Saint Luke the Evangelist, Dear and Glorious Physician

The Church honors St. Luke the Evangelist on October 18. Author of a unique Gospel and Acts of the Apostles, Luke is the source of the most cited parables of Jesus.

In “February Tales,” an early post on Beyond These Stone Walls, I wrote of some of the books that captivated my imagination in childhood. Working today in a library, I have come across some of them decades later in adulthood and gave them a second look. It’s a testimony to growing up that most of the books I thought were masterpieces of Western literature in my youth are only laughable today. But a rare few have stood the test of time.

One of them is a book I stumbled upon at age 16. It was 1969 and I was in my senior year of high school. I wrote a short biography of what my life was like then against the backdrop of a culture in the early days of its long moral and social decline. You could find those biographical paragraphs early on in my recent post, “Where Were You When Neil Armstrong Walked on the Moon?”

Somehow in 1969, I discovered among the tattered paperbacks of the Lynn English High School Library a historical novel that would leave its mark on my mind and soul for decades to come. Though first published in 1959, it is a testament to its literary stature that its most recent hardcover edition was published over a half century later in 2012, twenty-seven years after the author’s death. The book is Dear and Glorious Physician  by Taylor Caldwell who described its long path:

“This book has been forty-six years in the writing. The first version was written when I was twelve years old, the second when I was twenty-two, the third when I was twenty-six, and all through those years work did not cease on this book. It was impossible to complete, as the other versions were impossible to complete, until my husband and I visited the Holy Land in 1956.”

Taylor Caldwell published forty-three novels to much acclaim in her literary career. Among them were some stand-out historical novels. Her most famous was Captains and the Kings  (1972) about the wave of Irish immigrations to America. It became an equally acclaimed television mini-series later in the 1970s.

Caldwell’s first novel was published in 1939. Her last, Unto All Men, was posthumously found and published by her grandchildren in 2012. At that time, they also republished Dear and Glorious Physician, Ms Caldwell’s labor of love that spanned decades in its writing. No other book of my youth has withstood the test of time with such power and majesty.

The author imagined the life of Saint Luke the Evangelist with such realism that it seemed as though she had followed him through it taking notes. It is impossible to know of the birth and upbringing of any of the Gospel characters. But where their life stories were absent, Ms Caldwell spent years, with the assistance of a Catholic priest and historian, researching life and culture in early First Century Antioch — which today is Southern Turkey, the world from which Saint Luke emerged.

She was also aided in this adventure by a wealth of legends about Saint Luke that surfaced in the first few centuries, some of them known to the early Church Fathers, from Antioch, Greece, and Egypt. Like many stories surrounding Biblical legends, some were built upon grains of truth. She was aided in this effort by a collection of these extra-Biblical legends surrounding Saint Luke in the possession of a Catholic nun living in Antioch during the years of her research. The end result is a remarkable volume described by Taylor Caldwell with shades of the pilgrimage of her own life:

“This book is only indirectly about Our Lord. No novel, no historical book, can convey the story of His life so well as our Sacred Scripture. The story of Lucanus, St Luke, is the story of every man’s pilgrimage through despair and life’s darkness, through suffering and anguish, through bitterness and sorrow, doubt and cynicism, rebellion and hopelessness, to the Feet and the understanding of God. The search for God and the final revelation are the only meaning in life for men.”

The Spiritual Legacy of Saint Luke

In the Roman Rite, the Church honors and remembers Saint Luke the Evangelist on October 18. At least some of the readers of Beyond These Stone Walls  may have gleaned from my posts that among the four Gospel writers, I have long been especially drawn to the work of Saint Luke. Many of my posts have been built upon Gospel passages that are unique to Luke alone. We will link to a few of the more important ones at the end of this post.

There are several factors that make Luke unique among the four Evangelists. He was the only Gentile author to compose a book in the Canon of Sacred Scripture. All others were of Israelite descent. Saint Paul hints at Luke’s Gentile identity and profession when he refers to him as “Luke the beloved physician” (Colossians 4:14).

Luke is also the only Evangelist to have composed a sequel to his Gospel. The Acts of the Apostles is the second of a two-volume work that picks up immediately where Luke’s Gospel ends. It continues the Gospel narrative with a revelation of how, after the Ascension of Jesus, the Holy Spirit continued to work in the living community of Christ’s mystical body, the Church.

The early manuscripts of the third Gospel, all of which were composed in highly sophisticated Greek, had the title, “Kata Loukan,” meaning “According to Luke.” Though Luke was not an Apostle (nor was Saint Mark) this title serves as a signpost of apostolic tradition in the Gospel. There was no debate whatsoever among the early Christian Church that the author of this work was indeed Luke, the companion of Saint Paul.

