During the persecution of Christians under Diocletian and Maximian, Alban, a pagan, received into his house a priest fleeing persecution. When he saw how the priest persevered day and night in constant watching and prayer, he was touched by divine grace, so that he was fain to imitate the example of his faith and piety. Alban converted to the faith of Christ. The persecutors came to Alban’s house searching for the priest. Disguised in the priest’s clothes, Alban presented himself to the soldiers in place of his master and guest. They bound him with thongs and led him to the judge who, finding himself deceived, ordered that Alban be beaten. But seeing that he could not overcome him by torments, or win him over from the worship of the Christian religion, he commanded him to be beheaded. Alban having reached the brow of the neighbouring hill, the executioner who was to dispatch him, admonished by a divine inspiration, cast away his sword and threw himself at Alban, desiring to die with him, or instead of him. They were both beheaded.
Dom Prosper Guéranger:
Dom Prosper Guéranger:
Let the heavens rejoice, let the Island of Saints exult, and let all the universe shout with her a song of victory: for now indeed has Earth been everywhere purpled with the blood of testimony. Lo, Alban, Proto-Martyr of fruitful Britain, seals today the conquest of the far West. Already, doubtless, even from the earliest days, had Albion yielded abundant flowers beneath the footsteps of the Spouse whose giant stride (Psalms xviii. 6) had reached even to her. Later on Eleutherius and Lucius had added the fresh charm of other plants to this new garden in which far away from sterile Judah the Man-God could forget the haughty disdain of the daughter of Sion. But if Jesus loves flower-beds exhaling the fragrance of confession and praise (Canticles vi. 1), yet not of blossoms of peace alone must the garland be woven for the potent Son of the God of armies (Psalms xliv. 4). The beauty He received from His fair Mother (Canticles v. 10) He has enhanced by the gore He shed on the great Battle Field. So if the Bride would obtain favour in His eyes, let her mingle with her glistening lilies the crimson’s richer hue (Canticles vi. 6).
Glory, then, to our Proto-Martyr! Glory to him by whom Albion, fully arrayed for the Nuptials of the Lamb, advances side-by-side with the most illustrious Churches and takes her seat with them at the Banquet of the Strong! (Apocalypse xix. 7) From the heights of Heaven the glorious choir of Apostles and the white robed army of Martyrs are thrilling with joy, as in the most brilliant days of the 300 years’ struggle, prolonged perchance just on purpose to give ancient Britain a chance of sharing in their triumph. Persecution is nearing its close, and even from this British soil, the last to be touched by the tidal wave of martyrs’ blood, will deliverance come.
On the 22nd of June 303, Alban, our new Stephen, dies, breathing a prayer for his murderers beside the banks of an affluent of old Thames: on the 25th of of July, 306, Constantine, having just escaped the snares of Galerius, is proclaimed at York and he thence sets forth to unfurl throughout the world the standard of salvation. But presently the victorious combats of the cross were succeeded by heresy’s contesting struggle by which Satan wrested from God nations already won to Christ in holy baptism. While the East was going astray in a misconception of the Mystery of the Incarnate Word, the West began to carp at doctrines concerning Free will and Grace: that fatal stumbling-block which the enemy would again throw in the way later on.
Rejected by the Church, together with Pelagius who had cast it, but a passing shock was at that time felt. Once again, in this instance, was the curbing point of Hell’s efforts the tomb of Alban. Here were the final troubles caused by the Pelagian attack extinguished. Saint Lupus of Troyes and Saint Germanus of Auxerre, sent from the Continent to maintain beyond the Straits the cause of grace, ascribed to our British Martyr the whole honour of their victory by which peace was given to the Western Church. To show that this second defeat of Hell’s power was indeed the completion of that which a century previously had ended the era of blood, these two holy Bishops respectfully opened the glorious tomb and united to the remains of our noble Alban some relics of his predecessors, the Apostles and Martyrs, the fruit of whose triumph had just been definitively sealed.
For a thousand years were the depths of the abyss closed (Apocalypse xx. 3): years of power, years of honour for Alban, venerated alike by each race that succeeded one the other, on this British shore. The Anglo-Saxons outstripped the Britons in the magnificence of the structure they raised on the site of the Church formerly built over the Martyr’s tomb in the first era of his victory. The Danes even considered his holy body to be their noblest conquest. And under the Normans the Abbey founded by Offa of Mercia beheld Popes and Kings concert together, in raising its prerogatives and glory to the highest pitch. No monastic church on this side of the Channel could compare with Saint Alban’s in its privileges, and just as Alban is counted England’s first Martyr, so was the Abbot of his Monastery held first in dignity among all Abbots of this realm.
