipates Jesus’ impending death (John 12:23–36). In the context of the day’s celebration, however, the metaphor is as easily applied to the martyr. Stephen’s death, like that of Jesus, “bears much fruit.” The passage’s focus on the martyr is still clearer in the verses that follow the initial metaphor. Those lines take up a set of discipleship logia familiar from Mark and the Double Tradition (Matthew), which affirm the one who truly follows Jesus will lose his or her life and “follow” Jesus into death (Mark 8:34–35; Matt 10:38–39; 16:24–25; Luke 9:23–24; 17:33). On the occasion of his feast, Stephen is precisely this ideal “servant,” who “hates his life in this world” and “follows” Jesus into a death like his master’s.⁸⁴

⁸⁴ The same emphasis on “following” Jesus, with its martyrological undertones intact, appears in the gospels appointed for the next two feasts. At the end of the gospel for the 28 December feast of Peter and Paul, Jesus instructs Peter to “follow” him to his death (John 21:17–19). Jesus repeats this charge in the last gospel of the year, read on the 29 December feast of James and John (John 21:21–23). The discipleship theme is so persistent in these two final gospels—each with clear links to the figures commemorated within them—that it almost certainly determined the gospel selection for the feast of

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The reward awaiting Stephen—a preoccupation of the psalms appointed for the feast—is also elaborated in the gospel. On the one hand, the promise that “the one who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life,” an expansion of the Markan promise of “life,” anticipates the bestowal of immortality upon Stephen. The concluding words of the gospel, in turn, point unambiguously to the vindication and glory of Stephen: “whoever serves me, the Father will honor.” In the context of the feast, that honor was in no small way mirrored and fulfilled in the city’s own festivities for the martyr.

5.5 Conclusion In his encomium for Stephen, Hesychius indicates that the city of Jerusalem celebrated “more numerous feasts” for the Protomartyr than other cities. The Armenian Lectionary clarifies which other days he had in mind—namely, the second day of the Epiphany octave and the third day of the Easter octave. These occasions were not “commemorations” of Stephen in a formal sense; they do not bear the title “commemoration” in the Armenian Lectionary. But they seem to have functioned as a near equivalent. They were days in which the church of Jerusalem assembled at the shrine of its first martyr, and in the midst of its highest liturgical celebrations, foregrounded the memory of its special symbol and patron. In this chapter, I have cast the emergence of these feasts as one of the most striking manifestations of the city’s intensifying devotion to Stephen and its attempts to position him as a patron for the city. Indeed, in the same passage as he introduces these feasts, Hesychius anchors their celebration in the intimate relationship between a patron martyr and the city of his birth. “It is we who rightly owe [Stephen] more numerous feasts,” he insists, “because he is a citizen of the Cross, a relative of Bethlehem.”⁸⁵ Whatever the significance of the feasts to the residents of Jerusalem, however, one must recall that the city’s stational liturgy was designed even primarily with the pilgrim in mind. By celebrating Stephen on Epiphany and Easter, the church of Jerusalem did not merely reaffirm its special relationship with Christianity’s first martyr, it proclaimed it to the masses of visitors already flooding the city during those special seasons. And in lections and hymns, homilies and extemporaneous remarks, visitors came face to face with a Stephen adapted to the city’s own projects: Jerusalem’s Stephen.

Stephen as well. Once again, we are confronted with a tight integration of the themes and motifs in the 27–29 December cluster—an integration that suggests these lectionary entries were developed simultaneously and regarded as a unit by the residents of Jerusalem. ⁸⁵ Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 2 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:328; Eng. tr., Allen et al, Let Us Die, 196).

6 A Very Great Sanctuary The spouse of Theodosius . . . raised up a very great sanctuary of Stephen, the first deacon and martyr, outstanding in size and beauty, not one stade distant from Jerusalem. Evagrius Scholasticus¹ The multiplication of the city’s feasts for Stephen is a useful index for the martyr’s rising star in fifth-century Jerusalem, but it is not the only such measure. At the same time as the Jerusalem calendar was expanding to accommodate new celebrations of the Protomartyr, new local centers for his cult were also emerging throughout the city, each claiming portions of the relics discovered in 415. By the mid-fifth century, these centers include not only the Hagia Sion church, where the relics were first deposited, but at least three others: two oratories constructed by Melania the Younger on the Mount of Olives, and a Church of St. Stephen on the purported site of his death, financed by the empress Eudocia. Other writers have explored the emergence of these shrines through the lenses of individual piety and euergetism—that is, as fruits of Melania’s and Eudocia’s personal devotion to Stephen and their desire to gain symbolic capital through sponsorship of his cult.² But it is also possible to read these shrines—especially Eudocia’s—as evidence of the local church’s promotion of the Protomartyr’s memory. Although Eudocia financed the basilica, sources of the period suggest that the lead initiative for the project came from Juvenal, the city’s bishop from c.422 to 458. That basilica, in turn, served an important public function for the city as the dedicated station for the city’s feasts of Stephen through parts of the fifth century. The involvement of individual donors in its construction, then, cannot eclipse the structure’s local character and significance. As David Frankfurter writes, “by the fifth century, saints’ shrines, often in the form of great basilicas, had become objects of civic identity.”³ As they displayed a community’s connection and devotion to the particular figures for which they were erected, these structures condensed ideas of local particularity, indicating which saints the city valued and claimed as special patrons. The relative importance of these saints, in turn, could be amplified by the relative grandeur of their

¹ Evagr., HE 1.22 (SC 542.566; Whitby, Ecclesiastical History, 52). ² Clark, “Claims on the Bones,” 141–56. ³ Frankfurter, Christianizing Egypt, 106.

The Cult of Stephen in Jerusalem: Inventing a Patron Martyr. Hugo Méndez, Oxford University Press. © Hugo Méndez 2022. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192846990.003.0007

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shrines, their prominence in the urban landscape, and even their ritual uses outside the feast of the martyr itself.⁴ Stephen’s importance to Jerusalem is evident, first, in the grandeur of his dedicated martyrion—a structure eclipsing every other saint shrine in proportions. As planned by Juvenal and elaborated by Eudocia, that basilica stood as “a precinct to rival that which the Constantinian builders had constructed around the Holy Sepulchre”—the city’s own cathedral church—embodying the Protomartyr’s local stature in its size and magnificence.⁵ The same edifice was also a preeminent hub of religious life in the city, anchoring “Jerusalem’s largest ecclesiastical complex of buildings” into the early sixth century.⁶ Monks sought to pray there; the wealthy vied to be buried there. Stephen’s unique prominence in local life was no less evident in the prominence of that church—a prominence most clearly represented in its position in the Paschal octave. Graced with an impressive basilica to its local patron, the church of Jerusalem moved quickly to integrate that structure—the city’s crown jewel— into its most important festal octave. The decision to include the martyrion in the week is remarkable enough. But the decision to give the martyrion the secondhighest position in that octave—above such stations as Sion, Golgotha, and the Eleona—speaks even more clearly to the grandeur of the facility, and by extension, to the status of the figure it honored. In a city renowned for its holy sites, Stephen’s church occupied a special position—one indicative of the Protomartyr’s preeminence over all other martyrs commemorated in Jerusalem.

6.1 New Centers of the Cult When the relics of Stephen arrived in Jerusalem in 415, they were first deposited in the church of Holy Sion. It is plausible that they were installed in the church’s diakonikon—a side chamber used for the storage of holy vessels and reliquaries in ancient Palestinian churches.⁷ Reports of their deposition in that chamber are late, however, and from less reliable sources.⁸ ⁴ Frankfurter, Christianizing Egypt, 106. ⁵ Hunt, Holy Land Pilgrimage, 242. ⁶ Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims, 318. ⁷ On the role of diakonika in Palestine, see Michel, “Furniture, Fixtures, and Fittings,” 581–606. ⁸ A Greek recension of the Revelatio Sancti Stephani (gr. C) indicates that the relics were first deposited in the structure’s diakonikon: “all the clergy, collected the . . . relics of Stephen and brought them to the diakonikon of Holy Zion, because Senator Alexander had promised to build his martyrion” (Revelatio gr. C, 9; Papadopoulos-Kerameus, Ἁνάλεκτα Ἰεροσολυμιτικῆς σταχυολογίας, 5:39–40; tr. mine; see also the condensed account of Arabic Vat. Ar. 155, f. 100v). One should be skeptical of Revelatio gr. C’s report in these lines, however, since it uncritically incorporates details from the account of Stephen’s Translatio to Constantinople (on this source, see introduction, Greek text, and Eng. tr. in Bovon and Bouvier “La translation des reliques”). The Translatio introduces the character of Alexander, describing how he constructed a martyrion for the relics of Stephen, and indicating that John of Jerusalem authorized the transfer of the relics of Stephen from Sion to that facility; as the story

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In the decades that followed, however, the bones of Stephen made their way to other sites in and around the city. Some of these secondary translations are not attested in the historical record, though we know of three, each connected to a structure dating to the 430s. Together with Sion, these new shrines formed part of an ever-growing network of local sites connected to the cult of Stephen.

Melania’s Oratories The first local structure other than Sion known to have housed a portion of Stephen’s relics was a women’s monastic oratory on the Mount of Olives, founded by Melania the Younger. According to Gerontius’ Vita Melaniae, Melania concluded a year of mourning for her mother by having “had a monastery built for herself . . . of ninety virgins.” In turn, she ordered an “oratory built in the monastery and . . . an altar erected in it, so that [the sisters] would always have the honor of participating in the holy mysteries”—a project completed by 431 or 432.⁹ Her wealth and status placed her in a position to acquire relics by various means, and indeed, when her first oratory was complete, Melania “placed in the oratory the relics of the holy martyrs . . . the prophet Zechariah, the holy protomartyr Stephen, the holy martyrs of Sebaste, and others, whose names God knows.”¹⁰ Given the Jerusalem extraction of the first two figures, these relics were likely gifted to Melania by the city’s bishop, Juvenal. This first martyrion was soon followed by a second, also located on the Mount of Olives. Only three years after establishing her women’s monastery, Melania moved forward with plans to establish a men’s monastery to support prayer at the Eleona church—the very monastery to which Gerontius himself was attached. In turn, to provide for the needs of this second community, Melania sought funds for continues, Alexander is laid to rest beside the relics of Stephen, but his wife—attempting to remove his remains—accidentally take the remains of Stephen instead (Translatio, 1–7 [Bovon and Bouvier, “La translation des reliques,” 25–8]). Despits its popularity, however, the Translatio is replete with historical anachronisms and dubious details. For example, (a) the text tries to situate the construction of this martyrion in the first half of the fourth century—long before it could have occurred; (b) it incorrectly assumes that the episcopacies of Cyril of Jerusalem and Eusebius of Nicomedia followed the episcopacy of John II of Jerusalem; and (c) the martyrion it mentions is not mentioned in fifth-century sources, and there is no evidence of a transfer of the relics from Sion under John II, making the shrine’s existence highly dubious (Bovon and Bouvier, “La translation des reliques,” 17–20, 22–3). More likely, both the character of Alexander and the martyrion are inventions to to support the text’s central claim—namely, that the relics of Stephen in Jerusalem now reside in Constantinople. Together, they explain how an uninformed layperson—Alexander’s widow—could have had the appropriate access to the relics to accidentally remove them. Since Revelatio gr. C is dependent on this late and untrustworthy source, however, its memory of the deposition of Stephen within the diakonikon of Sion should also not be accepted uncritically. That detail may reflect knowledge of the diakonikon of Sion’s significance in the later period of local ritual life represented by the Georgian Lectionary (GL 42 [CSCO 188.9/189.15]). ⁹ Geront., v. Mel. 41, 48 (SC 90.204, 206, 219; Eng. tr., Clark, Life of Melania, 54–5, 60). ¹⁰ Geront., v. Mel. 48 (SC 90.219; Eng. tr., Clark, Life of Melania, 60–1).

