Martyrdom — The Same Then and Now

Main Entry: 1mar·tyr
Pronunciation: \ˈmär-tər\
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Old English, from Late Latin, from Greek martyr-, martys witness
Date: before 12th century

1 : a person who voluntarily suffers death as the penalty of witnessing to and refusing to renounce a religion
2 : a person who sacrifices something of great value and especially life itself for the sake of principle
3 : victim; especially : a great or constant sufferer

Merriam-Webster

In discussing Mike Aquilina's Father's of the Church over the last two months, our Catholic women's book club has come back repeatedly to the subject of martyrdom.

Partly the issue has been clouded by the new awareness of Muslim martyrs in our lives. This has led to several talks clarifying the difference between Christian and Muslim martyrs. If only we had thought to go to the dictionary. I believe that the first definition perfectly speaks to the Christian model. The second definition also applies to Christian martyrdom and is stretched in an extreme fashion by some Muslims for their own faith. That distinction is vital. A true Christian martyr does not attack others. They are witnesses to their faith, not inflicting it on others, such as those very misguided people who bomb abortion clinics which is very unChristian behavior indeed.

This naturally led to discussion of whether it is better to stand or to run, prompted by St. Cyprian's example, who having weighed martyrdom versus leading his flock from hiding chose to flee. He is a saint and a father of the church, but his example also led to great division among the priests and faithful under his care.

The question that example raised is that if God is always on the side of life, would He want people embracing martyrdom of the "lions in the arena" type, which seemed an unhealthy thing to seek out.

This also brought up discussion of St. Stephen, the first martyr, who was stoned to death. My personal view of St. Stephen is that an integral part of his personality and youth was his great enthusiasm for the truth of Christ. I can see that, again in my own imaginings, he was proclaiming the truth to all as a knight would defend his king. This view was not embraced by all present but I happen to know a number of teenage boys. To me, this fits. I do not think he sought it out or that most martyrs sought it out. It happened because of circumstances, personality, and the necessity of telling the truth.

I, myself, as one might expect, tend to go for the model that does not seek out martyrdom but does not run away either.

In the end, we came down to two exemplars who actually embody both of the qualities we found necessary. One is that no one should deliberately seek to throw their life away. The second is that when put to the test, one must witness for truth.

One such example is St. Thomas More. He wriggled this way and that to avoid having to come down to a final confrontation with Henry VIII. However, when it was unavoidable, he did not run or move his family to France which he easily could have done. He stayed where he was, continuing to do the best he could under the circumstances, and did not shirk the direct witness he was called to give. He paid with his life.

Another such example, and the one that prompted the entire discussion, was St. Perpetua. There are a few "mothers" of the church included in the end of the book and she is one. An educated noblewoman and recent convert in Carthage around 200 AD, she was arrested, imprisoned, and killed. Adding to the strain was the fact that she was a new mother and naturally very worried about her infant who eventually was smuggled to her in the prison for a time. She wrote an account of her martyrdom. In it is her witness to her pagan father, her love and anxiety over her babe, and a vision she had. I found her vision to be very heartening because it so clearly showed God's grace under such terrible circumstances and that if we are willing to stand and do our part, that He gives the strength for the rest.

"Then my brother said to me: 'Lady sister, you are now in great honor-so great that you may well pray for a vision in which you may be shown whether suffering or release be in store for you.'

And I, knowing myself to have speech of the Lord for whose sake I was suffering, confidently promised, 'Tomorrow I will brig you word.'

And I made petition and this was shown me. I saw a golden ladder of wonderful length reaching up to heaven, but so narrow that only one at a a time could go up; and on the sides of the ladder were fastened all kinds or iron weapons. And at the foot of the ladder was a huge dragon or 'serpent' which lay in wait for those going up and sought to frighten them from making the ascent.

Now the first to go up was Saturus, who had given himself up of his own accord for our sakes, because our faith was of his own building and he had not been present when we were arrested. He reached the top of the ladder, and turning, said to me, 'Perpetua, I wait for you, but take care lest the dragon bite you,' and I said, 'In the name of Jesus Christ, he will not hurt me.'

