Before The Pumpkins: Faith In The Flames

Luke J. Wilson | 31st October 2025 | Halloween

In our last post, we walked with Perpetua and Felicity through the sands of the amphitheatre, their faith outshining Rome’s cruelty. Now for the final part in this series, we turn to another of the Church’s earliest heroes — one whose courage was matched by an unexpected wit. His name was Lawrence, a deacon of Rome, remembered across centuries as the man who kept his humour even while lying on the griddle. The Setting: Rome, AD 258 Under Emperor Valerian, a fresh persecution of Christians swept through the Empire. Bishops, priests, and deacons were hunted down, their property seized, and their churches closed. The bishop of Rome at that time was Sixtus II — a gentle and wise shepherd who, like the apostles before him, was soon to drink from the same cup as his Lord. Among his closest companions was Deacon Lawrence, entrusted with overseeing the Church’s treasury and distributing alms to the poor. The Acts of St Lawrence tell us that when Sixtus was arrested and led to execution, Lawrence ran after him, crying out that he would not be left behind. Where are you going, father, without your son? Where are you going, priest, without your deacon? You never used to offer sacrifice without me as your minister! To which Sixtus replied: My son, I’m not leaving you. Greater trials are waiting for you. In three days you’ll follow me. Sixtus was beheaded soon after. Lawrence, meanwhile, was arrested and brought before the Roman prefect who, hearing that Lawrence had been the keeper of the Church’s wealth, demanded that he hand it over to the empire. The True Treasure of the Church The exchange that followed has been remembered ever since, partly for its irony, partly for its courage. “Bring forth,” said the prefect, “the treasures of the Church — the gold, the silver, and the precious vessels — that the emperor may possess them.” Lawrence asked for three days to gather them, which the prefect granted, no doubt imagining chests of glittering riches being prepared for him. Instead, Lawrence went through the city, gathering the blind, the crippled, the widows, the orphans, and all who were destitute or suffering. On the third day, he presented them before the prefect and declared: These are the treasures of the Church. Behold the gold and silver that I promised thee — the eternal jewels in whom Christ dwells. The prefect, enraged at being mocked, ordered that Lawrence be scourged and tortured, then laid upon an iron gridiron above a slow fire. The Martyrdom The ancient texts, mingling reverence and humour, tell the story that has echoed down the ages and had left an impact on me purely for the humour that I find in it! They laid him upon the iron bed, and beneath it kindled coals, that his flesh might be roasted little by little. And Lawrence, lying there, lifted up his eyes to heaven and gave thanks to God for counting him worthy to suffer. After some time, the account continues with words that have made Lawrence one of the most memorable of all martyrs: Having been a long time on the fire, he said to his tormentors with a cheerful countenance: ‘This side is done; turn me over and eat.’ It is difficult to read those words without laughing at how funny it sounds! It matches the kind of dark humour that I can have and often think of, which is probably why the story of Lawrence appeals to me so much, it’s the kind of silly thing I would think to say (though I’m not sure if I would in Lawrence’s place!). In the face of unbearable agony, Lawrence mocked his tormentors and even death itself. His humour was not flippant, but a final victory over the fear that his persecutors wanted to instil. His joke was an act of defiance against the gods whom Decius implored against the power of Christ within Lawrence. Despite how hot it must have been, Lawrence declares a worse fate on Decius, warning him of the fire he will face because of this, saying that the “burning c...