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the construction of a “small martyrion” or “holy oratory” for the dedicated use of the male monks, parallel to the oratory she placed in the women’s monastery.¹¹ Melania obtained funds for this edifice from the empress Eudocia, who was quickly becoming a significant patron of constructions in and around the city during the reign of Juvenal.¹² Finding relics to place in the new facility, by contrast, posed less of a challenge. Melania had only to transfer some, if not all, the relics of the first oratory into the second. That translation occurred in May 439. According to the Vita Petri Hiberi, Melania timed the depositio to coincide with a visit to the city by Eudocia and Cyril of Alexandria: . . . [O]n the sixteenth of [May], persuaded by the holy Melania, [Cyril] also conducted the deposition of the holy Persian martyrs and of the forty martyrs with them on the Mount of Olives in the venerable temple that was furnished splendidly by Empress Eudocia herself, as the inscription incised on the wall there declares.¹³

Although the passage mentions only the translation of the Forty Martyrs into the martyrion, the relics of Stephen were probably translated in the same liturgy.¹⁴ In its final chapters, the Vita Melaniae depicts Melania urging Gerontius to accompany her “to the martyrion of the men’s monastery in order that we may pray, for there too are laid away the relics of Saint Stephen.”¹⁵

Martyria of St. Stephen? Since the turn of the twentieth century, scholars have described Melania’s oratories as dedicated shrines “of St. Stephen”—that is, as martyria formally consecrated to Stephen as a titular saint.¹⁶ This oft-repeated claim deserves more scrutiny than it has received. Although both shrines were known as martyria in the fifth century, and although both contained portions of the relics of St. Stephen, our earliest witnesses do not indicate a special, let alone exclusive, devotion to the Protomartyr at either. As we have seen, our earliest witness—the ¹¹ Geront., v. Mel. 57–8 (SC 90.240, 242, 244; Eng. tr., Clark, Life of Melania, 69–71). This monastery may correspond to “the monastery building of Presbyter Peter” (GL 1295 [CSCO 204.53/205.44]). ¹² John Rufus, v. Petr. Hib., 49 (Horn and Phenix, John Rufus, 64–8). ¹³ John Rufus, v. Petr. Hib., 49 (Horn and Phenix, John Rufus, 64–8). ¹⁴ Elizabeth Clark takes the omission of any mention of the relics of Stephen as a move to efface Melania’s own claim to the relics (“Claims on the Bones,” 155). ¹⁵ Geront., v. Mel. 64 (SC 90.258; Eng. tr., Clark, Life of Melania, 76). ¹⁶ For instance: “l’oratoire Saint-Etienne . . . qui se trouvait dans le monastère d’hommes de sainte Mélanie . . . l’oratoire Saint-Etienne du monastère de femmes” (Vailhé, “Églises Saint-Etienne,” 85); Leclercq (DACL 5.649, no. 4); “martyrium for Stephen” (Clark, “Claims on the Bones” 155); “martyria of St. Stephen” (Shalev-Hurvitz, Holy Sites Encircled, 18–19); “martyrium of Stephen the Protomartyr” (Chin, “Apostles and Artiocrats,” 30).

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Vita Melaniae—lists Zechariah’s name above that of Stephen and the Forty Martyrs when cataloguing the relic possessions of the women’s oratory.¹⁷ This ordering hardly suggests that the oratory was primarily consecrated to Stephen. More likely, the shrine was a common martyrion, connected to the cults of all and any martyrs who were deposited within it. The men’s oratory was probably a martyrion of the same kind. The Vita Petri Hiberi fails to register any connection between the oratory and Stephen, but only a connection to the cult of the Forty Martyrs.¹⁸ The Vita Melaniae, in turn, notes that “relics of Saint Stephen” were there, but depicts Melania praying to all “the holy martyrs” and “holy athletes” there during her final visit to the site, suggesting that the oratory hosted the cults of multiple martyrs.¹⁹ The Greek Vita Melaniae does record Melania keeping vigil at “the martyrion of the holy protomartyr Stephen” on 26 December 439.²⁰ This shrine, however, should not be identified with either of the two oratories she built on the Mount of Olives.²¹ The shrine is certainly not the women’s oratory; the text expressly envisions Melania leaving the women’s monastery to go to this martyrion (“ἀπήλθομεν ἐν τῷ μαρτυρίῳ τοῦ ἁγίου πρωτομάρτυρος Στεφάνου”), before returning again to the monastery (“ὑπεστρέψαμεν ἐν τῷ μοναστηρίῳ”).²² By contrast, an earlier chapter of the same work explicitly locates the women’s oratory within the women’s monastery (“ἐν τῷ μοναστηρίῳ”).²³ Moreover, the aforementioned martyrion cannot be the men’s oratory since the two are distinguished in the same passage. Upon returning from “the martyrion of the holy Protomartyr Stephen,” Melania expressly requests to visit “the martyrion of the men’s monastery . . . for there too are laid away the relics of Saint Stephen [καὶ γὰρ ἀπόκεινται καὶ ἐκεῖ λείψανα τοῦ ἁγίου Στεφάνου”].”²⁴ In this case, the Vita Melaniae presupposes a church in Jerusalem that was known as “the martyrion of the holy Protomartyr Stephen” by the year 439, but which corresponds to neither of Melania’s structures. What church, then, did Melania visit on 26 December 439? The answer, it ¹⁷ Geront., v. Mel. 48 (SC 90.219; Eng. tr., Clark, Life of Melania, 60–1). ¹⁸ John Rufus, v. Petr. Hib., 49 (Horn and Phenix, John Rufus, 64–8). ¹⁹ Geront., v. Mel. 64 (SC 90.258; Eng. tr., Clark, Life of Melania, 76–7). Verhelst identifies this oratory with “the Stoa of St. Stephen” mentioned in the Georgian Lectionary (“Lieux de station,” 51–2), but this identification is speculative. The Stoa might as well be a segment of Eudocia’s church. ²⁰ Geront., v. Mel. 64 (SC 90.255–6; Eng. tr., Clark, Life of Melania, 76). ²¹ Milik argues in favor of the women’s oratory on the grounds that Melania did not observe the local rite of Jerusalem, and would have preferred to celebrate the liturgy in one of her own monasteries (Milik, “Topographie palestinienne I,” 559, no. 1). As Clark has argued, however, Melania’s attachment to the Roman rite has been overstated in the secondary literature, and it is entirely plausible—even probable—that she also attended public services in Jerusalem (Clark, Life of Melania, 119–29). Vailhé identifies the site in question with the diakonikon of Sion, but on the grounds that the Eudocian church was not yet completed by 460 (“Monastères et les églises,” 85–6). ²² Geront., v. Mel. 64 (SC 90.255–6; Eng. tr., Clark, Life of Melania, 76). ²³ Geront., v. Mel. 48 (SC 90.219; Eng. tr., Clark, Life of Melania, 60). ²⁴ Geront., v. Mel. 64 (SC 90.258; Eng. tr. Clark, Life of Melania, 76). As Gorce concludes, “l’expression semble bien indiquer qu’il s’agit pas du même edifice qu’au début du chapitre” (SC 90.258, n. 1).

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would appear, is the best-attested center of Stephen’s local cult through the period: the Church of St. Stephen, financed by Eudocia.

Church (Martyrion) of St. Stephen At the same time as Melania was constructing her oratories—that is, in the 430s— a still more prominent shrine for Stephen was rising to the immediate north of the city’s limits. As we saw in the last chapter, the Revelatio Sancti Stephani either invented or consolidated a tradition connecting the land immediately before the gate “which is to the north and leads to Kedar” to the death of Stephen.²⁵ Following the publication of the Revelatio, that tradition almost certainly drew pilgrims to the site in increasing numbers, motivating the construction of a liturgical venue to gather them. That venue—the basilica Church of St. Stephen—was the first shrine formally dedicated to St. Stephen in the city.²⁶ It is not entirely clear why the church of Jerusalem took some two decades to finally erect a dedicated martyrion for Stephen. After all, the city built a small shrine for the relics of James not long after their discovery, and cities such as Uzalis established smaller dedicated martyria for the relics of Stephen within a few years of the arrival of his relics to North Africa. One possibility is that local officials always envisioned erecting a monumental martyrion to Stephen, but had to wait a few years for the necessary funding to build such a structure and another few years for the construction. In the meantime, the community might have seen a strategic value in keeping the relics within a larger, more visible, and intramural space such as the Hagia Sion—either to spotlight the relics or to handle the masses of residents and pilgrims seeking access to them. The church might also have preferred the symbolic import of enshrining the relics at Sion in the meantime, since the space condensed important messages about the city’s antiquity and authority. From the extant evidence, it would appear that the initiative to erect such a martyrion came from local church leadership. Our oldest surviving reference to the basilica appears in a homily erroneously attributed to Basil of Seleucia but delivered by a contemporary of Juvenal’s.²⁷ That homily commends Jerusalem’s

²⁵ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A and B, 10 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 194–5). ²⁶ On the Church of St. Stephen, see Lagrange, Saint Étienne; Lagrange, “Sanctuaire de la lapidation,” 414–28; Vincent and Abel, Jérusalem nouvelle, 743–804; Maraval, Lieux saints, 266–7; Paul Devos, “L’année de la dédicace,” 265–78. ²⁷ As Honigmann notes, “the time of [the homily’s] composition cannot be fixed exactly” (“Juvenal of Jerusalem” 226), but the homily makes it clear that Juvenal “now [νῦν]” occupies the throne of James in Jerusalem (Ps.-Bas. Sel., Or. 42 [PG 85:469; translation mine]). Some scholars speculate that the homily was delivered in the presence of Juvenal (Honigmann, “Juvenal of Jerusalem,” 226–7, adapting a claim in Tillemont, Mémoires, 15:206).

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bishop for having “set up a church” in memory of Stephen and linked to the place of his stoning: The remains of the blessed are deposited, according to Stephen’s own will, before the walls of Jerusalem, where, stoned and suffering a death celebrated throughout the earth by illustrious praises, he was donned with the brilliant crown of martyrdom; Juvenal, who now adorns the glorious and illustrious throne of James, set up a church worthy of his memory, his labors, and his admirable struggles. . . .²⁸

To finance its construction, however, Juvenal would have required the benefaction of one or more wealthy civic patrons.²⁹ Various sources from the period indicate Juvenal found this support in the patronage of the empress Eudocia. In fact, the late fifth-century Vita Petri Hiberi—a source with anti-Chalcedonian leanings— writes the pro-Chalcedonian Juvenal out of the structure’s history, crediting it to the empress alone.³⁰ Even when describing the dedication of the structure, it indicates only the presence of Eudocia and Cyril of Alexandria at the solemn deposition of Stephen within the structure. According to the Vita Petri Hiberi, that deposition—the original dedication of the church—occurred on 15 May 439:³¹

²⁸ “᾽Αποτίθεται δὲ τοῦ μάκαρος το λείψανον κατὰ τὸ αὐτοῦ Στεφάνου θέλημα πρὸ τῶν τειχέων τῆς ῾Ιερουσαλήμ, ἔνθα λιθοβοληθείς και τὸν ἁπανταχοῦ τῆς οἰκουμένης βοώμενον ἐπιδόξως ὑπομείνας θάνατο ν, τοὺς λαμπροὺς τοῦ μαρτυρίου ἀνεδήσατο στεφάνους, ἐπαξίως τῆς ἐκείνου μνήμης και τῶν ἐκείνου πόνων καὶ τῶν εὐκλεεστέρων ἀγώνων, ἐκκλησίας οἰκοδομηθείσης ὐπὸ τοῦ νῦν τὸν ἔνδοξον καὶ περίβλεπτον θρόνον ᾽Ιακώβου διακοσμοῦντος Ἰουβεναλίου . . . ” (Ps.-Bas. Sel., Or. 42 [PG 85:469; Eng. tr. mine]). As Leclercq notes, the Greek “ἐκκλησίας οἰκοδομηθείσης” can be read as an indication the church was not yet completed, even if the construction had advanced beyond the stage at which the relics of Stephen were deposited within it, i.e., after 439 (DACL 5.653, no. 3). ²⁹ On euergertism in late ancient Rome, see Yasin, Saints and Church Spaces, 101–50. ³⁰ Hunt, Holy Land Pilgrimage, 231; Clark, “Claims on the Bones,” 144, n. 28, 153. ³¹ Devos, “L’année de la dédicace,” 265–79; so also Clark, “Claims on the Bones,” 153–5. This date falls within the episcopacy of Juvenal, agreeing with the testimony of Ps.-Basil of Seleucia (Or. 42 [PG 85:469]). Damien Labadie doubts that any construction on the site occurred in 439, insisting that Eudocia’s church did not rise until 460. To make his view work, Labadie argues (a) that the Vita Petri Hiberi’s dating of the church to Eudocia’s first visit in 439 is a hagiographic fiction (Labadie, L’invention du protomartyr Étienne, 244), and (b) that Ps.-Basil of Seleucia’s mentions of a church built in the time of Juvenal refer to a different structure. Specifically, Labadie revives the thesis that an early rival tradition placed St. Stephen’s martyrdom to the east of the city, in the Kidron valley, and he argues that Juvenal built a church marking this rival spot (see bibliography and discussion in L’invention du protomartyr Étienne, 227–31). Nevertheless, it is highly unlikely that the leadership of the church of Jerusalem would have honored a rival site for Stephen’s within a few years of the Revelatio Sancti Stephani’s clear and official endorsement of the site to the north of the city—let alone decades before the city’s investment in a massive shrine marking the northern spot. Also, any such church would have to be smaller and less significant than Eudocia’s, since no trace of such a structure appears in the Jerusalem lectionaries (though Verhelst [“Lieux saints I,” 45–6] suggests GL 1109 [CSCO 204.25/205.23]). PsBasil, however, implies that the church he has in mind was a large or impressive structure, praising it as “a church worthy of [Stephen’s] memory, his labors, and his admirable struggles” (Ps.-Bas. Sel., Or. 42 [PG 85:469; translation mine]). Lastly, it is not clear that an eastern shrine to Stephen existed near the Mount of Olives in the fifth century. John Rufus depicts a fifth-century woman frequenting the

