Deep in the Bones Lie Memories and Hopes: A Grand Unified Theory

1. Introduction

I would like to suggest a grand unified theory of my own, simply put in terms of bones:

In the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, there had better be no bones.

In St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome, there had better be bones.

There never were bones under Hagia Sophia in Constantinople. ¹

Stated more fully, in accord with the belief in the bodily resurrection, no mortal remains of Jesus were left in his tomb which is now surrounded by the church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. Peter was crucified and buried in the ground in the cemetery on the Vatican hill, Rome. His bones remain there as we on earth await the resurrection of the dead, even though he already shares eternal life. Byzantium became the eastern center of government of the Roman empire and was renamed Constantinople. The city became Christian, but was not founded on the blood or buried bones of martyrs. The great church Hagia Sophia was not built over the tomb of a saint. Admittedly, the relics of saints were later imported in abundance. Missing, having, lacking bones effects the liturgies celebrated in these three places.

This theological reflection is intended as an exercise in associative thinking whose lack of definitive statements and paucity of documentation are intended to open a conversation with scholars more learned than the author in certain liturgical traditions on the relative emphasis given to anamnesis, epiclesis, eschatology, and theosis in the liturgies celebrated in each of these three basilicas using the criteria of missing, having, lacking bones as an interpretative key.

2. Experiencing Buildings

In Jerusalem the body of Jesus was laid in a tomb cut into the cliff-face of a stone quarry. The mouth of the tomb faced toward the rising sun. When Helena, the English mother of Constantine, visited Jerusalem, the site was cleared and the cave exposed where the relics of the true cross were found. Soon thereafter, Constantine ordered a basilica to be built on the site. The builders followed the contours of the rock quarry and constructed a basilica in the excavated ground in front of the empty tomb. Its apse faced toward the tomb and the setting sun. The front doors of the basilica faced toward the rising sun. Pilgrims entered into the basilica and walked toward its apse toward the empty tomb, toward the setting sun. As they neared the front of the basilica, they could see Calvary to their left, a rocky out-crop standing at the head of the two lateral naves on the same side of the basilica as the mid-day sun. Both Calvary and the basilica stood on one side of a courtyard and faced across the courtyard to the other side where the shrine of the empty tomb was later carved from the living rock and is housed in its own rotunda. The long axis of the Martyrion basilica was slightly angled by about 5º south of due west. The entire basilica was directed toward the mystery of Christ rising from the empty tomb, and so toward the setting sun, the cosmic image of the eschaton. If the presider faced toward the sunrise here, he had to turn his back on the empty tomb. If he faced toward the empty tomb, he was facing toward the sunset.

A pilgrim standing in the entrance of St. Peter’s basilica would look down the length of the nave and see at the far end a triumphal arch and, just beyond, an apse that housed the grave-shrine. Walking toward the shrine, more of the building gradually would become visible to the pilgrim. Upon reaching the triumphal arch the pilgrim would see the vast transept, built as a transversal nave. Opposite the triumphal arch was the apse which framed the shrine and grave of the saint. This entire procession toward the tomb was also a procession toward the setting sun.

St. Peter’s basilica was built in the 320s, during the brief interval between clearing the site of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem and constructing the Martyrion basilica there. St. Peter’s was built as a unitary structure, but may be understood as corresponding to the different elements of the church of the Holy Sepulchre. Each basilica has five naves. At St. Peter’s these terminate in an innovative transversal nave, which is analogous to the outdoor courtyard at the Holy Sepulchre. On the far side of the transversal nave is a central apse whose half-dome corresponds to the rotunda. The grave of St. Peter is located in the center of the chord of the apse, which is analogous to the anastasis standing in the center of its own rotunda. Thus, the innovation at St. Peter’s of a tao or “T”-shaped basilica with a major transversal nave is analogous to the open-air courtyard located between the Martyrion and the empty tomb of the resurrection. The construction of the basilica of St. Peter was not constrained by a rock quarry, as was the Martyrion, so the long axis of St. Peter’s is aligned with the rising and setting sun, because the shrine built over the tomb of Peter faced toward the rising sun, as did the entrance to the empty tomb of Christ. Byzantium became the eastern center of the Roman empire and was renamed Constantinople. The city became Christian, but was not founded on the blood or buried bones of martyrs. The church Hagia Sophia was not built over the tomb of a saint. Before considering the church of Holy Wisdom, I shall first consider its close neighbor, the church of Holy Peace, Hagia Irene. A pilgrim standing in the entrance of Hagia Irene would see a basilica hall that ends in an apse. This church differs from the design built in Rome for the basilica of St. Peter, where the long nave and the transversal nave form an upper-case “T”-shaped cross. At the basilica of Holy Peace in Constantinople the central hall is bisected by a transept that forms a lower case “t”-shaped cross. In this way the transept was not added onto the end of the nave, but intersected it off-center to form a cruciform church. Standing in the center of this crossing, the pilgrim would look up and see the dome rising over the crossing of the nave and transept. Walking further on, the pilgrim would come to the altar and behind it the apse with seating for the clergy. Along this whole journey, the pilgrim was walking toward the mid-morning sun, that is, walking sunward at the third hour of the day.