And the dragon put out his head gently, as if afraid of me, just at the foot of the ladder; and as though I were treading on the first step, I trod on his head. And I went up and saw a large garden, and sitting in the midst a tall man with white hair in the dress of a shepherd, milking sheep; and round about were many thousands clad in white. And he raised his head and looked upon me and said, 'Welcome, child.' And he called me and gave me some curds of the milk he was milking, and I received it in my joined hands and ate; and all that were round about said Amen. At the sound of the word I awoke, still eating something sweet.

And at once I told my brother, and we understood that we must suffer and henceforth began to have no hope in this world.

Source

Note that neither of these two sought out martyrdom. Indeed, they had everything to live for in this world. However, when it came down to witnessing to the truth, they could not deny it. Very important to my mind, is that dragon curled around the bottom of the ladder. Dragons or serpents are often imagery for Satan and I can imagine that the temptation to turn aside from offering a true witness may be our natural fears but also could be very strongly pushed from this source.

Mulling all this over this morning, it came to me that the one essential point we had not boiled it down to was the word "witness." Martyrs are witnesses to the truth. Whether the sort of witness we are likely to encounter in dealing with people in everyday life or the more final sort that people face all the time in other countries (there have been more Christians martyrs in the 20th century than in all previous centuries combined or so I have heard ... anyone got facts on that?), we are called to be witnesses and not run away from witnessing what is true. Each of us must weigh what that means in each situation, as with all things, and also in our relationship with God.

I thought at that point to look at the dictionary. Aha.

from Greek martyr-, martys witness

How you are called upon to witness is individual to each of us. Whether we choose to stand or run is also individual and in most cases no one will ever know. Except us. And God.

"When you let Jesus in, He will make your life messy."

Can you tell that I'm in the midst of our annual catalog layout work? Too busy to see straight, working evenings and weekends so we can make hay (and the printer's deadline) while the sun shines. While still, I reflect upon all the ways God manifests himself to us, especially in what I witnessed during my time with my family recently as spiritual warfare was unleashed over my father's soul (and, I believe, my mother's as well).

In that spirit, I am reposting something from Easter 2008, for those new to the blog and also for those of us who need reminders that sometimes we've gotta step out in faith ... even (and perhaps especially) when we don't see any visible results.

Therefore, I present for your consideration (original comments box remarks included) ....

"When you let Jesus in, He will make your life messy."

No. Freaking. Kidding.

I'd been having my usual Easter. Doughnuts. Coffee. Leaping to my feet to frenziedly prepare before throwing myself out the door so we could get Grandma and get to Mass. Crying while singing the Alleluias ... which is common enough that the kids don't even get embarrassed any more.

I was bemusedly thinking about Peter and just how it must have felt to hear Mary Magdalene come through the door saying that Jesus was gone. Thinking about how maybe he and the beloved disciple had been not only feeling devastated and forlorn but also how possibly they had been trying to figure out just what all those things Jesus said about being "raised on the third day" really meant. And then getting the first clue, that first little glimmer that something more, something wonderful might happen ... as they raced to the tomb. Thinking about how it would feel to allow yourself to dream about the possibility of seeing once again your best friend, your teacher, your master ... and to be able to apologize for the betrayal, to tell him how much you loved him. I was thinking that I knew Jesus just a bit better than before as a personal friend so I could get a better idea of what that would be like. You get the picture. I was putting myself in the moment.

Now, not that this reading would be unusual at all for Easter morning, but I was caught unawares when suddenly I started paying more attention to what was going on as the Gospel reading began.

John 20: 1 - 9

Now on the first day of the week Mary Mag'dalene came to the tomb early, while it was still dark, and saw that the stone had been taken away from the tomb. So she ran, and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, "They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him."

Peter then came out with the other disciple, and they went toward the tomb.

They both ran, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first; and stooping to look in, he saw the linen cloths lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb; he saw the linen cloths lying, and the napkin, which had been on his head, not lying with the linen cloths but rolled up in a place by itself.

Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not know the scripture, that he must rise from the dead.

Ooooo ... synchronicity.

