A Community Well Insulated

“…blood is the seed of Christians.” -Tertullian.

Last night in my seminary class on early church history we formed small groups to discuss the view of martyrdom within our own faith communities. Once in our groups, we stared blankly into each other’s faces for minutes on end before someone finally broached the subject with the comment, “It just doesn’t seem real.” We all silently nodded in agreement.

This morning, I continued to ponder how different life is in America, thousands of miles and thousands of years removed from the events we are studying. I thought about what Tertullian might say today about the “seed of Christians”. Tertullian was an early church father who lived and wrote extensively within the first two centuries of Christianity. His writings were very influential in the lives of early Christians even after he was widely written off as a heretic before his death. Tertullian noted that personal sacrifice, specifically through the act of martyrdom, was the means by which the Christian message would take root. Perhaps Tertullian would observe that religious tracts are the seed of American Christians.

I wonder if imparting knowledge has become synonymous with Christianity. Has sharing the correct information on the religious issues of the day taken the place of sharing a committed life as the “appropriate” outpouring of one’s faith? This question nags at me as I spend hours a week alone with my books. It is not a matter of whether knowledge is evil, or even useful, for it is certainly required to become educated in areas of God and faith. My struggle lies in books (and what they represent) becoming the insulation between my life and others, as if becoming more knowledgeable takes priority over developing personal relationships. It is also not a question of how one spends his or her time, but a question of how that knowledge can be used as a barrier between one person and another.

As a student of theology, these are the sort of internal conflicts that I have on a regular basis. So often, a subconscious battle is waging within me with no visible sign other than the occasional indigestion (which is more likely from the three Totinos pizzas I had for dinner). Today I am feeling a bit queasy because the thought of martyrdom has never really been on my radar.

One of the few, if not only times, I personally thought about martyrdom was several years ago. Two close friends of mine traveled to China to distribute Bibles and make contacts for having further studies. One evening, the hotel room in which they conducted their studies was raided by the Chinese Police. It turned out there was a mole within the group of disciples that had secretly reported all that she saw back to local government officials. All the materials in the room were confiscated, along with my friends. They were interrogated at the local police station for several hours before eventually being deported from the country.

Hearing the stories upon my friends’ return was interesting. It was exciting to hear of adventures from a third-world country and the challenges of being a Christian in today’s world, but it left with me the feeling echoed by one of my classmates - it just doesn’t seem real.

I do not lie in my bed at night wishing for communist soldiers to kick in my door and force me at gunpoint to deny my faith so that I can have a more “real” experience of faith. Honestly, I would probably just wet my pants. But I do think about how little I am asked to sacrifice as a believer in America. When my experience of sacrifice is little more than my weekly tithing and semi-annually buying a breakfast sandwich for the homeless woman sitting outside of Starbucks, it feels slightly watered down. My benevolent gestures do not force me to forego a meal or anything else meaningful, for that matter. In reality, they are not a sacrifice at all. I spend far more on my own grande vanilla lattes and classic coffee cake than I do on any breakfast sandwich (not to mention that I don’t even bother to ask her name).

Because of the way that I insulate myself, I am very rarely in danger of making a sacrifice.

I would prefer to blame it on American culture or my subconscious, but I think it’s more intentional than I would care to admit. I am starting to recognize this insulation in the smallest, and most significant places- taking the path to the office that bypasses the strange homeless people on University Avenue, or avoiding eye contact with someone I don’t have time to engage. In so many subtle ways I put up walls to insulate myself from situations that may require emotional and monetary sacrifice.

I don’t know exactly why I act this way. There may be a measure of self-protection from potentially challenging circumstances. My suspicion is that I am just self-absorbed and too wrapped up in my own stuff to see what is going on around me. It sounds much better when I say I am just well insulated.

I often question my own motives for studying theology. There are times I feel my efforts are no more than another distraction to avoid engagement in the lives of others. In the pursuit of knowledge, it is easy to intellectualize away our calling to be involved. But, last week, during the course of school fundraiser, there was a small reminder of why I am at seminary. A staff member talking of student’s financial needs made the comment that, “Seminary is about stewardship.”

What am I going to do with what God has given me? I think practicing tangible answers to that question has the ability to transform selfish pursuits into sacrifice for others.