For a thousand years, Alban too had reigned with Christ (Apocalypse xx. 4). At last came the epoch when the depths of the abyss were to be let loose for a little time and Satan unchained would once again seduce nations. Erst vanquished by the Saints, power was now given him to make war with them, and to overcome them, in his turn (Apocalypse xiii. 7). The disciple is not above his Master (John xv. 18, 25): like his Lord, Alban too was rejected by his own. Hated without cause, he beheld the illustrious Monastery destroyed that had been Albion’s pride in the palmy days of her history. And scarce was even the venerable Church itself saved in which God’s athlete had so long reposed, shedding benefits around far and near. But after all, what could he do now in a profaned Sanctuary in which strange rites had banished those of our forefathers, and condemned the Faith for which Martyrs had bled and died? So Alban was ignominiously expelled, and his ashes scattered to the winds.
* * * * *
“I was a stranger and you took me in,” (Matthew xxv. 25) will our Lord say to His Elect on the great Day of Judgement, and to the inquiries of the Elect as to the meaning of this word of His, Our Lord will explain that whatever they did to the least of their brethren, they did it to Him. But you, Alban, know all this beforehand: that last hour in which both the good and the wicked will hearken to their eternal doom will reveal to the world on this point only what you experienced in your very first steps along the path of salvation. By harbouring within your yet pagan house this unknown fugitive, you deemed that you were but yielding to the instincts of a heart naturally generous and faithful to the laws of hospitality! But, far other than you wisted was this unknown stranger that came knocking at your door, for ere he left you, it was manifest that Christ Himself had become your guest. Full soon did He invite you in return to come and dwell in His own Home, and the triumphal gate of martyrdom presently opened to you His heavenly palace.
The way to God traced in your blood lies opened wide in this great island. Long did the foe seem unable to cast his snares here, and your fellow-citizens of Earth were to be seen flocking in crowds along this blessed pathway. Yes, nations you never knew came in their turn also, esteeming it an honour to forget, as it were, diversity of origin and rights of conquest when uniting in your name, Alban, to do homage to you, glorious Proto-Martyr of this land. Thus were you both the stem of this supernatural efflorescence which made [this] to be the “Island of Saints,” and the link of national unity in the diverse phases of [its] history. You gathered together the sons of Saint Benedict around the couch on which you were reposing while awaiting the day of Resurrection. You assembled them in that splendid temple dedicated to you by a grateful people. You invited them to the ministry of divine praise by which, celebrating past benefits and daily blessings, they might also merit for your fatherland a continuation of Heaven’s favours.
Grand indeed were those ages in which God by His Saints thus ruled the world. And sadly misguided are those that think to serve the cause of the Lord and of nations by suppressing the homage of foregoing generations to these their illustrious protectors. Since you were treated, Alban, like your divine Master, the King of Saints, like Him also remember not the injuries we have inflicted on you. Rather, Proto-Martyr, exult in the triumph of all the other warriors who swell the ranks of the sacred phalanx, placed under your command in our eternal Home. If for a while the era of martyrs seems once again to be closed, consider those of your children whose constancy has survived so many rough assaults. Bless those families in which has ever been kept alive the Faith of the old times: a noble-hearted race are they whose forefathers exposed themselves like you, to death, in the harbouring of priests. Uphold the new sons of the Cloister in maintaining at a high standard those monastic traditions handed to them even in the very midst of the tempest.
Multiply everywhere labourers called in to repair our ruins. The voice of the Lord is heard once more in Albion. The holy virtue of hospitality which was, in your case, the beginning of salvation, has proved to her also in these our own days an occasion for her return to the ancestral faith, just as though God willed that in this instance likewise, her history should be linked with yours. Like you, she has received priests from beyond the seas, driven to her coasts by the storm of persecution. Like you, has she not even already heard that word of divine approval: “I was a stranger and you took me in”? May she then go the whole length in her imitation of you, her protector and father, by following the heavenly invitation to the last, so as to conclude with the ancient writer of the acts of your martyrdom: “The known truth will be our island’s joy. Great will be our gladness when the fetters of falsehood are broken. For my part, without further delay, I will go to Rome, I will there cast off my error, there merit reconciliation and pardon of my faults. Yes, this very book I hold in my hands I will present to the revision of them that dwell in that City, so that should anything unseemly be written in it, the Lord Jesus Christ may vouchsafe to correct it by their means. He who reigns God, for ever and ever. Amen.”