Father L. topped off the amazing homilies I'd heard over the Easter Triduum with one yesterday that had Tom turning to me and saying, "Wow. I wanted to stand up and say, 'Amen, brother!'" (And that's no easy feat!)

He was on fire, speaking with intensity about the need to think outside the box of our ideas about God. About a third of the way in, I found myself intently praying for all of those listening, thinking of how many were there that only came twice a year, praying especially for my sister-in-law who talks about becoming Catholic but never comes to mass. For her husband, Tom's brother, for whom "lukewarm" would be a step forward. Wishing they had listened to Grandma about coming to Easter Mass or that they had accepted Tom's phone message inviting them and that they just hadn't made it in time to move beyond the edges of the church, where so many stood. Knowing that they weren't.

Listening, but focussed on praying, I was suddenly jolted to complete attention when Father L. said that when Jesus comes into your life, He will make it messy. I nudged Hannah, and said, "Ain't that the truth?" Turning back, I saw Deacon Ken who knows me quite well enough to know how I related to that "messiness". He was smiling at me. Yep. Of course, we're a lot alike in that way.

I returned to my praying, feeling it and also thinking in the back of my mind that this must be the Holy Spirit because it sure wasn't like me. Father L continued, practically beseeching people to let Jesus into their lives, into their hearts, to let it get messy. Because that's where real life is found. If we'd have been a difference sort of church, there'd have been an altar call ... wow.

So I'm still listening, still inspired, still praying hard. Forgetting one thing. I'm part of the congregation. That prayer to let the messiness in ... oh, right, it applies to me too.

You see it coming?

We get home and do some frenzied dashing around because Tom's brother and sister-in-law (yep, the very ones for whom I was praying) and another couple have a long-standing tradition of many years of coming over for Easter dinner. I'm peeling potatoes, pulling deviled eggs from the fridge, directing the girls with plates and silverware ... the general marshaling troops. Busy. Mass is done. We're moving on to real life.

So, everyone comes over and I've had a couple of glasses of champagne, a glass of red wine, and we're eating while sitting around the living room. It turns out that my sister-in-law and I are sitting in the one corner of our living room where private conversation aside from the group could actually take place. We're talking about movies, about politics, about Grandma's memory but the fact that she never forgot about getting to mass or stations of the cross for Holy week. I told her that Grandma didn't go to the Good Friday mass but probably wouldn't have liked the chanting of the readings. So I described it some. She closed her eyes and said, "I would have loved that."

And then we're talking about grocery shopping at the Central Market, trading stories about the rare bad cashier or bad customer service and what we've done. We're talking about how much we like the Sudanese checkers (who I have mentioned before). Out of the blue, I hear myself telling her about the time that I went to one of them one day when it had been crowded in the store, only to find myself one of the few people checking out.

I mentioned how surprised I was to the cashier and he looked at me, paused for a moment, and then carefully said, "The first shall be last and the last shall be first." I looked at him for a second (thinking did he just say what I thought he said? and did he mean it in the way I think he did? you know ... Biblically?) and then said, just as carefully, "If only we could all live our lives according to that." It was like a secret handshake or something. And then we both relaxed and started talking about ... yep ... God and how he has seen that we all talk about religious tolerance in America but what he has seen is that it means that no one can say anything or they will be persecuted. An amazing conversation to have when buying groceries on a Saturday morning.

She's listening and smiling and I realize that I'm (once again) doing a Happy Catholic all over someone ... and this time it's my sister-in-law.

And then I'm in the kitchen getting coffee ready, cutting cake and talking to Hannah. My sister-in-law comes in with some dirty plates. I apologize for laying that religious story on her and say, but sometimes that stuff just happens to me. Tom used to not believe me but then he witnessed it. And I'm suddenly telling her about the time that he and I both came out of our offices when the Fed Ex lady came.

She is always cheerful and smiling and I tell her that she is such a nice change from the other Fed Ex people who can be not very happy at all. She says that she is going to speak to them. I tell her that I don't want to get anyone in trouble. She then says that you can never tell when your smile might be the one good thing a person sees all day and that it might make a big difference. She is looking right into my eyes and I look right back and tell her that is very true, we never know what we do that might make a huge difference to the people around us.