Luke J. Wilson | 29th October 2025 | Halloween

In the last post, we looked at Polycarp — a faithful bishop who faced the flames rather than deny his Lord. His courage in the face of certain death became a rallying light for generations of believers after him. But his story is only one among many in the long line of the cloud of witnesses who ran the race before us (Hebrews 12:1). Today, we step forward a few decades to another account of extraordinary faith — that of two women, Perpetua and Felicity. Perpetua left an account of her own martyrdom (technically a Passion) which is considered historically reliable. What makes it extraordinary is that Perpetua herself wrote a portion of it in Latin before her death, making it one of the earliest known writings by a Christian woman! It was then continued by another who witnessed the events once she entered the arena. The Setting: Carthage, AD 203 Our story takes us to North Africa during the reign of Emperor Septimius Severus. Christianity was still seen as a threat to the Roman order, and anyone refusing to sacrifice to the emperor’s image could be imprisoned or executed. Among the arrested were a small group of catechumens (new believers preparing for baptism) including a young noblewoman named Vibia Perpetua and her servant, Felicity. Perpetua was only twenty-two years old and the mother of an infant son. Her father, a pagan, begged her to renounce the faith and save her life, but she would not. In her prison diary — one of the earliest surviving Christian texts written by a woman — she records their suffering and her unshakable resolve and faith. After she was arrested with her companions, she wrote of a moment when her father came and tried to persuade her to sacrifice to the Emperor and deny her faith: When my father, out of love for me, tried to turn me from my faith, I said to him: ‘Father, do you see this vessel here — a water pot or whatever it may be? Can it be called by any other name than what it is?’ He answered, ‘No.’ Then I said to him, ‘So too I cannot call myself anything other than what I am — a Christian.’ A few days after this they were all baptised while imprisoned under house arrest awaiting their trial before being moved to the more restrictive Roman cells once they were formally condemned to die by wild beasts. After her baptism, the Spirit spoke to Perpetua and told her that she must “pray for nothing else after that water save only endurance of the flesh”. Perpetua and Felicity await their fate in the Roman prison The prison was dark, so dark she said she had “never known such darkness”, plus it was hot and crowded, the soldiers mistreated them all and she was trying to care for her child! Thankfully, later on a couple of deacons, Tertius and Pomponius, who were ministering to them managed to somehow pay the Romans to allow Perpetua and Felicity some respite in a better part of the prison where the child could be better fed and later handed off into the care of Perpetua’s mother.  Dreams of Victory While in prison, Perpetua received a series of visions that strengthened her for what lay ahead. In one, she saw a golden ladder reaching up to heaven, guarded by a fierce serpent below, and sharp iron spikes along either side. Only those who stepped on the serpent’s head and climbed the ladder could enter. She interpreted this as her coming trial — the climb of faith through suffering to eternal life, realising that God wasn’t going to deliver her from this trial, but that it should be her passion (i.e. her death). It’s an image of triumph through endurance that echoes Christ’s own words: “Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life” (Revelation 2:10). Felicity’s story is just as moving. She was heavily pregnant at eight months when arrested and gave birth in prison mere days before the execution. Roman law forbade torment of a pregnant woman, so she would have stayed in prison until the birt...

Luke J. Wilson | 20th October 2025 | Halloween

The sound of chains echoed through the streets as Ignatius of Antioch was led from Syria to Rome. The old bishop’s body was frail, but his heart burned with the strength of Christ. Each clinking step brought him closer to the arena — and to the wild beasts that would tear him apart — yet his letters brimmed with joy and passion, and a sense of urgency inspiring others to unity, obedience, and unwavering faith. For Ignatius, death was not defeat; it was the completion of discipleship, crossing the finish line of faith… the moment when imitation of Christ became complete. Ignatius of Antioch is one of my favourite Early Church Fathers mainly for how much reading his letters had an impact on me. His letter to the church in Rome, especially, as you could really sense his passion and dedication to his faith and conviction to see through his impending martyrdom head on, fearless in the face of death! And as one of the earliest martyrs outside of the New Testament, his story is the perfect place to begin this series. A Disciple of the Apostles Ignatius lived in the generation just after the apostles, serving as bishop of Antioch in Syria. Tradition says that Ignatius was the small child whom Jesus held in his arms in Matt. 18:2, though this cannot be verified as Ignatius himself never states it. A more trustworthy tradition 4tells us that he was a disciple of the Apostle John, and this lineage can be felt in his writings. His letters echo the same themes and emphasis on Christ as John does in his Gospel around the incarnation, never failing to highlight the physical nature of Jesus as well as his divine which can be seen with such statements like “Jesus Christ our God” (Epistle to the Ephesians). During the reign of Emperor Trajan (around AD 107), Christians were increasingly viewed as enemies of the Roman order. Refusing to worship the emperor was seen as defiance, and Ignatius, as one of the most visible leaders of the Church, became a prime target. He was arrested and sentenced to be taken to Rome to die in the arena by wild beasts. Letters from the Road As he travelled under heavy guard, ten soldiers he referred to as “being bound between ten leopards” (Letter the Romans, 5), Ignatius wrote seven letters to various Christian communities along the way: to Ephesus, Magnesia, Tralles, Rome, Philadelphia, Smyrna, and to Polycarp himself, the bishop of Smyrna. These letters are among the earliest Christian writings outside the New Testament, and they give us an amazing insight into the heart of a man preparing for martyrdom. Not many things touch me emotionally, but these letters did. Again and again, he speaks of unity and humility, urging believers to remain bound together under their bishop just as the Church is bound to Christ. He warns against false teachings that denied Christ’s true humanity, writing passionately: “Stop your ears, therefore, when any one speaks to you at variance with Jesus Christ, who was descended from David, and was also of Mary; who was truly born, and did eat and drink.”. But above all, his letters shine with a desperate longing for his final witness, pleading with the Roman Christians not to “show an unseasonable good-will” towards him and prevent his martyrdom. His desire to face his fate still gives me chills when I read it; I’m encouraged and also challenged so much by his words: Suffer me to become food for the wild beasts, through whose instrumentality it will be granted me to attain to God. I am the wheat of God, and let me be ground by the teeth of the wild beasts, that I may be found the pure bread of Christ … Rather entice the wild beasts, that they may become my tomb, and may leave nothing of my body … Let fire and the cross; let the crowds of wild beasts; let tearings, breakings, and dislocations of bones; let cutting off of members; let shatterings of the whole body; and let all the dreadful torments of the devil come upon me: only let me at...

