In the summer of AD 390, the Roman imperial court in Milan, which was now the de facto capital of the Western Roman Empire, learned of a serious riot in Thessalonica. Theodosius the Great, the Christian emperor who had made Nicene Christianity the official religion of the Roman Empire, was furious. He ordered indiscriminate vengeance. The plan came to the attention of Ambrose, the bishop of Milan, and he interceded for the people of Thessalonica, condemning the plan that would have punished the innocent together with the guilty. Theodosius appeared to relent, but behind Ambrose’s back he secretly ordered a massacre.
The unsuspecting people of Thessalonica were lured into a stadium for what they were told was a circus, but when the signal was given, soldiers began to slaughter indiscriminately. History has recorded tales of the brutality: a merchant attempted to bribe the soldiers, pleading that they only kill him and spare his two sons. The soldiers instead agreed to allow the father to substitute himself for only one of his sons. The agonized father, paralyzed by grief, could not choose. Losing patience, they slew both sons before his eyes. The massacre went on for hours and by the end of the day an estimated 7,000 men, women, and children were dead.[1]
News of the massacre quickly spread throughout the empire. Ambrose was shocked and horrified. But what could be done? Such brutality was, as Thucydides famously noted, the way of the world: “the strong do what they will, and the weak suffer what they must.”[2] This was the way of the ancient world under pagan emperors and kings, but ought this to be the same under Christian rulers? Ambrose thought not.
Yet for Ambrose the issue was not simply moral. It was a question of law: did the emperor have unlimited jurisdiction or was even the highest earthly office accountable to a higher authority? Ambrose believed the latter. It was up to him to convince the emperor of this.
In God’s providence, Ambrose had been prepared for this moment long before he ever stood before the emperor, and his actions would help change the course of Western history. The story is told[3] that when Theodosius, carrying on business as usual, attempted to attend Ambrose’s church and take communion, Ambrose stood against him. The emperor was powerful, but he was not sovereign. His brutality was not merely immoral; it was a violation of the higher law of Christ to which even emperors were accountable. This required public repentance.
And to the shock of the empire, the emperor submitted. For months the emperor humbly attended the church without his imperial robes until Ambrose decided his public repentance was sufficient, and he could be readmitted to communion. A new day had dawned.
Who was Ambrose, the man who dared stand against the emperor and prevailed? His life offers a remarkable case study in how God, in his providence, uses vocation, conviction, and ordinary faithfulness in extraordinary ways. Evangelicals today should embrace Ambrose as part of our heritage and learn from his example.
As a practicing lawyer who, in God’s providence, was recently called to serve as a lay pastor, Ambrose’s story has become unexpectedly personal to me. More than once during my first year of pastoral ministry, visitors have asked me where I attended seminary. I haven’t. Like Ambrose, I entered pastoral ministry from a legal background with no formal theological education. Was this some sort of mistake? At times, if I look only at myself, I wonder. The rigour of seminary would provide tremendous benefits. But when I look at how the Lord used Ambrose, I am reminded that God’s providence often works in unexpected ways. If God could prepare Ambrose to serve Christ’s church through years spent in legal and public administration, perhaps we should be slower to dismiss vocations outside formal ministry through which he prepares his people for faithful service today.
So let us travel back in time to Milan, where the young Augustine of Hippo encountered God’s “devoted servant, the bishop Ambrose, who was known throughout the world as a man whom there were few to equal in goodness” (Augustine, Confessions 5.13).
1. God Wastes Nothing: The Reluctant Bishop
Ambrose was born in AD 339 to a wealthy aristocratic Roman Christian family in Augusta Treverorum (modern Trier, Germany). His father was a Roman governor, and he ensured that Ambrose received a robust education in law, literature, and rhetoric. This classical legal formation gave Ambrose important administrative competence and trained him to think carefully about authority, jurisdiction, and the limits of power. These categories would later prove invaluable to his service to Christ.
In 370, he was appointed governor of the province of Aemilia-Liguria, headquartered in Milan. Ironically, when he was given this charge, a senior official counselled him to govern not merely as a judge, using brute force, but as a bishop, exercising authority with charity. At this point in his life, there was little reason to think that his career would end with him in church office. He proved to be a successful governor: an effective civil administrator with a reputation as a kind and just father figure.
At this time, the Roman Empire was formally Christian, yet the church was still deeply divided over the nature of Christ. Although the Council of Nicaea in 325 had officially condemned Arianism, which denied the full deity of the Son, Arianism retained a significant influence in many regions of the empire. Disputes between Arians and Nicene Christians were common, especially over episcopal appointments, as both sides competed for control of key cities. These disputes would sometimes turn violent.
In 374, following the death of the intended Arian bishop of Milan, the city was simmering with tension as Arians and Nicene Christians gathered to determine his successor. Governor Ambrose, recognizing the possibility of violence, attended the electing assembly himself, thinking his presence would help preserve public order. To his surprise, the dispute gave way to a sudden unity: “Ambrose Bishop!” was cried by both sides, and he was elected enthusiastically by acclamation.
