Explainer
Creed
Freedom of Belief
4 min read

Why should society care about the persecution of Christians?

Believers revere martyrs, but others are also inspired by sacrifice.

Ryan Gilfeather explores social issues through the lens of philosophy, theology, and history. He is a Research Associate at the Joseph Centre for Dignified Work.

A stone monument within which set, in the shape of a cross are statues of numerous standing praying figures.
Martyrs monument, Nagasaki, Japan.

The story of Christian martyrdom began with the death of St Stephen. On the 26th December 36 AD, Stephen the Deacon proclaimed the Christian faith before the rabbinic court in Jerusalem. His apology enraged the crowd before him. They dragged him outside of the city gates and stoned him until he perished. Looked at from one angle, all we see is chaos, fear and violence. Viewed from another perspective, however, we see remarkable courage and love for God. Stephen’s love for God so consumed his heart and mind, that he preferred to die violently than turn against Him. He became the first Christian martyr, a term which means ‘witness’ in the original Greek, because he would rather testify to his belief in Christ than live. We also use this term because his death says something about the character of God. Those who follow Christ take on his virtues. Stephen’s death showed how he possessed God’s virtues of courage and love more than the average believer.  

More stories of martyrdom emerged from the first three centuries after the death of Christ. A number of sources have told of the harrowing death of the Forty Martyrs of Sebaste. Each presented it differently. Basil of Caesarea recounted how the Roman emperor enacted a law, making it illegal to confess faith in Christ. As an imperial official was posting up the law in a public place and demanding obedience, forty soldiers stood up and declared, ‘I am a Christian.’ The official promised them riches and high office to deny their belief in Christ. But they did not relent. He threatened violence and they remained steadfast. They said that because of their love for God they would readily accept torture on the wheel, by screws, and being burned alive. In response the official exposed them to the cold, where they stood until they froze to death. In this story, these same two perspectives emerge. One reveals violent death at the hands of a state scared of the consequences of people refusing to sacrifice to the pagan gods. The other speaks of people full of love for God, and the courage and integrity to refuse to turn their backs on Him.  

The martyrs show us that the virtues we need so often grow out of suffering and struggle.

Stories about martyrdom punctuated the worshipping life of the Early Church. Each year as the anniversary of a martyr’s death rolled around, crowds would gather at their tombs. Singing hymns, they held a candlelit vigil all night. In the morning the crowds processed into the tomb, where the bishop celebrated the eucharist and gave a speech commemorating their violent deaths. By the fourth century, each region celebrated dozens of different martyr festivals. These were joyful and ecstatic occasions. Early Christians treasured the opportunity to honour the martyr’s memory through commemoration. 

They also invested these stories with great spiritual potential. The martyrs were seen to be guides in the path of holiness. The deaths of St Stephen and the Forty Matyrs of Sebaste revealed how to express one’s love for God: to treasure Him so much in one’s heart, that nothing is worth denying one’s belief and trust in Him. Additionally, early Christian writers began to articulate that these stories also inspire and embolden their audiences to imitate the martyrs. Until the early fourth century, when Christianity became legally tolerated, some Christians faced the choice of denying Christ or death. For these Christians, the stories of the martyrs showed them that the Christian life involved proclaiming their faith and facing death, and crucially it gave them the inner strength to follow it through. After Christianity was made legal, Christians still saw the martyrs as spiritual guides. They revealed how to express courage and love for God in the face of hardship. These stories ignited a fire of zeal to imitate the martyrs in some way.   

They are, I propose, also of great inspiration to those who do not think of themselves as Christians.  The martyrs reveal to us how a love for God generates virtues we prize so greatly in society, namely courage, integrity, and faithfulness. If it were not for love for God, Stephen and the other martyrs would not have chosen to suffer, and they wouldn’t have expressed these precious qualities. In short, they give insight into how Christians understand love for God to be the wellspring for those precious virtues. The martyrs show us that the virtues we need so often grow out of suffering and struggle. In a sense, they reveal the value of suffering for virtue. However, they do not encourage us to suffer for its own sake. Rather, they reveal that the full expression of love for God can so often involve suffering and struggle. When Christians faithfully say yes to this hardship out of love for God, it transforms them into the embodiments of these precious virtues, which perhaps we need more than ever today, in an age where comfort and ease seems the goal of life.

Article
Creed
Faith
Identity
Spiritual formation
1 min read

Beyond the wave and the feed

Why a generation—and a surfer—are chasing depth in a shallow world

Rick writes and speaks on leadership, transformation, and culture.

A setting sun back-lights a crowd of young people on a beach
Jen Loong on Unsplash.

For years, I've chased waves from Malibu to Maui, each one, big or small, pulling me into something raw, real, extraordinary, authentic, and divine. Between sets, I drift on my board, watching the horizon, waiting for the next wave to rise and carry me into a new spiritual journey. Each time, I'm humbled by an otherworldly sensation, a feeling beyond myself. My heart races, my toes buzz as I paddle and drop into the emerging liquid wall. In that instant, I realize I'm entering an environment that can transport me to another place, a spiritual state of wonder and awe.

