William Lane, long time professor at Western Kentucky University and author of the magisterial two-volume commentary on Hebrews, once made this observation: "When God gives good gifts to His Church, he usually wraps them in people." Clearly, Dr. Lane knew redemptive history; he studied in detail the "great cloud of witnesses" of Hebrews--understanding that Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and all the Patriarchs of Israel were the means through which God advanced his Kingdom.
But Dr. Lane knew more than his Bible. He knew church history. He knew that a quick glance at the last 2,000 years illustrated the continuing truth of his observation. Good gifts wrapped in people is indeed God’s way—no mistaking it.
Basil of Caesarea was one of those good gifts. Born in 329, Basil was raised in a well-to-do home in Asia Minor. His father was a well respected teacher of rhetoric, a prominent leader in the community. His mother was a caring industrious woman, who gave her life to domestic joys and travails. Basil enjoyed the blessings of stable home life, parents who loved Christ and sought to instruct their ten children in the fear and admonition of the Lord.
Gregory of Nyssa, Basil’s brother and a fellow Doctor of the Church, describes his parents as "pure of soul" and sharing a "common esteem of virtue." They persisted in "…caring for the poor, in providing hospitality to strangers, and in dedicating a portion of their goods to God." Such was the home environment of Basil the Great, and such is the place where many young souls first meet God and learn to walk with Him.
As his Father’s son, Basil was inclined to academic study. He threw his heart into classical education, under the tutelage of his father but later under the acclaimed tutor Libanius in Constantinople and finally at the university in Athens. It was in Athens where Basil met Gregory of Naziansus, a life-long friend who exercised tremendous influence on Basil’s early spiritual devotion.
After a half of dozen years in Athens, Basil returned home to Caesarea. His return was met with great expectation by the locals. Had Basil returned to carry on his father’s legacy, "to share with others the fine wares of his learning?" To the dismay of many, Basil’s intentions were not academic. He would not take up his father’s mantle nor did he desire to do so. God had different plans, and Basil knew it.
Though few were aware, Basil was struggling deeply with sin, particularly pride and self-sufficiency. Time and time again these insidious sins asserted themselves and sowed misery into all his endeavors and relationships. As is often the case, Basil’s success at the university made all his attempts at mortification more difficult; in fact, he found that he was losing the will to resist their control with each passing day. He floundered and faltered spiritually. But the Lord’s hand was upon him, imparting near the end of his collegial days a growing hatred for sin and an insatiable longing for holiness.
Basil returned to Pontus soon thereafter and witnessed a most remarkable work of God. While away at the university, his sister, Macrina, had busied herself in the work of the gospel, founding a small semi-monastic community at their family estate in Annesi. What Basil experienced there he would never quite outgrow. The sister he had known his whole life had taken up the cross of Christ and was serving selflessly and with joy. His pride and self-sufficiency melted at the sight. In experiencing the simple piety of the monastic lifestyle and the fervent love for Christ and his righteousness that marked the community, Basil was led into a season of repentance and renewal.
Endeavoring for a still closer walk with Christ, Basil visited the great monasteries in the surrounding countries, observing the monks and imitating their well worn patterns of devotion. By almost all accounts, this proved to be a spiritually profitable venture, weaning him from his attachment to the world and developing his taste for the Other.
With heart ablaze, Basil returned to his earthly home with the heavenly home on his mind. He immediately set to work on founding a monastery on the banks of the Iris river. It was a place where he and others could give themselves to devotion, worship, community, and work. The simplicity and tranquility he envisioned was short lived, however. As every Christian learns sooner or later, following Christ rarely gets you where you want to go. Rather, it gets you where Christ goes, namely, the cross—a place of great turmoil.
Arianism was ravaging the Church, and its tenants threatened the vitals of the Christian religion. Knowing this, Basil took up the cross and reluctantly stepped into the world of theological debate in the year 360. Basil left behind the comfort of his monastic life and traveled with two delegates to Constantinople to represent and defend the Faith against the onslaughts of Arianism. Such delgations would become commonplace throughout the 60’s for Basil, as he took his place among the leading representatives of orthodoxy in his time.
There are, however, lingering questions regarding Basil’s own orthodoxy. John Henry Newman, 19th century Catholic philosopher, accuses Basil of "Arianizing" and compromising the Faith. Is Newman correct?
It is true of course that Basil sided with many semi-Arians during the fiercest battles. Such compromises cost Basil relationships in his own day and invited significant criticism from many historians. And let me be the first to say that their critique of Basil’s collaborative efforts is understandable and at times even commendable. But let this not be the last word! Basil deserves a considerable measure of charitable interpretation on behalf of those so far removed from the battles he faced. Against the backdrop of the ever-increasing division within the Church of his day and the complacency of Pope Damascus toward heretics and other schismatics, Basil often felt he was fighting a losing cause. He often speaks disparagingly about the loss of truth, and the loud praise for falsehood that filled the mouths of many. So, what might appear to have been a mistake from such a great distance may have been an exercising of sanctified wisdom—a God honoring strategy that preserved the gospel and the unity of the Church in his day.
But regardless of your interpretation of Basil’s theology and actions, one thing is without dispute: Basil was a leader. His skills in mediation and acts of diplomacy on behalf of the church are unparallel. There was no one more equipped for the work.
Basil reached the height of his influence by the 370’s. Widely respected in the church as a representative and mouthpiece for truth, Basil was chosen to succeed the bishop of Caesarea following his death. Though battles with Arianism were still being waged, Basil expanded his ministry beyond polemics. He gave himself to what he considered an equally important ministry: service to the poor, despised, and dejected.
Basil built what came to be known as "the Basiliad," a tremendous house where weary strangers found rest, the hungry food, the sick medicine, and the lost God. It was, in a real sense, a house, hospital, and religious convent rolled into one—meeting the spiritual, emotional, and physical needs of its inhabitants. As more and more dioceses came to understand the need for outreach to the community, Basil’s model of ministry in the Basiliad burned hot in the hearts of clergy and laity alike—making deep impression on almost all who walked within her pale.
So what can we learn from Basil today? Everything! The orthodoxy he fought for we still fight for; the needs he saw we still see, the unity he desired we still desire. His life and heritage may careen in a number of questionable directions, but in the end it remains erect. So, for those of us who seek to chart a path for the church through the twists and turns of the 21st century, we would do well to look for the footsteps of Basil the Great, for in them wisdom is found.