This summer I had the opportunity to travel to Italy and Greece on a trip which included cenotaphs claiming the bones of my favorite poets and theologians, icons and artworks which animated the passion of the saints. I entered the tomb of Peter and walked where Paul walked in Acts 17, proclaiming to the philosophers that the God they had been searching for had in fact come to rescue. Museums burst with history, and churches exploded with light and the presence of God. Yet, among all of this, nothing compared to the religious experience I had at a building which I think we often consider secular: the Roman Coliseum.
Once the jewel of Rome, people gathered there for cheap food and violent spectacle with the sick slogan of “Bread and circuses.” Now the Coliseum stands, weathered and tired, the carcass of a magnificent beast which once consumed human flesh in droves. A plain cross stands on one side of the arena, overlooking the desolate pit – a reminder of Christ’s triumph over sin and death. In John’s Apocalypse we hear the martyrs crying in heaven, “Sovereign Lord, how long will it be before you judge and avenge our blood on the inhabitants of the earth?” But, at least here, Babylon has been cast down, to the rejoicing of the prophets and saints. Whether many Christians were martyred at the Coliseum, we don’t know. Cursory research tells me that before the 17th century it was rarely regarded as holy. This is however the site where Ignatius of Antioch, a student of John, was fed to lions while praying that his sacrifice make him “God’s wheat ground by the teeth of beasts, that [he] may be the pure bread of Christ.” History also tells of a monk named Telemachus who abhorred the violence committed in Rome and burst into the arena to protest. The discontented mob had him stoned, but his death moved Emperor Honorius to put an end to the slaughter. As perfect love, Christ says, “This is my body, given up for you, in all that he does.” The martyr, as faithful disciple, repeats this unto death.
“Martyr” comes from the Greek word for “witness.” Christianity is a martyr’s religion. It is about giving up out lives to Christ, just as the Son gives himself to the Father and the Father to the Son. All of the saints are martyrs, even the ones who are not burnt at the stake. This, I think, is the reason behind our fascination with faith journeys. A good testimony witnesses The Gospel more powerfully than the most beautiful church window. I think that we sometimes take the wrong lesson from the martyrs, developing a persecution (or martyr) complex. We know a lot about expecting God to vindicate our arguments, choices, and identities when our enemies won’t. But on the flipside, there is much to learn about how to be a martyr, dying to ourselves and our own desires. We are still sinners and sin has consequences. Its greatest effect is a fractured relationship with God and neighbor, where we do not give ourselves fully to him or each other. Martyrs were the first saints revered in the early church. Where the rest of us had to live out our lives in conformity with Christ as a perpetual sacrifice being perfected by continuing growth in virtue, a martyr, by proclaiming the Gospel up until the moment of her death, could at once present her whole self as an offering to the Father. Morbid? Certainly, but when we remember that our foe is death and the power of hell, we must be ready to face it. Paul writes of purification coming “as through a fire,” and Jesus qualifies that his followers must “take up their cross daily and follow me.”
All of this, by the way, is the secret to Catholic devotion to Mary. She is the greatest of the martyrs, even though she was never slain. When the angel came to her, she did not protest as so many others had. Rather she responded, “Behold, the handmaid of the Lord. Let it be unto me according to your word.” That is, here Christ, take my my will, my body, and my life. They are yours. Come, be made manifest in me and through me into the world.
Daniel is a senior Majoring in English