A small group, men and women, young and old, huddled together in the center of the amphitheater. The crowd, hearing the hungry lions roaring in their underground pens, stirred in anticipation of the spectacle to come, thinking the small group was huddling in fear. It soon became obvious, however, that the group was in fact singing. The audience quieted, straining to hear. They heard a common tune, but the words were unfamiliar. The sacrificial victims were singing a hymn in praise of one Christ, who had died on a cross, but somehow had been raised.
The crowd roared in outrage. “Death to the Christians,” someone shouted, and the cry was taken up by the whole amphitheater. But the crowd quickly silenced again as the proconsul walked to the center of the arena to offer the criminals one last chance to recant their wicked superstition. The crowd could see an old man, clearly the spokesman for the group, shake his head in firm resolve. The proconsul quickly strode away and the crowd heard the familiar winding of the crank as the lions were raised to the surface to be turned upon their hapless victims.
Starved for three days to ensure a good show, the lions quickly ranged though the arena, picking out likely victims. But the crowds’ expectations were disappointed. It was normal at such events for the victims to either fight back with weapons provided, or to panic. Some victims ran in crazed circles around the arena. Some ran to the rim of the arena begging the spectators to aid them. Some attempted to hide behind the other victims. Some wept.
The Christians did none of those things. Led by the old man who had spoken so firmly to the proconsul, they continued to sing their hymn to Christ. Clearly, they were frightened. Their legs trembled, and some of the younger ones had tears standing in their eyes, but they did not break. The elder, perhaps sensing that some in his flock were faltering, walked toward the lions, drawing their attention. The lions sprang at him and quickly tore him to shreds. When they turned on the others, no one screamed or ran in fear. The volume of the singing increased at first, and then slowly died out along with the victims.
The crowd left the amphitheater dissatisfied that day. The more thoughtful among them had their consciences seared. They had come looking for some exciting combat between desperate criminals and wild animals. Many in the crowd enjoyed witnessing the shedding of blood, the cries of terror, and the excitement of the moment of death. They were able to console themselves because the victims were criminals who deserved what happened to them. But these Christians! What crime had they committed? And the manner of their death was certainly impressive. It bespoke a calm joy, innocence, and a certainty of a better life to come—all elements notoriously lacking in the life of the average citizen of the Roman Empire. No, on that particular day, the crowd left the amphitheater thoughtful and ill at ease.
The scene depicted above is a composite of several martyrologies of the early Church. The old man is modeled after a man named Germanicus, whose story is recorded in The Martyrdom of Polycarp: “When the proconsul sought to persuade him [Germanicus], and urged him to take pity upon his age, he attracted the wild beast toward himself, and provoked it….” The fictionalized account I have provided is similar to scenes that played out many times in amphitheaters throughout the Roman Empire. There are approximately a thousand known martyrs of the early Church, and many thousand more who died an anonymous death for Christ. There can be no doubt that in the early Church thousands upon thousands of Christians died by every horrible and barbarous means known to man.
There can also be no doubt about the effect these martyrs had on the people of the Roman Empire. Individuals were brought first to doubt the very foundations of their own civilization, then to embrace the new set of values they saw the martyrs exhibit. And as increasingly large numbers of people were converted to Christ, the very society itself was transformed. Barbarous practices like crucifixion, gladiatorial combat, condemning criminals to death by wild animals, and abortion were gradually abolished in the Empire. Other practices, like slavery, were mitigated in their harshness by new laws, and eventually abolished.
What effect did the martyrs have on the internal life of the Church? In general, there were three main effects. First, the examples of the martyrs led to large numbers of conversions. We are all familiar with Tertullian’s saying that “the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church.” In examining the historical record, each martyrdom led to dozens of conversions, hundreds of Christians became thousands, and thousands became millions.
The second major effect of the martyrs was the development of the cult of the martyrs, with its associated practice of the collection, distribution, and veneration of relics. In the early Church, these practices were associated primarily with the cult of the martyrs, and led in later, more peaceful times, to the veneration of all saints in general.
Thirdly, the persecutions forced the Church to think clearly about penitential practices and the restoration of communion to those who fell. The thorny problem of the lapsi, who denied Christ under duress but later bitterly regretted their failure, seared the conscience of the Church, and led to the development of penitential practices that endured through time. Martyrdom and Conversion Certainly, several factors led to the rise of the early Church, among them the charitable activities of the early Christians, the meaning and hope offered by the Christian message, and the clarity and persuasiveness of the message of Christ. However, first among these factors would have to be the witness of the martyrs themselves. We know of many instances where the witnesses of a martyrdom immediately converted to Christ.
Consider the case of Basilides and Potamiaena, which is told in full in Book 6 of Eusebius of Caesarea’s Church History. Potamiaena was a young Christian woman who was tortured to death during the reign of the Emperor Maximian. One of her guards, a young man named Basilides, befriended her during her imprisonment, and Potamiaena prayed for him before she died. Three days after Potamiaena’s death, Basilides had a vision in which the young woman visited him and placed a wreath on his head. Deeply moved, Basilides told the authorities he was a Christian, and was beheaded, after first receiving the grace of Baptism.
This story is hardly unique. In the various Acts of the Martyrs, we read of soldiers converting on the spot, and being executed alongside the Christians they were supposed to kill. We read of prison guards being converted by the Christians they were guarding, as in the case of Perpetua’s jailor.
We know of other cases where witnessing a martyr’s resolve led to a slower conversion. Justin Martyr, for instance, observed “For I myself, too, when I was delighting in the doctrines of Plato, and heard the Christians slandered, and saw them fearless of death, and of all other-things which are counted fearful, perceived that it was impossible that they could be living in wickedness and pleasure” (Second Apology, 12). Thus, witnessing the steadfastness of Christian martyrs led to Justin’s conversion. This was an extremely important event in the life of the Church, because Justin became the greatest of all the apologists, and eventually he wore a martyr’s crown himself.