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For when [Cyril] was persuaded by the believing and orthodox Empress Eudocia to come for the deposition of the precious bones of the glorious and all-praised Stephen, the first of the martyrs and the first of the deacons, and to conduct the consecration of the beautiful temple that she had built outside the northern gates of the Holy City, he gladly accepted the invitation. He came with a multitude of bishops from all of Egypt and magnificently conducted the deposition of the holy bones of the first of the martyrs on the fifteenth of the month of Iyor.³²

Even if Juvenal’s associations to the site were effaced in some later sources, the church was undoubtedly a successful means of “advancing the prestige of himself and his see.”³³ Through monumental constructions, “social relationships were cemented” and “status was achieved” for all involved parties.³⁴ As the patron of this building, Eudocia gained political and symbolic benefits from her investment—specifically, public recognition of her personal piety, continued commemoration at the structure, and local status and influence. In turn, local leaders received the prestige attached to local imperial investments in general and to monumental churches in particular. That prestige can be appreciated, to some extent, by the status of the guests on hand for the dedication. The consecration of the new church of Jerusalem was important enough to draw no less than the empress herself from Constantinople as well as a patriarchal retinue from Alexandria. This mutually-beneficial relationship did not end in 439. On the contrary, the church remained a focal point of cooperation between Eudocia, Juvenal, and the Jerusalem church for decades after. Following her banishment from Constantinople in 443, Eudocia returned to the city of Jerusalem and took up residency within it. During this second, longer stay, extending to her death in 460, the empress used her wealth to make even more dramatic investments in the original Church of St. Stephen, transforming it into the center of “Jerusalem’s

martyrion “of St. Stephen and St. John the Baptist” without clarifying the location he has in mind (e.g., Plerophories, 10 [PO 8.135]). This could be Eudocia’s basilica if one assumes the relics of John were eventually deposited there. If so, it makes sense why the narrative would draw out the site’s association with John the Baptist; in the story, the woman sees both Stephen and John in vision. Alternatively, the story may refer to another structure—perhaps a church dedicated to John, at which the relics of Stephen were deposited (Verhelst struggles to identify the location of various shrines to John mentioned in the Georgian Lectionary in “Lieux saints I,” 35–7, 45–6, 56). In the end, then, there is little reason to question the combined testimony of the Vita Petri Hiberi and Ps.-Basil of Seleucia that an impressive church stood outside the northern gates of the city in 439—nor, for that matter, the Vita Melaniae’s report that Melania left her monastery to visit a Martyrion of Stephen in December 439 (Geront., v. Mel. 64 [SC 90.255–6]). As Elizabeth Clark argues, any divergences or gaps in these reports “are perhaps best understood as relating to the diverse purposes of their authors, who wish to claim the glories of Stephen for their own candidates, or, at the very least, not to assign them to rival claimants” (“Claims on the Bones,” 154–5). ³² John Rufus, v. Petr. Hib., 49 (Horn and Phenix, John Rufus, 64–8). ³³ Hunt, Holy Land Pilgrimage, 231–2. ³⁴ Yasin, Saints and Church Spaces, 103.

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largest ecclesiastical complex of buildings.”³⁵ One such embellishment was the establishment of an adjacent “monastery of the holy protomartyr and first deacon Stephen.”³⁶ It is clear that this monastery was associated with the Church of St. Stephen since Eudocia placed it under the care of a monk named Gabrielius, later identified as the administrator of the church itself.³⁷ Eudocia also used her largesse to embellish the church itself. Curiously, the Life of Euthymius depicts Eudocia hurriedly dedicating a still unfinished “church of the holy protomartyr Stephen” at a date shortly before her own death—that is, well after 439: Journeying in haste to the holy city, she sent for the archbishop [Anastasius I], told him what the great Euthymious had said [of her impending death], and had the church of the holy protomartyr Stephen consecrated, although unfinished, on 15 June. . . . Four months after the consecration, piously disposed in a manner pleasing to God, she committed her spirit into the hands of God on 20 October of the fourteenth indiction [460].³⁸

Evidence of the same dedication appears in the Georgian Lectionary: 15 June. In [the suburb³⁹ in front of the city wall]. In the building of Queen Eudocia. In the Church of Saint Stephen, the deposition of Saint Stephen. . . .⁴⁰

This dedication, decades later than the one mentioned in the Vita Petri Hiberi, was probably a rededication of the basilica built under Juvenal—one that followed a significant renovation of the facility, including the addition of a crypt beneath it fitting for an imperial burial.⁴¹ Writing in the sixth century, the Piacenza pilgrim notes that “the Empress Eudocia herself . . . built the basilica and tomb of Stephen,

³⁵ Hunt, Holy Land Pilgrimage, 242. A similar claim appears in Heiming, “Orientalische Liturgie,” 410. M.-J. Lagrange believed that the structure built in 439 was only a small shrine and that work continued on the site for several more decades (“Le Lieu du martyre,” 468–71). But as Vailhé insists, “decorum and respect work against the explanation” (“Églises Saint-Etienne,” 85). Vincent and Abel, by contrast, argue that Eudocia financed the church in advance of her visit, and arrived for its first dedication in 439, but that she later embellished, expanded, or rebuilt parts of it in advance of its rededication in 460 (Jérusalem nouvelle, 747–8; see also Devos, “L’année de la dédicace,” 265–78). ³⁶ Cyr. S., v. Euthym., 30 (Schwartz, Kyrillos, 49; Price and Binns, Lives, 46). ³⁷ “Meanwhile, blessed Eudocia, summoning the brothers of the guardian of the Cross who were at the laura of the great Euthymius, had them ordained priests of the holy church of the Resurrection; taking Gabrielius under her wing, she made him superior of the venerable monastery of the holy protomartyr and first deacon Stephen. . . .” Cyr. S., v. Euthym., 30 (Schwartz, Kyrillos, 49; Price and Binns, Lives, 46). When Eudocia had “the church of the holy protomartyr Stephen consecrated,” Cyril writes, “she assigned to it a large income and set Gabrielius in charge of all the administration. . . .” (Cyr. S., v. Euthym., 35 [Schwartz, Kyrillos, 49; Price and Binns, Lives, 50]). ³⁸ Cyr. S., v. Euthym., 35 (Schwartz, Kyrillos, 54). ³⁹ So Garitte, Calendrier palestino-géorgien, 252; Milik, “Topographie palestinienne I,” 567. ⁴⁰ GL 1031 (204.15/205.16). ⁴¹ See argumentation in Vincent and Abel, Jérusalem nouvelle, 747–50.

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and her own tomb is next to Saint Stephen’s, with twenty paces between the two.”⁴² The Vita Petri Hiberi, in turn, specifies that these tombs were located beneath the basilica. In a dream vision, its titular character enters into “the Martyrion of St. Stephen” on his approach into the city and travels “down to the grotto” to venerate Stephen’s remains.⁴³ Eudocia’s tomb was almost certainly built during her second residency, after she determined that she would likely die and be buried in Jerusalem. The same may be true for Stephen’s tomb—hence the need for a second “deposition.” The renovation involved more than the introduction of a new crypt to the site, however. In all likelihood, it entailed a host of other enhancements to the structure, consolidating its position as one of the largest and most beautiful worship venues in the city. Evagrius calls the church the “very great sanctuary of Stephen the first deacon and martyr, outstanding in size and beauty.”⁴⁴ Another source from the pen of Cyril of Scythopolis—the Life of Sabas—speaks to the impressive size of the basilica. Describing a gathering of monks in the city, Cyril notes that “since no church could hold so great a congregation, it was decided that

⁴² Itin. Ant. Plac. 25 (CCSL 175.142; Eng. tr., Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims, 141). Other sources attesting Eudocia’s construction of the church include Mal., Chron. 358; (Whitby, Chronicon Paschale, 585); Theodosius, De situ terrae sanctae 8 (CCSL 175.18; Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims, 103). Evagr. HE, 1.22 (SC 542.566; Whitby, Ecclesiastical History, 5–3). ⁴³ “When he alone took me in this vision to the Holy City, in the same night in which he was about to depart, he first entered the Martyrion of St. Stephen, up-on which he happened [to come] first. And when he went down to the cave, he venerated his sarcophagus” (Rufus, v. Pet. Hib. 134 [Horn and Phenix, John Rufus, 196–7]). Breaking from the opinion of other scholars (e.g., Vincent and Abel, Jérusalem nouvelle, 762), Renoux reaches the incorrect conclusion that the “the Martyrion of St. Stephen” indicated in this passage is not Juvenal and Eudocia’s church but a church east of the city—specifically one of Melania’s oratories (Renoux, Codex arménien, 1:39, no. 33). Against this view, in the passage, Peter’s dream journey in question takes its origins, and finally concludes, in Beit Tafsha, some five miles north of the city (Rufus, v. Pet. Hib. 134 [Horn and Phenix, John Rufus, 196–7]). Given this point of origin, it makes perfect sense that Peter would encounter Juvenal and Eudocia’s church first among the holy sites. Since his path moves in a “circuit,” it is also unlikely that Melania’s constructions on the Mount of Olives are intended, since he visits the Mount of Olives midway through his journey, moving from “Gethsemane” eastward to the “holy places that [are in] its surroundings” of Gethsemane, the “Cenacle of the Disciples” on Olivet, and the Holy Ascension. Peter would have encountered Melania’s constructions during this segment of his journey. The presence of a grotto at the Eudocian church was confirmed by excavations in the late nineteenth century (Lagrange, Saint Etienne, 129–30). Also problematic is Labadie’s claim that the “the Martyrion of St. Stephen” is probably the diakonikon of Sion (L’invention du protomartyr Étienne, 217–19). Labadie insists that Peter the Iberian first visits sites within the walls of the city before moving to the extramural sites, so that the “Martyrion” must be a church located within the city. In fact, although Peter’s pilgrimage circuit leaves the city, it ends with the churches of Siloam and Sion, which were located within the city’s Eudocian walls (Rufus, v. Pet. Hib. 134 [Horn and Phenix, John Rufus, 196–7]). It is also worth noting that the Sion church is already represented later in the itinerary, suggesting Peter has not yet approached it—let alone entered it—at the beginning of his dream. Thirdly, the route Labadie envisions would confusingly make it so that Peter first comes to a church on the opposite side of the city from his natural, southward route. Lastly, Labadie’s claim relies on the untenable claim that the Eudocian basilica could not be and “is never called a martyrion in ancient sources” (L’invention du protomartyr Étienne, 219). ⁴⁴ Evagr., HE 1.22 (SC 542.566; Eng. tr., Whitby, Ecclesiastical History, 52).

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all should assemble at the church of the holy protomartyr Stephen, which was capacious enough to receive the multitude.”⁴⁵ Later excavations at the site by Dominicans have confirmed the grandeur of Eudocia’s church. Those excavations uncovered the remains of a three-aisled basilica 38 m. long and 19.5 m. wide, a large annex to the north, and an atrium with 26 m. sides towards the west. A great cavity beneath the basilica, later repurposed as a quarry and cistern, evidently corresponds to the crypt where the relics of Stephen were deposited. Further to the west, excavators discovered another large chamber extending the width of the atrium, positioned at the correct distance to correspond to Eudocia’s own tomb from descriptions in the diary of the Piacenza pilgrim.⁴⁶ No less impressive is the evidence of the church’s opulence recovered at the site, including extensive mosaic flooring, large column capitals, and a white marble chancel.⁴⁷ In its time, the church was far and away the city’s most impressive and visible martyr shrine—a fitting tribute to a figure of special local significance. The visibility of the church was only enhanced by its geographical position near an earlier incarnation of the present-day Damascus Gate. In the fifth century, that gate represented the primary entrance into Jerusalem and the point of origin for the city’s two most important roads: the Cardo Maximus, the city’s primary north–south axis, and the Cardo Minimus, running along the western side of the Temple Mount. It was also host to two monumental constructions dating to the time of emperor Hadrian. The first was a triple triumphal arch, opening into a semicircular court; the second was a towering column, positioned at the center of the court. Standing near these constructions and no less monumental in its scale, the Church of St. Stephen afforded its titular a visibility worthy of a local patron saint. It was, in essence, the gateway to the city, positioned in such a way as to greet the thousands of pilgrims approaching the city.⁴⁸

Other Venues Besides the above three venues, other shrines in the vicinity of the city came to host portions of the relics. The much later Georgian Lectionary records an 18 July “deposition of Saint Stephen, John the Baptist, the Prophet Zechariah, and the holy martyrs Phocas and Tarachius, Probus, and Andronicus” on “the road to Bethlehem, at the Tomb of Rachel.”⁴⁹ That deposition might have coincided ⁴⁵ Cyr. S., v. Sab., 56 (Schwartz, Kyrillos, 151; Price and Binns, Lives, 161). ⁴⁶ The distance is indicated in Itin. Ant. Plac. 25 (CCSL 175.142). ⁴⁷ Discussed in Lagrange, Saint Etienne, 105–38; Vincent and Abel, Jérusalem nouvelle, 766–804. ⁴⁸ Compare the association of Stephen with gates in other cities, as noted in Malmberg, “Triumphal Arches.” ⁴⁹ GL 1096 (CSCO 204.24/205.22).