Luke J. Wilson | 12th October 2025 | Halloween

It’s that time of year again when pumpkins appear in windows, skeletons hang from doorways, and debates resurface about whether Christians should have anything to do with Halloween. Some will say it’s entirely “pagan” in origin, others that it’s harmless fun — and many of us fall somewhere in the middle, just trying to work out what’s right (or try to ignore it!). But what if we’ve forgotten that Halloween began not with ghosts and ghouls, but with grace and glory? Hallowe’en — “All Hallows’ Eve” — was never about celebrating darkness; it was about remembering the light. It marked the night before All Saints’ Day, a day to honour those who gave their lives for Christ — the martyrs and the faithful who stood firm when the world turned against them. The very first commemorations of this kind go back far earlier than medieval Europe. Around 135 AD, Christians were already gathering at the tombs of martyrs like Polycarp of Smyrna, treating their remains as “more precious than the most exquisite jewels”. By the third century, Cyprian of Carthage was writing that the Church should record the dates when martyrs were killed so that their witness could be remembered each year. The faithful didn’t gather to mourn their loss, they gathered to celebrate their victory over death by attaining the reward of eternal life. Over time, as persecutions multiplied, there were simply too many to commemorate individually. So the Church dedicated a universal feast: first in May, then later moved to November 1st — All Saints’ Day — to honour every witness who had finished the race and kept the faith. That’s the true origin of Halloween’s eve: not a night of fear, but a vigil of remembrance. And so, as the world lights candles inside pumpkins, we light ours in memory of those who shone brightest in the darkness. Saints and martyrs remind us that the Christian story is one of life conquering death — of love refusing to yield to hatred. Their courage wasn’t rooted in despair, but in the unshakable hope that Christ has already triumphed. This October, we’ll look back at a few of these extraordinary lives — men and women who carried the light through the fires of persecution: Ignatius of Antioch, Polycarp of Smyrna, Perpetua and Felicity, and Lawrence of Rome. Each of them teaches us something vital about what it means to be a witness. As we journey through their stories, perhaps we can recover what All Hallows was always meant to be: a time not for horror, but for holy remembrance. As we pause to remember these men and women of faith, we take our place among what the writer of Hebrews calls “so great a cloud of witnesses”. Their stories are not distant echoes but living testaments and voices that still urge us to “run with perseverance the race set before us.” From Stephen, whose face shone like an angel as stones rained down upon him, to those who came after — Ignatius, Polycarp, Perpetua, Lawrence — the line of faithful witnesses stretches unbroken through history. Each one bore the light of Christ into the darkness of their age, refusing to give up or give in even when the cost was their life. Today, we stand on the shoulders of these giants of faith. Their courage reminds us that our lives, too, are part of this great story; that our endurance, our love, our quiet faithfulness all take their place among the saints who have gone before. As we begin this journey through their lives, may the same Spirit who sustained them stir our hearts anew. For though centuries divide us, we walk the same road, a road marked by the cross, but leading always toward resurrection! Dive into the lives and testimonies of these faithful men and women who can still inspire faith in us even now: Before The Pumpkins: The Road To The Lions Before The Pumpkins: Faith In The Flames Before The Pumpkins: The Day Two Women Defied Rome Before the...

