And on earth peace

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Angels at Bethlehem were not the first to say, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace.” A few years before the birth of Jesus, an Altar of Peace (“Ara Pacis”) in Rome announced the same about Caesar Augustus. Competing claims of peace-though-Jesus and peace-through-the-emperor forced early Christians to make decisions about their allegiance. Understanding this struggle of the first century may help 21st-century followers of Jesus discern our loyalties today.

A new museum opened this year in Italy, featuring the ancient Altar of Peace. Completed in 9 B.C., the Roman Senate authorized the altar to celebrate Caesar’s return to Rome after successful military campaigns in Gaul and Spain. With his mission accomplished, Caesar had brought peace and stability to the world.

Made of gleaming marble, the Altar of Peace disappeared from history in ancient times. Some parts were recovered in the 16th century. But not until 1938, when Italian dictator Benito Mussolini wanted the ancient altar to garnish his own imperial pretense, did archeologists put all known pieces back together.

Caesar and Jesus both bring “peace”: Angels brought shepherds the good news (“euangelion”) that Jesus, the “Savior who is Christ the Lord,” would bring “peace and goodwill among people.” The word Luke uses for good news is one we often translate “gospel” or “evangel.” In the ancient world, this was a familiar term describing good news brought to a people by the generosity and wisdom of a ruler.

The provincial government of Asia (modern western Turkey) issued its own proclamation to honor Augustus in 9 B.C., saying the emperor was a “benefaction to all humanity.”

Providence had smiled on mortals by “sending to us and to those after us a savior who put an end to war and brought order to all things.” In its most sweeping claim, the proclamation said, “The birth of the god [Augustus] was the beginning of good tidings (euangelion) to the world.”
Praises of Caesar (in the first paragraph) remind us of later Christian claims about Jesus.

Augustus brought “gospel” (“euangelion”) to “all humanity.” He was a “god” and “savior” who “put an end to war.” Luke may have had these parallels in mind, because he begins his story of Jesus’ birth by saying a decree “went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered” (Luke 2:1). By the end of the book of Acts, Luke shows how the good news of peace through Christ was set to reach all the world.

Paul, too, advanced the theme of global reconciliation. Jesus “came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near” (Ephesians 2:17). No mere provincial deity, Jesus “is the image of the invisible God. … He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together” (Colossians 1:15-17). Through Jesus, “God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things … by making peace through the blood of his cross” (Colossians 1:20).

Propaganda on the Altar of Peace: Now protected in its own glittering museum, the Altar of Peace displays the propaganda of empire. Relief sculptures on the front of the altar depict scenes from the founding of Rome. The sides show Caesar Augustus and his entourage in procession toward sacrifice to the gods.

The back of the altar features the female figure of Peace. With her lap full of fruit, Peace holds two children, perhaps nephews of Caesar who were heirs to his throne. To the viewer’s left is Sky, seated on a bird. To the right is Earth, resting on a sea monster. Situated between Sky and Earth, Peace appears to have united heaven and earth. At the feet of Peace are domesticated beasts, giving a “peaceable kingdom” aura to the scene.

Opposite Peace on the back of the altar is the female goddess Roma, the personification of Rome. Although little of this original sculpture survives, archeologists readily can sketch in the likeness of Roma because her image was so common in the ancient world.

Roma embodies the military power of the Roman Empire. With sword in hand, she sits proudly on a pile of armaments. In some representations Roma is seductive, with a breast exposed. By pairing martial Roma with domestic Peace, the altar captures the essence of empire: Pax Romana (the “Peace of Rome”) really is pacification, enforced by the threat and use of arms. Even the original location of the ancient altar—on the Field of War, where the army conducted exercises—revealed the true base of Caesar’s “peace.”

