The Lives of the Saints, Volume 01 (of 16): JanuaryBaring-Gould, S. (Sabine)
Religion
The Lives of the Saints, Volume 01 (of 16): January
Baring-Gould, S. (Sabine)
Christian saints
forward from other parts to the tribunal before the judge, confessing
they were Christians, most indifferent to the dreadful and many kinds of
tortures that awaited them, but declaring themselves fully, and in the
most undaunted manner, on the religion which acknowledges only one
Supreme God. They received, indeed, the final sentence of death with
gladness and exultation, so far as even to sing and send up hymns of
praise and thanksgiving, until they breathed their last."
The names of these blessed ones, whose bones are strewn over the deserts
of Egypt, are unknown to us; but they are written in the Book of Life.
At the day of the general Resurrection they will rise and stand, on
their feet, a great army.
S. SYNCLETICA, V.
(4TH CENT.)
[S. Syncletica is commemorated by the Westerns on the 5th Jan., and
by the Easterns on the 4th Jan. Her life, written shortly after her
death, has been attributed to S. Athanasius, but on insufficient
grounds.]
At a time when luxury was carried to extremities, and the body was
pampered, and the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride
of life, were the objects for which men and women lived, here and there
the spirit of man throbbed with higher aspirations, and yearned to
break away from the gilded round of wealthy frivolity, to live a truer
life and breathe a purer air. Society was rotten to its core; decency
was not observed in conversation; modesty was forgotten in dress, and
all that could gratify the flesh, and excite passion, was studied as an
art. In the midst of this hot, sickly atmosphere of evil, pure souls,
like that of Syncletica, stifled. The modest mind of a young girl shrank
into itself, like a delicate flower that closes at the rude touch, and
died to the world. If she were a heathen, she bent her head, and
sickened and faded. If she were a Christian, she found in the shadow of
the Church, a fresh spot where she might bloom, fanned by the breezes of
Paradise.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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