Healing and Redemption through Death – Recuperation of the Medieval Church - Danny Stern

Ezekiel's Vision of the Sign "Tau" (Ezekiel IX:2-7), Flemish (Enameler) mid 12th century (Medieval) champlevé enamel, copper gilt, The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore.

Reading Pope Innocent III’s sermon delivered at the opening of the Fourth Lateran Council in November 1215 (Patrologia Latina 217.673)—arguably the most consequential and effective ecumenical assembly of the medieval period—one cannot help but be struck by the masterful rhetorical modulations he employs. The sermon opens in an uplifting and contemplative tone, imbued with spiritual nourishment and a personal yearning for eternal life through the Eucharist. Yet, this tone soon gives way to a darker, more admonitory register, culminating in a solemn and sobering prayer. This rhetorical descent echoes prophetic imagery, most strikingly that of Ezekiel 9, wherein a man clothed in white linen, accompanied by five virtuous companions, is instructed to execute divine judgment upon the idolaters and morally corrupt citizens of Jerusalem. Innocent amplifies this theme by invoking Moses’ song: Ego occidam, et ego vivere faciam: percutiam, et ego sanabo (Deut. 32): “Strike, that you may heal; slay, that you may give life.” He also cites Exodus 32, where the sons of Levi are called to carry out God’s judgment against those who have turned away from Him. In all these references, Innocent reframes violence not as an expression of cruelty but as a vehicle for spiritual healing and moral rectification.

The idea that death can lead to healing or redemption may appear paradoxical to modern sensibilities, yet in medieval theological and literary frameworks, it is a recurring and deeply resonant motif. The most profound exemplar is, of course, the crucifixion of Christ: through His death, humanity is redeemed from sin—spiritually healed. This redemptive paradox extends to the hagiographic tradition, where saints often engage in acts of symbolic or literal violence that serve higher spiritual purposes. In Jacobus de Voragine’s Legenda Aurea, for example, St. George’s slaying of the dragon—representing sin—not only liberates a kingdom but also functions as an allegory for the purification of souls. Similarly, the legend of St. Margaret of Antioch recounts how she was swallowed by a dragon symbolizing Satan, from which she emerges unscathed, thereby triumphing over evil from within. Her miraculous escape allegorizes the conquest of temptation and the spiritual healing of the soul.

As previously noted, the Fourth Lateran Council was the most significant ecclesiastical event of the medieval period. It is therefore plausible to view Innocent’s sermon as a calculated effort to prepare his audience through a dramatic summons to introspection and moral renewal. His address is saturated with theological symbolism—redemption through suffering, violence as restoration, destruction as purification—all carefully deployed to provoke internal confrontation. Though the clergy remained physically passive, as listeners, the psychological impact of the sermon, especially within the charged atmosphere of such a momentous council, would have been considerable. Innocent understood the transformative power of faith and fear alike; he harnessed both to awaken the conscience of his audience. His objective, it seems, was to shock them into a state of spiritual alertness, compelling them to confront sins such as Simony, Nicolaism, and clerical negligence.

The atmosphere he cultivated recalls Pope Leo IX’s synod at Reims in 1049, where public denunciations of Simony served to assert papal authority and galvanize ecclesiastical reform. In a similar vein, Innocent sought to “heal” the Church not through physical coercion, but by wielding guilt, fear, and eschatological urgency as psychological instruments. His rhetorical strategy operated as a catalyst for inward correction—intended to render the clergy receptive to the sweeping reforms he would soon propose. Ultimately, the sermon functioned as a powerful prelude to the seventy-one reforming canons promulgated at the Council, designed to restore the spiritual integrity and institutional health of the Church.

These observations raise several interesting questions. How can a belief system be constructed through language? More specifically, in what ways can rhetoric—particularly in the form of preaching—establish an emotional and cognitive framework that facilitates healing? This inquiry touches on the intersection of theology, psychology, and language, bringing forward fundamental questions about the performative and affective power of speech.

Preaching has long been recognized as a mode of persuasion that extends beyond intellectual instruction; it evokes emotion, demands ethical response, and can even provoke somatic effects. But how does this work? Can rhetorical discourse initiate forms of emotional labor or affective investment that, in turn, produce real physiological or psychological outcomes?

One possible explanatory model is the placebo effect, which foregrounds the role of expectation, trust, and belief in therapeutic efficacy. Within this framework, rhetoric may function as a mechanism that activates emotional responses such as hope, fear and trust, that are crucial to the healing process. This might also explain how a sermon’s rhetoric serves to motivate emotional engagement, generating a state in which healing becomes possible.