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with the dedication of a church on the site—a church commonly dated to the fifth century.⁵⁰ Other depositions involving Stephen’s relics appear in the same source, though these are even more difficult to identify with certainty.⁵¹

6.2 The Setting of the Feasts of Stephen In the face of so many centers for the cult of Stephen in fifth-century Jerusalem, we are confronted with a new set of questions. How did each of these structures function within that cult? Which served as the venue(s) for Stephen’s feasts in the mid-fifth century? And how were these individual facilities incorporated into the public worship of the city more generally? Here again, we will find important clues in Hesychius’ encomium for Stephen and the surviving recensions of the Armenian Lectionary. Together, these sources underscore the importance of Juvenal and Eudocia’s basilica not only within local devotion to Stephen but within the broader ritual life of the Jerusalem church.

Hesychius The only homily of Hesychius to clarify the use of the above shrines is, not surprisingly, his encomium for Stephen. In the same paragraph as he depicts the residents of Jerusalem celebrating “more numerous feasts” for Stephen, Hesychius indicates that the residents of Jerusalem “frequently” celebrated all of these feasts at a single site—one he figuratively calls Stephen’s “bridal chamber” or “winepress”: But it is we who owe [Stephen] more numerous feasts. . . . This explains the frequency of the festal spectacles we hold in his honor. And we often put crowns on his bridal chamber, we frequently go up leaping for joy to his wine-press, and we sing a marriage hymn as we say the words of the harvest song: “Lord, you have crowned us with the shield of your favor.”⁵²

We can be certain that the “bridal chamber” Hesychius mentions was a specific site in or near the city—and not the city as a whole—because the residents of Jerusalem must “go up” to this spot. Aubineau, following Renoux, assumes that ⁵⁰ Noting “the presence of the relics of Stephen on the one hand” and the proximity of the tomb of Rachel to the Kathisma church, built c.456, Verhelst identifies the church as a Eudocian church construction (“Lieux saints II,” 271). ⁵¹ GL 1067, 1078, 1109 (CSCO 204.20/205.19, 204.21/205.20, 204.25/205.23). ⁵² Hesych. H., Hom. 9, In S. Stephanum 2–3 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:328–31; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 196).

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the verb “go up” was used exclusively of the ascent to the Sion hill “in the language of a fifth-century resident of Jerusalem” and concludes that the homily must have been delivered “at the Hagia Sion.”⁵³ This is simply incorrect, however. On the contrary, several rubrics in the Armenian Lectionary instruct the church to “go up” to other sites in and around the city, including the Eleona church and the Constantinian Martyrion in the Holy Sepulchre complex.⁵⁴ Remarkably, no entry in the Armenian Lectionary applies the same language to the journey to Hagia Sion, indicating that the expression was not consistently used of that ascent. Instead, stronger clues as to the identity of the site are implicit in the images Hesychius applies to it—both agricultural (“wine-press,” place of the “harvest song”) and nuptial (“bridal chamber”). Individually and collectively, these images cast the site in question as the purported place of Stephen’s martyrdom. The image of the “wine-press,” for instance, imagines the site as the place where Stephen was cut down and his blood was figuratively pressed out like wine from grapes—that is, the place of his death.⁵⁵ This detail coheres with Hesychius’ claim earlier in the same homily that the residents of Jerusalem stood on the very “spot” on which Stephen had been killed: “in this spot [Stephen] had his sacrificial altar . . . from this spot, he was taken up into heaven, and left us to go to Christ.”⁵⁶ Similar things can be said of Hesychius’ reference to the site as Stephen’s “bridal chamber.” In ancient Christianity, bridal chambers served as the site for rituals associated with marriage—most especially the crowning of the couple.⁵⁷ By calling the church Stephen’s “bridal chamber,” Hesychius casts the site as the actual place of Stephen’s own crowning in martyrdom—that is, the place of his death.⁵⁸ Of course, locals identified one, and only one, local site with the place of Stephen’s martyrdom in the fifth century—namely, the area immediately north ⁵³ Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:323; Renoux, Codex arménien, 1:38–9. ⁵⁴ “They ascend the Mount of Olives” (AL 34bis, 39ter, 45bis [Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:258, 268, 312]) and “they ascend to the Holy Martyrium” (44bis [Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:296]). ⁵⁵ Aubineau’s (Homélies festales, 323–4) claim that the same metaphor suits any “place where the relics of Protomartyr Stephen are revered”—including the diakonikon of the Sion church—fails to impress. Rather, the image points us to the place in which Stephen’s death actually occurred. As Aubineau (Ibid., 323) notes, Hesychius expressly links the image of pressing wine to “the idea of bloody torture” in other writings—for instance, a commentary on Ps. 83 included wrongly attributed to Chrysostom: “the presses, we have said, are the mysteries of the sufferings of Christ, as he has accomplished them by leaping and trampling the press” (In Psalmos 55.1 [PG 55.735]). ⁵⁶ Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 2 (Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:328; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 196). Labadie makes a confused attempt to understand every part of the saying as referring to a different site in Jerusalem (L’invention du protomartyr Étienne, 228). Tellingly, however, he only offers identifications for Stephen’s “sacrificial altar” and the “bema of his blessing,” omitting “the field of his teaching” and “the theatre of his eloquence” in the complete quote (Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 2 [Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:328; Eng. tr., Let Us Die, 196]). In fact, Hesychius is following rhetorical convention by stringing metaphors for one and the same object—the site of Stephen’s martyrdom (see the same device in Hesych. H. hom. 9, In S. Stephanum, 4 [Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:331; Eng. tr., Allen et al., Let Us Die, 196]). ⁵⁷ Radle, “Byzantine Marriage Rites,” 142–8. ⁵⁸ Alternatively, Aubineau interprets “nuptial canopy” (παστάδα) as a term appropriate for a tomb of Stephen–an interpretation which, in any case, also fits Eudocia’s church.

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of the present-day Damascus Gate.⁵⁹ That site stood on an elevated plane to which the residents of Jerusalem would ordinarily have to “go up” from locations in and around the city—a site comparable in elevation (776 m.) to the Sion church (774 m.). Hesychius’ homily, then, must presuppose the only liturgical venue known to have occupied the site: Eudocia’s church. Once dedicated, that site served as the station for not only Stephen’s dedicated commemoration—the occasion of Hesychius’ own homily—but all of Stephen’s “more numerous feasts”: Epiphany II Bright Tuesday 26/27 December

*Church of St. Stephen *Church of St. Stephen Church of St. Stephen

This pattern speaks to the dramatic impact of the Juvenal and Eudocia’s church on the cult of Stephen. Immediately upon its consecration, or within a few years of that event, the church became the center of all public devotion to the Protomartyr in Jerusalem, especially on his dedicated celebrations. Since Hesychius speaks of these visits as an established pattern of local worship (“frequently . . . we go up”), his encomium for Stephen must postdate the dedication of the Eudocian church by several years. A late date for the homily is also suggested by the evidence that the Bright Tuesday celebration of Stephen—one of the “more numerous feasts” of Stephen—emerged after 456. In this case, we should date Hesychius’ homily to the late 450s or 460s—that is, to the very end of Hesychius’ life.⁶⁰

The Armenian Lectionary Since the homilies of Hesychius show numerous points of contact with the Armenian Lectionary, one might expect to find a similar distribution of stations in that source. In fact, the extant versions of the Armenian Lectionary attest a station for only two of the three feasts; none designate a station for the 27 December commemoration of Stephen:⁶¹ Epiphany II Bright Tuesday 27 December

“at the Martyrion of St. Stephen” “at the Holy Martyrion of the Protomartyr Stephen” —

⁵⁹ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani A, 10 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 194). ⁶⁰ On the problems in dating Hesychius’ death, see Van Hoof, Manafis, and Van Nuffelen, “Hesychius of Jerusalem,” 505–11. ⁶¹ AL 3, 14, 47 (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:216–17, 230–1, 314–15).

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The first two entries apparently envision the same station despite referring to the site by slightly different titles; variations of this kind are typical in the Armenian Lectionary.⁶² The same source uses a third variation—“the Holy Martyrion of Saint Stephen”—when identifying the venue for the 9 March feast of the Forty Saints, further confirming that the differences between these names are only incidental.⁶³ So which church does the Armenian Lectionary have in mind? For much of the twentieth century, scholars assumed that the entry referred to Eudocia’s church as a matter of course. The latter edifice, after all, is expressly called the “Martyrion of St. Stephen” in several late ancient sources. On these grounds, the same scholars refused to date the Armenian Lectionary itself earlier than 439, the year of the church’s dedication.⁶⁴ This earlier consensus, however, collapsed with the publication of Renoux’s critical edition of the source. In the first volume of that study, Renoux argues that the title “Martyrion of St. Stephen” could have applied to any edifice or chamber containing a relic of Stephen, whatever its size.⁶⁵ In this case, other sites in and around the city would be no less plausible candidates for the “Martyrion of St. Stephen” in the Armenian Lectionary, and the identity of the station would have to be determined on different grounds. Renoux finds these alternative grounds in the station’s use as the site of the feast for the Forty Martyrs of Sebaste, celebrated in March: 9 March. Commemoration of the Forty Saints. [J, E: They gather at the Holy Martyrion of Saint Stephen,] and the same canon is performed, and the acts of their martyrdom.⁶⁶

According to Renoux, this rubric does not envision a celebration at the Church of St. Stephen since “all references to the relics contained in the Martyrion to the north of Jerusalem from the fifth century indicate only the relics of the Protomartyr, which alone must have been there.”⁶⁷ In this case, he reasons, the “Martyrion of St. Stephen” must correspond to a different site—that is, to the diakonikon of Sion.⁶⁸

⁶² Compare “Holy Golgotha” (8 et al.) to “Holy Cross” (39 in J, P) (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:220–1, 268–9); “Holy Mount of Olives” (6 et al.) to “Mount of Olives” (e.g., 34bis et al.) (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:218–19, 258–9); “Holy Martyrion in the City” (2 et al.) to “Holy Martyrion” (39 et al.) (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:214–15, 268–9). ⁶³ AL 14 (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:230). ⁶⁴ So Heiming, “Orientalische Liturgie,” 409–11; Kretschmar, “Frühe Geschichte,” 39–40. Baumstark argued for a date after 460 on the assumption that the church was actually built and not merely rededicated that year (Baumstark, Nichtevangelische, 139). A comprehensive summary of previous proposals for the date of AL appears in Renoux, Codex arménien, 1:169–71. ⁶⁵ Renoux, Codex arménien, 1:37–8. ⁶⁶ AL 14 (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:231). ⁶⁷ Renoux, Codex arménien, 1:36. ⁶⁸ Renoux, Codex arménien, 1:38.

