MARTYR CHILDREN

I have often read one of the most singular chapters in all of the New Testament, and shook my head in abject wonder.
Hebrews Chapter 11
“They lived in caves and dens of the earth. They died by the sword. They were sawn asunder. They were devoured by lions.”
Of course, the most infamous of all such environments was the Roman Coliseum. And in that place, and on a regular basis, the followers of Jesus Christ gave the last full measure of devotion.
In the last few days I have been possessed with a singular thought; a thought which has never before permeated the wrinkled gray matter inside my cranium.
Mentally I have put myself in the place of an onlooker sitting near the top row of the massive Coliseum. And as I sit there in rapt attention, I notice a sort of cell-like contraption rising out of the earth. And as accustomed as I am to it, for I have been here before, I immediately recognize it as an open-doored, two-sided elevator; which has delivered its human cargo from the bowels of that massive arena.
And with this, the occupants of the elevator file out into the sunshine, midst the cheering of thousands in the grandstands, very much like themselves; save for the predicament with which they contend.
As suddenly as the first elevator appears, another rises and a whirlwind of dust momentarily obscures whomever, or whatever fills up the space within. And no sooner than the ‘dust devil’ spins its way against the far wall than the assembled throng cheers, yet louder. For out of the cage stumbles several emaciated African lions; purposely starved to encourage predation.

Pt. 2

In spite of their hunger, the lions stalk their prey, and take their sweet time in approaching the small band of people with the newly coined title of ‘Christians.’ In the meantime, these six or seven soon to be martyrs kneel together in a close-knit group, left and right arms resting on the shoulders of those immediately beside them.
Near about 70 years of age, and having lived decades longer than the average in my day, my eyes are not what they were, and I strain to see the scenario playing itself out far below me.
And then I see them.
…children!
There are two children among the small clutch of people in the center of the arena. One is a boy of perhaps 12. The other a girl of 9 or 10. And what once seemed like such a lively sport to me has suddenly “come home to roost.” I have several grandchildren this age. A swell of nausea overcomes me, and I have the compulsion to leave, but what is playing out on the field is far too compelling for me to just walk away.
I feel something arising within me, and I realize it is an unspoken audible which I find impossible to verbalize.
“Stop! Quit! Desist! Don’t you see what you are doing?”
(and)
“For God’s sakes, these are children!”
Now, one woman, almost oblivious to the nearness of the fearsome felines, seems to be involved in a heated exchange with a man I presume to be her husband. And though I cannot hear her voice, it occurs to me that she is overwhelmed with the thought of her children dying the most savage deaths to which anyone could possibly succumb.

Pt. 3

And it seems to me that the children’s mother is on the verge of renouncing her Lord for the sake of her offspring; as if Caesar may yet relent, and allow them to go free. I glance in the direction of our emperor, but if he is close to giving a ‘thumbs up,’ the bright sunlight, and my poor eyesight forbid me from detecting it. Of course, at this stage in the scenario, how would anyone step in to deter the savage beasts from their grisly mission?
And with this, the children’s mother draws her son, and daughter, yet closer, kisses the one, and then the other on their foreheads, glances skyward, and slowly lifts her hands to the heavens.
Suddenly, what appears to be a snow white dove floats listlessly down from somewhere above the area, and comes to rest in the woman’s outstretched hands. An almost holy hush rolls like a wave across the grandstands. As the lions creep, nearer, yet nearer to the object of their quest, the dove disappears from sight, and the dear lady seems to steel herself to their certain fate.
And in the course of minutes, the deed is done.
A father and mother who have done the most difficult thing any parent could possibly do. Having been assured, in advance, that they had only to say the word, and not only they, but their children would go free. They had only to renounce their Jesus, and confess Caesar as Lord, and this whole sorry ‘mistake’ would be forgiven.
The words were never spoken, and with hardly a whimper the dear little family fell on the field, and passed from this life to the next.
And so like the man who viewed the event from the upper seats, as the consideration occurred to me this week, I experienced a mental and emotional epiphany. Parents who exercised such a compelling faith in the risen Lord that they invested not only their lives, and the fate of their eternal souls to Him, but that of their children, as well.
All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them. (Hebrews 11:13-16)

by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 55. Copyright pending