This was no doubt a shock to Ambrose: this was not a position he desired, nor one for which he felt qualified. He was relatively young (around 34, when most bishops were between 40 and 60), had no theological training, and was not yet baptized. Ambrose politely declined the appointment but the assembly remained insistent. When his reluctance persisted, the assembly received imperial approval from Emperor Valentinian I who confirmed his election. At this Ambrose reluctantly recognized his appointment as the will of God: Ambrose did not plan this calling, but God had been preparing him for it. He was baptized and, on December 7, 374, installed as Bishop of Milan. He immediately devoted himself to intensive theological study in the Scriptures and writings of the Church Fathers (a practice I sought to follow when I began serving as a pastor, including by studying Ambrose himself).
Ambrose’s story reminds us that God’s providence often works in ways we neither understand nor anticipate. God had not wasted Ambrose’s years in the imperial administration; he had been shaping his character, establishing his reputation, and giving him practical legal and political wisdom that would be used in pastoral ministry. The same remains true today. God uses the ordinary vocations, experiences, and responsibilities of his people, including unwanted detours and disappointments, as part of his providential work. We may not be able to see where he is leading us, but, like Ambrose, we are called to respond with faithful readiness, serving the Lord where he has placed us and stewarding all our gifts for his purposes.
2. Conviction Under Pressure: The Uncompromising Overseer
As bishop, Ambrose would prove to be an uncompromising overseer, and this conviction showed itself first in the ordinary matters of money before it was tested by emperors. While the office of bishop had increasingly become a position of power often attracting men desiring wealth, Ambrose moved in the opposite direction. He sold most of his considerable estate, retaining only what was necessary to care for his unmarried sister, and directed the proceeds to the poor and the church. When later criticized for melting down church items made of gold and silver to ransom captives taken during barbarian raids, he defended the practice on the same principle: the church’s wealth existed not to be admired or hoarded, but to serve God’s purposes, especially caring for the poor and needy (Ambrose, On the Duties of the Clergy 2.28). His generosity established his moral credibility and public witness. This same conviction, that he was a steward answerable to a higher authority, would soon be tested on a larger stage.
If the Arians expected their support for Ambrose during his election would secure his favour, they soon realized their terrible miscalculation. As bishop, he proved to be an uncompromising defender of Nicene Christianity, particularly the full deity of Christ and the Holy Spirit. He wrote influential works including On the Christian Faith, On the Holy Spirit, and On the Mysteries. His commitment to truth was not a matter of political convenience; it flowed from his conviction that Christ’s identity and authority were matters of eternal importance.
Yet the struggle with Arianism was not only theological but also political. Ambrose’s legal training and years spent thinking about authority and jurisdiction, together with his moral credibility, proved decisive. A key confrontation arose in 385-386 when the pro-Arian court of Emperor Valentinian II, under the influence of his mother Empress Justina, demanded Ambrose surrender several churches in Milan for Arian worship. Ambrose refused, arguing on jurisdictional grounds, drawing on a principle of Roman law: “What belongs to God is outside of the Emperor’s power” (Letter 20, to Marcellina). The emperor may govern civil order, but the church answered to a different authority, one not derivative from the state.
When imperial pressure escalated to the threat of force, Ambrose still refused to yield.
The imperial authorities hesitated to use force against a bishop of such standing among the people, and the demand was withdrawn. One imperial advisor is reported to have remarked bitterly, “soon, if Ambrose gives the order, you will be sending me to him in chains”.
Ambrose’s firmness, however, was not confined to his theological opponents. It extended also to those in authority whom he might otherwise have been inclined to treat with deference. This is clearest in his confrontation with Theodosius following the massacre at Thessalonica. Ambrose treated Theodosius himself as subject to Christ’s moral authority—a conviction later crystallized by the famous phrase, “the emperor is within the Church, not above the Church.” In other words, even an emperor stood accountable to the law of Christ. The church was not to become an instrument of political power, nor remain silent when doing so was politically convenient. It was to bear witness to Christ’s lordship; a lordship over both church and state.
Ambrose’s ministry would have been much easier with a little compromise. He could have kept more of his wealth, softened his stance toward the Arians, or looked past the moral failings of imperial allies, all while preaching sound doctrine from the pulpit. Yet it was precisely his refusal to compromise, in matters both small and large, that revealed the depth of his conviction.
Christians today face similar temptations: to prioritize our own comfort, mute difficult truths, or align too closely with political powers perceived as friendly to the church. Ambrose reminds us that Christian witness is most visible when conviction is not adjusted for comfort but remains anchored in Christ alone.
Ambrose’s example also prevents us from confusing conviction with recklessness. He was not naive about power. His legal training and political experience gave him a practical understanding of imperial authority and the realities of public life. He understood the risks involved and acted wisely, not impulsively. Yet his confidence rested not in political calculation or public support, but in Christ. He was willing to suffer for Christ and his church if necessary, but he navigated his circumstances with the prudence God had cultivated in him. His example demonstrates that faithful conviction requires both courage and wisdom.