Next to the basilica of Holy Peace is the third church of Holy Wisdom, built by the emperor Justinian I in the 530s over two successive churches dating originally to the first half of the fourth century. A visitor standing in its entrance would look across a vast open space toward the far apse which framed the altar with its ciborium (baldachin). When the pilgrim walks from the door toward the altar, the pilgrim passes under the dome and continues past the ambo, walking toward the massive apse at the far end. There the altar is framed by the central apse with seating for the clergy. The central window of this apse looks out toward the mid-morning sun, that is, sunward at the third hour of the day, whose light throughout the course of the day turns within the void, giving life to the entire building.

3. Anamnesis and Eschatology

The lack of mortal remains in the church of the Holy Sepulchre is a sign of the bodily resurrection that has already occurred in Christ. In our historical past Christ has already entered into our eschatological future. Perhaps the presence of the empty tomb, the place of Christ’s triumph over death, has led to giving emphasis to the eschatological dimension of liturgy already fulfilled in salvation history, although Calvary stands nearby as the memorial of Christ’s saving death.

The bones of Saints Peter and Paul offer a more ambiguous message in Rome. Certainly they are venerated among the saints in light, but their bones remain on earth until the general resurrection of the dead. This distinction between already, but not-yet, sets up a tension between the memorial and the eschatology of their respective shrines. The bones lead us to commemorate their martyrdom in history, yet they must await the general resurrection when these bones too shall rise. Venerating the saint’s bones suggests that the anamnetic character of liturgy, the memorial of God’s saving work in the life and death of the saint, is in tension with the eschatological character of liturgy which is yet to be fulfilled at the end of human history, even as the saints already enjoy its glory.

The Roman custom of celebrating meals at the tomb of the dead was reinterpreted by Christians. When Constantine built the basilica of St. Peter as a banquet hall at the grave of the saint, he encased the grave of Peter in a stone box standing 2.7 metres or 8 feet and 10 inches tall, ² which was so tall that a presider could not stand behind the enclosed shrine to preside at the eucharist. Rather, a wooden table was placed in front of the encased grave. If the presider faced toward the sunrise and the assembly, he had to turn his back on the grave of St. Peter. If he faced toward the encased shrine, he was facing toward the sunset. The tomb and banquet table were integrated into a unified element around the year 600 ³ when Pope Gregory the Great made the top of the stone-encased grave into the eucharistic mensa. Only then could he put the chair at the head of the apse where he could look toward the shrine of Peter, toward the altar, toward the assembly and the sunrise. It took over 500 years to come to this synthesis.

Celebrating the Eucharist regularly near the place where Peter was crucified on an altar placed directly over his bones which still bear the marks of his tortured death must have accentuated its anamnetic, memorial character and strengthened the development of sacrificial theology of the Roman liturgy. Perhaps Rome’s early history as the city of martyrs who sacrificed their lives in imitation of Christ has led to a greater emphasis on the eucharist as sacrifice, celebrated at the tombs of the martyrs. This is to some extent expressed in the Roman Canon, now Eucharistic Prayer I. Professor Enrico Mazza has argued that the original concept of sacrifice in the Roman Canon is the sacrifice of praise, based on the theology of Mal. 1:11 and Heb. 13:15, ⁴ whereas the Roman Canon has come to be understood as a sacrifice, at one with the sacrifice of Christ.

The Roman Canon developed before the controversies concerning the Holy Spirit could influence its theology to a significant degree. Other aspects of the Roman liturgy did develop to express the role of the Holy Spirit, but the lack of reference to the Holy Spirit in the Roman Canon itself, apart from its doxology, may have led to a greater emphasis on the institution narrative. Enrico Mazza has argued ⁵ that the emphasis shifted in the Christian west during the 1100s when the previous understanding of the entire eucharistic prayer as giving thanks, in imitation of Jesus who gave thanks over the bread and wine at the last supper, was significantly narrowed to a focus on the institution narrative as the moment of consecration. This has led to a greater emphasis being placed on the anamnetic, memorial character of liturgy in the Christian west since the twelfth century.

