Name day saints

On Sunday after church I went to visit Ethos bookstore to pick up some rolls of charcoal (for my censer) and a couple of crosses of San Damiano, one for a gift and one to mount on my front door. I’m always looking for bargains. I used to run this store and know how we do it. If something doesn’t sell in 6 months, it goes on the bargain shelf. The problem is, sometimes it even sits on the bargain shelf way too long. What? No takers, even if we give it away?

Well, Sunday was different for an ikon of Saint Elefthérios which I had noticed months before, and which kept drawing my eyes every time I’d walk past it. Once I almost bought it—it’s a large ikon and at full price would be too much. This day it drew me once again. I picked up the ikon and stared into the saint’s face as I always do. Something about his look just captures me. It’s too real, or something. I flipped the ikon over to check the price again. Eighteen dollars! Well, that’s a lot of money, but I bet Christina will knock even more off. So I picked it up and walked over to the counter.

Christina, a woman who even in her 90’s looks glamorous—she was a salesperson in a high end women’s boutique most of her life and is still the queen of fashion—was still not looking well, unusual for her. She was grieving deeply the loss of a young granddaughter, and not that long after the loss of a favorite nephew. She looked tense as she counted up my bill, letting me have everything for $20 even, a good chunk off the sticker prices. We talked a little, I trying to console her, but finally words seemed inadequate, so I just bent over and gave her a gentle hug and kiss, and said “Take care of yourself, dear. I’ll see you next Sunday.”

I brought Elefthérios home and looked around for a blank wall to hang his ikon. On the wall inside my bedroom just above the light switch and next to the door hangs the ikon of my name day saint Romanós. He was an early Christian saint, a Jew of Antioch, and is known as the Melodist, because of his musical and lyrical gifts. I identify with Romanós both for his Jewish ancestry and his music. I also bear his name to honor my Dad, whose name is also Roman (the Polish equivalent). I’ve already told the story of how I got the name Romanós elsewhere.

Between the door to my bedroom and the door to my spare room, where I keep a bowflex machine for my workouts, hangs an ikon of my other saint, my birth day saint, Theódoros Stratelátes, Theodore the General, who is commemorated on February 8. If I had been named after the saint of my birth date, I would be Theodore. I’ve always been deeply drawn to him and his story, and so I claim his as another of my nameday saints. Yeah, you can call me Theo, if you like. I hung his ikon between the doors, so that as I enter my workout room, I can remember him and his example.

Where was I to put the new ikon I’d just brought home, of my new saint, Elefthérios? I looked and looked at the ikon of the general. “Hmm,” I thought to myself, “let’s see what it looks like to have Elefthérios where the general is, and elevate Theódoros Stratelátes to the place above the doorway to my ‘phys ed’ room. That way I can still honor him by passing below his ikon.” And that is what I did, and both ikons look very happy. At sunrise, the sunlight falls on them as they’re on an east-facing wall. Since my new saint seems to have adopted me as his living ikon, I thought I should look into his story. It’s amazing, and I am glad that he chose me, and I will remember to honor him whenever I see his ikon. It feels like having a long lost brother in the house. So now, I have another nameday saint, so you can call me “Lefty” (short for Leftéris, demotic Greek for Elefthérios, koiné Greek, just a different dialect).

Now, a little bit of the testimony of Elefthérios, who suffered martyrdom in the reign of Emperor Hadrian…

Elefthérios was a child prodigy in Rome. His widowed mother, Anthía, had accepted Christianity with all her heart. It followed, therefore, that the boy's talents would be applied to Christian endeavor, and he was as quick to embrace Christ as he was to acquire knowledge. His enormous capacity for learning so accelerated his intellectual pace that he outdistanced his teachers, one of whom suggested to Anthía that she take this marvelous boy to bishop Aníkitos, who after witnessing the boy's intellectual prowess took him under his personal supervision.

Elefthérios, acquiring before he was twelve the equivalent of a college education, was tonsured a reader at the age of thirteen. At fifteen he was ordained a deacon, at seventeen a priest, and at the age of twenty he was ordained a bishop in Illyricum, the youngest bishop ever consecrated up to that time.

As bishop, Elefthérios promoted Christ vigorously, even at a time when the merciless persecutions not only made it difficult to win and hold converts, but also at a time when the gravest danger was in being a bishop. Oblivious to this threat, he was acclaimed as the brightest luminary of Christian Rome since the apostles. Even those whom he failed to convert held him in the highest esteem, and with this immense popularity he grew bolder and thereby more offensive to the state. This outstanding theologian, orator and benefactor of Christian and pagan alike was finally mentioned to Emperor Hadrian, who ordered his arrest.

Ordinarily the emperor would have questioned him personally because of his high station, but fearing a reprisal because of his popularity, Hadrian dispatched his most trusted centurion, a man named Felix, to bring the bishop before the prefect of Rome for trial and punishment. The centurion decided that rather than run the risk of seizing Elefthérios publicly he would seek out his place of worship and arrest him there. After some time Felix found the well-hidden church and entered just as the bishop was commencing a sermon. The oratory of Elefthérios was spellbinding, and when the sermon was over Felix came forward and asked to be joined to Christ.

This done, Felix exposed his purpose and apologized for having come to the house of God with treachery in his heart. He was easily forgiven by Elefthérios, who thereafter instructed the centurion to return him to the prefect lest judgment be passed on both of them. With a great deal of reluctance Felix took the bishop to what appeared to be a sealed fate, offering along the way to help him escape. But the bishop would not hear of it.

With the emperor conspicuous by his absence, Elefthérios went on trial before the prefect, but not even his oratorical power could save him. The bishop was cast into prison, tortured, and put to death. He died for Christ on December 15.