Cyprian of Carthage, On the Lapsed

Most beloved brothers, peace has been restored to the Church, and what seemed impossible to unbelievers and the faithless only a short time ago—our security—has been rebuilt by God's help and judgment. Our minds return to joy; now that the storm of oppression has blown over and the cloud has scattered, tranquility and serenity shine forth once more. We must give praise to God and celebrate his benefits and gifts with thanksgiving, even though our voice never stopped giving thanks even during the persecution. After all, the enemy cannot prevent those who love the Lord with all their heart, soul, and strength from proclaiming his blessings and praises with glory always and everywhere. The day that everyone longed for has arrived, and after the horrible, dark gloom of a long night, the world has blazed forth, radiant with the Lord's light.

We look upon the confessors—renowned for their good name and glorious for their virtues and faith—with joyful eyes, clinging to them with holy kisses, embracing those we have longed for with an insatiable desire. The white cohort of Christ's soldiers stands here, men who broke the fierce, turbulent fury of persecution by standing their ground, ready for the endurance of prison, armed for the endurance of death. You resisted the world bravely; you offered a glorious spectacle to God; you became an example for the brothers who would follow. A religious voice spoke Christ, confessing that it had believed in him once and for all. Illustrious hands, accustomed only to divine works, refused to take part in sacrilegious sacrifices. Mouths sanctified by heavenly food, having received the body and blood of the Lord, rejected profane contagions and the remnants of idols. Your heads remained free of the impious, wicked veil that covered the heads of the captive sacrificers. Your foreheads, marked pure with the sign of God, could not bear the devil's crown; they reserved themselves for the Lord's crown. How joyfully Mother Church welcomes you as you return from battle! How blessed and rejoicing she is as she opens her gates so that you may enter with gathered ranks, bringing back trophies from the prostrate enemy!

Women come alongside the triumphant men, women who, fighting against the world, also overcame their sex. Virgins come too, bearing the double glory of their military service, and boys who surpassed their years through virtue. The rest of the great multitude of those who stood firm follows your glory as well; with signs of praise close to your own and almost joined to them, they walk in your footsteps. The same sincerity of heart and the same tenacious integrity of faith are in them. Rooted in the unshaken roots of heavenly precepts and strengthened by the traditions of the Gospel, they were not terrified by prescribed exiles, destined torments, loss of property, or bodily punishments. The days for testing faith had been set. But the one who remembers that he has renounced the world knows no day of the world; nor does the one who hopes for eternity from God calculate earthly times any longer.

No one, most beloved brothers—no one must mutilate this glory; no one must weaken the incorrupt firmness of those who stood firm with malicious detraction. When the appointed day for those who denied had passed, whoever had not confessed within that day confessed himself to be a Christian. The first title of victory is to confess the Lord seized by the hands of the Gentiles; the second step toward glory is to be kept safe for the Lord by a cautious withdrawal. The former is public confession, the latter private. The former conquers the judge of the world; the latter, content with God as his judge, guards a pure conscience with integrity of heart. There, fortitude is more prompt; here, caution is more secure. There, the man whose hour was approaching was already found mature; here, perhaps the one who was delayed, having abandoned his patrimony, withdrew because he was not going to deny—he certainly would have confessed if he had also been detained.

A single sorrow afflicts these heavenly crowns of martyrs, these spiritual glories of confessors, these greatest and most excellent virtues of the brothers who stood firm: the violent enemy has cast down a torn part of our very bowels through the slaughter of his rampage. What am I to do here, most beloved brothers? My mind tossed by a varied storm, what can I say, or how can I say it? Tears are needed more than words to express the grief with which we must lament the wound of our body, and mourn the manifold loss of a once numerous people. For who is so hard or iron-hearted, who has so forgotten fraternal charity, that standing amid the multiform ruins and the mournful, squalid remnants of his own, he can keep his eyes dry, and not, with tears bursting forth at once, pour out his groans first in tears rather than in voice? I grieve, brothers; I grieve with you. My own integrity and private health do not comfort me in alleviating my griefs, when the shepherd is wounded more deeply in the wound of his flock. My heart is joined to each one of you; I share the mournful weights of sorrow and funeral. I mourn with those who mourn, I lament with those who lament, I feel that I lie down with those who lie down. The darts of the raging enemy have struck my limbs at the same time; savage swords have passed through my bowels. The mind cannot be immune and free from the onslaught of persecution. In my fallen brothers, affection has laid me low as well.