Some of the oldest Christian writing we have was written by a man on his way to die.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His name was Ignatius. He was the bishop of Antioch, the city where, as the Book of Acts says, “the disciples were for the first time called Christians” (Acts 11:26). He was arrested and sent to Rome under guard. And along the way, he wrote letters to the churches he passed. Seven of them still survive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He was not writing to show off. He was writing like a shepherd who knows he will not see the flock again. He wanted them to stay close to one another and close to Christ.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In one letter, to the Christians in Smyrna, he gave us a sentence that is still read today. In the translation found at New Advent, it says: “Wherever the bishop shall appear, there let the multitude [of the people] also be; even as, wherever Jesus Christ is, there is the Catholic Church.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That is one of the earliest places the words “Catholic Church” appear in Christian writing. The word catholic<\/em> means universal. For everyone, everywhere. Ignatius is saying that where Christ is, there the whole Church is gathered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Both the Catholic and Orthodox Churches honor Ignatius as a saint. He belongs to the early Church we all share.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then there is his letter to the Romans. He knew what was waiting for him. And he did not want anyone to stop it. He wrote: “I am the wheat of God, and let me be ground by the teeth of the wild beasts.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n I want to say this carefully. Ignatius was not a man who loved pain. He was a man who loved Christ so much that he wanted his life to be a gift, all the way down. He wanted to be bread, given for others.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Think about wheat. Wheat does not choose to be bread. It is cut, threshed, and ground. But what comes out of all that is something that feeds people.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Most of us will never be asked for that kind of gift. But we are asked for small ones. A meal made when we are tired. A phone call we would rather skip. A little patience with someone who is hard to love.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Those are tiny loaves. And they feed people.<\/p>\n\n\n\n So today, on the memorial of Ignatius, maybe the question is simple. Who could you feed?<\/p>\n\n\n\n Bake a loaf. Make a call. Sit with someone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Be a little bread.<\/p>\n\n\n\n