Luke J. Wilson | 31st October 2025 | Halloween

In our last post, we walked with Perpetua and Felicity through the sands of the amphitheatre, their faith outshining Rome’s cruelty. Now for the final part in this series, we turn to another of the Church’s earliest heroes — one whose courage was matched by an unexpected wit. His name was Lawrence, a deacon of Rome, remembered across centuries as the man who kept his humour even while lying on the griddle. The Setting: Rome, AD 258 Under Emperor Valerian, a fresh persecution of Christians swept through the Empire. Bishops, priests, and deacons were hunted down, their property seized, and their churches closed. The bishop of Rome at that time was Sixtus II — a gentle and wise shepherd who, like the apostles before him, was soon to drink from the same cup as his Lord. Among his closest companions was Deacon Lawrence, entrusted with overseeing the Church’s treasury and distributing alms to the poor. The Acts of St Lawrence tell us that when Sixtus was arrested and led to execution, Lawrence ran after him, crying out that he would not be left behind. Where are you going, father, without your son? Where are you going, priest, without your deacon? You never used to offer sacrifice without me as your minister! To which Sixtus replied: My son, I’m not leaving you. Greater trials are waiting for you. In three days you’ll follow me. Sixtus was beheaded soon after. Lawrence, meanwhile, was arrested and brought before the Roman prefect who, hearing that Lawrence had been the keeper of the Church’s wealth, demanded that he hand it over to the empire. The True Treasure of the Church The exchange that followed has been remembered ever since, partly for its irony, partly for its courage. “Bring forth,” said the prefect, “the treasures of the Church — the gold, the silver, and the precious vessels — that the emperor may possess them.” Lawrence asked for three days to gather them, which the prefect granted, no doubt imagining chests of glittering riches being prepared for him. Instead, Lawrence went through the city, gathering the blind, the crippled, the widows, the orphans, and all who were destitute or suffering. On the third day, he presented them before the prefect and declared: These are the treasures of the Church. Behold the gold and silver that I promised thee — the eternal jewels in whom Christ dwells. The prefect, enraged at being mocked, ordered that Lawrence be scourged and tortured, then laid upon an iron gridiron above a slow fire. The Martyrdom The ancient texts, mingling reverence and humour, tell the story that has echoed down the ages and had left an impact on me purely for the humour that I find in it! They laid him upon the iron bed, and beneath it kindled coals, that his flesh might be roasted little by little. And Lawrence, lying there, lifted up his eyes to heaven and gave thanks to God for counting him worthy to suffer. After some time, the account continues with words that have made Lawrence one of the most memorable of all martyrs: Having been a long time on the fire, he said to his tormentors with a cheerful countenance: ‘This side is done; turn me over and eat.’ It is difficult to read those words without laughing at how funny it sounds! It matches the kind of dark humour that I can have and often think of, which is probably why the story of Lawrence appeals to me so much, it’s the kind of silly thing I would think to say (though I’m not sure if I would in Lawrence’s place!). In the face of unbearable agony, Lawrence mocked his tormentors and even death itself. His humour was not flippant, but a final victory over the fear that his persecutors wanted to instil. His joke was an act of defiance against the gods whom Decius implored against the power of Christ within Lawrence. Despite how hot it must have been, Lawrence declares a worse fate on Decius, warning him of the fire he will face because of this, saying that the “burning c...

