In its earliest decades, the fledgling Church of Jesus Christ was being ravaged by the twin blazes of persecution and heresy, fanned from Jerusalem to Rome and all points between. By any measure, the Christian faith should have been in ashes and Christianity left in the dust, barely an odd footnote in human history.
But it was not. Instead, reason and logic were turned on their heads and rather than being burned to cinders the faith grew on the hot winds of a wildfire.
The age of successive persecutions spawned the age of spiritual heroism, of faith walked out at the end of the executioner’s axe, or atop the burning pyre, or under a pile of stones thrown by an angry mob.
It was an age where the words of the faithful only meant something because the acts of the faithful shouted from the rooftops.