She then looks at me and says with emphasis, "I'm a Christian too ..."

Uh huh.

After she left, I turned to Tom and said, "See?" He threw up his hands and said, "I can't believe it but I saw it."

My sister-in-law is nodding and smiling.

Then Hannah told a story about a man who acted on God's prompting in a way that didn't make sense to him at the time but later turned out to have deeper meaning ... of course, now I can't remember it (worst of all she said that I told it to her and I didn't remember that either ... oh well).

That prompted my extremely sketchy retelling of this wonderful story about Beth Moore and what God had her do for an old man at the airport.

I say this because I want to tell you it is a scary thing to have the Spirit of God really working in you. You could end up doing some things you never would have done otherwise. Life in the Spirit can be dangerous for a thousand reasons not the least of which is your ego.

My sister-in-law is nodding and smiling.

And then I don't know why ... because it's like in the back of my mind I'm asking myself, "Why are you doing this?" ... but I tell her about the time that my CRHP team and I were getting ready to leave the church and go present the CHRP retreat to the next group of women.

I'm standing next to Holly and the thought has popped into my head several times that I need to hug her. Not that Holly isn't a very sweet and huggable person but it's not as if I'm just going to randomly hug her out of the blue. Finally, the third time that thought pops into my head (more like "an order" actually), I turn to her and hug her and say, "This isn't from me. This is from Jesus. It wasn't my idea." (Nothing if not gracious, right? ha!) Holly looks startled and says, "All morning I've been wishing and wishing that Jesus was here in real human form to put his arms around me so I could feel him."

My sister-in-law is smiling and nodding ... and then I think about what I just said and I know just what kind of wacko I sound like and so I mentally cringe and apologize and say that I don't know why I started telling these stories ... she says, "No, no, it's fine."

When she leaves the kitchen, I turn to Hannah and say that I can't believe I just dumped faith all over the place like that. Hannah leaned forward, looked at me intently, and said, "Mom, I think she needed to hear it."

Oh. Yeah. Maybe but at what cost? What about my ego? Hmm? I have to face sister-in-law again without being under the influence of champagne and a bunch of "faith-ish" stories of the moment. What about that?

Anyway, we move on and the guests leave, Hannah and her friends drive off to A&M, Tom and Rose clean the kitchen, and real life goes on.

So I'm having one of those nights that is becoming more frequent of tossing myself into a state of complete consciousness by 3:00 a.m. (ah, age ... ). I'm thinking about myself and sister-in-law, about Fr. L's homily ... and then I get it. That fervent praying I was doing was for everyone who was there. Which included me.

That we'd let Jesus take us outside the box. That we'd let Him make our lives messy. That we would completely commit ourselves to Him. Which includes telling stories that might embarrass us later ...

So far, so good ...

"Does the word 'Christian' make your stomach turn?"

That is the question that was posed by Friendly Christian. Frankly I was surprised that he got only 63 comments. There is are many people who are cynical or hostile towards Christians and usually they are not shy about speaking up ... often with good reason. After all, I used to be one of "them" and the list of complaints my friend Hey Jules thoughtfully sorted is very similar to the one I had myself.

My admittedly unoriginal thought is that we are living in the equivalent of the first century and there are a lot of forces out there who do not paint Christians or Christianity in a very positive light. Movies, television, reporters, and more are intent on pushing an agenda that is decidedly at odds with Christianity.

Also, as we all know, many times we ourselves reinforce the negative images with both hands. Let's face it. We are sinners. Period. That means we fall and sometimes we fall quite ungracefully with plenty of witnesses around. Some of those witnesses take our every action to be representative of Christianity as a whole. That's a fair cop because, warts and all, we are ambassadors of Christ.

So how is one to respond to these complaints? My initial thought is that there is no group of people where one can't pick out at least one member who embarrasses the others by their lack of ability to live up to their common standards. Yet, again, we are supposed to be better than other groups. We are followers of the Son of God after all.

The first century Christians were pointed out by others because of "how they love each other."

How do we do this too? How do we show this love so it shines forth?

How does the kingdom of God grow? Through ambassadors of Christ, believers who have been transformed by the power of the Holy Spirit. Through people like St. Lawrence, who are made capable of loving and serving Jesus to limitless degrees!

