The table has been cleared, the milk spills cleaned up and the last sudsy bath has been drained. The children are whispering in their beds and the cat is curled up under the coffee table. With the lights dimmed and the dishwasher whirring away the last of my to-do list, I find myself at one of three bedsides. To ride the endless carousel of friends and foes, to celebrate victories, to bandage the wounded spirit, and to carry their concerns (and mine) to the Lord. But after the last amen, as I stagger wearily to my own bedside, I am sometimes still haunted by the deeper issues that lurch beneath the surface of life. The weights too heavy to bear and the questions too broad to grasp.

Recently, I was reading through a book about the history of the church. I was surprised at how enthralling and poignant it was, and was often taken back to the various biographies I’ve read, catching a fresh glimpse of Jesus through the eyes of these heroic saints of yesterday. There were two different themes that penetrated my heart and changed my thinking as I walked the path of the martyrs.

Beyond 70 AD and the infamous burning of Rome by Nero, many leaders rose up in his stead to wield the sword of persecution. But if you peek behind the veil of these places and players, there is a faith so greatly to be desired. A knowledge and intimacy with Jesus that utterly surpasses our own paltry devotion. In the blood of martyrs is found the richness and abundance of God’s character, ‘the revelation of His glory.’(1 Peter 4:12-14) The first thing that struck me was the depth of Jesus. I believe that in an age of shallow indulgence and sensuality, we are so effortlessly pacified that our souls become numb to the hunger that would draw us into the deeper waters of our faith. Can we profess with David:

Whom have I in heaven but You?
And besides You, I desire nothing on earth.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

I am convicted of my contentment with empty interests…trivial pleasures…momentary amusements. As I study the passions and pursuits of ancient men and women, I sense that there is so much more. More to know. More to believe. More to life.

In 108 AD lived a man named Ignatius, who had taken over Peter’s leadership in the church of Antioch. When he was brought through Asia to Rome to be martyred, he yet encouraged the churches in his path to be strengthened in the Word and in their Savior. In his final letter to Rome, he exhorted them, lest they attempt to rescue him before his execution, “Now I begin to be a disciple. I care for nothing, of visible or invisible things, so that I may but win Christ. Let fire and the cross, let the companies of wild beasts, let breaking of bones and tearing of limbs, let the grinding of the whole body, and all the malice of the devil, come upon me; be it so, only may I win Christ Jesus!”

Around 300 AD, a man named Timothy and his new bride Maura were apprehended for carrying the scriptures. The governor, Arrianus, grew angry when Timothy wouldn’t recant his faith, and has his eyes burned out that he would never read scripture again. But he only grew more exasperated as this saint displayed strength and fidelity, even despite the bidding of his wife. Ordered to be further tortured, Timothy declared his resolution to his Savior, and thus empowered Maura’s faith in the same. They both continued to suffer as the targets of Arrianus’ fury until they were later crucified side by side.

As I read on through the pages and pages, years and years of Christians persecuted, yet faithful, unwavering, unapologetic. Many were slain on the altar of virtue and obedience alone. It is provoking to see the slight tenants of faith for which these Christians were willing to sacrifice everything. And to which they withstood with courage and resilience, often to the conversion of their torturers who then suffered the same fate. It is undeniable in view of their testimonies, that the church of America is only skimming the surface, if that, of the grace and fullness and glory of Jesus Christ. I stand guilty among them.

The second thought impressed upon me, was the cyclic nature of history. In the Old Testament books we can see the rise and fall of kings and kingdoms. During the age of the early church through the Byzantine and Crusader Eras to the present, we see empires overthrown and a continual shift of authority. From where we stand on the timeline of today, we can look back through the corridors of history and see the ebb and flow of political domination, of good and bad. So is it naïve to listlessly settle into the familiar cadence that we know as freedom? Has our pride as Americans outrun our devotion as Christians? I am concerned for the world that my children will walk through. As a mother, I lose sleep over the instability of tomorrow. Would we be able to bear His cross if called to? Have I prepared them adequately to walk the road of persecution if necessary? Am I ready to lead the way? I grew up hearing Sunday School lessons about the persecuted churches in faraway lands, but more than ever, I am sensing a turning of the tide outside my own front door. And it concerns me. I have a fresh resolve to be prepared ‘in season and out of season.’ To allow the unfolding of His Word to shed light on my soul and sustain me. To walk worthy of my calling, whatever that might mean. That God would be the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

May we all be encouraged by the proven faith of those who have walked before us. May we seek Him more deeply, trust Him more thoroughly and know Him more intimately. For the sake of those who will someday walk behind us. Lastly, let us draw near to the fire of Lawrence, a brother in the Lord, that his admirable words might warm our indifferent hearts.