Luke J. Wilson | 29th October 2025 | Halloween

In the last post, we looked at Polycarp — a faithful bishop who faced the flames rather than deny his Lord. His courage in the face of certain death became a rallying light for generations of believers after him. But his story is only one among many in the long line of the cloud of witnesses who ran the race before us (Hebrews 12:1). Today, we step forward a few decades to another account of extraordinary faith — that of two women, Perpetua and Felicity. Perpetua left an account of her own martyrdom (technically a Passion) which is considered historically reliable. What makes it extraordinary is that Perpetua herself wrote a portion of it in Latin before her death, making it one of the earliest known writings by a Christian woman! It was then continued by another who witnessed the events once she entered the arena. The Setting: Carthage, AD 203 Our story takes us to North Africa during the reign of Emperor Septimius Severus. Christianity was still seen as a threat to the Roman order, and anyone refusing to sacrifice to the emperor’s image could be imprisoned or executed. Among the arrested were a small group of catechumens (new believers preparing for baptism) including a young noblewoman named Vibia Perpetua and her servant, Felicity. Perpetua was only twenty-two years old and the mother of an infant son. Her father, a pagan, begged her to renounce the faith and save her life, but she would not. In her prison diary — one of the earliest surviving Christian texts written by a woman — she records their suffering and her unshakable resolve and faith. After she was arrested with her companions, she wrote of a moment when her father came and tried to persuade her to sacrifice to the Emperor and deny her faith: When my father, out of love for me, tried to turn me from my faith, I said to him: ‘Father, do you see this vessel here — a water pot or whatever it may be? Can it be called by any other name than what it is?’ He answered, ‘No.’ Then I said to him, ‘So too I cannot call myself anything other than what I am — a Christian.’ A few days after this they were all baptised while imprisoned under house arrest awaiting their trial before being moved to the more restrictive Roman cells once they were formally condemned to die by wild beasts. After her baptism, the Spirit spoke to Perpetua and told her that she must “pray for nothing else after that water save only endurance of the flesh”. Perpetua and Felicity await their fate in the Roman prison The prison was dark, so dark she said she had “never known such darkness”, plus it was hot and crowded, the soldiers mistreated them all and she was trying to care for her child! Thankfully, later on a couple of deacons, Tertius and Pomponius, who were ministering to them managed to somehow pay the Romans to allow Perpetua and Felicity some respite in a better part of the prison where the child could be better fed and later handed off into the care of Perpetua’s mother.  Dreams of Victory While in prison, Perpetua received a series of visions that strengthened her for what lay ahead. In one, she saw a golden ladder reaching up to heaven, guarded by a fierce serpent below, and sharp iron spikes along either side. Only those who stepped on the serpent’s head and climbed the ladder could enter. She interpreted this as her coming trial — the climb of faith through suffering to eternal life, realising that God wasn’t going to deliver her from this trial, but that it should be her passion (i.e. her death). It’s an image of triumph through endurance that echoes Christ’s own words: “Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life” (Revelation 2:10). Felicity’s story is just as moving. She was heavily pregnant at eight months when arrested and gave birth in prison mere days before the execution. Roman law forbade torment of a pregnant woman, so she would have stayed in prison until the birt...

Luke J. Wilson | 20th October 2025 | Halloween

The sound of chains echoed through the streets as Ignatius of Antioch was led from Syria to Rome. The old bishop’s body was frail, but his heart burned with the strength of Christ. Each clinking step brought him closer to the arena — and to the wild beasts that would tear him apart — yet his letters brimmed with joy and passion, and a sense of urgency inspiring others to unity, obedience, and unwavering faith. For Ignatius, death was not defeat; it was the completion of discipleship, crossing the finish line of faith… the moment when imitation of Christ became complete. Ignatius of Antioch is one of my favourite Early Church Fathers mainly for how much reading his letters had an impact on me. His letter to the church in Rome, especially, as you could really sense his passion and dedication to his faith and conviction to see through his impending martyrdom head on, fearless in the face of death! And as one of the earliest martyrs outside of the New Testament, his story is the perfect place to begin this series. A Disciple of the Apostles Ignatius lived in the generation just after the apostles, serving as bishop of Antioch in Syria. Tradition says that Ignatius was the small child whom Jesus held in his arms in Matt. 18:2, though this cannot be verified as Ignatius himself never states it. A more trustworthy tradition 4tells us that he was a disciple of the Apostle John, and this lineage can be felt in his writings. His letters echo the same themes and emphasis on Christ as John does in his Gospel around the incarnation, never failing to highlight the physical nature of Jesus as well as his divine which can be seen with such statements like “Jesus Christ our God” (Epistle to the Ephesians). During the reign of Emperor Trajan (around AD 107), Christians were increasingly viewed as enemies of the Roman order. Refusing to worship the emperor was seen as defiance, and Ignatius, as one of the most visible leaders of the Church, became a prime target. He was arrested and sentenced to be taken to Rome to die in the arena by wild beasts. Letters from the Road As he travelled under heavy guard, ten soldiers he referred to as “being bound between ten leopards” (Letter the Romans, 5), Ignatius wrote seven letters to various Christian communities along the way: to Ephesus, Magnesia, Tralles, Rome, Philadelphia, Smyrna, and to Polycarp himself, the bishop of Smyrna. These letters are among the earliest Christian writings outside the New Testament, and they give us an amazing insight into the heart of a man preparing for martyrdom. Not many things touch me emotionally, but these letters did. Again and again, he speaks of unity and humility, urging believers to remain bound together under their bishop just as the Church is bound to Christ. He warns against false teachings that denied Christ’s true humanity, writing passionately: “Stop your ears, therefore, when any one speaks to you at variance with Jesus Christ, who was descended from David, and was also of Mary; who was truly born, and did eat and drink.”. But above all, his letters shine with a desperate longing for his final witness, pleading with the Roman Christians not to “show an unseasonable good-will” towards him and prevent his martyrdom. His desire to face his fate still gives me chills when I read it; I’m encouraged and also challenged so much by his words: Suffer me to become food for the wild beasts, through whose instrumentality it will be granted me to attain to God. I am the wheat of God, and let me be ground by the teeth of the wild beasts, that I may be found the pure bread of Christ … Rather entice the wild beasts, that they may become my tomb, and may leave nothing of my body … Let fire and the cross; let the crowds of wild beasts; let tearings, breakings, and dislocations of bones; let cutting off of members; let shatterings of the whole body; and let all the dreadful torments of the devil come upon me: only let me at...