When I paddle out into the ocean, I enter a world that pulls me towards something greater. This sense of wonder sparks my curiosity, urging me to look past myself, man-made institutions, and preconceived notions to what you might call the ‘invisible qualities’. For me they go beyond the laws of physics that rule the waves and the carve of my surf board. Thousands of years ago, Saint Paul called them ‘God’s invisible qualities’.    

Surfing deeply stirs my soul, tugging at my mind and heart. It reveals the wonder of each wave and the ocean's vastness, testifying to something more, a wonder and awe beyond my comprehension. In essence, surfing is my church. Every time I paddle into the liquid world of the sea, I see God’s invisible realities

Like surfers searching for the perfect wave, Gen Z is on a divine quest. Their "Jesus Curiousness" reflects a deeper yearning for something beyond the everyday - real answers and a profound sense of purpose.

New research indicates that over half (48-56 per cent) of Gen Z is "Jesus Curious," and yet these numbers do not reflect any uptick in church attendance. Someone recently posted, “The young people of Gen Z are diverse, educated, and social media savvy. When it comes to faith, they’re open to Jesus and his teachings but skeptical about institutions and leaders putting on a façade.” 

While Gen Z definitely shows a renewed interest in Jesus, they are simultaneously distancing themselves from the church. This might present a seeming contradiction, right? How can anyone, much less an entire generation, seek Jesus without engaging with the church? This phenomenon could be considered an oxymoron, much like phrases such as "almost always" or "jumbo shrimp." Or perhaps, this is an emerging trend? 

Adventurer and survivalist Bear Grylls recently articulated a sentiment that, I believe, precisely captures the essence of Gen Z's "Jesus Curiousness" and their quest for meaning outside traditional church settings. His words point to a core human longing: an authentic, genuine, and raw hope in something or someone that offers a personal answer to life's profound mysteries.

He said, “I want people to know that the Jesus I eventually discovered is intimate and beautiful and strong and gentle and relevant and life changing and life enhancing. People ask me the question, ‘what attracts you to Jesus?’ It's hard because it's like trying to say what do you like about the blood running in and around your body or water in the desert? It's like, try to live without it?” 

I think much of this shift - this renewed interest in the person of Jesus - can be traced back to how the Pandemic altered every one of our lives, specifically Gen Z. It contributed to a new and profound sense of despair, a crisis of meaning in all that we thought we knew. For example, when the Pandemic hit, it broke daily routines, both sacred and secular. Life as we knew it was put on pause and we had to look outside of those routines and what we thought we knew and practiced. We were stuck in our homes, often alone and in isolation. It gave us time to think. It created space to ask bigger, more existential questions and explore the essence of purpose and meaning. We were all forced to examine life and what we knew through a new lens. For Gen Z, this served as their catalyst. 

Notably, this larger trend of their rejection of religious institutions favors a personalized, authentic, and socially relevant spirituality. It's marked by how they distinguish between the figure of Jesus and the institution as they seek a deeper understanding of Him through unusual means. Instead of the church pew for example, they explore the commercially popular show The Chosen and contemplate the very human and honest lyrics of new musical artists like Forest Frank, both of which offer an accessible portrayal of Jesus.

In a world where digital perfection is first, Gen Z is looking for something outside of the traditional church, something authentic, a genuine connection to something real, something beyond this tangible world. Jesus to them represents this authenticity, someone to whom they can both approach with questions and find answers that potentially satiate their deepest curiosities:  What are we here for? What do we do? Is there more?

What’s interesting about this post-Christian generation is that they are not abandoning faith or becoming spiritually apathetic as many would suspect; rather, their exploration is a sincere journey for a genuine faith, leading some to consider them the most spiritual, non-religious generation to date. 

This surge in "Jesus Curiosity" doesn't suggest Christianity is losing its relevance. Conversely, it’s proof that something new, something raw is emerging and causing a shift in the spiritual landscape. It’s redefining labels and changing older definitions that may no longer fit. The underlying human desire remains constant: a quest for deeper meaning in life.

As we look at this generation and its sincere inquiry into the deeper things, we observe a spiritual renewal, a seeming revival worldwide, unprecedented in recent decades within a post-Christian society. Some call it the Quiet Revival. Gen Z does not want to fake it. They “just want to figure it out”. They are on a true quest, engaged in a journey of enchantment. At the center of their journey is Jesus, not religion and not the church. 

As my surf session ends, the salt roughens my skin and the sea's echo lingers in my soul like a quiet song. Walking back to my truck, board under arm, I relive each wave's freedom, the sound, the churn, the emerging shape. The raw power of the sea connects me to something greater, deepening my quest. You see, surfers and Gen Z in our sojourn share a common search, a common language - a search for something intangible, something immeasurable. We are on a quest to find, to see, and to know what St. Paul called God’s invisible realities.

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