“Reign: The Church in the Middle Ages” by Luke H. Davis

Many of us have an image in our heads of what the Middle Ages were all about. At one time, we called the period the “Dark Ages,” the time following the end of the Roman Empire, when the civilized world was overrun by barbarians, culture collapsed, people were divided into serfs or nobles (with most becoming serfs), and life became nasty, brutish and short. Then came the Renaissance and the Enlightenment. 

Nothing is ever that simple. Many good things came from the period we call the Enlightenment, but so did the barbarism of the French Revolution. The Middle Ages were anything but a stagnant time, and that’s especially true for the church. 

 

Reign: The Church in the Middle Ages is the second book in the Risen Hope church history series by Luke Herron Davis. It is structured much like its immediate predecessor, Redemption: The Church in Ancient Times.  Aimed squarely at younger readers, it’s written in a lively, storytelling style that introduces the key people of the church for period that extended from the Fall of Rome to roughly the 1400s.

 

Included are stories about St. Benedict, St. Columba, Pope Gregory I, St. Anselm, St. Bernard, Peter Waldo, St Francis of Assisi, Stephen Langton, Thomas Aquinas, John Wycliffe, Julian of Norwich, and John Hus. David includes short vignettes of historical events that involved these people – the Crusades, the signing of the Magna Carta, the rise of the papacy and Islam, and more.

 

Luke H. Davis

While the intended audience is younger readers, even older readers can learn something from the book. I didn’t know, for example, the critical role Stephen Langton, archbishop of Canterbury, played in the writing of the Magna Carta and its signing by King John in 1215. The book is packed with “face files” like that.

 

Davis teaches at Westminster Christian Academy in St. Louis and chairs the Bible Department there. He’s also taught at schools in Louisiana, Florida, and Virginia. He describes himself as “Presbyterian body, Lutheran heart, Anglican blood, Orthodox spirit,” all of which have served him well in writing the Cameron Ballack mysteries. He has published three Ballack mysteries, Litany of Secrets (2013), The Broken Cross (2015), and A Shattered Peace (2017), and the first book of a new series, Joel: The Merivalkan Chronicles Book 1 (2017). He blogs at For Grace and Kingdom.

 

Reign is a collection of stories about key figures of the church, but it is also the history of the church from the fall of the Roman Empire to the first stirrings of reformation coming from men like John Wycliffe and John Hus. The period was an exciting time, full of upset, change, and the transformation of the church to a political powerhouse, along with the corruption that came with it.

 

Related: 

 

Redemption: The Church in Ancient Times by Luke H. Davis.

“Redemption: The Church in Ancient Times” by Luke Herron Davis

My knowledge of church history was spotty – at best – for a very long time. My grade school and undergraduate education was almost entirely secular. I took two years of catechism (Lutheran version), and in my 20s took several extension courses about the Old and New Testaments. But if you asked me what I knew about the history of the early church before my mid-30s, I would have given you a timeline that leaped from the book of Acts to St. Augustine, and from St. Augustine to the Reformation.  

That state of affairs changed, dramatically, when I pursued a liberal arts master’s degree in my mid-30s. I took course like “Athens or Jerusalem,” “History of the Early Christian Church,” and “The Image of Rome.” I read the early church fathers, like Origen, Athanasius, Clement of Alexandria, and Tertullian. I read Peter Brown’s marvelous biography of Augustine. I read the Didache. And the Desert Fathers (and a few Desert Mothers). I read Kenneth Scott Latourette’s A History of Christianity (two fat volumes) and The Rise of Christianity by W.H.C. Frend. And a whole lot more. 

 

And I learned that the Christian church had an unbelievably rich, complex, and often profound history. And I realized how much of that history had been erased from so many of my history courses in high school and college. And I’ve often wondered how one could introduce that history to children and young people.

 

Luke Herron Davis has an answer – a series on church history written especially for younger readers. The first volume in that series is Redemption: The Church in Ancient Times. And far from being a weighty tome that could be a weapon if thrown at someone, it’s short, readable, interesting, and tells engaging stories taken straight from the Gospels and the Book of Acts as well as other sources of early church history.

 

Davis tells the story of the church by telling the stories of some of its leading historical figures from the first through the sixth centuries A.D. Each entry is 10 to 12 pages, written in story format – enough to impart important information about each figure and whet the appetite for more.

 

The people included are Peter, Paul, Ignatius, Polycarp, Cyprian, Constantine, Athanasius, Ambrose, John Chrysostom, Jerome, Augustine, and Patrick. Many others are mentioned in side notes (including one of my favorite figures, Tertullian). Each chapter is written like a story, bringing a freshness and a contemporary feel. The reader feels an integral part of what’s happening. 

 

It's an easy, interesting read, and I suspect that even adults would enjoy it (and learn a few things).