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Although Renoux’s arguments have been positively received by most subsequent scholars, they rest on dubious premises. First, material evidence exists of other relics at Eudocia’s basilica besides those of Stephen. A white marble plaque fragment recovered in the immediate vicinity of the church indicates that the empress arranged the deposition of various saints within the edifice: [+ Τά]δ’ ὀστ[ᾶ τὰ τίμια] |[ἃ ἦ]̣γεν τό[δε ἡ σεμνὴ] | [Ε]ὐδοκία Σ[εβαστὴ] | τῶν ἐνδο[ξοτάτων | μαρτύρων [- -] | Καλλινίκου [- -] | Δομνίνου, Τ[- - -] | Θέκλης, κ[αὶ τῶν σὺν] | αὐτοῖς ἁγί[ων]. “These precious bones which the venerable Eudocia Augusta brought here (are those) of the most glorious martyrs . . . Callinicus, . . . , Domninus, . . . , Thecla and [those] saints [with] them.”⁶⁹

Although we do not know the original location and position of this fragment within the church, it clearly indicates that the relics of saints other than Stephen were present at the facility.⁷⁰ In this case, it is entirely possible that the relics of the Forty Martyrs were also deposited in the facility, if not in the same installation marked by the plaque then somewhere else in the church. The fact that no record exists of this deposition is not especially problematic. Our sources are simply too few and fragmentary to speak with certainty about what relics were, or were not, present in the facility. As a point of comparison, we might consider what we know of the relic possessions at Melania’s men’s oratory. The Vita Melaniae notes the presence of the relics of Stephen in the facility, but not those of the Forty Martyrs. By contrast, the Vita Petri Hiberi describes a deposition of the Forty Martyrs in the shrine but never mentions the presence of the bones of Stephen. If we possessed only one or the other source, we might arrive at very different conclusions concerning the oratory itself. And as it stands, even these two sources fail to mention the possible presence of other saints at the facility, including Zechariah, the only saint associated with the women’s oratory but never expressly associated with the men’s oratory. The church of Jerusalem was nothing if not liberal in the distribution of its relics—especially those of the Forty Martyrs. Tellingly, Renoux associates the relics with every other shrine he identifies as a “Martyrion of Saint Stephen” in the period: the diakonikon of Sion, Melania’s women’s oratory, and Melania’s ⁶⁹ Text and translation by Leah Di Segni (CIIP 1.816 [pp. 127–8]), corrected in lines 8–9 following M. Bernard Flusin (“Christianisme yzantine,” 300) and Julien Aliquot (“Inscriptions de Jérusalem,” 427). (By contrast, Di Segni renders the last two lines “Θέκλης, [καὶ - -]|Aὐτοῖς ἁγί[οις δόξα],” that is, “Thecla and . . . Glory be to these saints”). Flusin and Aliquot’s finds support in a similar sixth-century inscription from the Church of St. George in Sakkaia/Maximianopolis: “+ Οἶκος ἁγίων ἀθλοφόρων μαρτύρων Γεωργίου καὶ τῶν σὺν αὐτῷ ἁγίων,” that is, “+ The house of the holy prize-winning martyrs: George and the saints with him” (Meimaris, Kritikakou, and Bougia, Chronological Systems, 326). ⁷⁰ Di Segni speculates that the plaque and relics were installed at the altar sometime before the redeposition of Stephen’s relics on 15 June 460 (CIIP 1.816 [pp. 127–8]).

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men’s oratory. The Georgian Lectionary does not attest the deposition of the relics at these facilities, but it incorporates memorials for some others. It includes, for instance, a commemoration for the Forty Saints at the Anastasis (11 July), as well as a “deposition of the Forty Martyrs” “in the monastery building of Presbyter Peter” (13 October).⁷¹ Most strikingly of all, the Georgian Lectionary incorporates a memorial for the “deposition of Isaiah, the Prophet Zechariah, the three youths Ananias, Azarias, and Misael, and the Forty Saints” at a dedicated martyrion for Isaiah constructed by Juvenal (25 August).⁷² If the relics of the Forty Martyrs were installed in the dedicated martyrion of one saint, they might as well have been installed at the Martyrion of Stephen north of the city, particularly if the cults of Stephen and the Forty were linked at other sites. The lack of hard evidence linking the Forty Martyrs to Juvenal and Eudocia’s church is tolerable for yet another reason—specifically, we have no more evidence for their presence at the diakonikon of Sion. Renoux only assumes that the Forty Martyrs were enshrined at the diakonikon, arguing that new relics “were preserved in the church of Hagia Sion before they were deposited in a sanctuary dedicated to them.”⁷³ In defense of this claim, he cites two examples: the invention of James, Zechariah, and Simeon in 351 and the invention of Stephen in 415.⁷⁴ But both Stephen and James had strong connections to Sion; the enshrinement of their relics at that site might, then, have simply reflected their associations with the church. This is, in fact, exactly what the Revelatio Sancti Stephani suggests when it claims that the residents of Jerusalem “carried the relics of most blessed Stephen to the holy church of Sion where he had been ordained archdeacon.”⁷⁵ To claim that all relics introduced into the city passed through Sion first, including those of the Forty Martyrs, presses our limited evidence too far. We know that other churches in the city had impressive stores of relics. In this case, we have no reason to think that all relics introduced into the city passed through Sion first.⁷⁶ Beyond the weaknesses of Renoux’s individual arguments, we have one last reason to be skeptical of his identification of the Sion diakonikon with the Martyrion of St. Stephen. Simply put, we have no evidence that the church of Jerusalem considered the diakonikon of the Sion church a distinct station from Sion itself in the mid-fifth century. That interpretation rests on late evidence— specifically that of the Georgian Lectionary, which locates the 27 December “Commemoration of Saint Stephen” “in Sion, in the diakonikon.”⁷⁷ But how far back can we retroject this stational choice? A growing consensus recognizes that

⁷¹ GL 1085, 1295 (CSCO 204.22/205.21, 204.53/205.44). ⁷² GL 1295 (CSCO, 204.53/205.44). On this church, see Milik, “Topographie palestinienne II” 364–6. ⁷³ Renoux, Codex arménien, 1:37. ⁷⁴ Renoux, Codex arménien, 1:37–8. ⁷⁵ Lucian, Revelatio Sancti Stephani B, 48 (Vanderlinden, “Revelatio,” 215, 217). ⁷⁶ The Vita Melaniae, for instance, notes the presence of “the relics of the holy martyrs” at “the Church of the Holy Sepulcher” (Geront., v. Mel. 59 [Clark, Life of Melania, 71]). ⁷⁷ GL 42 (CSCO 188.9/189.15).

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the Georgian Lectionary “basically reflects the liturgical situation of the 6th century,” especially in its stational indications.⁷⁸ In this case, the rubric in question may reflect the practice of the city even a century or more after the Armenian Lectionary and is hardly a secure guide to the ritual patterns of earlier periods. Renoux bypasses this problem by assuming a continuity of local practice up to the period represented in the Georgian Lectionary, drawing a direct line from Revelatio Sancti Stephani’s mention of a 26 December deposition liturgy at “the holy church of Sion” to the Georgian Lectionary’s later mention of annual celebrations “in the diakonikon” of Sion.⁷⁹ In Renoux’s view, the diakonikon served as the station for the feast of Stephen throughout the entire period, even though the 27 December entry of the Armenian Lectionary does not formally indicate a station.⁸⁰ But as we have already seen, Hesychius’ homily presupposes the use of Juvenal’s and Eudocia’s church as a venue for the 27 December feast of Stephen sometime around the 450s. In that case, it is impossible to claim a continuity between the rubric in the Georgian Lectionary and the practices of the Jerusalem church prior to 439. On the contrary, the stational choice in the Georgian Lectionary must represent a later reform of the celebration.⁸¹ Sometime after the mid-fifth century, the church of Jerusalem transferred the 27 December feast of Stephen from Eudocia’s Church of St. Stephen north of the city to the Sion church— and more specifically to its diakonikon. It is not hard to deduce the probable trigger for the shift. In the sixth century, pilgrim itineraries begin to locate “the stone(s) with which Stephen was killed” in the chamber.⁸² The stone would have been an attractive focus for a feast articulated around the death of Stephen, motivating a switch in venue. That switch could have occurred soon after the discovery and deposition of the relic—a relic possibly emerging in the later stages of Eudocia’s building program on the purported site of Stephen’s martyrdom (c.460).⁸³ Of course, if it is doubtful whether the church of Jerusalem used the Sion diakonikon as a distinct liturgical venue in the fifth century, the chamber is unlikely to be the “Martyrion of St. Stephen” mentioned in the Armenian Lectionary. And just as well; the case for identifying the “Martyrion of St. Stephen” with the church ⁷⁸ Frøyshov, “Georgian Witness,” 246–7. This dating reflects the fact that GL’s rubrics presuppose only those stations standing before the Sasanian sack of Jerusalem in 614 (Verhelst, “Lieux saints II,” 275). ⁷⁹ Renoux sometimes cites the Georgian Lectionary as a witness to Jerusalem practices at the end of the fifth century (e.g., in Codex arménien, 1:174)—a dangerous practice given the Georgian Lectionary’s inclusion of material from the sixth through eighth centuries as well (Codex arménien, 1:22–4; Frøyshov, “Georgian Witness,” 246–7). ⁸⁰ AL 72; see Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:369, no. 2. ⁸¹ Renoux (Codex arménien, 1:38; no. 30) attempts to find another continuity in the fact that Bright Tuesday is celebrated “in Sion” in the Georgian Lectionary (758 [CSCO 188.147/189.117]). Here again, however, the story is one of discontinuity, not continuity. The main church is referenced—not the diakonikon. In that case, we are already looking at a change in the stational pattern. ⁸² Itin. Ant. Plac. 22 (CCSL 175:140). The rationale for installing the relic at the Sion diakonikon is clear: the chamber was a fitting site to remember Stephen, who purportedly exercised a diaconal ministry at Sion. ⁸³ It is also likely some relics of Stephen remained at the site.

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built by Juvenal and Eudocia was always stronger. First, we have clear evidence that the Eudocian church was formally called the “Martyrion of Stephen” by locals in the fifth century—a name not attested for the Sion diakonikon at any time.⁸⁴ Secondly, the size and importance of the facility suit its prominent place in the Armenian Lectionary—especially in the Paschal octave where it is elevated above such sites as Hagia Sion, the Eleona, and Golgotha: Stations in the Paschal Octave (Armenian Lectionary) Celebration

Station

Pascha Second day Third day Fourth day Fifth day Sixth day Seventh day Eighth day

(Multiple) Holy Martyrion Martyrion of St. Stephen Hagia Sion Eleona Golgotha Anastasis (Multiple)

This prominent position suits a church more “outstanding in size and beauty” than others—one built to convey the significance of Stephen to the city. Finally, we know ⁸⁴ Renoux’s arguments against identifying Eudocia’s church with AL’s Martyrion of St. Stephen—a minor part of his discussion—are easily dismissed (Codex arménien, 1:39, no. 33). His first argument— that no evidence exists that Eudocia’s church was ever known as the “Martyrion of St. Stephen”—is rooted in a misidentification of the “Martyrion of St. Stephen” in the Vita Petri Hiberi with Melania’s oratories. Not only is this reading incorrect, Renoux’s argument cuts both ways since no evidence exists that the diakonikon of Sion was known by the same title. His second argument—that the church cannot be the “Martyrion of St. Stephen” since it is referred to merely as “St. Stephen” in the Georgian Lectionary—insists on a strict consistency in stational titles across sources, when even those within AL vary considerably (see no. 62). Other texts evince the continued application of this term to Eudocia’s church. For example, fragments of a Coptic panygeric to Stephen survive that relate various miracles associated with a “martyrion” or “place” of St. Stephen in Jerusalem (“Historia Stephani protomartyris”; critical Coptic text and French tr. in Labadie, “L’encomium copte”, 256–71). In part of the story, a thief loots the diakonikon of the “place of St. Stephen” but is miraculously brought to repentance by Stephen himself. Labadie misidentifies the diakonikon as the diakonikon of Sion, arguing, “there is only one Hagiopolite sanctuary whose diakonikon holds a singular place in the history of the cult of Stephen: it is the Holy Zion” (“L’encomium copte”, 247). The text is better understood as referring to the diakonikon of a dedicated shrine to St. Stephen, however, since it claims that the “place” in question “was built for [Stephen]”—something not true of the Sion diakonikon (Hist. Steph. Protomart., 1; Coptic text and French tr. in Labadie, “L’encomium copte,” 256, 262–3). As Suciu insists, then, “the author of the Sahidic text most probably refers to the basilica of Stephen the Protomartyr, erected by the empress Eudocia” (“Authorship of the Historia Stephanis,” 283). Labadie attempts to “disqualify” this hypothesis on the grounds that “the martyrion . . . cannot be the basilica to the north, because its construction began . . . years after the death of the bishop” (L’invention du protomartyr Étienne, 219). In fact, the panygeric—which is pseudepigraphic—contains several glaring anachronisms (Suciu, 283–7; Labadie, L’invention du protomartyr Étienne, 222–3; Labadie, “L’encomium copte” 251–2). The existence of the Eudocian church at the time of John II might as well be one of them, as Suciu assumes (“Authorship of the Historia Stephanis,” 284).

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that the church of Jerusalem used the facility as a station for all the feasts of Stephen in Hesychius’ lifetime. In this case, the mention of the “Martyrion of St. Stephen” in the Armenian Lectionary would represent a true continuity of practice with the ritual state of affairs cited in the near-contemporary sermons of Hesychius.

