Tarcisius, the Roman boy who died for the Eucharist.

In the year 200, Romans persecuted Christians throughout the land. They arrested some, imprisoned some, and even killed many. Thus, Christians hid themselves in the catacombs out of fear. From the catacombs, they usually sent someone to covertly visit the prisons and bring Christian nourishment to those condemned to die. At one point, there was no one to send, so they sent a 12-year-old child whose name was Tarcisius.

The child passed swiftly through the city square, gentle, serene, and thoughtful. His arms folded closely on his breast, guarding the Holy Eucharist, which he was bringing to the condemned prisoner. Christians believe that the Holy Eucharist is the body of Christ.”

On the way, Tarcisius met some pagan boys who knew him. They were playing.

“Hi there, Tarcisius! Where are you going? “A big boy asked.
“I am on an errand,” the child replied.

“How quick you go, and how mysterious you seem! Come here and play,” added another rough-looking boy.

“Oh no! I have a task I must fulfill.” said the child.

“Indeed! And may we ask what you are holding there? “
“You can not see,” the poor child said, backing away
“Why?” asked the big boy
‘”Is it a secret?” asked another.
“Ah! A mystery? Cried another, excitedly crowding in.
“Nothing is more amusing. Tell us, then!” said the big boy, his eyes gleaming and his big arm reaching out.

“O! Leave me, please,” pleaded the child again.

But the rough pagan boys blocked his path and said, “Give us your treasures!”
The child shook his head.

The crowd began to surge like a mob.

“What’s here?’ A treasure. Oh! Where was it found?” cried one
Another shrill voice answered, “It is a Christian boy who hides upon his breast some foolish toy.”

Like furious lions, the boys roared, “Open your arms!”

Twenty arms stretched forth, threateningly to the frail child, who answered steadfastly, “Never! oh, never!”

They leaped upon him and seized him. Yet they could not unclose his slender arms, clasped firmly on his heart enfolding the Eucharist.

The mob grew strong and cowardly, struck the child’s head with their fists, and felled him to the ground. He lay before them, trampled beneath their feet. He went down under the blows until a soldier came and drove off the mob and rescued the young child.

The child looked up at him and knew him, for the soldier was a Christian, and the boy smiled. On the red pavement where he lay, his arms still crossed, guarding the Eucharist, a trace of blood was on the brow and down the cheek. With his dying voice, in a soft and meek accent, the child said to the Christian these words: “Friend, I bear our Lord for the martyrs in prison.” and died.

His mangled body was carried back to the catacombs. Even as he passed away, a devoted child was watching over his cold hands as they clasped the Holy Eucharist to his breast. Only the priest’s hand could avail, at last, to open those boyish hands shut fast in death and take from them the Lord for whom he died! Tarcisius has long since been crowned and glorified as a boy-martyr.