In a recent post, I suggested that ancient Christians could subordinate or bend institutional and liturgical boundaries in the name of peace and unity. The case study in question was the celebration of Easter.
Probably for more Christians today, however, sacramental theory and practice are more salient dividing lines than the dating of Easter. This is understandable, considering that the two original sacraments, baptism and the Eucharist, are inherently rites governing membership and community.
If one finds some modern Christians (e.g., low church) to be “squishy” on baptism and/or the Eucharist, then one might expect a more hardline attitude in antiquity. Dionysius of Alexandria (fl. 231–264), however, had his own approach to institutional-liturgical boundaries that I think would startle many today; it certainly startles me every time I return to it.
In a collegial letter to the sitting bishop of Rome, Sixtus (r. 257–258), Dionysius recounts a recent episode in his jurisdiction. An older Christian man, long in good standing, had recently come to him in great distress:
Weeping and bewailing himself, he fell at my feet, admitting and renouncing his baptism, which he had received from heretics, which was not (our real baptism) nor had any fellowship with it, for that other (baptism) was full of ungodliness and blasphemy. And he was saying how his soul was altogether stung and that he lacked proper standing (Gk. parrhesia) to lift his eyes toward God, being driven away by those unholy words and deeds. For that reason, he was asking for this most pure cleansing (of our baptism), reception, and grace.
Obviously, one can understand this man’s profound alarm: most of us would want a baptismal do-over if it turned out heretics had performed some parallel ceremony on us. But notice how Dionysius handles the request for re-baptism:
That very thing I did not dare to do, having said that the long-time fellowship sufficed for this: for having heeded the Eucharist, having uttered the “amen,” having attended the table, having extended hands to the reception of the holy food, having accepted the body and blood of our Lord, and having shared this for a long enough time, I would not still dare to invalidate it all from the beginning. But I was commanding him to take heart and to join in the participation of the rites with both firm faith and good hope.[1]
In the next sentence, however, Dionysius notes that the man in question still could not bring himself back to full participation, out of fear of sacrilege.
Dionysius is shockingly—relaxed?—and pragmatic about heretical baptism on one hand. On the other, despite all the man’s pleading, the bishop’s reticence to “invalidate” all of the man’s fundamentally Christian life hitherto reveals a different set of values. Years of sharing communion is obviously doing a lot of work here in Dionysius’ calculus, but it’s not the whole story.
In fact, it seems that Dionysius himself fears a kind of sacrilege in rebaptism, that a redo would somehow call into question, overturn, or obviate the sacred life lived by his parishioner up to this point. In other words, Dionysius is not just saying rebaptism is unnecessary: he is actually protecting some other spiritual good at the apparent expense of proper baptism and despite the man’s pleas to clear his conscience.
This is one of those passages from early Christian history that pings a small alert to my brain that their theological categories do not perfectly map onto modern schemas and priorities—or at least mine, anyway. Even with something so apparently fundamental as “getting baptism right,” other ends might be more important.