3. Faithfulness in Ordinary Life: The Shepherding Pastor
Despite all his public confrontations, Ambrose was first and foremost a pastor concerned with shepherding his flock. His influence did not come merely from standing before emperors, but from faithfully caring for the people God in his providence had placed in his life.
A central part of his ministry was his preaching. He became known as the “Honey-Tongued Doctor”, a title reflecting both the traditional association of his name with sweetness and his eloquent, persuasive preaching. Augustine, who first encountered Ambrose before his conversion, recalls being drawn by the beauty of his speech even before he recognized its truthfulness: “His gifted tongue never tired of dispensing the richness of your corn, the joy of your oil, and the sober intoxication of your wine” (Augustine, Confessions 5.13–14). Yet it was not merely eloquence that God used to achieve Augustine’s conversion, but Ambrose’s faithful exposition of Scripture. That ministry of the Word slowly dismantled Augustine’s objections against Christianity and the Scriptures (Augustine, Confessions 6.4).
Alongside preaching, Ambrose emphasized Scripture and Christian worship. He was committed to the life of the church gathered around the Word and sacrament, including a reverent and joyful participation in the Lord’s Supper.[4] One of the most striking episodes of Ambrose’s pastoral ministry is detailed in Augustine’s Confessions. During a period of intense pressure from imperial authorities, Ambrose and the congregation remained assembled in the church to prevent the seizure of the building. In this context, Ambrose introduced the practice of congregational singing of hymns and psalms in Milan, following the practice in many Eastern churches. Augustine himself was present, along with his mother Monica, and witnessed how the congregation was held together by shared worship under pressure (Augustine, Confessions 9.7). Even in a moment of political pressure, Ambrose’s instinct was not merely resistance, but worship.
Beyond worship, Ambrose modeled patient and accessible pastoral care. Augustine records the demanding reality of his office, with its administrative duties, but notes that “all could approach him freely”. There’s little doubt that his flock took him up on this: Augustine writes that it was difficult for him to ask Ambrose all the questions he desired because “so many people used to keep him busy with their problems” (Augustine, Confessions 6.3). Yet Augustine’s lasting memory was not merely Ambrose’s availability but his personal kindness, spiritual attentiveness, and the warmth of his reception: “This man of God received me like a father, and, as bishop, told me how glad he was that I had come to him. My heart warmed to him, not at first as a teacher of the truth, which I had quite despised in finding in your Church, but simply as a man who showed me kindness” (Augustine, Confessions 5.13).
What’s striking is that, for all of Ambrose’s theological achievement and political influence, he is most widely remembered not for his public accomplishments but his pastoral presence and formation of Augustine, who would go on to exceed his mentor in historical influence. And Augustine did not primarily remember Ambrose’s intellect, eloquence, or public authority; he remembered his patience, kindness, and personal attentiveness.
Ambrose’s life reminds us that God often works through what appears ordinary and unremarkable. Faithfulness is not confined to moments of public significance or visible achievement but is expressed in the steady realities of Christian life: patient care for others, quiet acts of service, and the ordinary rhythms of the local church. What may appear small—helping a neighbour move, changing a dirty diaper, serving the church behind the scenes—may be among the very means God uses to shape and raise up future generations.
In a world that prizes visibility and scale, Ambrose directs us back to the enduring significance of ordinary Christian faithfulness, especially within the life of the local church. The same God who used his legal training, political experience, and public leadership also worked through the simple faithfulness of a pastor caring for his flock.
Ambrose’s Legacy and Lessons for Us
Evangelicals today can appreciate Ambrose’s legacy without needing him to be infallible, or assuming he thought as a 21st-century Christian. There are real points of disagreement and discontinuity between his world and ours. But the same Spirit who worked in Ambrose continues to work in Christ’s church today.
Ambrose’s life reminds us that God’s providence extends through every part of our lives. He may use our vocations in ways we never expected. As someone who continues to practice law while serving as a lay pastor, Ambrose’s story has encouraged me to trust that God wastes nothing in the lives of his people. This is not to diminish the importance of preparation or training. Rather, Scripture measures readiness for Christian service primarily by godly character, not a particular career path. The question, then, is not whether our past experiences seem sufficient for the work before us, but whether we are growing in godly character and faithfully stewarding the gifts and opportunities God has already given us.
Christians today may never stand before emperors, but we are nonetheless called to cultivate the same godly character that marked Ambrose’s life: trusting the God who prepares our paths, standing with conviction under Christ’s authority, and pursuing faithfulness in all spheres of life.
[1] F. Homes Dudden, The Life and Times of St. Ambrose (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1935), 381-83.
[2] Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War 5.89
[3] There are debates in recent scholarship as to the veracity of this dramatic event, but regardless it is well attested that Theodosius did submit to Ambrose, though this may not have taken place in such a singular dramatic event at the church doors.
[4] For more discussion, see chapter 6, “The Eucharistic Piety of Cyprian and Ambrose” in Michael Haykin, Rediscovering the Church Fathers (Crossway, 2011).