Luke J. Wilson | 12th October 2025 | Halloween

It’s that time of year again when pumpkins appear in windows, skeletons hang from doorways, and debates resurface about whether Christians should have anything to do with Halloween. Some will say it’s entirely “pagan” in origin, others that it’s harmless fun — and many of us fall somewhere in the middle, just trying to work out what’s right (or try to ignore it!). But what if we’ve forgotten that Halloween began not with ghosts and ghouls, but with grace and glory? Hallowe’en — “All Hallows’ Eve” — was never about celebrating darkness; it was about remembering the light. It marked the night before All Saints’ Day, a day to honour those who gave their lives for Christ — the martyrs and the faithful who stood firm when the world turned against them. The very first commemorations of this kind go back far earlier than medieval Europe. Around 135 AD, Christians were already gathering at the tombs of martyrs like Polycarp of Smyrna, treating their remains as “more precious than the most exquisite jewels”. By the third century, Cyprian of Carthage was writing that the Church should record the dates when martyrs were killed so that their witness could be remembered each year. The faithful didn’t gather to mourn their loss, they gathered to celebrate their victory over death by attaining the reward of eternal life. Over time, as persecutions multiplied, there were simply too many to commemorate individually. So the Church dedicated a universal feast: first in May, then later moved to November 1st — All Saints’ Day — to honour every witness who had finished the race and kept the faith. That’s the true origin of Halloween’s eve: not a night of fear, but a vigil of remembrance. And so, as the world lights candles inside pumpkins, we light ours in memory of those who shone brightest in the darkness. Saints and martyrs remind us that the Christian story is one of life conquering death — of love refusing to yield to hatred. Their courage wasn’t rooted in despair, but in the unshakable hope that Christ has already triumphed. This October, we’ll look back at a few of these extraordinary lives — men and women who carried the light through the fires of persecution: Ignatius of Antioch, Polycarp of Smyrna, Perpetua and Felicity, and Lawrence of Rome. Each of them teaches us something vital about what it means to be a witness. As we journey through their stories, perhaps we can recover what All Hallows was always meant to be: a time not for horror, but for holy remembrance. As we pause to remember these men and women of faith, we take our place among what the writer of Hebrews calls “so great a cloud of witnesses”. Their stories are not distant echoes but living testaments and voices that still urge us to “run with perseverance the race set before us.” From Stephen, whose face shone like an angel as stones rained down upon him, to those who came after — Ignatius, Polycarp, Perpetua, Lawrence — the line of faithful witnesses stretches unbroken through history. Each one bore the light of Christ into the darkness of their age, refusing to give up or give in even when the cost was their life. Today, we stand on the shoulders of these giants of faith. Their courage reminds us that our lives, too, are part of this great story; that our endurance, our love, our quiet faithfulness all take their place among the saints who have gone before. As we begin this journey through their lives, may the same Spirit who sustained them stir our hearts anew. For though centuries divide us, we walk the same road, a road marked by the cross, but leading always toward resurrection! Dive into the lives and testimonies of these faithful men and women who can still inspire faith in us even now: Before The Pumpkins: The Road To The Lions Before The Pumpkins: Faith In The Flames Before The Pumpkins: The Day Two Women Defied Rome Before the...