The Christian origins of Constantinople do not lie in the experience of persecution and martyrdom; rather they lie in the celebration of liturgy. The church there was not founded on the tombs of martyrs, nor on the empty tomb of Christ. Consequently, the anamnetic and epicletic dimensions of liturgy in Constantinople had to develop primarily from the meal itself, the Eucharistic banquet. Perhaps because the city was not founded on the tombs of martyrs, the church there did not develop the same emphasis on sacrifice as in Rome. Perhaps this has led to a greater emphasis, like in Jerusalem, on the eschatological dimension of liturgy rather than on its character as a memorial of the sacrifice of Christ as celebrated in Rome over the memorials of the sacrifices of the saints. But in Constantinople the eschatological dimension is not supported by the presence of Christ’s empty tomb and its revelation of eschatological fullness in human history. The eschatological dimension had to come from the celebration of the eucharist itself as a foretaste of the wedding feast of the lamb, a celebration on earth of the heavenly liturgy yet to be fully revealed.

Neither the basilica of Holy Peace or of Holy Wisdom is aligned with their apses facing toward the setting sun as was St. Peter’s in Rome or the Martyrion in Jerusalem, nor are their apses aligned directly toward the rising sun to await Christ coming as daybreak from on high. My own playful mind wonders whether these two basilicas in Constantinople might be aligned with the sun at the third hour of the day as a memorial in space and time of the third hour when the Holy Spirit descended upon the disciples at Pentecost. This would enhance the epicletic character of liturgy by emphasizing the invocation of the Holy Spirit upon the bread and wine and upon all who share in communion, bathed in the light of the third hour. The eucharistic prayers of the Christian east give great prominence to the role of the Holy Spirit. Again, the Christian west emphasizes the anamnetic dimension of liturgy as the memorial of Christ’s saving death, while the Christian east emphasizes the eschatological dimension of liturgy, including the ongoing role of the Holy Spirit.

4. The Ambo

Crispiano Valenziano has recovered the symbolic structure of the ambo as a monument of the empty tomb from which the good news is announced to the disciples. The Martyrion church never had an ambo, according to Valenziano, because the gospel is proclaimed from the Holy Sepulchre itself. The deacon stands at the fore-chamber of the tomb, where the angel rolled the stone away and sat on it to announce the good news to the myrrh-bearing women. The angel told them to go and tell the good news to the disciples, which is precisely what the deacon does at this very fore-chamber: proclaim the good news to the disciples. All of scripture proclaimed from the empty tomb is interpreted in light of the resurrection.

I have already suggested the similarities of the basilica of St. Peter to the church of the Holy Sepulchre, where the tomb of the saint occupies a similar place as the anastasis, the empty tomb of Christ. But the grave-shrine of the apostle cannot function ritually as a substitute for the empty tomb of the resurrection as a place for proclaiming scripture. The first ambo in Rome was constructed in the basilica of St. Peter during the pontificate of Pelagius II (579–590). ⁶ The research of Valenziano has revealed the symbolic structure of an ambo as a memorial of the empty tomb from which scripture is proclaimed and interpreted in light of the resurrection. ⁷ The part of the ambo which corresponds to the monument of the empty tomb was located on the same side of the basilica as the mid-day sun, ⁸ and presumably the deacon stood there with the mid-day sun at his back and faced in the same direction as the sun’s rays shining across the basilica to proclaim the gospel.

The ambo in the church of Holy Wisdom was so large that the choir could stand in its undercroft and from there, as from the empty tomb, they could sing the “Alleluia,” the song of the resurrection. In that case the choir became part of the ritual narrative involved in proclaiming the gospel.

5. Theosis

Roman imperial mausolea were constructed, each with a dome expressive of the apotheosis, the coming-to-divinity of the emperor. A dome was eventually placed over the empty tomb, the anastasis, expressive both of the resurrection and of the divinity of Christ. Constantine had a half-dome, an apse, constructed over the grave-shrine of the apostle Peter, expressing his share already in divine life, even as we await the resurrection of the dead. Eventually a full dome was constructed for the current basilica of St. Peter, and this is placed over the tomb of the saint, even as it accommodates many members of the liturgical assembly.