 

Luke Herron Davis

Davis teaches at Westminster Christian Academy in St. Louis and chairs the Bible Department there. He’s also taught at schools in Louisiana, Florida, and Virginia. He describes himself as “Presbyterian body, Lutheran heart, Anglican blood, Orthodox spirit,” all of which have served him well in writing the Cameron Ballack mysteries. He has published three Ballack mysteries, Litany of Secrets (2013), The Broken Cross (2015), and A Shattered Peace (2017), and the first book of a new series, Joel: The Merivalkan Chronicles Book 1 (2017). He blogs at For Grace and Kingdom.

 

Redemption is not written to be a complete, encyclopedic overview of church history. What it does is, aiming at young readers, provide an introduction to some of the leading figures of early church history, the people who evangelized, taught, encouraged, and admonished, and who often had the specter of martyrdom hanging over them (like Polycarp, bishop of Smyrna, who was himself discipled by the Apostle John). These are the people who faithfully transmitted the faith to future generations, and Davis is providing a real service in introducing them in such an engaging way to contemporary readers.

 

Next week: Reign: The Church in the Middle Ages.

 

Related:

 

Reading a Novel that Stars Your Hometown.

 

My review of Litany of Secrets.

 

My review of The Broken Cross.

 

My review of A Shattered Peace.

 

My review of Tough Issues, True Hope by Luke Davis.

Top illustration: a representation of the burning of Polycarp of Smyrna (168 A.D.), drawn by Jan Luyken in 1685.

The magician is schooled

After Acts 8: 14-25

The apostles hear of Samaria’s

rebirth, and two are sent to pray,

to teach, the call upon the holy wind

to descend. They lay their hands

on the people, the holy wind begins 

to blow, the holy fire begins to burn, 

and the magician sees the hands,

sees the power transferred, and 

wants that power, offering money

to buy whatever it is they have.

The magician is told the good news

is not for sale, that if he thinks it is

a commodity to be bought and sold

he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t

get it, and more, he doesn’t have it,

his heart doesn’t get it, he is still

chained by wickedness, saturated 

in gall, and your magic will do you

no good. The way is found and 

followed not by money but 

by the repentance of the heart.

The magician asks for prayer.

Photograph by Jr Korpa via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The magician is confounded

After Acts 8:9-13

A conjurer of signs, a magician

of wonders, doing far more than

pulling rabbits from hats, or so

it appeared, a celebrity who

so amazes and so dazzles that

even he calls himself great,

his magic renowned across

the city, across the region, 

hailed as the power of God.

But on the day the visitor

speaks and preaches, the day

the visitor heals the lame and

exorcises the spirits, the day

when the joy erupts across

the city, he sees a power

greater than his own, and he,

too, believes; he, too, is 

of one accord with the crowd;

he, too, is washed in the water

of forgiveness and a new birth.

Photograph by Gage Walker via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Joy in Samaria

After Acts 8:4-8

Forced to flee, he finds himself

in that place where the one met

the woman at the well. It remains

a halfway kind of place, believing

half of this and half of that,

a hodgepodge of scrolls and idols

and superstition. Even in his fear

and his near brush with chains,

he speaks, he preaches, he performs

signs. And they listen, as if they

are one body, in one accord, and

they see the unclean spirits 

screaming in the pain of discovery

and identification, abandon 

the human habitats, and they see

the paralyzed and lame suddenly

healed, and the crowd in one accord

knows what they are seeing is

not of this earth, and the idols

and the superstitions fall and

melt away, replaced by great joy.

Photograph by Pablo Heimplatz via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The wolf takes control

After Acts 8:1-7

He hears the speech, a sermon

really, directed against the rulers,

among which he considers

himself, or at least their helpmate,

and he nods and smiles, giving

approval as the speaker is rocked

with stones, pummeled to death

with rocks. This will stop it,

this will stop the infection and

the disease. He will root it out,

infectious cell by infectious cell,

searching the city house to house,

finding them, ordering guards

to drag them away and confine

infectious cells to cells with bars,

cells with chains.

And the flock scatters to the winds,

seemingly blown without thought,

without direction, fleeing 

for safety, for life, finding

themselves in small towns and

minor cities, places of little

consequence. And still fired

by the holy wind, they do

the only thing they know to do:

they speak, they preach, they tell

the truth of what they know.

Photograph by Rajashree Patra via Unsplash. Used with permission.

A calling, a life

After Acts 6:1-7

I am Greek, not Aramaic. 

I am not one of the originals

but came later, pulled by the news,

the Spirit, the miracles, tongues

of fire. The people choose me

one of the seven, and I do 

the only thing I knew to do:

distribute food, distribute alms,

care for needs, pray, share,

encourage. When the scattering

comes, I go, quickly, to Samaria,

still the city of half-faiths,

the city of magicians and fakers.