The Word Among Us

The first century Christians picked up babies abandoned to die on street corners and adopted them, they took care of the sick in epidemics when everyone else fled, they fed the poor and asked for nothing in return. They showed their love in the way that speaks loudest when you don't have a common language ... actions. They didn't go around talking about it. That was the quick way to martyrdom. They lived it.

We must help provide alternatives and not simply parrot ideals. We have to be active in our love as well as simply want the best. Each person has a different spot where God has placed them to show his love and change the world a little for the better ... whether it is through their family, their friends, or their community at large. We must seek God's will for the place we should be ... and then get in there and do it.

The first century Christians were martyrs. They endured torture and horrible deaths because they loved God so that they couldn't imagine turning their backs on Him.

God must be the center of our lives. He is truth and love. If he is the center of our lives then we too will live from a center of truth and love.

Are we willing to be martyrs ... because we are so in love with God? We can say yes because there is very little likelihood that we will be asked for that ultimate sacrifice. In it's place can we than endure the pinpricks of daily life with love for our neighbor ... the person who cuts us off in traffic, who pushes past us and lets the door slam in our faces, who yells at our child, who reports the old lady down the street to the city for brown grass, who accuses a teenager of scraping their car and then wants the payment in cash?

Remember, loving someone doesn't mean that we have mushy, feel-good emotions but that we have their best interest, their greatest good at heart. It means we act on our will and harness our emotions which often aren't good ones at all. It means saying a prayer for them (and often for ourselves as we struggle), "Lord have mercy on me and bless them" and still being polite or friendly or helpful when they don't care a whit.

Above all we must pray ... for ourselves and for others, for God's grace to carry us through when we can't carry ourselves.

The ultimate answer comes from many places as God uses everything around us to pull us back up again and again. We are to keep trying, never be defeated, and always, always love our neighbor as ourself ... even, and especially, when that means humiliating ourselves by asking forgiveness when we have done the wrong thing.

Am I good at this? Heck no. I wish I was. But eventually I manage to pick myself back up and launch myself into the fray again. That is my job. Whether I do it well or badly depends on how close I am to God. To my shame I am rarely close enough to do it well. But, again, I keep trying to get closer and to do it well enough to make Him proud, to show my love. Thank God for His grace or I'd never get anywhere!

God uses us, imperfect instruments as we all are, to shake up a cynical and hostile world. All we need to do is cooperate by living lives of love as best we can. Often we are unwittingly used by God. We think we are just living our lives while behind the scenes God is busy pulling strings.

Sometimes He uses a yellow sticky note to jolt someone out of cynicism.

As we were wrapping up I grabbed my purse off of the desk, and lying next to it I saw a stack of some broadcast documents and personal papers that belonged to him. On top of the papers was a bright yellow sticky note with the words "PRAY FOR REBECCA" written in large letters. ...

Sometimes He uses a little girl's plea.

"Mommy, can I pleeeeeeeease borrow a dollar?"

This became her standard question. And the first time she asked it, I almost gave my standard answer: No, they'll just use it to buy drugs. It's the answer that was drilled into me during my time in L.A., the answer I hadn't spent much time second guessing until my daughter stood before me in Chicago with her plaintive plea. ...

And sometimes he uses two accountants ... a bad one and a good one.

... So, kneeling at Mass one day, I made God a deal. All He had to do was to get a me a new house as a sign. Then I’d know He was there … and I’d have a new house. ...

Faith is Hard

Only then did I discover the truth: religious faith is not comforting, as atheists so often accuse, but hard. Hence, its status as a virtue. In order to keep it, we must nourish it and protect it; otherwise it will be blown away by the changing winds of fashion. More, we must never forget that this virtue is a theological one, which means that it comes through grace. Sometimes keeping faith means nothing more than clinging with the desperate need of a trusting child.

By Way of Grace: Moving from Faithfulness to Holiness
by Paula Huston

Amen to that! I never had characterized it to myself in that way until reading this passage. I was raised with the understanding that religious believers were clinging to false hope because they couldn't take real life, they needed the easy answers. On the other side of the equation, as it were, I know that living one's faith is a challenge that never ends ... luckily it is an interesting, exciting ride ... even when one is not having the best of times it is never boring.