The merciless tyrant, Valerian, (257 AD) set out to make an example of this noble saint, who served as a minister as well as a treasurer for the church. With furious face and cruel countenance, the greedy wolf demanded where this Lawrence had hidden the money of the Church. He requested three days’ respite, promising to declare where the treasure might be had. In the meantime, he brought together a number of his Christian congregation. When the day of his answer was come, the persecutor strictly charged him to stand to his promise. Valiant Lawrence, stretching out his arms over the poor of his flock, said: “These are the precious treasure of the Church, in whom the faith of Christ reigns, in whom Jesus Christ has His mansion-place. What more precious jewels can Christ have, than those in whom He has promised to dwell? For so it is written, ‘I was hungered, and you gave me meat: I was thirsty, and you gave me drink: I was a stranger, and you took me in.’ And again, ‘Inasmuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto me.’ What greater riches can Christ our Master possess, than the poor people through whom He desires to be seen?”

After many cruel handlings, this meek lamb was laid, not on his fiery bed of iron as intended, but on a soft bed of down by God’s supernatural grace.

Tonight, as I wipe up yet another spill, switch another load of laundry, and again prepare my little ones to rest, I will seek His hand, His Word and His sovereignty for some rest of my own. May we all know his supernatural grace for whatever tomorrow brings.

Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal among you, which comes upon you for your testing, as though some strange thing were happening to you;

but to the degree that you share the sufferings of Christ, keep on rejoicing, so that also at the revelation of His glory you may rejoice with exultation.

If you are reviled for the name of Christ, you are blessed, because the Spirit of glory and of God rests on you.

Therefore, those also who suffer according to the will of God shall entrust their souls to a faithful Creator in doing what is right.

The table has been cleared, the milk spills cleaned up and the last sudsy bath has been drained. The children are whispering in their beds and the cat is curled up under the coffee table. With the lights dimmed and the dishwasher whirring away the last of my to-do list, I find myself at one of three bedsides. To ride the endless carousel of friends and foes, to celebrate victories, to bandage the wounded spirit, and to carry their concerns (and mine) to the Lord. But after the last amen, as I stagger wearily to my own bedside, I am sometimes still haunted by the deeper issues that lurch beneath the surface of life. The weights too heavy to bear and the questions too broad to grasp.

Recently, I was reading through a book about the history of the church. I was surprised at how enthralling and poignant it was, and was often taken back to the various biographies I’ve read, catching a fresh glimpse of Jesus through the eyes of these heroic saints of yesterday. There were two different themes that penetrated my heart and changed my thinking as I walked the path of the martyrs.

Beyond 70 AD and the infamous burning of Rome by Nero, many leaders rose up in his stead to wield the sword of persecution. But if you peek behind the veil of these places and players, there is a faith so greatly to be desired. A knowledge and intimacy with Jesus that utterly surpasses our own paltry devotion. In the blood of martyrs is found the richness and abundance of God’s character, ‘the revelation of His glory.’(1 Peter 4:12-14) The first thing that struck me was the depth of Jesus. I believe that in an age of shallow indulgence and sensuality, we are so effortlessly pacified that our souls become numb to the hunger that would draw us into the deeper waters of our faith. Can we profess with David:

Whom have I in heaven but You?
And besides You, I desire nothing on earth.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

I am convicted of my contentment with empty interests…trivial pleasures…momentary amusements. As I study the passions and pursuits of ancient men and women, I sense that there is so much more. More to know. More to believe. More to life.

In 108 AD lived a man named Ignatius, who had taken over Peter’s leadership in the church of Antioch. When he was brought through Asia to Rome to be martyred, he yet encouraged the churches in his path to be strengthened in the Word and in their Savior. In his final letter to Rome, he exhorted them, lest they attempt to rescue him before his execution, “Now I begin to be a disciple. I care for nothing, of visible or invisible things, so that I may but win Christ. Let fire and the cross, let the companies of wild beasts, let breaking of bones and tearing of limbs, let the grinding of the whole body, and all the malice of the devil, come upon me; be it so, only may I win Christ Jesus!”

