Feast Day: May 5th
“God loves a cheerful giver.” – 2 Cor 9:7
When St. Paul writes to his little flock in Corinth he uses a particular word to describe generosity of a Christian – Hilaros / ἱλαρός – a kindness or stewardship that not reluctant, hesitant, forced, or begrudging, but is free, loving, joyous … cheerful! This is the root of the Latin term hilarus holding a similar meaning: lighthearted, merry, lively … cheerful. And that is the name St. Hilarius got when he was born! His surname, entirely pragmatic, would simply be “of Arles”, the diocese that he was bishop of at the end of his life. His life is (helpfully) bookended by an adjective and a location, and now prefaced by the title “Saint”, but there’s a bit more to his story than that.
Hilarius was born in Lorraine, France, around the year 403 A.D. We only know that he gave up a successful career to join St. Honoratus, possibly a relative, who had recently founded an Abbey on one of the islands of Lérin. Today you’d know where this is because it is located on the French Riviera, but back before 400, Roman records use the name “Lerina” to describe the uninhabited island. Caprasius of Lérins, a hermit, was the first person we know to live there, seeking solitude and prayer. Honoratus went on pilgrimage to the Holy Land with him, kindling a friendship, and his own sanctity, going on to become a hermit on the island as well. Honoratus found that his holiness attracted a following, so he established the first Abbey on the island in 410. Hilarius was drawn away from his career by the life and sanctity he saw in the Cistercian community there and joined the abbey when he was in his 20s. (Here’s a twist to the story, these saints may have met St. Patrick around this time, who is said to have spent some time in their abbey and was only 18 years older than Hilarius).
Now, Honoratus was both Abbot at Lérin, but also bishop of the important see of Arles. Hilarius became the natural successor of Honoratus as leader of the monastery when he died, and was also quickly picked to also be bishop of Arles. He was known for his austere life, his generosity to the poor, and for the emphasis he placed on the personal sanctity of his priests, organizing those assigned to his cathedral in Arles into a congregation of their own, committed with him to this life of simplicity and charity.
But here is where the story takes a twist, and here is where this saint becomes a bit more like you and me. Hilarius, Bishop of Arles, also had responsibility over other sees in the area (perhaps nowadays we would call him the Metropolitan Archbishop, though it seems with greater authority over those regional bishops). He took this to mean that he was primate over the whole of South Gaul, something that an earlier predecessor, Patroclus of Arles had exercised. This, though, led to a power struggle with Bp. Chelidonus, of Besançon, who was claiming a similar authority. Hilarius deposed Chelidonus, who appealed to Rome, where Pope Leo I had recently succeeded to the papal throne. (That would be Pope St. Leo the Great, who was hard at work bringing Pelagians and Manicheans back into the fold, and who’s most famous deed, facing down Atilla the Hun, would not happen for another 7 or 8 years).
Leo sided against Hilarius.
Our saintly bishop was deprived of the right to consecrate bishops, call synods, oversee the other dioceses in his province, and his entire claim to be Primate of Gaul was abolished. Leo had this decision officially sanctioned by the Emperor, Valentian III, and we still have the line from his decree that must have so pained Hilarius, “ut episcopis Gallicanis omnibusque pro lege esset quidquid apostolicae sedis auctoritas sanxisset.” “Therefore, whatever the authority of the apostolic see had sanctioned shall be [law] for the Gallican bishops and for all the law.” (Novelae Valent. iii. tit. 16). We have no record of how Hilarius received this news; certainly it overturned his understanding of the responsibility given to him and more than likely it called into question all that he had been working on and all that he thought had been successful and fruitful about his work as a bishop or even a leader in the Church. But success is not a prerequisite for sanctity.
– Fr. Dominic has occasionally had his projects or plans taken away from him. It stings. But St. Hilarius offers an example to all of us that the sadness of seeing many years of work overturned or misunderstood, whether his fault or not, did not overturn the love that God had for him or the example of holiness that he could still give. We do not know exactly how he responded, but five years later when he passed onto his reward, the Church acclaimed him a saint. Whatever conversion was needed had happened; whatever grace Hilarius need to receive, or give, had been found. A cheerful giver, in many ways during his life, and certainly when it counted at the end.