The Monk, the Gladiators & the Price of Peace
- Ray Reynolds, Ph.D.
- 12 minutes ago
- 4 min read
The annals of early Christian history are filled with tales of profound faith and courageous witness. One such story is told of Telemachus, an obscure monk dwelling in a 4th-century monastery. Driven by a compelling spiritual calling to engage with the broader world, he left the solitude of his cloister. Gathering his few meager possessions into a sack, he undertook the journey to the heart of the Western world: Rome.
Upon his arrival, the city was in a state of feverish excitement. The streets were thronged with people surging toward a central location. Telemachus inquired about the commotion and was informed that the masses were converging on the Colosseum for a full day of games, circus entertainment, and, most anticipated of all, the bloody spectacle of gladiatorial combat.
As Telemachus was swept along by the current of the crowd, he soon realized the brutal nature of the day’s entertainment. To his horror, the final, morbid spectacle would involve the killing of Christians within the arena, a public execution disguised as sport. Having spent years removed from the world in contemplative prayer, the monk found it difficult to grasp that centuries after the resurrection of Christ, the barbaric practice of murdering His followers for public enjoyment still held a central place in Roman society. Yet, the Romans—from the patricians to the plebeians—were captivated by the gore and violence of the arena.
The Defining Moment
The story of Telemachus reaches its climax in the roaring, bloodthirsty confines of the Colosseum. As the monk looked on, the gladiators prepared for combat, uttering their infamous salute to the Emperor: "Hail Caesar, we who are about to die salute you!" Knowing the violence was fundamentally wrong—a stark offense against the sanctity of life—Telemachus acted.
In an act of audacious defiance, he scrambled over the railing and dashed into the middle of the field. It was an unbelievable sight: a humble monk, conspicuous in his rough, holy robes, inserting himself between two heavily armed gladiators. He raised his hands and cried out in a desperate plea: "In the name of Christ, forbear!"—a call to abstain, to stop the violence.
The crowd, estimated at 80,000 strong, erupted, their cheers for bloodshed transforming into angry protest. "Run him through! Run him through!" they screamed, demanding the immediate execution of the interloper who dared to interrupt their entertainment.
The Ultimate Sacrifice
One of the gladiators, annoyed by the interruption, swung the flat side of his sword and struck the monk in the abdomen, knocking him violently to the sandy ground. Undeterred, Telemachus rose quickly, running back to the center and repeating his plea: "In the name of Christ, forbear!"
The deafening chant of "Run him through!" intensified. This time, a second gladiator approached and plunged his sword into the monk's stomach. Telemachus fell, the sand around him quickly turning crimson with his lifeblood. Yet, even as life ebbed away, the monk refused to be silenced. Gasping for air, he tried once more to lift himself, his final, fading breath carrying the sacred appeal: "In the name of Christ, forbear. In the name of Christ, forbear." And then, he died.
A Silence That Changed History
Witnesses recounted that an eerie, profound silence descended upon the vast, blood-soaked arena. For a moment, 80,000 spectators were forced to confront the innocent life that had been violently taken in the name of a higher, peaceful authority. A man rose and quietly walked out. Then another. Then small groups, and soon, a steady stream. Within minutes, the vast Colosseum was empty.
According to tradition, this marked the last known gladiatorial contest in the history of the Roman Empire. The monk Telemachus paid the ultimate price, sacrificing his life not in battle, but in a courageous stand for peace. His simple, repeated command—to forbear—finally registered with the masses. The collective loss of innocence, which had been celebrated for centuries, was suddenly and profoundly acknowledged.
Finding Life and Peace
The life of Telemachus serves as a powerful reminder that making peace is rarely easy. If true peace were achievable through human effort alone, humanity would have mastered it centuries ago, independent of divine intervention. It is a state of being that must be sourced from a higher place. This truth echoes in the New Testament book of Romans: “For to be carnally minded is death, but to be spiritually minded is life and peace.” (Romans 8:6)
Telemachus was not acting out of a carnal, or purely worldly, mindset; he was spiritually minded, seeking life and peace for others, even at the cost of his own. His final act demonstrates that true, lasting peace begins with a sacrificial mindset rooted in Christ.
Do you currently lack peace with God, or with those in your life? True, abiding peace is a gift available to those who seek a spiritual mind in Christ. Let us embrace the call to forbear—to choose restraint, non-violence, and spiritual action—and share this life-giving peace with the world around us.
You are loved.
Ray Reynolds, PhD
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