Like Paul, Luke had never known Jesus directly, but rather experienced Him in His post-Resurrection presence to the apostolic community and its birth at Pentecost. The Church Fathers were unanimous as far back as A.D. 170 that Luke is indeed the author of both the third Gospel and the Acts of the Apostles.

The only professional disagreement among scholars is the time period in which the Gospel transformed from oral tradition to written form. Luke himself possessed highly refined Greek linguistic ability, and his Gospel clearly reflects it. So there is no reason to believe that Luke relied on anyone else to put his Gospel in written form.

Estimates of the date of authorship vary from about A.D. 60 to A.D. 80. There is much evidence, however, to hold to the earlier date because of the close connection between this Gospel and Acts of the Apostles. The latter, which was the second to be written, concludes with Saint Paul in prison in Rome in A.D. 62. There is no hint at all of the outcome of Paul’s trial or any subsequent activity.

In Acts of the Apostles, much attention is given by Luke to the interactions between the earliest Christians and imperial Rome. However Luke presents no apparent awareness of the open persecution of Christians later in the 60s, nor does he ever mention the late 60s martyrdom of his two central characters in Acts: Saints Peter and Paul. Luke’s writings also seem unaware of the events of A.D. 70 when Jerusalem was utterly destroyed by the Romans.

The Gospel According to Luke is also unique in its near complete absence of Hebrew terms. His one theme that towers above all others is his proclamation of universal salvation for all who embrace Christ. As a writer from Antioch steeped in Greek language and culture, Luke writes for Gentile believers.

This explains his lack of Hebrew terminology. However, he also displays a profound knowledge of the Hebrew Scriptures, and an ability to incorporate them into his Gospel narrative by way of inference. There are a multitude of examples, but here is one from my post “Waking up in the Garden of Gethsemane.”

In the Gospel of Luke (22:31ff ) Jesus is alone and apart from the others as He prays in agony in the face of death. “Father, if you are willing, remove this chalice from me, but Thy will, and not mine, be done.” For Hebrew ears, Luke’s account of Jesus at Gethsemane (referred to only as the Mount of Olives in Luke) is a mirror image in reverse of a scene that occurred at that very same site 1,000 years earlier.

It was a story of a son not obedient unto death, but of a son who betrayed his father. It was the agony of King David and his flight from his son, Absalom, who betrayed him:

“David went up the ascent of the Mount of Olives, weeping as he went, with his head covered and walking barefoot.”

— 2 Samuel 15:30

The Magnificat and Two Powerful Parables

It seems clear that Luke had an awareness of the Gospel of Mark which he incorporates as a source, but he also had sources that none of the other Evangelists had. Luke’s Gospel is the sole source of the glorious Magnificat, the proclamation of Mary in her pre-Christmas visit to her cousin, Elizabeth. Many believe that Luke was given this by Mary herself (Luke 1:46-56):

“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has regarded the low estate of his handmaiden. For behold, henceforth all generations will call me blessed, for he who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is on those who fear him in every generation. He has shown strength with his arm, and has scattered the proud in their conceit. He has cast down the mighty from their thrones and has lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things and the rich he has sent empty away. He has come to the help of his servant, Israel remembering his promise of mercy as he spoke to our fathers, to Abraham and his children forever.”

Women are especially honored throughout the Gospel of Luke. His portrayal of Mary the Mother of God is unparalleled in the New Testament. He is the sole source of the Archangel Gabriel’s declaration of Annunciation — “Hail, Full of Grace” (Luke 1:28), another example of the belief of many that Mary or someone close to her was one of his sources. Luke also pays close attention to the presence of Elizabeth (1:39-45), Anna (2:36-38), the widow of Nain (7:11-17), Mary Magdalene (8:2), Mary and Martha of Bethany (10:38-42), Joanna and Susanna (8:3) and others.

Saint Luke’s Gospel presents the sole account of the Parable of the Prodigal Son and the Parable of the Good Samaritan, two of the most important stories and most reflected-upon moral lessons in the life of the Church. At the end of this post, I will link to some of the BTSW  posts that highlight popular parables unique to Luke’s Gospel. Those parables are held to be masterpieces of Catholic spirituality.

Saint Luke composed a two-part spiritual masterpiece for the ages. Taylor Caldwell would make no such claim, but by having brought Saint Luke to life some 2000 years later with such clarity, beauty and majesty, she deserves at least one not-so-coveted award to honor her accomplishment.  Beyond These Stone Walls’ Stuck-Inside Literary Award is presented posthumously to Taylor Caldwell for Dear and Glorious Physician.