The Hill of Crosses

I can't get this place out of my mind after reading about it in Catholic Shrines of Central and Eastern Europe by Kevin J. Wright. Steve at November Song brought it to mind again by this post which has some really wonderful links to information and photos of this unique outward testimony to the faith of the people of Lituania. This is one of the lengthier entries in the book but I am putting it because it pulls together everything so well.

One of the most unforgettable and emotional sites in Lithuania is the Hill of Crosses. An intense place of pilgrimage, the shrine offers a glimpse into the history of Lithuanian Catholics and their struggles with the former Communist regime. A worldwide attraction, the two-humped hillock is today buried amidst a multitude of crosses.

More than 170 years ago, however, the site was simply a hill overgrown with weeds. That all changed in 1831, when the first of hundreds of crosses were placed in the ground to honor those killed or deported to Siberia in an anti-Russian uprising. Thirty years later, more crosses were mounted on the hill in memory of those tragically killed in the peasant rebellion of 1863. In the ensuing years, more and more crosses were added to the site. At the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth centuries, the faithful came here to pray in solitude or take part in religious processions. They came to present their needs to God, to mourn those who had been killed, imprisoned, or exiled, and to recall important historical events.

When Soviet authorities took power in Lithuania after World War II, the new government designated the place as "forbidden" and severely punished those who defied them. The great drama then began to unfold as authorities destroyed the crosses on the hill in an attempt to smother Christianity and erase the "fanaticism." Between 1941 and 1952 the Lithuanians suffered greatly as many of their people were exiled to Siberia. Entire villages were emptied. In 1956 the people began returning to their homes.

Only a short time later, the faithful began secretly replenishing the hill with crosses again in memory of the unbearable torture they had endured and of those who had died and in gratitude for coming back. Lithuanians who returned from captivity in Siberia also put up crosses to thank God for the chance to walk the paths of their homeland and breathe its air again. In time, the Hill of Crosses with its heart-wrenching inscriptions became an open book of people's lives. The site symbolized resistance to violence, oppression and genocide. The resurrection of the crosses on the hill told the world that the nation of Lithuania was not dead.

But once the Communist authorities discovered the freshly planted Christian symbols, they attempted in the spring of 1961 to rid the site of its religious sentiments once and for all. Under the strict guard of the Red Army and KGB, soldiers bulldozed the area, burned the wooden crosses, recycled the iron ones, and buried the stone crosses in the ground. A maple tree, planted by the people to symbolize Lithuania's independence, was also uprooted. (Ironically, however, the townspeople later returned the tree to the hill in the form of a cross.)

When new crosses began cropping up, the Soviets attempted new ways of destroying the hill. On oe ocasin, the Soviets flooded the place, turning the Hill into a virtual island. The Communists exhausted themselves in designing new ways to stop the faithful from planting the symbols of resurrection. They dug ditches, closed bus stops, posted signs, punished trespassers, and blocked roads. But all was in vain. Ironically, one of the new crosses erected during the night read, "Jesus, do not punish the villains for they not know what they are doing." In total, the government bulldozed the hill three times, only to see the crosses spring up again and again. In 1975 the authorities leveled the hill for the last time.

Since then, more than fifty thousand crosses have been placed on the hill -- a testament to the spirit of the people. the planting of crosses can be traced to the Lithuanian tradition of erecting crosses near roads and settlements. In fact, in the beginning of the nineteenth century, so many crosses had been placed on the side of roads that the Minister of Internal Affairs of the Russian Empire issued an edict forbidding the erecting of them. However, the order had little effect, as the cross had already become a deeply rooted symbol in the heart of theLithuanian people...

Prayer of the Cross

Jesus, you became an example of humility, obedience, and patience, and preceded me onthe way of life bearing your cross. Grant that, inflamed with your love, I may cheerfully take upon myself the sweet yoke of your gospel together with the mortification of the cross and follow you as a true disciple so that I may be united with you in heaven forever and ever. Amen.