Spirit-Led Witness
For the first three hundred years of Christianity, following Jesus could get you in serious trouble. In addition to the official state-sponsored persecutions which came in waves, local leaders had a habit of blaming Christians whenever something went wrong. Having distinguished themselves culturally both from their Jewish counterparts and pagan neighbors, followers of Jesus remained an easy target for discrimination and violence until the Way became an officially tolerated religion with the Edict of Milan in 313 AD.
Despite the threat of imprisonment and execution, Christians continued to embrace the faith of Jesus. The gospel tradition, which is enshrined in the pages of Holy Scripture, was shaped by the persecution of Jesus’ disciples. The words of Jesus that have been passed down to us make a big deal about losing one’s life and abandoning one’s family for the sake of the gospel. In the decades of struggle that followed Jesus’ death and resurrection, his followers remembered and cherished his teachings about remaining faithful in the face of danger. Even though the risks associated with following Jesus are very different for us, our understanding of what it means to be a Christian is a direct reflection of their particular brand of faithfulness.
I wonder whether we should reimagine what Jesus says about taking up our cross in order to be his disciples. In a world in which Jesus’ followers are still persecuted for their faith, my daily experience of Christianity is in no way affected or diminished because of anti-Christian threats. I have never once worried that I might be punished or killed because I am a Christian. Other than a possible misdemeanor arrest at a rowdy protest or demonstration, I have never wondered whether my faith could land me in jail. Periodically I encounter moments of social unease and relationship strain because of my beliefs, but these passing experiences of discomfort are nothing compared with those whose livelihoods and bodies are at risk.
When Jesus tells me to take up my cross, he is not asking me to accept modest limitations of status and privilege in order to earn a ticket to heaven. He is teaching me that the way of God’s reign is a way of humility, self-emptying, powerlessness, and sacrifice. Until I know the way of the cross in my lived experience, I cannot know what it means to belong to him. More than that, until I make the way of the cross the definition of my life and work, I cannot be faithful to the one whose death has brought me new life.
Near the end of the second century, Tertullian wrote to pagan leaders across the Roman Empire to explain why Jesus’ followers were willing to endure persecution and death for the sake of their savior. In his Apology, he describes the martyrdom as if it were a soldier’s yearning for the battlefield:
It is quite true that it is our desire to suffer, but it is in the way that the soldier longs for war. No one indeed suffers willingly, since suffering necessarily implies fear and danger. Yet the man who objected to the conflict, both fights with all his strength, and when victorious, he rejoices in the battle, because he reaps from it glory and spoil. It is our battle to be summoned to your tribunals that there, under fear of execution, we may battle for the truth. But the day is won when the object of the struggle is gained. This victory of ours gives us the glory of pleasing God, and the spoil of life eternal (Chapter 50).
Tertullian’s more famous quotation from that writing comes later in the same chapter: “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.” Another translation makes his point a little more clearly: “The oftener we are mown down by you, the more in number we grow; the blood of Christians is seed.” Tertullian, like his opponents, had noticed that the willingness of Christians to submit to persecution and death was an inspiration to others. Instead of being dissuaded from following Jesus by their stories of torture and execution, would-be disciples found hope in the martyrs’ faithfulness unto death, and they gave their lives to Jesus and for Jesus in like manner.
What does it mean for us to do the same? In a country and culture in which Christianity has become a symbol of empire, how can we be inspired by those who were persecuted and killed for Jesus’ sake? The answer, I believe, is not by dying a physical death but by embracing the way of the cross as our way of life and trusting that by dying daily to ourselves God will use our lives as seeds for evangelism.
Last night, I was the guest preacher at the Tuesday-evening Eucharist at St. Martin’s, where we commemorated the life and witness of the martyrs of New Guinea. Truthfully, it was not a great sermon, but in preparing for it I discovered a new way of thinking about a familiar passage of scripture about martyrdom. In Luke 12, Jesus tells his disciples, “When they bring you before the synagogues, the rulers, and the authorities, do not worry about how you are to defend yourselves or what you are to say; for the Holy Spirit will teach you at that very hour what you ought to say,” and there was something about the faithfulness of the martyrs of New Guinea that helped me hear Jesus as if he were speaking directly to me.
I have always heard those words as Jesus’ promise that the Holy Spirit will show us how to defend ourselves in our moment of need, but, in reflecting upon the faithfulness unto death of those New Guinean martyrs, I realized that the Holy Spirit comes not to acquit us from earthly tribunals but to strengthen our faith even in the face of persecution and death. The words we are given to say in the face of danger are not God’s way of mitigating the threat but of ensuring our resolute witness even though such witness may cost us our lives.
It is that sort of martyrdom—a word that literally means witness—that Tertullian had in mind when he described the blood of the martyrs as the seeds from which a new harvest of disciples will spring. Faithfulness is never measured in our victory over earthly obstacles but in our willingness to remain connected with Jesus even when those obstacles overwhelm us. We do not glorify God with eloquent speech or triumphant efforts but by maintaining our trust in God despite hardship and struggle.
That sort of faithfulness inspires others. It is real, lived, and tested. Those of us who have the privilege of never worrying about experiencing physical, economic, emotional, or spiritual harm because of our faith must look for ways to yield that privilege in order to follow Jesus in the way of the cross. That sort of faithfulness is also the way we grow the church. We must learn to measure success in our ministries not in terms that make sense to the world—numbers, dollars, compliments—but in ways that reflect our faithfulness unto death—exhaustion, ridicule, failure.
As Tertullian wrote, none of us wants to suffer. None of us looks to fail. But, if we define faithfulness in terms of worldly comfort and earthly success, we will only bear fruit for ourselves and not for God. It is through faithfulness in struggle that we bear witness to the one who loves us from the cross. It is by living as those who have already died that we help others know the resurrection power of Jesus. It is through our willingness to trust that God will receive even our biggest failures and turn them into new life and possibility that show the world what faithfulness really is.
Yours faithfully,
Evan D. Garner