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Note from Father Gordon MacRae:  Please share this post on social media. It would also help the cause of justice if you Subscribe to Beyond These Stone Walls. 

You may also like these other tributes to the Gospel According to St. Luke:

To Christ the King Through the Immaculate Heart of Mary

The Ark of the Covenant and the Mother of God

St. Gabriel the Archangel: When the Dawn from On High Broke Upon Us

We invite you to visit our Sacred Scripture category at the BTSW Library.

Judas Iscariot: Who Prays for the Soul of a Betrayer?

Judas Iscariot: The most reviled name in all of Sacred Scripture is judged only by his act of betrayal, but without him among the Apostles is there any Gospel at all?

False witness and betrayal are two of the most heinous themes in all of world literature, and Sacred Scripture is no exception. Literature is filled with it because so are we. Not many of us get to live our lives without ever experiencing the false witness of an enemy or the betrayal of a friend.

Recently, I was confronted by the death of someone whom I once thought of as a friend, someone who once betrayed me with a self-serving story of false witness for nothing more redemptive than thirty pieces of silver. It’s an account that will be taken up soon by some other writer for I am not objective enough to bring justice, let alone mercy, to that story.

But for now, there is one aspect of it that I must write about at this of all times. As I was preparing to offer Mass late on a Sunday night, the thought came that I should offer it for this betrayer, this liar, this thief. Every part of my psyche and spirit rebelled against that thought, but in the end, I did what I had been beckoned to do.

It was difficult. It was very difficult. And it cost me even more of myself than that person had already taken. It cost me the perversely comforting experience of eternal resentment. I have not forgiven this false accuser. That is a grace I have not yet discovered. Nor could I so easily set aside the depth of his betrayal.

In offering the Mass, I just asked God not to see this story only as I do. I asked Him not to forever let this soul slip from His grasp, for perhaps there were influences at work that I do not know. have always suspected so.

The obituary said he died “peacefully” just two weeks before his 49th birthday. It said nothing about the cause of death nor anything about a Mass. There was a generic “celebration of his life.” False witness does not leave much to celebrate. Faith, too, had been betrayed for money.

I am still angry with this person even in death, but I take no consolation that his presence in this world has passed. My anger will have to be comfort enough because at some point I realized that my Mass was likely the only one in the world that had been sacrificed for this soul with any legitimate hope for salvation.

That’s the problem with false witness. Its purveyors tell themselves they have no need for salvation. I do not know whether he is any better off for this Mass having been offered, but I do know that I am.

Ever Ancient, Ever New

The experience also focused my attention on history’s most notorious agent of false witness and betrayal, Judas Iscariot. Who has ever prayed for the soul of a betrayer? Not I — at least, not yet — but I also just weeks ago thought it impossible that I would pray for the soul of my accuser.

I cannot get Judas off my mind this week. And as with most Biblical narratives, once I took a hard look, I found a story on its surface and a far greater one in its depths. In those depths is an account of the meaning of the Cross that I found to be staggering today. It changes the way I today see the Cross and the role of Judas in bringing it about. It strikes me that there is not a single place in the narrative of salvation history that does not reflect chaos.

Understanding the Sacrifice of Calvary requires a journey all the way back to the time of Abraham, some 2000 years before the Birth of the Messiah. God had earlier made a covenant with Abraham, a promise to make of his descendants a great nation.

The story of the birth of his son, Isaac, foreshadows that of John the Baptist who in turn foreshadows Jesus. Abraham and Sarah, like Zechariah and Elizabeth, were too old to bear a child, and yet they did. And not just any child. Isaac was the evidence and hope of God’s covenant with Abraham. “I will multiply your descendants as the stars of heaven.”

Then, in Genesis 22, God called Abraham to do the unthinkable: to sacrifice his only son, the one person who was to fulfill God’s covenant. The scene unfolds on Mount Moriah, a place later described in the Book of Chronicles (2 Ch 3:1) as the very site of the future Jerusalem Temple. In obedience, Abraham placed the wood for the sacrifice upon the back of his son, Isaac, who must carry the wood to the hilltop (Gen 22:6).

On that Via Dolorosa, the child Isaac asked his father, “Where is the lamb for the sacrifice?” Abraham’s answer “God will provide Himself the lamb for a burnt offering.” Notice the subtle play on words. There is no punctuation in the original Hebrew of the text. The thought process does not convey, “God Himself will provide the lamb…. but rather, “God will provide Himself, the lamb for sacrifice.”

