Although I am a cradle Catholic, I have never much cared for hagiographies. I know the stories of the saints should be a source of inspiration, and I do have many saints who have played important roles in my faith journey. Still, when I read the heroic tales made out of their lives, particularly the martyrs, I find them to be an obstacle to my faith, for two reasons. First, because I find so many of them hard to believe — particularly for the martyrs in the early church. The stories told about them seem, well, unlikely at best; they read like myths and fairy tales, not history. Second, the writers of these stories often appear to revel in describing the torture and suffering these saints undergo. I don’t read true crime because I don’t like reveling in trauma, and I still don’t like it even if the person undergoes this pain joyfully for the love of God.
But, if I am being honest with myself, there is a third reason I mostly avoid these stories — because I know I would not live up to these examples. If put to the test, I do not think I would pass. So while here in the 21st century, there are still all sorts of ways we are challenged every day to live out our faith, I am relieved and grateful that this no longer involves hot pokers and boiling oil.
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All of this being said, part of my Lenten practice this year has been spending time reading contemporary versions of the lives of the saints, and trying to find things in these stories that do speak to me, in spite of the torture and the hard-to-believe smiles amidst the pain.
Which brings me to Saints Timothy and Maura — one of the few married couples to be made saints together. I read about them in Meg Hunter-Kilmer’s “Pray for Us: 75 Saints Who Sinned, Suffered, and Struggled on Their Way to Holiness,” where she explains that they lived in third-century Egypt, and had only been married for a few weeks when Timothy “was denounced as a Christian and a keeper of the holy books.” Timothy refused to renounce his faith or turn over his holy books (I admit my fondness for Timothy is not entirely unrelated to his dedication to his books!), and as a result, Hunter-Kilmer writes bluntly, “the tortures began.” When Timothy holds firm, they bring in his 17-year-old wife and go to work on her, too.
The rest of the story is, generally speaking, the kind that turns me off — we get eyelids cut off, hot pokers in ears, finger removal, immersion in boiling water that doesn’t kill, and finally mutual crucifixions lasting over a week. Improbable, all of it, and over the top, too. But there is something in Timothy and Maura’s story that still speaks to me.
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Underneath the excesses of the hagiography, this is a story about a married couple who clearly love each other, but love God more — or perhaps it’s more true to say that their love for each other and their love for God is bound together and inseparable. Neither could imagine being together if they turned their back on their faith, because their faith is the root of their relationship.
This all sounds beautiful, and actually reminds me of my own marriage, but if I am being honest with myself I know that if I was asked to publicly renounce my faith so my wife would not be tortured, I would. (I would hopefully keep my faith in my heart and pray for forgiveness, but still, I couldn’t in good conscience let her suffer for the pride of my own integrity, and I don’t really believe that this is what God asks of us.) But the real lesson here for me is not about apostasy, it is about encouragement.
Hunter-Kilmer writes that Timothy and Maura were crucified facing each other, and as they hung there they “encouraged each other….When one was weak, the other would be strong.” Again, while I find it hard to countenance this kind of heroic virtue (I can’t help but think of the scene in “Monty Python’s Life of Brian,” where all of the crucified people sing “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life”), the idea of marriage partners supporting each other through the hardest imaginable moments — of suffering together, but taking turns being strong for one’s beloved — does ring true.
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I’ve been married for 22 years now, and although my wife and I have not (thank God) been put to anything like this kind of test, we have taken turns supporting each other through loss and disappointment and illness; and have taken turns encouraging each other in our faith lives: when one of us is feeling distant from God, or barren in the faith, the other takes the lead on encouraging the whole family to pray, to attend Mass, to engage in acts of service and living out Christ’s commandments in the Beatitudes.
Most of us are not called to martyrdom, or asked to carry out some sort of heroic witness to our faith. But we are all called to support and encourage those who are suffering, particularly people in our own families. And for those of us who are fortunate enough to have a spouse who is making this journey alongside us, the witness — and intercession — of these married saints can be one more source of support. Saints Timothy and Maura, pray for us.