The basilica of Holy Peace had a dome placed over the crossing of the nave and transept to create a domed, cruciform church. This dome, however, was not associated with a tomb. Rather, the place under the dome was open to accommodate the Christian assembly. The church of Holy Wisdom is almost all dome and half domes to accommodate the Christian assembly. These two domes in Constantinople express the character of Christian life as a sharing in divine life. It is no wonder that monks in Constantinople helped to refine our understanding of theosis. This association of the dome with the theosis of the Christian assembly suggests that the area under the dome be left open as an axis mundi, “a vertical-axis of the world,” for the celebration of vocational rites expressive of our coming to share in divine life. ⁹

6. Trauma of Violence

Contemporary trauma theory gives us another lens with which to interpret the bones. ¹⁰ Christ’s bones do not remain in Jerusalem, because they were transformed in his bodily resurrection. His flesh both bears the wounds and is healed, glorified. The trauma of violence visited upon Christ has been transcended by the glory of the resurrection.

The church in Rome was founded in violence, the shedding of the blood of the apostles Peter and Paul and many other believers in sporadic persecutions over the first three centuries. This violence was visited by the government against its own people. A city and empire turned against part of itself, and the trauma of such betrayal and violence remains with us. I recently visited the restored basilica of San Stefano Rotondo on the Caelian hill of Rome, where the wall murals depict acts of torturous violence leading to the deaths of the saints shown as innocent victims enduring slaughter in the hope of the glory that lay before them. Even as we venerate the saints in light, their bones remain on earth. The wounds of their slaughter remain, because dead bones don’t heal. Rather, bones are stuck, frozen in the violence they bore, and the memory of this trauma is passed down from generation to generation. These bones must bear their wounds even now and until their hope will one day be fulfilled. Celebrating the eucharist over these bones perpetuates the memorial of their violent death even as it inspires our hope in sharing in the communion of saints. The violence of trauma experienced by the early Christians of Rome is felt even in our day and is perhaps crystallized in the emphasis given to the eucharist as the sacrifice of the cross.

The Christian community in Byzantium was not founded on the blood of martyrs, although the relics of many saints were later brought into the city. Just as the anamnetic and eschatological dimensions of the Byzantine liturgy are perhaps derived more from the meal as a reflection of the heavenly banquet on earth, so too the veneration of the saints is less encumbered by the trauma associated with the places of their martyrdom and burial so that they may be venerated less ambiguously as the company of saints gathered with us at the eucharistic banquet.

7. Conclusion

Simply put, 1) the bones are missing in Jerusalem, because Christ has already entered into our eschatological future; our eschatological hope was fully revealed in history in Christ’s resurrection and appearances to the disciples. 2) We celebrate the eucharist near the place where Peter was martyred and over his very bones, the memorial of his sacrifice of himself in imitation of Christ, even as his bones must await the general resurrection of the dead. Celebrating the eucharist at the tombs of the martyrs may have led to a greater emphasis on the eucharist as sacrifice, the memorial of Christ’s sacrifice on the cross. Greater emphasis has been given to the institution narrative in the eucharistic prayer, especially since the 1100s, all emphasizing the anamnetic character of liturgy. 3) The great church of Constantinople was not built over the bones of martyrs. Without the historical weight of the Holy Sepulchre or of the tombs of martyrs, the liturgy itself was the source of anamnesis and eschatology as a foretaste of the heavenly wedding feast of the lamb, an earthly feast that shares in the eschatological banquet. Greater emphasis is given in the Byzantine liturgy to the role of the Holy Spirit acting in liturgy.

Missing, having, lacking bones is one way to summarize the differences among these three churches. Another is: resurrection, sacrifice, wedding feast. Yet a third concerns time: already, not yet, a foretaste, which we can say more fully as: already risen, saints yet awaiting the resurrection of the body, the banquet with the heavenly court. The Lord’s supper, then, is seen as: a sharing in the meals of the resurrected Christ, or the eucharistic meal celebrated at the tomb of a saint, or a foretaste of the heavenly banquet. I might also add: fullness, awaiting, tasting. Finally, from trauma theory we might say: Christ’s wounds are healed, dead bones don’t heal, imported bones express the communion of saints; and again: violence is transcended in the resurrection, the scars of violence remain in bones which still must await our hope even as we celebrate the eucharistic meal over these bones, the liturgy of Constantinople was not founded on local violence. The liturgies celebrated in each of these three churches express all the essential characteristics, but each in its own way. The anamnetic, epicletic, eschatological, and theotic dimensions of liturgy are inherent in every liturgical action, but in various ways, with different emphases, combining to form syntheses specific to the place and its role in salvation history.

I hope that this article has described some of the differences in theology between the Roman and Byzantine liturgies. Of course this presentation is too simple and the cultural reasons are surely varied for the emphasis in the Christian west on the anamnetic character of liturgy as the memorial of Christ’s sacrifice and in the Christian east on the eschatological character of liturgy and the ongoing activity of the Holy Spirit. On the other hand, the bones may serve as an interpretative key that can help one to understand a vastly more complex history because our memories and hopes lie deep in the bones.