An Angel of the Lord ultimately stayed Abraham’s hand, and then pointed out a ram in the thicket to complete the sacrifice. In his fascinating book, The Lamb’s Supper: The Mass as Heaven on Earth (Image Books 1999) author Scott Hahn provides a reflection on the Genesis account that I had long linked to the Cross:

“Christians would later look upon the story of Abraham and Isaac as a profound allegory for the sacrifice of Jesus on the Cross.” (p. 18)

The similarities in the two accounts, says Scott Hahn, are astonishing. The first line of the New Testament – Matthew 1:1 — identifies “Jesus the Messiah, the son of David, the son of Abraham…” Jesus, like Isaac, was a faithful father’s only son. Isaac, like Jesus, carried “the wood” for his own sacrifice upon Mount Moriah. In fact, Calvary, the place of the Crucifixion of Christ, is a hillock in the Moriah range.

This places three pivotal Scriptural accounts — each separated by about 1,000 years — in the same place: The site where Abraham was called to sacrifice Isaac, the site of the Jerusalem Temple of Sacrifice, and the site of the Crucifixion of Christ.

In Hebrew, that place is called “Golgotha,” meaning “the place of the skull.” Its origin is uncertain, but there is an ancient Hebrew folklore that the skull of Adam was discovered there. Before the Romans arrived in Palestine, it was a place used for public executions, primarily for stoning. The word “Calvary” is from the Latin “calvaria” meaning “skull.” It was translated into Latin from the Greek, “kranion,” which in turn was a translation of the Hebrew, “Golgotha.”

No angel would stay the Hand of God. God provided Himself the Lamb for the sacrifice. This interplay between these Biblical accounts separated by 2,000 years is the source for our plea in the Mass, “Lamb of God Who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us.”

At the Hour of Darkness

The four Gospel accounts in the Canon of Scripture all came into written form after the apostolic witnesses experienced the Resurrection of Jesus. So everything they set out to preserve for the future was seen in that light. The outcome of the story is triumphantly clear in the minds of the New Testament authors. Had the Gospel ended at the Cross, the accounts would be very different.

Judas Iscariot, therefore, is identified early in each Gospel account when he is first summoned by Jesus to the ranks of the Apostles as “the one who would betray him.” John (6:71) adds the Greek term, “diabolos” (6:70), to identify Judas. It is translated “of the devil,” but its connotation is also that of a thief, an informer, a liar, and a betrayer, one drawn into evil by the lure of money.

These adjectives are not presented only to explain the character of Judas, but also to explain that greed left Judas open to Satan. Each Gospel account is clear that Jesus chose him among the Twelve, and in all three Synoptic Gospels, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Jesus presents a constant awareness of the coming betrayal of Judas — seemingly as a necessary part of the story.

During Holy Week this year, we hear the full account of the Passion Narrative from Mark (on Palm Sunday) and John (on Good Friday). But for this post I want to focus on the version from Luke. The Gospel of Luke is unique in Scripture. It is the only Scriptural account written by a non-Jewish author.

Luke’s Gospel is the only account with a sequel, Acts of the Apostles, which was also written by Luke. And it is the only Gospel account to include the parables of the Prodigal Son and the Good Samaritan, all of which figure into this story set in motion by the betrayal of Judas.

Luke, though a Gentile and a physician, was also a scholar. He makes few direct references to Old Testament texts, but his Gospel is filled with echoes and allusions to Old Testament themes. Greek Christians may not have readily understood this, but he also wrote his Gospel for Jewish Christians in the Diaspora who would have found in Luke a rich and valuable affirmation of salvation history in their life of faith.

What is most clear to me in Luke’s treatment of Judas is that the story is written with a theme that I readily identify with spiritual warfare. The Passion Narrative has a thread that begins with a story I have written before. In “A Devil in the Desert for the Last Temptation of Christ,” I wrote about the meaning of Satan’s temptation of Christ in the desert. It ends in Luke’s Gospel:

“When the devil had ended every temptation [of Christ], he departed from him until an opportune time.”

— Luke 4:13

Luke constructs his account of the Judas story with threads throughout his Gospel. He shows that the power of Satan, which is frustrated by Jesus in the account of his 40-day temptation in the desert “until an opportune time,” finds its opportunity, not in Jesus, but in Judas whose act of betrayal triggers “the hour of darkness” and the Passion of the Christ:

“Then Satan entered Judas, called Iscariot, who was a member of the Twelve. He went away and conferred with the chief priests….”

