Singing to the Lions
“O death, where is thy victory? O death, where is thy sting?”
Early in January of this year, I had to write something & translate it into Latin for a school-wide story competition. I ended up doing something different, but this was my first draft. It was originally only supposed to be 100 words, but I liked the theme and expanded it. I’m working on still translating it into Latin, just for kicks.
The crowd screamed and cheered.
The lions roared.
And a young woman in a tattered cloak, kneeling alone at the center of the Circus Maximus, began to sing a hymn. Her voice trembled for a moment, then held steady. Those nearest her fell silent momentarily, struck by her voice. Then a centurion’s voice cut through the spell, and the massive cages around the arena began to open.
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The old man, blood in his white hair, stood slowly, facing a jeering crowd. Rough hands forced him back against a solitary post. Faggots of wood were carried forward, and he was bound to the post. Bowing his head, he quietly begged for mercy to One who hears all. Oil is used to drench the wood. Torches are carried forward.
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The small boy, standing barefoot in the freezing snow, shivered as he leaned against the cold, gray stone wall pockmarked with bullet holes. In front of him, two officers stood. A harsh command was given, and one drew a pistol. A single tear cut a clean path through the grime on his cheek, but he didn’t flinch.
Martyrdom is always a paradox.
To the world, it appears as defeat: a bloodied old man passing his final seconds in dishonor and agony; a starving child standing alone before a firing squad; a girl in the prime of life ripped apart by lions before a bloodthirsty crowd. Their lives end in weakness, misery, and defeat.
But these, friends, are the greatest victory stories in the history of humankind.
What you see is not defeat. Far from it. What you see is a fallen man, redeemed by the ultimate Martyr, passing through the fire to return home. What you see is not a life wasted, blood needlessly spilled on the ground—but a life offered in return to the Son of Man, who gave His life for us.
It is a rare soul who can look death in the face and laugh. And this is why martyrdom is a victory: the Christian martyr has the strength to force their carnal urges of survival into submission. When they’re bound and gagged and tied to the stake, they submit quietly, and pray for their captors. No wild fighting, no screaming & begging for mercy.
Yet—if I were to give the glory to the martyrs themselves, I’d dishonor their memories and their sacrifice. That strength doesn’t come from them, it comes from God Almighty. Martyrs are simply those who trust God’s promises so much, they are willing to even give their life. They don’t believe, they know their sins will be atoned for by Christ’s death on the cross.
Martyrdom is not the end of a life, it’s the beginning of glory. I don’t mean this figuratively, nor am I offering a poetic eulogy. Every last word is absolute reality. Christians suffer death, but only as a path into the grandest, most fulfilling, incredible, real experience possible—coming home. Standing in the throne room of our Creator. Walking the streets of the new Earth & singing the praises of the King.
The same Spirit that gave them the strength to laugh in the face of death is still here today. Real, present, and unbelievably powerful. We may not face lions or firing squads, but the call is the same: to live—and, if need be, to die—for the glory of Christ. The martyrs taught us that faith that survives fire is not about the absence of fear, but rather, a greater hope. Their stories remind us that courage is not born from strength, but from surrender to the One who is strong.
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And as the gates of the cages lifted, the young woman’s song did not falter. It soared, echoing through the arena, cutting through the mocking laughter and cruel jeering of the crowd.
For she knew, the lions were not the end. And neither is death, for those who are in Christ.
So take heart. Live boldly. And if the time comes, I pray that you will all die well. The pain is momentary. The shame is fleeting.
But Christ is forever.
Wow! Very well written and inspiring. Good for the soul.
This was awesome, Carson!