Another Station for Stephen? If we identify Eudocia’s church as the “Martyrion of St. Stephen,” then it is clear the church was used on Epiphany II and Bright Tuesday. But what about the 27 December feast for Stephen? The Armenian Lectionary, as we saw, does not specify a venue for this celebration. We might be inclined to place the liturgy at Juvenal and Eudocia’s church, especially since Hesychius knows that site as the venue for the feast. Was the station omitted because it was well known? Or was the stational indication lost through a scribal oversight or error? And if the latter, why is the station missing from all extant witnesses to the Armenian Lectionary? The lack of a station is somewhat less problematic when we realize that half of all saints’ feasts in the Armenian Lectionary also fail to name a station. This is especially true of those occurring between June and December; most—ten of fourteen—are not associated with a specific shrine in the city. This includes the two feasts most closely associated with Stephen’s own—namely, that of Paul and Peter and that of James and John: Martyr feasts in the Armenian Lectionary, June through December (J) Celebration

Station

10 June 14 June 2 July 6 July 1 Aug. 15 Aug.

“Deposition of the Prophet Zechariah” “of the Prophet Elias” “of the Ark of the Covenant” “Deposition of the Prophet Isaias” “of the Maccabees” “of Mary, the Theotokos”

23 Aug.

“of the apostle Thomas [J: and the other saints]” “of John the Baptist” “of the apostle Philip” “of the apostle Andrew” “of James and David” “of holy Stephen” “of Paul and Peter” [P: “Of Peter and Paul”] “of the apostle James and the evangelist John”

— — “at Kiriathiarim” — — “at the second [P: third] mile from Bethlehem” “at Bethpage”

19 Aug. 15 Nov. 30 Nov. 25 Dec. 27 Dec. 28 Dec. 29 Dec.

— — — “at Hagia Sion” — — —

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We cannot credit all of these missing stations being due to copyist omissions, as if a scribe simply forgot to record the station in each case. It is also difficult to imagine that these feasts were not centered on a particular celebration at a particular venue during the period. So where were these celebrations held? In his study of the Armenian Lectionary, Renoux speculates that the Anastasis— the octagonal church built over Jesus’ tomb in the Holy Sepulcure complex—might have been the venue for these feasts.⁸⁵ That source appoints the Anastasis for the 17 January feast of St. Anthony, “effectively the first feast of the sanctorale.”⁸⁶ Moreover, the earlier Itinerarium Egeriae prescribes that most weekday liturgies be held at the Anastasis. The one exception—the observance of a ninth-hour nonEucharistic liturgy at Sion on the fourth and sixth days of the week—was not observed if “a martyr’s day intervenes”; on those days, the residents of Jerusalem do not go to Sion.⁸⁷ Presumably, they went to the Anastasis. Aubineau supplements Renoux’s arguments with a third line of evidence. Among the homilies of Hesychius is a sermon for the feast of Andrew—one of the feasts lacking a stational rubric in the Armenian Lectionary. Remarkably, that homily presupposes a setting in the Anastasis, placing the encounter between the resurrected Jesus and the women who followed him “in the early morning, in this place.”⁸⁸ If we accept this interpretation of the Armenian Lectionary’s blank entries— and it is by no means certain—then sometime before or after the year Hesychius preached his homily, the church of Jerusalem used the Anastasis as the venue for this feast. It may seem unusual that the church would have elected to celebrate Stephen in a venue other than his dedicated martyrion on his commemoration, but this is exactly the practice we see in the much later period of the Georgian Lectionary. Although Eudocia’s grand “Church of St. Stephen” is attested in that source, another site—the diakonikon of Sion—serves as the station for the December “commemoration of St. Stephen.”⁸⁹ Perhaps it made sense to celebrate ⁸⁵ By contrast, Anton Baumstark hypothesizes that the city of Jerusalem ordinarily celebrated its martyr feasts in the Constantine’s Holy Martyrion (Sepulcher complex), which Egeria consistently refers to as the “Great Church”—at least by the period of the Georgian Lectionary: “As the place of the stational celebration it is the Church of the Anastasis which is sometimes indicated, and when this is not mentioned we may assume, I think, that it was the Cathedral of the Martyrion” (Comparative Liturgy, 182). ⁸⁶ Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:204, no. 1. One problem with Renoux’s argument is that the entry immediately following the feast of St. Anthony—the feast “of the great king Theodosius”—also expressly appoints the Anastasis as a station. If we were meant to assume the station prescribed on the feast of St. Anthony for other saints’ days, it is odd that the very next example specifies the Anastasis. An earlier feast—the 11 January commemoration of Peter and Absalom, always coincides with the sixth day of the Epiphany octave (Epiphany VI), and may well presuppose the same station as that date (AL 10 [Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:225]). ⁸⁷ Itin. Eger. 27.5 (CCSL 175.73; McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 161–2). See discussion of this passage, and associated issues in the translation, in McGowan and Bradshaw, Pilgrimage of Egeria, 161, no. 5. ⁸⁸ Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:226–7 (see also 494). The homily itself is Hesych. H., hom. 8 (full introduction and critical text in Aubineau, Homélies festales, 1:206–61). ⁸⁹ GL 42 (CSCO 188.9/189.15).

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Stephen in the same facilities as the figures commemorated on consecutive days. Perhaps local officials thought it especially appropriate to celebrate the city’s most famous martyr in its cathedral church. Perhaps a site in the Holy Sepulcher complex allowed for more focused reflection on the links between Jesus’ death and Stephen’s death—links intimated in Acts. Or perhaps some portion of Stephen’s relics were deposited in the Anastasis.⁹⁰ In the face of our fragmentary data, we are as ill-advised to stop considering possibilities as we are to confidently embrace any of them. Local Stations for the 26/27 December Feast of Stephen, by Source Revelatio Sancti Stephani (410s) Hesychius, hom. 9 (late 450s–460s) Armenian Lectionary (late 450s–470s) Georgian Lectionary (c.600)

Hagia Sion Church of St. Stephen – [Anastasis?] Sion diakonikon

Even if we cannot speak with certainty about the venue for the 26/27 December feast of Stephen in the Armenian Lectionary, however, one thing is clear: that celebration was the site of several intriguing stational changes across its history, beginning in the fifth century. These changes speaks to an active and lively devotion to Stephen in the city through the period—one which inspired several relic discoveries and redrew the city’s landscape on more than one occasion.

6.3 Conclusion Stephen’s bones were not the first relics divided across multiple local churches. Local sources attest multiple depositions of the bones of the Forty Martyrs, among others.⁹¹ Stephen was also not the first local figure to have a dedicated shrine built in his honor. By the year 440, the city boasted a number of similar structures, including churches to Peter and a joint shrine to James, Zechariah, and Simeon. Nevertheless, no account of Jerusalem’s earliest martyr devotions can miss the unparalleled visibility of Stephen’s cult on the local landscape by the mid-fifth

⁹⁰ According to the Vita Melaniae, Eudocia’s foot—injured at the dedication of Melania’s men’s oratory—was healed precisely when Melania and her sisters interceded for the empress at the Holy Sepulcher before “the relics of the holy martyrs” installed there (Geront., v. Mel. 59 [SC 90:244]). Since later sources indicate that Eudocia credited her healing to Stephen’s intercession in particular (see Clark, “Claims on the Bones,” 149–51), it is possible that Stephen’s were among those Melania approached in prayer. ⁹¹ AL 14, 59, 62 (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:230, 344, 350).

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century. The Protomartyr’s memory towered over that of other saints—most especially in the impressive basilica, the “very great sanctuary,” built in his honor. In this chapter, I have explored the emergence of the basilica as one more prong in a local program to lay claim to the memory of Stephen. But the same development can also be read in a different light—that is, as evidence that this ongoing program was already successful and already achieving a positive reception by the mid-fifth century. The earlier inventio of Stephen’s relics, scripted by local church authorities, stands directly behind the kind of Jerusalem-oriented Stephen piety manifest in the lives of Melania and Eudocia—and for that matter, in the lives of thousands of other less-renowned visitors to the city whose names are lost in time. That a Byzantine empress would seek Stephen in Jerusalem—making pilgrimages to the city, sponsoring his local shrines, and seeking to be buried beside his body— shows how far the city of Jerusalem had succeeded in positioning itself at the center of devotion to the martyr by this period. It is no less telling that the written Lives of women like Melania and Eudocia idealize these women precisely for their Jerusalem-focused commitments to Stephen. Implicit in this praise is a special regard for the city’s place in Stephen devotion. The completion of the basilica of St. Stephen only enhanced this project. One can hardly forget that one of our earliest references to the basilica of St. Stephen is precisely an encomium that singles out Juvenal “who now adorns the glorious and illustrious see” of Jerusalem for praise, precisely for having “set up a church worthy of [Stephen’s] memory.”⁹² The homily, in short, demonstrates that Jerusalem’s bishop gained further prestige and positive attention from external parties for his sponsorship of the basilica to Stephen. No less telling is the extent to which later pilgrim itineraries read throughout the Latin-speaking West highlight the basilica among the glories of the holy city. The construction of that shrine, among other centers of Stephen piety in the city, enhanced the Jerusalem imagined and idealized in pilgrim literature—and by extension, among the potential and actual pilgrims that consumed these texts. In the end, then, we can read the construction of the “very great sanctuary” for Stephen as both effect and cause, symptom and source. By the mid-fifth century, it was the most tangible expression of a project unfolding over several decades and propelled by a series of actors—namely, an orchestrated attempt to position Stephen as the city’s patron saint, the symbol of its Christian identity and power. Towering at the spot of the presumed site of Stephen’s death, the basilica embodied a carefully constructed link—a link between city and martyr, city and empire, city and the divine.

⁹² Ps.-Bas. Sel., Or. 42 (PG 85:469; translation mine).

Epilogue Some fifteen years after dedicating the Martyrion of Stephen, Juvenal consecrated another church outside the walls of Jerusalem. This church, octagonal in shape, surrounded a flat stone on which, according to local tradition, Mary rested on her way to Bethlehem: the Kathisma, or “seat.” Appropriately, the church was dedicated to the memory of Mary under the title “Theotokos,” mother of God. The idea of dedicating a church to Mary was still novel in the fifth century. From all indications, this shrine—funded out of the largesse of the wealthy widow Ikelia—was one of the first Marian churches in the world and the first anywhere in Palestine.¹ But it was not to be the last. Within a century’s time, Jerusalem would boast at least three more shrines for the mother of God, attracting masses of pilgrims on all days of the year. These shrines included a church over the purported site of Mary’s tomb and a church linked to the place of Mary’s birth. The most spectacular of all, however, was the Nea, or “New,” church of the Theotokos, built in the sixth century. This church—the largest single church ever constructed in Palestine—dwarfed all others in the city, including Stephen’s own. At the same time as the church of Jerusalem was constructing these impressive monuments to Mary, it also developed an impressive catalog of feasts commemorating her. The fifth-century Armenian Lectionary attests only a single commemoration “of Mary Theotokos” on 15 August and a celebration on the fifth day of the Epiphany Octave “at the Holy Mount of Olives” with an apparent Marian focus.² In the seventh-century Georgian Lectionary, however, one finds continuations of these two festivals alongside a constellation of other celebrations of Mary—celebrations including an 8 September commemoration of “the birth of the Theotokos,” an 18 January celebration of her memory “in Choziba, at the monastery of the Theotokos,” a commemoration of “the Holy Theotokos and the holy women” on the second Tuesday of Pascha, and a 13 August feast for “the dedication” of the Kathisma church.³ The church of Jerusalem did not stop promoting the cult of Stephen during the same period. The seventh-century Georgian Lectionary reveals the creation of at least one more local feast subtly underscoring the privileges of Stephen—namely, a 22 January commemoration “in St. Stephen . . . of all the saints, who from Stephen ¹ Avner, “Initial Tradition,” 19, 22. ² AL 64, 6 (Renoux, Codex arménien, 2:354–5, 218–19). ³ GL 1221, 153, 767, 1143 (CSCO 204.40/205.35; 188.29/189.29; 188.151/189/121; 204.30/205.26. The continuations of the AL-era feasts appear at GL 1149, 59).

The Cult of Stephen in Jerusalem: Inventing a Patron Martyr. Hugo Méndez, Oxford University Press. © Hugo Méndez 2022. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192846990.003.0008

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up to this very day were made martyrs through a good witness throughout the whole world.”⁴ Local church officials also continued to distribute the relics of the martyr across its growing catalog of shrines, enriching the local calendar with new deposition feasts. Specifically, the Georgian Lectionary indicates depositions of the relics of Stephen and other saints on “on the road to Entidabara, at the fourth mile” (30 June), “in the Enbicumacube” (5 July), “on the road to Bethlehem, at the Tomb of Rachel” (18 July), and at another, unspecified location (25 July).⁵ Nevertheless, these investments in the memory of Stephen hardly match those directed at Mary during the same period. By the sixth century, a new interest in Mary competed with—and rapidly overshadowed—a formerly intense focus on Stephen. What changed? To a great extent, we can read this turn against shifts in the Christian cult of saints. Devotion to Stephen reached its peak in the late fourth and early fifth centuries—a period when, in the shadows of the Diocletian persecutions, martyr devotions dominated Christian ritual life. Martyrs account for virtually all entries in two of the earliest Christian calendars—namely, the Depositio Martyrum and the Syriac Martyrology. By the fifth century, however, Christians had come to fully integrate other classes of saints into their devotional patterns—biblical figures, ascetics, virgins, bishops, and theologians— decentralizing the significance of martyrdom and the martyrs to some extent. In this climate, the unique privileges of Mary as mother of God became a special object of reflection among Christians, including the thousands of pilgrims visiting Jerusalem annually. As public demand shifted to sites associated with Mary, the city’s priorities adjusted accordingly. No less important was the entanglement of Marian piety with the emerging Christological controversies of the fifth century— a series of theological debates that fractured Christianity across the Mediterranean and Near East. In the aftermath of the Council of Ephesus, which defended the practice of invoking Mary as “Theotokos,” public displays of devotion to Mary under that title became an important marker of theological orthodoxy and carried new political weight. Juvenal, ever the ambitious political operator, positioned his see at the cutting edge of this trend, recognizing the city’s unique connections to Mary. For nearly a century, the residents of Jerusalem cast Stephen as the embodiment of their city’s past, present, and future. But the martyr was, in the end, only the symbol of one moment in the city’s life. Stephen’s star rose at a particular transitional stage in the city’s history to meet a particular set of challenges and further a particular set of agendas. With the passage of time, Stephen’s star fell back towards the horizon again.