— Luke 22:3

The origin and meaning of “Iscariot” is uncertain. It is not known whether it is a name or a title associated with Judas. In Hebrew, it means “man of Keriot”, a small town marking the border of the territory of the Tribe of Judah (see Joshua 15:21.25), to which both Judas and Jesus belonged. Betrayal is all the more bitter when the betrayer is closely associated. The Greek Iskariotes has the cognate sicarias, meaning “assassin,” a name ascribed to a band of outlaws in New Testament times.

It is clear in Luke’s presentation that this act of Judas is equated with original sin, the sin of Adam and Eve lured by the serpent. At the Last Supper, after the Institution of the Eucharist, Jesus said:

“But behold the hand of him who is to betray me is with me at this table, for the Son of Man goes as it has been determined.”

— Luke 22:21

Jesus added, “But woe to that man by whom he is betrayed.” That “woe” is symbolized later in the way the life of Judas ends as described below. The phrase, “as it has been determined,” however, implies that the betrayal was seen not only in its own light but also as a necessary part of God’s plan.

Later, with Judas absent, Jesus warned his disciples at the Mount of Olives, “Pray that you may not enter into temptation.” They did anyway. After the arrest of Jesus at Gethsemane, they scattered. Peter, leader of the Twelve, denied three times that he even knew him. Then the cock crowed (Luke 22:61) just as Jesus predicted. This is often depicted as a literal rooster crowing, but the bugle ending the third-night watch for Roman legions at 3:00 AM was also called the “cockcrow.”

At Gethsemane, Judas betrays Jesus with a kiss, perverting a sign of friendship and affection into one of betrayal and false witness. This is what begins the Passion Narrative and the completion of Salvation History. Jesus tells Judas and the servants of the chief priest:

“When I was with you day after day in the Temple you did not lay a hand on me, but this is your hour, and the power of darkness.”

— Luke 22:53

Later, in the Acts of the Apostles (26:18) Luke identifies the power of darkness as being in opposition to the power of light, an allusion to spiritual warfare. For Luke’s Gospel, it is our ignorance of spiritual warfare that leaves us most vulnerable.

Following immediately after the betrayal of Judas, one of the disciples present draws his sword and cuts off the ear of the servant of the High Priest. In the Gospel of John, the disciple is identified as Peter. This account is very significant and symbolic of the spiritual bankruptcy that Judas set in motion.

In the well-known Parable of the Good Samaritan in Luke’s Gospel, a priest came upon the broken body of an injured man left beaten by robbers on the side of the road. Jesus says in the Parable that the priest just passed by in silence, but this was readily understandable to the Pharisee to whom the parable is told.

The Pharisee, an expert in the Old Covenant law of Moses, understood that the Book of Leviticus forbade a priest who is defiled by the dead body of an alien from offering sacrifice in the Jerusalem Temple. The severed ear of the High Priest’s servant at Gethsemane refers back to the same precept:

“So no one who has a blemish shall draw near [to the Sanctuary], no one who is blind or lame or has a mutilated face…”

— Leviticus 22:18

The symbolism here is that the spiritual bankruptcy of the High Priest, who is not present at the arrest, is represented by his servant. In Luke’s Gospel, and in Luke alone, Jesus heals the ear. It is the sole miracle story in the Passion Narrative of any of the four Gospels and represents that Jesus wields the power of God even over the High Priest and Temple sacrifice.

When the role of Judas Iscariot is complete, he faces a bizarre end in Luke. The Gospel of Matthew (26:56) has Judas despairing and returning his 30 pieces of silver to the Temple. Luke, in Acts of the Apostles (1:16-20) explains that the actions of Judas were “so that the Scriptures may be fulfilled.” But in Luke, Judas meets an even more bitter end, bursting open and falling headlong as “all his bowels gushed out.” The field where this happened then became known as the Field of Blood, and the money that purchased it, “blood money.”

The point of the story of Judas in the Gospel of Luke is that discipleship engages us in spiritual warfare, and spiritual blindness leaves us vulnerable to our own devices, as it did Judas. This life “is your hour, and the power of darkness.” The plot against Jesus was Satan’s, and Judas was but its pawn.

So who prays for the souls of our betrayers? I did, and it was difficult. It was very difficult. But I can see today why Jesus called us to pray for those who persecute us. It is not only for their sake but for ours.

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Editor’s Note: Please share this post. For further reading, the Easter Season comes alive in these other posts from Beyond These Stone Walls:

• Casting the First Stone: What Jesus Wrote in the Sand

• The Chief Priests Answered, “We Have No King but Caesar”

• Dismas, Crucified to the Right: Paradise Lost and Found

• Behold the Lamb of God Upon the Altar of Mount Moriah