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Few of us grasp the cost of following Jesus in the early church. Before Nicaea, before Constantine, it took courage to be named with Jesus Christ. Many Christians lived with the daily fear of being accused or arrested. They could be denounced by a neighbor. They could be taken when they gathered for morning prayer. They could be taken as they walked to the market or at their place of work. There were no protections; in many cases, the state was the persecutor. They could be brought before some official or dragged into an arena to be asked a simple but decisive question: Are you a Christian? To answer one way could lead to immediate release. They could go back to their lives, to their families. To answer truthfully would mean torture and death.
The pressure to deny the Lord was overwhelming. Sadly, some did deny Him. Many, however, proved faithful. At their final test, many gladly sacrificed their earthly home to cling to the building from God that is made without hands (2 Cor. 5:1). They publicly confessed Christ and joined their souls with those of fellow martyrs under the altar. There they wait for the Judge to come (Rev 6:9–10).
Jesus warned His disciples. He prepared them for persecutions that would arise (Matt. 5:10–12; John 15:18–19). He told them that following Him could lead to serious division in their family (Matt. 10:35–36). It did not take long for His words to prove true. Not long after Jesus endured the cross, His disciples found crosses of their own. The book of Acts reports how James, the brother of John, was the first of the Apostles to be killed around AD 44 (Acts 12:2). Paul’s letters report many of his sufferings for Jesus’ sake (see 2 Cor. 11:16–12:10).
The first state-sponsored persecution began under Emperor Nero in AD 64 and lasted until his death in 68. Writing in the early second century (c. 120), the Roman historian Tacitus reports how it began. A great fire had burned much of Rome, and damaging rumors were swirling that Nero himself had ordered it started. He needed a scapegoat and quickly settled on the Christians. Tacitus writes:
To get rid of this rumor, Nero set up as the culprits and punished with the utmost refinement of cruelty a class hated for their abominations, who are commonly called Christians. . . . Arrest was first made of those who confessed; then, on their evidence, an immense multitude was convicted, not so much on the charge of arson as because of the hatred of the human race.
Tacitus was no friend of the Christians. But neither was the empire. Nero was cruel, but he knew what he was doing. He blamed Christians because he knew that they had no support with the wider population.
Christians were despised because of a combination of reality and rumor. There were real grievances (if not good ones) fueling a popular hatred of Christianity. At the top of the list was the common charge that Christians were “atheists,” meaning that they refused to bow to images of the Roman gods to worship them. Likewise, Christians refused to offer incense as emperor worship or to confess, “Caesar is Lord.” At that time, the average Roman believed that the prosperity of the empire depended on placating the gods. So for a (growing) population of people to refuse to worship those gods, to deny their existence, or even to claim that––if the gods existed at all––they were demons was tantamount in the eyes of many Romans to wishing calamity or death on their neighbors.
There were also disruptions to pagan families that resulted from family members’ converting to Christianity. As faith in Jesus took root in the empire, there was a growing undercurrent of anger in the populace that resulted from family strife. There were financial grievances as well. Tradesmen in the religious guild had suffered losses due to less activity in the temples and less purchasing of idols and other religious commodities (see the silversmiths’ riot in Ephesus in Acts 19:28–34). Finally, from a social and cultural perspective, Christians’ ethics were much stricter than those of other Romans. It’s not hard to imagine why a society that celebrated public sexual immorality would label Christian chastity as “hatred.”
Rampant rumors made things even worse. Popular hatred of Christians made negative stories more believable. So Christians were labeled as cannibals (because of eating the “body and blood” of Christ in the Lord’s Supper). They were even accused of incest and other sexual perversions that went beyond what was acceptable among the Romans––a rumor, perhaps, that spun out of the Christian practice of calling one another “brother” or “sister” and greeting each other with a holy kiss (see 1 Thess. 5:26).
Nero found his scapegoat. But his mistreatment far exceeded what political expediency required. Tacitus continued:
Besides being put to death they were made to serve as objects of amusement; they were clad in the hides of beasts and torn to death by dogs; others were crucified, others set on fire to illuminate the night when daylight failed. . . . All this gave rise to a feeling of pity, even towards men whose guilt merited the most exemplary punishment; for it was felt that they were being destroyed not for the public good but to gratify the cruelty of an individual.
According to church tradition, both Peter and Paul were killed during Nero’s “extraordinary madness” (Eusebius). Yet as brutal as it was, the scope of the persecution was limited to the area around Rome. After Nero died, focused persecution slowed, but the antipathy remained.
The second state-sponsored persecution arose under Emperor Domitian, who reigned from 81 to 96. Not only was violence renewed, but Domitian’s campaign represented a developing imperial policy of repression against the fledgling Christian church. During the Domitian persecution, many Christians were killed or banished, reaching into the upper echelons of society. Even Domitian’s cousin, Flavius Clemens, was not spared. Both Clemens and his niece, Flavius Domitilla, were tried for “atheism” and convicted. Clemens was put to death. Domitilla was banished. History remembers them only because of their high social status. Countless more Christians were killed, were banished, and had their property seized.
The circumstances for Christians in the empire became even worse in the third state-sponsored persecution, which occurred under Emperor Trajan (98–117). The early church was still generally despised. Under Trajan, however, it became common for members of the public to denounce Christians to local officials. Under Roman law, informants were rewarded from the personal assets of the guilty. Understandably, informants and anonymous accusers became common, so much so that around 111, a local official named Pliny the Younger in Bithynia (in modern-day Turkey) wrote a now-famous letter to Trajan asking what to do.