Martyrdoms were frequently accompanied by miraculous signs. St. Blandina, when she was suspended on a stake, appeared to fellow believers in the form of Christ suspended on the Cross:
Blandina was suspended on a stake, and exposed to be devoured by the wild beasts who should attack her. And because she appeared as if hanging on a cross, and because of her earnest prayers, she inspired the combatants with great zeal. For they looked on her in her conflict, and beheld with their outward eyes, in the form of their sister, him who was crucified for them . . . (Eusebius, Church History 5.1).
St. Polycarp, the beloved Bishop of Smyrna, was sentenced to be burned to death, but his body was not consumed by the fire:
As the flame blazed forth in great fury, we, to whom it was given to witness it, beheld a great miracle, and have been preserved that we might report to others what then took place. For the fire, shaping itself into the form of an arch, like the sail of a ship when filled with the wind, encompassed as by a circle the body of the martyr. And he appeared within not like flesh which is burnt, but as bread that is baked, or as gold and silver glowing in a furnace. Moreover, we perceived such a sweet odour [coming from the pile], as if frankincense or some such precious spices had been smoking there (The Martyrdom of Polycarp, 15).
When the authorities saw that the fire did not consume Polycarp, they ordered him beheaded, but all who witnessed this great miracle, including those who were not yet believers, were deeply moved.
Christianity grew exponentially in Polycarp’s Smyrna and Blandina’s Lyons, as a direct result of the miraculous signs that accompanied their martyrdoms. And these two cities were both important centers of Christian faith for hundreds of years after their martyrdoms.
Veneration of the Martyrs
The ancient Catholic practice of venerating Saints and gathering the relics of the Saints began very early in Church history, and was usually associated with the cult of the martyrs. After the death of Polycarp, his chronicler records, “we afterwards took up his bones, as being more precious than the most exquisite jewels, and more purified than gold, and deposited them in a fitting place, whither, being gathered together, as opportunity is allowed us, with joy and rejoicing, the Lord shall grant us to celebrate the anniversary of his martyrdom . . . ” (The Martyrdom of Polycarp, 18).
A similar story is recorded of Fructuosus, Bishop of Tarragona, who was martyred on January 21, 259. His executors, determined to prevent a new martyr cult from springing up, attempted to burn his body completely. But Fructuosus’s followers, motivated by great love for their bishop, snuck into the amphitheater in the middle of the night, retrieved his bones, and buried them lovingly.
The catacombs, where so many martyrs were buried, became a great center of the veneration of the martyrs. The practice was for the pope and small groups to enter the catacombs and celebrate Holy Mass at the burial site of a martyr, on the anniversary of his death. On August 6, 258, Pope Sixtus II and four of his deacons were martyred while celebrating Mass at the tomb of a martyr (the name and history of this particular martyr has unfortunately been lost to us).
Penitential Discipline and the Restoration of the Lapsi
Not all the early Christians faced martyrdom heroically. Confronted with the threat of torture and death, some Christians denied Christ. Roman law allowed the torture of non-citizens on mere suspicion, so many Christians were tortured into confessing their own Christianity, and some even turned in their fellow believers. After their confession, immediately before the death sentence was carried out, most Christians were allowed one last chance to deny Christ. Some, worn out by torture, fear, and pressure from family members, chose to save their life. These were called lapsi, the lapsed. When the wave of persecution was over, the lapsi often regretted their failure, and sought to rejoin their fellow believers in worship.
Obviously, since Christ forgave St. Peter for his denial, there had to be some way to restore the lapsi to fellowship. But many sincere Christians, with memories of beloved martyrs fresh in their minds, were opposed to the restoration of the lapsi. Novatian, a leading Christian of Rome, led his followers into schism over this issue. Over time, a seven-year period of penitence was prescribed, at the end of which the repentant layman could be restored to communion. Eventually, it was decided that clergymen could be restored to communion, and even continue their ministry, after a lengthy period or penitence. (This decision led to one of the greatest heresies of the early Church, Donatism, which wracked the Church of North Africa for over a hundred years.)
The circumstances of the lapsi led the Church to look at the whole question of repentance, restoration, and penance in a new light. Over time, it led to the development of the historic practice of private confession and penance, which is the normal means by which sins are forgiven to this very day.
The Seed of the Church
The sacrifice of the martyrs had three powerful, immediate, and permanent effects on the life of the Church. The patient, joyful endurance of the martyrs has always been a source of new converts. The love the common people felt for the martyrs translated into the cult of the martyrs, which quickly led to the longstanding practice of the veneration of the saints. Finally, the weakness of the lapsi and their subsequent repentance led to the development of penitential practices that have endured through time.
Other effects, less easy to quantify, can perhaps be identified. The constant threat of persecution under which the Church labored for its first 300 years ensured that no one converted to the Faith lightly. Ordinary Christians, inspired by the example of the martyrs, lived their Faith more intensely than is common today. Who knows what effect this intensity had on conversion rates? Many people who never saw a Christian martyr were converted to the Faith by the simple acts of loving kindness performed by ordinary Christians, who were in turn inspired by the examples of the martyrs. And thus the deeds of the martyrs of the early Church live on to this day, in the lives of ordinary Christians who strive to emulate them.
Carl Sommer has an MA in historical theology from the Aquinas Institute of Theology. His best-known work is We Look for A Kingdom: The Everyday Lives of the Early Christians (Ignatius). He lives with his wife and two children in St. Louis, Missouri.
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