⁴ GL 163 (CSCO 188.31/189.31). ⁵ GL 1068, 1079, 1097, 1110 (CSCO 204.20/205.19, 204.21/205.20, 204.24/205.22, 204.25/205.23).

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     

As it stands, that horizon—the sharp boundary between memory and forgetting, song and silence—is the only fixture in Jerusalem’s long history. Although the city has claimed many symbols and many heroes through its millennia-long existence, the memory of each has eroded with the centuries. No one figure can be the face of a city built and rebuilt so many times—a Jebusite city-state turned Judahite chiefdom, Judean capital, Roman colonia, Christian patriarchate, contested holy place, and modern metropolis. And no one name—not that of David or Judas Maccabeus, nor that of James or Bar Kochba—can ever truly stand in for the city renamed multiple times through its history. Through war and conquest, stability and renewal, the city of Jerusalem sits largely alone, surviving its many symbols, constantly inventing and reinventing itself.

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Woods, “Relics of Ss. Luke and Andrew” = Woods, David. “The Date of the Translation of the Relics of Ss. Luke and Andrew to Constantinople.” VC 45 (1991): 286–92. Wright, “Syrian Martyrology I” = Wright, William. “An Ancient Syrian Martyrology.” The Journal of Sacred Literature and Biblical Record 8 (1865): 45–56. Wright, “Syrian Martyrology II” = Wright, William. “An Ancient Syrian Martyrology.” The Journal of Sacred Literature and Biblical Record 8 (1866): 423–32. Yasin, Saints and Church Spaces = Yasin, Anne Marie. Saints and Church Spaces in the Late Ancient Mediterranean. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009.

Index Locorum For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages. HEBREW BIBLE Gen. 18 8 2 Sam. 5:5–10 33 2 Chr. 3:1 33 Ps. 9:11 33 Ps. 51:18 33 Ps. 76:2 33 Ps. 84:1–10 33 Ps. 109 109 Joel 3:17 33 Zech 9:9 33 Cant. 3:13 33 LXX 1 Reg. LXX 105 1 Macc. 4:7–38 33 Ps. 5 121–4 Ps. 5:2, 7 122–3 Ps. 5:2, 7, 10 121–2 Ps. 5:7, 9–10 121 Ps. 5:11 122–3 Ps. 5:12a 122 Ps. 5:12–13 122 Ps. 5:13 106–7 Ps. 5:13b 66–7, 71–2, 107, 117, 120–1 Ps. 20 107, 113–14, 117, 125–7 Ps. 20:2 107 Ps. 20:4 126 Ps. 20:4–6 126 Ps. 20:9–12 127 Ps. 21:3 125 Isa. 1:7–8 34–5 Isa. 1:8 36, 73 Isa. 2:3 42–3, 69 Isa. 7:14 96 Mic. 3:12 34, 73 Mic. 4:2 42–3, 69 NEW TESTAMENT Matt. 1:18–25 109 Matt. 1:23 96 Matt. 2:1–8 109, 113–14 Matt. 10:38–39 127 Matt. 16:24–25 127

Matt. 23:35 9, 96–7 Matt. 23:36 96–7 Matt. 24:1–2 96–7 Matt. 26:60 125 Matt. 26:64–68 125 Mark 8:34–35 127 Mark 14:62–65 125 Luke 17:33 127 Luke 23:34 125 Luke 23:46 125 Luke 24:33–49 43 Luke 9:23–24 127 Luke 24:13–15 117 John 1:35–44 56 John 1:43–51 56 John 10:22–42 56 John 12:24–26 107, 127–8 John 12:24–36 56, 113–14, 127–8 John 20:19–25 44 John 20:19–28 43 John 20:24 44 John 20:24–31 56 John 20:25 44 John 21:15–19 56 John 21:18–19 56 John 21:20–25 56 Acts 1:1–5 43 Acts 1:1–14 117–18, 124 Acts 1:9, 12–14 44 Acts 1:12–13 36 Acts 1:12–26 6–7 Acts 1:13 43 Acts 1:15–26 46 Acts 2:1–4 43 Acts 2:15 43–4 Acts 2:17–19 122–3 Acts 2:22–41 117–18 Acts 2:23 85–7 Acts 2:42–3:21 117–18 Acts 3:22–4:12 117–18 Acts 4:13–31 117–18 Acts 4:32–5:11 117–18 Acts 5:12–33 117–18

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NEW TESTAMENT (cont.) Acts 5:34–6:7 117–18 Acts 5:39 122–3 Acts 6–8 71, 75, 121–2, 126 Acts 6:1–6 18, 46 Acts 6:1–8:3 13 Acts 6:2 70 Acts 6:2–7 45 Acts 6:7 18 Acts 6:8 78 Acts 6:8–8:2 6–7, 107, 113–14, 124–5 Acts 6:8–8:3 127 Acts 6:8–11 71 Acts 6:8–13 18 Acts 6:8–7:3 1 Acts 6:11 73 Acts 6:11–14 66–7 Acts 6:12 121–2 Acts 6:12–14 73 Acts 6:13 125 Acts 6:54–60 66–7, 121–2 Acts 6:57–58 18 Acts 7:1–5 23 Acts 7:1–53 66–7, 73 Acts 7:48 73 Acts 7:51 73–4 Acts 7:51–53 66–7 Acts 7:54 74 Acts 7:54–60 67–8 Acts 7:56 46 Acts 7:56–59 125 Acts 7:59 125 Acts 7:60 122–3, 125 Acts 8:3 18, 85–7 Acts 12:1–2 6–7, 27 Rom. 16:5 43 1 Cor. 16:19 43 Gal. 2:9 9–10, 54 Gal. 2:12 9–10 Col. 4:15 43 2 Tim. 4:6–8 125–6 Titus 2:11–15 106–7, 109, 113–14 Titus 2:15 109 Jas. 1:12 122, 125–6 Rev. 2:10, 11 122 Rev. 5:10 126 OTHER TEXTS Asterius of Amasea hom 12.1.1–2 22 hom 12.10.2–3 123 hom 12.2.2 18 hom 12.2.2–3.3 27 hom 12.4.1–2 26 Apostolic Constitutions 22–3

Ascension of Isa. 96 Ambrose of Milan Ep. 77 [22].10 64 Augustine de Civ. Dei. 22.8 100 Sermo 318.1 77 Sermo 323.2 48 Breviarius de Hierosolyma 48–51 Codex Climaci Rescriptus (Climacus III) 102–3, 108–10, 113–15 Cyril of Jerusalem Cat. Lect. 12.20–21 96 Cat. Lect. 13.3 96 Cat. Lect. 13.22 14, 31 Cat. Lect. 16.4 35–6 Cyril of Scythopolis v. Euthym 137 Epiphanius of Salamis De mensuris et ponderibus 36 Epistula Aviti 80–1 Eusebius Dem. Evang. 1.4 43 Dem. Evang. 6.13 35 HE 2.23.3–18 7, 10 HE 3.11 7 HE 6.39.2 7 HE 7.19 10 Mart. Palest. 11.1, 4 Onom. 365 34 Vita Const. 3.33 5 Vita Const. 4.58–60 41 Evagrius HE 1.22 138–9 Gerontius v. Mel. 41 131 v. Mel. 48 131, 133 v. Mel. 57–8 132 v. Mel. 64 51, 132–3, 144 Gregory of Nyssa In sanc. Basil. frat. 22 In sanc. Steph. I, 1 21, 24, 27 In sanc. Steph. II, 1 21–2, 27 Hesychius of Jerusalem hom. 9 66–72, 150 hom. 9.1 68–9 hom. 9.2 46, 128 hom. 9.2–3 115, 140 hom. 9.3 74, 106 hom. 9.5 46 hom. 9.6 72 hom. 9.12 74 hom. 9.14 74–5 hom. 9.15 74 Hist. Steph. Protomart 147n.84

  Itinerarium Antonini Plancentini 54, 82 Itinerarium Burdigalense 590–1 96–7 591.1–3 9 592 35 Itinerarium Egeriae 23.9 6 25.1 105 39.4–5 44 43.2 43–4 43.3 44 47.3–4 104 47.5 106, 118 Jerome Commentary on Nahum 8 EP. 108.9.3–4 47 John Rufus v. Petr. Hib. 49 131–2, 135–6, 137–8, 144 Life of Euthymius 136–7 Life of Sabas 138–9

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Maximus of Turin Sermo 12.1–2 64–5 Paulinus of Nola Carm. 13.26–27 Carm. 19.329–342 63–4 Carm. 19.317–24 63 Passio Sancti Stephani 46, 79 Protoevangelium Jacobi 10–11 24.1–3 11 Revelatio Sancti Stephani 46, 51, 55, 79–81, 84, 111–12, 114: Recension A 31–2, 34, 46, 84–5, 87–92, 94; Recension B 31–2, 45–6, 48, 85–8, 90, 92–4 Sozomen HE 9.17.1 82 HE 9.17.4–5 83–4 Syriac Martyrology (Breviarium Syriacum) 3, 19–20, 22, 24–5, 28–30, 153 Theodoret HE 42

Topical Index For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages. Abibas 85–9 Abraham 8 Achaia 6 Alexander (Bishop of Jerusalem) 7 Alexandria 7, 20, 71, 136 Alleluia Psalms (Jerusalem Liturgy) 104–7, 109, 117–19, 126 Ambrose 40–1, 62–4, 91 Anastasis 4, 42, 44, 70, 144–50 Anastasius I 137 Ancona 47–8 Andrew 6–7, 44, 56, 63–4, 148–9 Andronicus 139–40 Antioch 7, 22–3, 28, 45, 103 Antiphonal Psalms 66–7, 71–2, 104–7, 117–19, 121, 126 Aphrahat 9 Aphrodite (Venus) 2–3 Apocryphal texts 14, 59, 79, 83, 96 Aramaic 82–3, 102–3 Armenian Lectionary 51–4, 56–7, 66–7, 71, 103–17, 119–20, 124–6, 128, 140–50 Asclepius (Serapis) 2–3 Asia Minor 1–2 Asia 29, 63–4, 71 Asterius of Amasea 18, 22, 26–9, 70–1, 122–3 Augustine of Hippo 47–8, 70–1, 75–7, 100 Avitus of Braga 80–1, 91–2, 94, 99 Avitus of Vienna 59 Bar Kochba 154 Bartholomew 44 Basil of Seleucia 134–5 Bethlehem 4, 42, 46, 70, 81–2, 111, 128, 139–40, 148, 152–3 Bordeaux pilgrim 8–9, 35–9, 41–2, 54, 96–7 Byzantine 37–8, 40, 100–1, 151 Caiaphas 41–2: House of Caiaphas 35, 38–9, 50 Callinicus 144 Cappadocia 21–7, 55, 103, 111–12, 114 Cave of the Patriarchs 81–2 Cela (Ceila) 82

Christmas: 25 December 21, 24–5, 28, 51–5, 111 Church of Holy Zion 10 Church of Lazarus (Lazarium) 42, 67–8, 115–16 Church of St. Stephen (Martyrion of St. Stephen) 109–10, 113–14, 117–19, 129–39, 141–50, 152 Church of the Apostles (Upper Church), Jerusalem 35–6, 39–43 Church of the Apostles (Apostoleion), Constantinople 40–1 Church of the Apostles (Basilica Apostolorum), Rome 40–1 Church of the Apostles (Basilica Apostolorum), Milan 40–1 Church of Holy Sion 16, 31–2, 35–43, 54, 58, 88, 129, 134 Sion basilica 32–51; diakonikon 49, 109–10, 130, 143–7, 149–50; in local traditions 43–5; and materiality/relics 47–51, 89–90; and Sion 45–7; and Stephen 45–7, 54–5, 58. see also: Church, Hagia Sion Church of the Holy Sepulcher 35–6, 38, 109, 119, 140–1, 149–50: Golgotha 3–4, 34, 36, 42, 103–4, 109, 113–14, 130, 146–7; Holy Martyrium 42, 117, 142–3, 146–7 Church of Mary Theotokos (Kathisma), Jerusalem 152 Church of Mary Theotokos (Nea), Jerusalem 152 Constantine I 3–6, 8, 36, 38–9, 41, 52–6, 61, 63–4, 97–8, 125 Constantinople 4, 6, 10, 12–13, 40–1, 63–4, 99, 136–7 Constantius 104–5 Council of Ephesus 153 Cursus reading 105 Cyprian 60–1 Cyril of Alexandria 132, 135–6 Cyril of Jerusalem 10–11, 14, 31, 35–6, 39–40, 43–4, 73, 92–3, 96, 104–5 Cyril of Scythopolis 138–9 Damasus 62–3, 65 David 33–5, 41–2, 52–4, 68, 125, 148, 154: David’s Tomb 37–40

