Perpetua

Drama! Emotion! And a noble heroine!

If this sounds like the makings of a blockbuster movie then you’d be right. But it’s also the basis for a narrative of a Christian martyr in the early years of the church. This was Perpetua, young woman of North Africa and in a document titled “Passion of St. Perpetua, St. Felicitas and their Companions,” her account of how she and other Christians has remained a classic demonstration of courage and faith. It is considered by some to be the earliest surviving account of a Christian woman martyr.

The story begins in Carthage, a Roman colony in North Africa, in 203 A.D. when a group of Christians were imprisoned for their faith. The group included two free men, a male and a female slave, and a young matron named Vivia Perpetua. Wife of a prominent citizen of Carthage, and a new mother, the 22-year-old Perpetua was the daughter of an unbelieving father, and a Christian mother and brothers. As her account begins, her father visits her in prison, intending to persuade her to give up her faith.

“You’ve carried this Christian nonsense far enough!” My father told me. “Now let’s forget it, tell the authorities you’ve changed your mind and we’ll all go home.”

I turned away to face the wall. It would have been so easy. I could say, “Sure, Dad! You’re right – I’m finished with this ‘Christian’ business. I’ll go back home where I can be with my husband and my baby. All I need to do is utter a few words. Surely the Lord would understand – after all, I’m only human. Also, my father loves me, and has always been proud of me so how can I disappoint him?”

Yet…

“Father, “ I turned back to him. “Do you see that jar?” I gestured to the water container on the table.

“Of course, I see it. But what about it?”

“Obviously it’s a jar – or could you even call it a jug? Or maybe you could call it something else – like a piece of clothing or a sandal?”

Father frowned. “Of course not! That’s ridiculous – it’s what it is – nothing more!”

“Then it’s impossible to call me anything other than what I am – a Christian. I’m nothing more.”

My father’s frown became deeper and he took a step toward me, his hands outstretched but with an evident effort he halted his advance. Then suddenly he whirled and left the cell.

I slipped to my knees and covered my face with my hands, tears streaming down between my fingers. Through his mercy, the Lord had spared me further anguish and I could be alone.

Perpetua had remained faithful yet she and her friends needed further encouragement.

We were all anxious to know what lay in store for us, and finally my brother had a suggestion. “Sister, you may be the one who can learn the future. Perhaps if you ask the Lord, He will give some indication of whether we will be released or not.” I wondered about this so I asked Him and He responded with a vision that encouraged us all.

In my vision I saw a bronze ladder of enormous height stretching into the heavens and it was so narrow only one person could climb it. On either side of the ladder were hooked weapons of every type. There were swords, spears, and other sharp pointed devises, all attached so that any climber could scarcely avoid being impaled unless they were very careful. At the bottom of the ladder was a huge dragon, ready to snarl and slash at anyone who tried to climb. Then I saw Saturnus, our pastor, scale the ladder, rung by rung, until he gained the top. (I knew he had already gone to be with the Lord). When I saw he reached the top of the ladder he looked down and called to me, “I’m ready to welcome you, sister, but watch out! Avoid the dragon!” I was encouraged to respond. “In the name of Jesus Christ he will not harm me!”

Just then the dragon slithered back behind the ladder, leaving only his head in view so I planted my foot on his head and with that as my first step, I ascended the ladder.

When I related the vision to my brother we came to understand that there was no future for us in this life.

Within a few days rumors spread that soon we would have a hearing. Once again my father came to confront me and I was instantly aware of how his worry had become desperation. “You must reconsider, my daughter, what you’re doing,” He pleaded with me. “Think about me – how well I’ve treated you. Even better than your brothers! Think about what you’re doing to the family – and to your baby. Give it up! You’ll be the ruin of us all.” He dropped to his knees before me, grasping my hands in his and shaking with the tension of his anguish.

My eyes began to mist. “Father, please understand. Only the Lord will determine whether we will be condemned or go free. We are not alone – we are his great hands!”

Still, trembling and without any return glance, he rose and left me. Yet he soon returned.

It happened a few days later when at breakfast we were all whisked away to a sudden hearing before the governor. All in our group testified to being believers, but it was my turn again my father appeared, this time holding my baby, and with a final plea. “Think about what you’re doing, daughter – think of your baby! Sacrifice to the emperor – it’s just a small thing and you will survive!”

The governor added his voice. “Your father loves you, he has done so much for you. You must respect him and consider your son! Perform the sacrifice and all will be forgiven!”

I took a deep breath. “I cannot do it.”

“Are you a Christian?” Demanded the governor.

“I am.”

My father was about to speak but at a cue from the governor a soldier shoved him down and, catching up a rod, flailed him over the head. I flinched in my soul as I felt his pain I could only close my eyes.

The governor dismissed my father with a gesture and stood up. His words of condemnation etched into my soul and assured our sentence to certain death. As the soldiers marched us away I lifted my face with a new sense of confidence.

Perpetua’s account ended there, but other sources continued her story. As the believers entered the crowded arena, they were first whipped at the order of the onlookers. Then the beasts confronted them – a bear attacked the men, and a wild bull set out after the women. Yet thought the group were seriously mauled and grievously wounded, that was not the end. Swordsmen attacked them, but Perpetua’s assailant was so inexperienced his blow was not fatal. She was so anxious to suffer even more for her Lord that with a faltering hand, she clutched his blade and placed it on her own neck for the final blow.

Perpetua and Felicitas, her servant who was among the martyrs, became saints in the Catholic tradition, as well as in other churches.