Contrasting Caesar and Jesus: Shortly before his death in A.D. 14, Caesar Augustus wrote a lengthy, self-serving list of his accomplishments. Called the “Res Gestae Divi Augusti” (“Deeds of the Divine Augustus”), the text was carved into monuments across the empire. “I often waged war, civil and foreign, on the earth and sea, in the whole wide world,” he boasts. “I restored peace to the sea from pirates. … I restored peace to the provinces of Gaul and Spain, likewise Germany. … I brought peace to the Alps.” Caesar insists there was “no unjust war waged against any nation,” a claim still made by empires today.

Another Prince of Peace was nearing adulthood when Caesar Augustus penned these lines. The contrast between Caesar and Jesus could not be more vivid. Caesar held total arbitrary power over much of the known world; Jesus died on a cross, a form of execution reserved for losers who threatened or defied Rome. Caesar had wealth, status and glory; Jesus was an obscure peasant. Caesar relied on weapons to enforce his peace; Jesus offered love and forgiveness even to enemies.

But language attached to these two contemporaries is strikingly similar. Both were called lord, almighty and savior. Both were worshiped as divine. Both were acclaimed for bringing the gospel of peace, for bridging heaven and earth.

Early Christians were not fooled by Caesar’s use of peace propaganda to justify empire. Some followers of Jesus saw demonic forces at the heart of Rome. The author of Revelation calls Rome “Babylon,” identifies her empire as a “beast” and portrays Roma as a harlot. The counsel for Christians in Revelation is to “come out of” Babylon (18:4) and claim citizenship in the New Jerusalem along with other followers of the Lamb. Early Christians believed God was intervening in history both to transform individuals through the blood of the Christ and to shape a new humanity of people who call Jesus Lord.

Choosing allegiance today: North American Christians know what it is to live at the heart of empire. We have an added layer of challenge in determining our allegiance, because today even the violence and greed of empire can be swathed in the language of Christian faith. Surely this grieves God as much as claims to divinity by ancient emperors.

Perhaps it also grieves God when followers of Jesus work for peace without pointing others to the Prince of Peace. An activist agenda and a political platform may grow out of lives transformed by Jesus, but they can never replace the cross itself for saving power. The Roman Senate thought Caesar himself had saved the world and celebrated with an Altar of Peace. We who work for peace today, while addressing the arrogance of a “Christian” empire, may be tempted to build altars to our own programs and accomplishments.

“I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified,” Paul wrote (1 Corinthians 2:2). At the heart of the Christian gospel is the paradox of peace through suffering love on a Roman cross. Enduring hope comes through the death and resurrection of Jesus, through a people who reject the hollow promises of empire, who are transformed and sent into the world by the same power that raised Christ from the dead.

J. Nelson Kraybill is president of Associated Mennonite Biblical Seminary, Elkhart, Ind. He and Ellen, his wife, led a tour last year to Patmos, Rome and the cities of Revelation.

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Additional Notes

Panel from an ivory casket: the Crucifixion of Christ (Late Roman, AD 420-30. Probably made in Rome.)

This plaque is one of four, which though now separated, must originally have been mounted on the four sides of a small square casket. Each is carved with scenes from Christ’s Passion. The other panels depict Christ carrying the cross, the empty tomb and doubting Thomas.

This is the earliest known narrative portrayal of the Crucifixion. It is combined with another scene of death, the hanging of Judas. The stiff, clothed body of Judas pulls down the branch of a tree and a spilled sack of coins lies at his feet. In contrast, the exposed limbs of Christ appear still vigorous, and he gazes at the viewer, triumphant in death. A plaque over Christ’s head is inscribed “Rex Iud[aeorum]” (“King of the Jews”). Mary and John stand in similar poses to the left of the cross, while on the right, Longinus steps from beneath the arm of the cross across the frame into the viewer’s space. In the branch of the tree that bends toward Christ, a bird feeds her chicks—a symbol of the life-giving power of his death.

The depth of the carving—almost three-dimensional—and sense of movement in this particular plaque are typical of the continuation of the classical tradition of ivory carving in Rome.