Pliny describes his practice of executing confirmed Christians, explaining that he “had no doubt that, whatever the nature of their creed, stubbornness and inflexible obstinacy surely deserve to be punished.” Trajan approved of putting known Christians to death but advised him not to look for them actively. When confirmed believers were found, however, Trajan required capital punishment. They could be saved, Trajan ordered, only if they proved that they were not Christians “by worshipping our gods.”
The next significant state-sponsored persecution came during the reign of Marcus Aurelius (161–80). After him, there were four more state-sponsored persecutions before Constantine’s Edict of Milan legalized Christianity in 313. There was a persecution under Septimius Severus (193–211). There was a persecution at the end of Decius’ reign (249–51) around 250. There was another under Emperor Valerius (253–60). Finally, there was the so-called Great Persecution under Diocletian (284–305). All of these were terrible. Countless Christians had their assets seized or were banished or were conscripted to hard labor. Many denied Christ to save their lives. Many died. Until Constantine, it was never comfortable or safe to be a follower of Jesus Christ.
Notwithstanding the pressure against it, the early church did not crumble or collapse. In fact, it thrived. The hatred and persecutions of a hostile society were not able to crush the early church’s faith or its evangelistic efforts. The stories of two well-known martyrs, Ignatius of Antioch and Polycarp of Smyrna, illustrate the effects of persecution on the early church.
Ignatius, the bishop of Syrian Antioch, was martyred during Trajan’s regime (c. 108). Eusebius reports that he was arrested in Syria, taken to Rome, and “cast as food to wild beasts, on account of his testimony to Christ.” During the journey from Syria, although he was in Roman custody, Ignatius had the opportunity to encourage many Christians along the way. As he was being taken to Rome, he wrote seven famous letters to different churches to reassure them and embolden them in their faith. In his letter to the Romans, Ignatius even begged them not to intervene to stop his martyrdom. He wrote:
If you keep silent about me, I shall be a word of God, but if you are deeply concerned about my flesh I shall once again simply be a voice. Do not allow me anything other than being poured out for God.
Later he said:
I am writing to all the churches and I am instructing everyone that I am willingly dying for God, unless you prevent me. I beseech you, do not become an unseasonable kindness for me. Leave me to be bread for the beasts, through which I may be able to attain to God. . . . Beseech the Lord on my behalf, so that I may be found a sacrifice for God.
The church in Antioch set aside a day to remember Ignatius, and centuries later John Chrysostom preached a sermon on that day, comparing Ignatius’ life and ministry to the sun, giving light to all who saw him. But Ignatius’ death, Chrysostom said, was like a blazing sunset, in which the sun shines most brightly just before it is hidden. As he was concluding, Chrysostom then spoke about the power of the martyrs as gospel witnesses:
For in reality it is the greatest proof of the resurrection that the slain Christ should show forth so great power after death, as to persuade living men to despise both country and home and friends, and acquaintance and life itself, for the sake of confessing him, and to choose in place of present pleasures, both stripes and dangers and death. For these are not the achievements of any dead man, nor of one remaining in the tomb but of one risen and living.
In life, Ignatius’ faithfulness reached many. In death, however, he reached countless more.
The same is true of Polycarp, the bishop of Smyrna, who is probably the most well-known martyr of the early church. About fifty years after Ignatius was killed, Polycarp was arrested and martyred (c. 155). The account of his death is recorded in a letter that the church in Smyrna sent to the church in Philomelium to encourage them. That letter is now known as The Martyrdom of Polycarp.
The church in Smyrna reports that its elderly bishop, Polycarp, knew that the authorities were looking for him. When they arrived at the house where he was, Polycarp let them in, spoke with the officers, and gave them food. He then asked for their permission to pray. When they gave it, he prayed out loud in front of them such that “many repented that they had come against such a venerable old man.” Later, on the way to the arena, the police captain urged him to save his life. He asked, “What harm is it to say, ‘Lord Caesar,’ and to offer sacrifice . . . and to be saved?” Polycarp answered, “I am not going to do what you counsel me.”
When he came to the arena, there was a loud cheer from the crowds when they heard that Polycarp had been arrested. He was brought to the proconsul, who urged Polycarp to repent. “Respect your age”; “Take the oath and I let you go, revile Christ.” Polycarp refused. He answered, “For eighty and six years I have been his servant, and he has done me no wrong, and how can I blaspheme my King who saved me?” Again, the proconsul threatened him with being thrown to wild animals or burned in the fire. But Polycarp answered: “You threaten with the fire that burns for a time, and is quickly quenched, for you do not know the fire which awaits the wicked in the judgment to come. . . . Come, do what you will.” So they brought fire and burned him in the arena. As they lit the pyre, Polycarp prayed aloud and thanked God for the resurrection to everlasting life and for the chance to suffer for Jesus’ sake.
In the end, all the persecution of the early church failed to stop the spread of the gospel. Doubtless, it was meant for evil, but in His sovereign providence, God used it for good (see Gen. 50:20). The church father Tertullian famously derided their persecutors, saying, “The oftener we are mown down by you, the more in number we grow: the blood of Christians is seed.” That is often repeated in the popular paraphrase “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.”
Ignatius and Polycarp represent what the martyrs of the early church became: focused examples of the general resilience that marked the earliest believers. They were not cowed by the hatred of Rome or the betrayals of neighbors or family members. They faced persecution and death with a boldness of faith that has become uncommon in more comfortable times. Their faithfulness and courage became a catalyst for the spread of the gospel. The willingness of Christians to die rather than deny Jesus powerfully provoked those who saw and heard to learn more about this Savior they trusted so completely.