A smaller flock to serve, I do

what I’m called to do, what I can:

preach, speak, share, encourage.

Service there becomes conflict

and confrontation, confounding

the sorcerer who seeks to buy

what he thinks is magic. Sent 

to the desert road, I speak with

the Ethiopian seated in a chariot. 

And then I baptize. I’m learning,

being taught, growing, it’s on

to the Philistines and then

Caesarea, the city of Herod

and the Romans. There I live,

with my four daughters,

prophetesses. I preach, I speak,

I serve, I encourage, I pray. 

Photograph by Felicia Buitenwerf via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Only their names

After Acts 6:1-7

Seven appointed to serve,

the same reason for all:

seven men of good repute,

seven full of the spirit,

seven infused with wisdom,

seven who pleased the people

with service fair and impartial.

Two became famous; 

five did not. We have

their names, names implying

conversion from the Greek:

Prochorus, Nicanor, Timon,

Parmenas, Nicolas. Names

appear for a brief moment,

then submerge in the river

of time and history. While

we would hope (or flatter

ourselves) to be a Stephen 

of Philip, the truth is that

almost all of us will be

Prochorus, Nicanor, Timon,

Parmenas, Nicolas. A flash

of service, a bare mention,

but sufficient.

Photograph by Andre Ouellet via Unsplash, Used with permission.

Two become famous

After Acts 6:1-7

They are chosen almost

by acclamation, their character

and behavior known and

admired. Reputation is

the decisive factor, the men

chosen to serve the body,

officers of daily distribution

to the needy, chosen to calm

a complaint of partiality. 

Seven chosen, seven names 

noted, seven names remembered 

through all time. Seven chosen,

two explained – one a martyr,

one an evangelist. One dies

for speaking truth. The other

flees to Samaria, confronts

a sorcerer, teaches an Ethiopian,

preaches in Philistia and Caesarea,

One named Stephen.

One named Philip.

Photograph by Will Kell via Unsplash. Used with permission.

A wise man speaks

After Acts 5:33-42

I hear your anger

and rage, I get it,

I understand, but

cool your jets,

take care what

you do here; you

know what happened

when you condemned

the Nazarene – you

got this before you now.

In your rage and anger

you want to do it again,

repeat the same mistake,

believing you’ll get

a different result. Chill,

people, and consider

all the ones who came

before, making their

claims. You know them,

you remember them,

we ignored them and

they slipped into obscurity,

remembered only

as examples of fools.

If these we see today

are likewise fools,

they will likewise slip

into obscurity. But if

they are from God,

nothing will stop them,

least of all your anger

and rage. Nothing

you do will have

any effect, because

you would oppose

the One who cannot

be stopped. 

This time, the powers

did the unexpected

and the unusual: 

they listened to and

heeded good advice.

Photograph by Susmita Saha via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Prison without prisoners

After Acts 5:21-32

Bring the prisoners here,

say the powers, the elites

posturing for effect and

self-congratulation and

not a little smug with

the condemnation 

they will deliver. 

Bring the prisoners here,

say the powers, the elites,

savoring the questioning

to come. 

They wait. They wait.

They grow restless

in their waiting, until

the soldiers come,

sheepishly and not

without a little fear, 

to report the empty cells

and the locked doors,

and the prisoners now

walking the streets,

doing exactly what

they’d been imprisoned

for:

giving hope.

Escorted to the courts,

the former prisoners

show no remorse, no fear,

and instead speak (rather

boldly for uneducated

men) the shocking

most revolutionary words

in history: we must obey

God, not men.

Photograph by Vidar Nordli-Mathieson via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Locked away

After Acts 5:17-21

Dragged from the streets,

they are locked away,

prison cell doors locked

to prevent infection

and stop the contagion,

this pandemic of piety,

from spreading. Locked

away, they feel the fear

and uncertainty yet know

the security of what 

they have locked away 

in their hearts. They know

the powers will stop at nothing

to preserve and protect

themselves, yet they know

the power of the way

they follow. 

In deepest night, a light

appears, an angel; the doors

open. The prisoners are

freed from their prison,

their bodies, souls, and voices

liberated, and told to go

and speak and preach and teach.

They obey; they leave the cells

just as the prison doors

lock back into place.

Photograph by Damir Spanic via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Nothing angers like success

After Acts 5:17-21

The sick healed,

the demons cast out,

people coming together

to pray, to worship,

to sing, and the share, 

and the powers that be,

good elites that they are,

sense disquiet, sense danger,

sense threats to the status quo,

all of which means threats

to themselves, threats

to their positions, so

they do what any self-respecting

elites would do, and arrest

these rabble rousers and

peace disturbers, tossing them

into cells and securely locking

the threats away.

So they think.

Photograph by Andre Tan via Unsplash. Used with permission.