Around 300 AD, a man named Timothy and his new bride Maura were apprehended for carrying the scriptures. The governor, Arrianus, grew angry when Timothy wouldn’t recant his faith, and has his eyes burned out that he would never read scripture again. But he only grew more exasperated as this saint displayed strength and fidelity, even despite the bidding of his wife. Ordered to be further tortured, Timothy declared his resolution to his Savior, and thus empowered Maura’s faith in the same. They both continued to suffer as the targets of Arrianus’ fury until they were later crucified side by side.

As I read on through the pages and pages, years and years of Christians persecuted, yet faithful, unwavering, unapologetic. Many were slain on the altar of virtue and obedience alone. It is provoking to see the slight tenants of faith for which these Christians were willing to sacrifice everything. And to which they withstood with courage and resilience, often to the conversion of their torturers who then suffered the same fate. It is undeniable in view of their testimonies, that the church of America is only skimming the surface, if that, of the grace and fullness and glory of Jesus Christ. I stand guilty among them.

The second thought impressed upon me, was the cyclic nature of history. In the Old Testament books we can see the rise and fall of kings and kingdoms. During the age of the early church through the Byzantine and Crusader Eras to the present, we see empires overthrown and a continual shift of authority. From where we stand on the timeline of today, we can look back through the corridors of history and see the ebb and flow of political domination, of good and bad. So is it naïve to listlessly settle into the familiar cadence that we know as freedom? Has our pride as Americans outrun our devotion as Christians? I am concerned for the world that my children will walk through. As a mother, I lose sleep over the instability of tomorrow. Would we be able to bear His cross if called to? Have I prepared them adequately to walk the road of persecution if necessary? Am I ready to lead the way? I grew up hearing Sunday School lessons about the persecuted churches in faraway lands, but more than ever, I am sensing a turning of the tide outside my own front door. And it concerns me. I have a fresh resolve to be prepared ‘in season and out of season.’ To allow the unfolding of His Word to shed light on my soul and sustain me. To walk worthy of my calling, whatever that might mean. That God would be the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

May we all be encouraged by the proven faith of those who have walked before us. May we seek Him more deeply, trust Him more thoroughly and know Him more intimately. For the sake of those who will someday walk behind us. Lastly, let us draw near to the fire of Lawrence, a brother in the Lord, that his admirable words might warm our indifferent hearts.

The merciless tyrant, Valerian, (257 AD) set out to make an example of this noble saint, who served as a minister as well as a treasurer for the church. With furious face and cruel countenance, the greedy wolf demanded where this Lawrence had hidden the money of the Church. He requested three days’ respite, promising to declare where the treasure might be had. In the meantime, he brought together a number of his Christian congregation. When the day of his answer was come, the persecutor strictly charged him to stand to his promise. Valiant Lawrence, stretching out his arms over the poor of his flock, said: “These are the precious treasure of the Church, in whom the faith of Christ reigns, in whom Jesus Christ has His mansion-place. What more precious jewels can Christ have, than those in whom He has promised to dwell? For so it is written, ‘I was hungered, and you gave me meat: I was thirsty, and you gave me drink: I was a stranger, and you took me in.’ And again, ‘Inasmuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto me.’ What greater riches can Christ our Master possess, than the poor people through whom He desires to be seen?”

After many cruel handlings, this meek lamb was laid, not on his fiery bed of iron as intended, but on a soft bed of down by God’s supernatural grace.

Tonight, as I wipe up yet another spill, switch another load of laundry, and again prepare my little ones to rest, I will seek His hand, His Word and His sovereignty for some rest of my own. May we all know his supernatural grace for whatever tomorrow brings.

Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal among you, which comes upon you for your testing, as though some strange thing were happening to you;

but to the degree that you share the sufferings of Christ, keep on rejoicing, so that also at the revelation of His glory you may rejoice with exultation.

If you are reviled for the name of Christ, you are blessed, because the Spirit of glory and of God rests on you.

Therefore, those also who suffer according to the will of God shall entrust their souls to a faithful Creator in doing what is right.