  Decius 7 Deuteronomy 105 Diospolis (Lydda or Lod) 87–8 Dominicans 139 Domninus 144 Easter/Pascha 43–4, 68, 102, 105, 117, 119, 124, 128, 152. See also: Easter/Paschal Octave Easter/Paschal Octave 57, 101, 117–19, 124, 128, 130, 146–7: Bright Tuesday 101, 116–19, 124, 141–3, 148; Bright Week 22–3 Edessa 19–20, 22–3, 55 Egeria 6, 43–4, 50–1, 83, 102–6, 109–10, 113–15, 149 Eleutherius of Jericho 87–8 Eleutheropolis 82–3, 87–8 Elkosh 8 Epiphanius of Salamis 36–40, 45, 92 Epiphany (Epiphany I) 22–3, 52–3, 102, 108–9, 111, 113–14 Epiphany octave 57, 105, 109–12, 114–15, 128: Epiphany II 101, 106–15, 128; Epiphany III 101, 117; Epiphany IV 119; Epiphany V 152; Epiphany VI 67–8 Eucharist 46–7, 103–4, 149 Eudocia 50, 67–8, 109–10, 129–51 Eusebius 4, 6–7, 10, 34–5, 42–3, 73 Eutonium of Sebaste 87–8 Evagrius Scholasticus 129, 138 Exodus 105 Feast, of James and John 18–28, 51–2, 55–7, 68, 141–2, 148: feast celebrated on 29 December 52, 56, 112–13, 125 Feast, of Peter and Paul 22, 24, 28, 40–1, 51, 56, 69, 113: celebrated on 28 December 52, 56, 112–13, 148 Feast of, Stephen: celebrated on 26 December 20–3, 28, 31–2, 51, 55, 58, 88, 110–17, 133–4, 146; celebrated on 26/27 December 19, 56, 67–8, 108, 112–13, 115–18, 141–3, 146, 148, 150; celebrated on 27 December 20–2, 51–2, 106–7, 112–13, 124, 145–6, 148; celebrated on 27–29 December 55–7, 125–6; origins of late December feast 114 Feasts, apostolic: celebrated on 26–28 December 23–4, 28 Felix 64 Forty Martyrs of Sebaste 132–3, 143–5, 150–1 Galilee 8 Gamaliel 82, 85–9, 93–5, 97–8, 122–4

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Gamaliel VI 97 Gaul 6, 102 Gentiles 3 Gerari 83–4 Gerontius 115–16, 131–2 Gervasius 62–4, 75, 91 Golgotha 3–4, 34, 36, 42, 103–4, 109, 113–14, 130, 147 Gregory of Nyssa 21–6, 29–30, 70–1 Gregory the Illuminator 103 Habakkuk 82–3, 95–6 Hadrian (Publius Aelius Hadrianus) 2–3, 36, 45, 139 Healings 1, 64, 71, 88–9, 93 Hebrew Bible (Christian Old Testament) 8–9, 33, 104–5 Hebron 53–4, 81–2 Hegesippus 6–7, 9–10 Herod 27, 33–4 Hesychius 46, 53–5, 60, 66–76, 100–1, 106–7, 109–10, 115, 117, 119, 128, 140–2, 146–50: encomium 16, 21–2, 46, 53–4, 60, 64, 66–8, 75, 106, 115, 119–20, 128, 140, 142, 151; homilies of 54–5, 60, 66–8, 70–2, 74–5, 119, 140–3, 146, 149–50 Hierapolis 7 Hippo 75 Holy Cross 103–5 Holy Spirit 36, 43–7, 74, 85 Hymenius 80–1 Ikelia 152 Italy 1–2, 47–8 James (son of Alphaeus) 6–7, 44 James (the Just or the Brother of Jesus) 6–7, 9–12, 53–8, 92–3, 95–6, 134–5, 145, 150–1, 154 Jerome 8, 46–7, 50–1 Jerusalem: Aelia (see Aelia) 3–5, 7, 58, 85; biblical past 8; Christian city 21, 70, 74, 78, 95; fourth and fifth century context 2–5; Jewish city 3–5, 60, 89; ritual calendar 101; sacred geography 4; small church 36–7, 45, 57–8 Jesus: earliest followers 37–41; and Hagia Sion 46–7; holy sites related to 3–4, 10; and Jews 96–7; movement 5; resurrection 6, 43; scourging 41–2; and Sion Hill 43–4. See also: Christmas; Epiphany; Nativity Jewish-Roman Wars 18–19, 34, 73: First 2; Third 3

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Jews (Jewish): anti-Jewish 12, 70–5, 96–7, 120–1; Jewish Christians 37–40, 100; lynching 9–10; mob 74, 125; observances 54; in Palestine 8–10; pilgrimage 8, 81–2; Stephen and 95–8; tradition 82–4; violence 12, 70, 75, 97 Joash 88 Job 83, 105 Joel 47, 105 John Chrysostom 28, 70–1 John II (bishop of Jerusalem) 1, 11, 16, 49–50, 66, 77–8, 80–1, 85, 87–95, 98–9 John the Baptist 139–40, 148 John (son of Zebedee, apostle) 23–4, 26–8, 44, 58, 60–1. See also: Feast, of James and John Judaism 5, 70, 74–5, 95–6, 120–1 Judas (son of James) 44 Judas Maccabeus 33, 154 Jupiter Capitolinus 2–3 Juvenal of Jerusalem 11, 17, 52–3, 55, 129–32, 134–8, 140, 142, 144–8, 151–3

Minorca 1–2 Miracles (miraculous) 1, 10, 18, 25, 48, 75–8, 83–4, 88–9, 99–100 Monastery (monastic) 5–6, 10, 51, 83–4, 103, 131–4, 136–7, 144–5, 152 Moriah (Temple Mount) 33 Mount of Olives (Eleona) 3–4, 42, 45, 118–19, 129–34, 140–1, 146–7, 152 Mount Zion 34, 38–9, 42, 47, 110

Kedar 46, 85–7, 134 Kephar Gamala 1, 79, 82, 85–90, 92–5

Parmenas 45 Patronage (patron): Roman temple in Jerusalem 3; networks 77; and Rome 32, 41; of Stephen 13, 16–18, 32, 57–8, 78, 101, 128, 130, 139, 151 (see also Chapter 3); saints 2, 115, 129–30. See also: Eudocia Paul Orosius 80, 99 Paul: feast of 22; and Jerusalem 40–1, 68; and Rome 2, 6, 21, 60–1, 63–5, 75, 85–7. See also: Feast, of Peter and Paul Paulinus of Nola 63–4, 66 Pentecost 22–3, 36, 41–5 Peter: as Cephas 9–10, 20; and Jerusalem shrine 40–1, 150–1; and Rome 2, 6–7, 32, 65; and Sion church 44, 60–1, 63–4. See also: Feast, of Peter and Paul Philip 6–7, 44–5, 56, 148 Phocas 139–40 Photius 53–4 Piacenza pilgrim 53–4, 137–9 Pilgrimage (pilgrim): and Constantinople 4, 6, 10, 12–13, 40–1, 63–4, 99, 136–7; economies 42–3, 60, 62; itineraries/diaries/ guides 15, 102, 146; and Jerusalem 4, 8–9, 14, 46–8, 50–1, 53–4, 81–2, 96–7, 101, 111–12, 115–17, 128, 134, 139, 151–3; and martyr piety 5–6, 19. See also: Bordeaux pilgrim; Piacenza pilgrim Prochorus 45 Protasius 62–4, 75, 91 Pseudo-Hippolytus 7

Lazarus 3–4, 67–8, 115–16 Legio X Fretensis 2–3 Lent 102, 105 Liturgy (liturgical): calendar 22–5, 47, 53, 56–7, 75–6, 100–1, 108; Easter 43–4; fourth–century Christian 12; of Jerusalem 5, 14, 47, 53, 100–6; John’s for Stephen 94–5, 98–9; relics 31–2 (see also Relics); stational 4, 128 (see also: Epiphany); year 23–4, 28, 111, 114–15 Lucian 16, 43, 77–81, 84–94, 98–9 Martyrion of St. Stephen 17, 106–10, 113–14, 117–19, 130–9, 142–52 Martyrion: Constantinian 140–1; for Isaiah 144–5; of James, Simeone, and Zechariah 10–11; of Jesus 3–4; of Stephen (see Martyrion of St. Stephen) Mary (Marian) 44, 59, 68, 115–16, 119, 148, 152–3: Theotokos 148, 152–3 Matthew 9, 44, 57, 96, 127 Matthias 6–7, 46 Maximus III (bishop of Jerusalem) 36, 38–9, 66, 69, 139 Maximus of Turin 64 Melania 51, 115, 129, 131–4, 144–5, 151 Micah 82, 95–6 Milan 40–1, 62–4, 75

Nativity 3–4, 21, 28, 36, 42, 53–4, 111, 113, 118, 129, 131–4, 152 Nicaea, council of 5 Nicanor 45 Nicodemus 85–9, 93 Nicolaus of Antioch 45 Nicomedia 20, 23, 27–8, 55, 112–14 North Africa 1–2, 28, 75–6, 134 Optatus of Mileve 38–9 Origen 42–3

  Relics: discovery (invention); 1–2, 10–11, 15–17, 46, 58–60, 62–3, 77–8, 81–4, 92–8, 100–1, 108, 112, 115, 145–7; distribution of 1–2, 75–7, 98, 144–5, 152–3; fabrication of 59–60, 62–3, 77–8, 94; miracles and supernatural power 25, 75–6, 83, 88–9, 95; supernatural fragrance 88; translation of 78, 87–8, 93, 98, 110–12, 115–17, 131; veneration 5–6, 47, 81–2, 96–8, 131–2 Ritual 2, 4, 11, 13–17, 43, 51–3, 57, 66–7, 77, 98, 100–3, 108, 129–30, 140–1, 145–8, 153: calendar 32, 101; year 23, 29 Samaritans 8, 82–3 Sanhedrin 10 Santo Sebastiano fuori la mura. Church of the Apostles (Basilica Apostolorum) 40–1 Scribes 9–10, 73, 149 Simeon 10–11, 92–3, 95–6, 145, 150–1 Simon the Zealot 44 Sion (Jerusalem location) 31–3, 35, 40, 90, 130 Solomon 9, 33–4, 96–7 Sozomen 8, 82–4 St. Anthony 149 Stephen: anti-Jewish symbol 70–5; Celihel 93; as chief of confessors 16, 20, 25, 55; citizen of the Cross 46, 70, 128; dying prayer 122, 124; embodiment of Jerusalem’s prestige 2, 9, 16, 19, 30, 69–70; as first martyr 1–2, 16–19, 23–6, 29, 47, 53, 59, 65–70, 128; and Hagia Sion 45–7; and Jerusalem 88–91; as lamb 72; local martyr 30, 60–2, 64–5; as victim of mob violence 9–10, 74, 125; as Protomartyr 11–12, 25–7, 51, 59–60, 101, 113, 117–18, 128–34, 136–9, 142–3, 150–1; reasons for Jerusalem as cult site 1–2, 11–13;

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relics of 1–2, 16, 31–2, 59–60, 77–80, 89, 98–100, 131, 136, 144, 150–1; remains of 47–50, 75–7, 83, 88–9, 112, 135, 137–8; similarities to Jesus 120–1, 125, 127, 149–50; and the Sion Hill 33–5; as symbol 12–13 Symeon (son of Clopas) 6–7, 11 Synagogue 18, 35–42, 71, 97–8 Synod 1, 87–8, 94–5 Syria 3, 29, 112 Syriac 19–20, 80, 104: Lectionary 102–3 Tarachius 139–40 Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus 2–3 Temple (Second Jewish Temple) 9–11, 33–6, 73, 132, 136: Temple Mount 2–3, 33, 37–8, 96–7, 139 Thecla 144 Theodosius II 97 Theodosius I 82, 84, 125, 129 Thomas 44, 56, 148 Timon 45 Timothy 63–4 Titus 36, 45 Turin 69 Tyche (Fortuna) 2–3 Utica 60–1 Uzalis 75, 134 Valens 7 Vespasian 36 Zebennus 82 Zechariah (Zacharias) 9–11, 82–4, 92–3, 95–7, 131–3, 139–40, 144–5, 148, 150–1