Before the Pumpkins: The Barbecued Deacon

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 | 25th October 2025 | Halloween

Picture the scene: the year is somewhere around 155–160, Polycarp has just been arrested and brought to the city. The crowd roared in the stadium. The smell of sweat and fear mingled with the dust of Smyrna’s arena. And in the centre of it all stood an old man — calm, unflinching, his face marked with years of faith. The Roman proconsul urged him again: “Swear by the fortune of Caesar. Curse Christ, and I will release you.” Polycarp looked him in the eye and replied with a defiant response that has echoed down the ages, Eighty and six years I have served Him, and He has done me no wrong. How can I blaspheme my King who saved me? Those words have become immortal in and of themselves, reverberating from pulpits, prison cells, and whispered prayers in dark times. They belong to Polycarp, bishop of Smyrna, and one of the clearest windows we have into the courage of the early Church. The place of Polycarp’s martyrdom was not Rome, as many assume, but the bustling city of Smyrna, in what is now western Turkey. Smyrna was one of the great cities of Asia Minor — wealthy, loyal to Rome, and proud of its grand stadium where games and public spectacles were held. It was in that very stadium, believed by archaeologists to have seated up to 20,000 people, before the watching crowds and the Roman proconsul of the province, that the aged bishop was brought to stand trial. The same stadium that once echoed with cheers for athletes and gladiators would now resound with the final testimony of a Christian who refused to curse his King. The Roman stadium of Smyrna, located on the slopes of Mount Pagos, fully excavated in 2014. (Source) A Disciple of the Apostles Polycarp was no obscure figure on the fringes of history. Born around AD 69, he lived at the very hinge between the apostolic age and the developing life of the Church. Tradition tells us that he was a disciple of the Apostle John, friend and fellow bishop with Ignatius of Antioch, and a mentor to another great bishop — Irenaeus of Lyons. Through Polycarp, we stand just one generation away from the eyewitnesses of Jesus Himself. He served faithfully as bishop of Smyrna (modern-day Izmir, Turkey), a bustling port city of trade, culture, and imperial devotion. When persecution began to stir, Polycarp was not a young zealot but an elderly shepherd who had spent his life guiding others in Christ’s way. His story is preserved in The Martyrdom of Polycarp, one of the earliest martyr narratives ever written, likely composed by those who knew him personally. How the Stadium would have looked in the time of Polycarp. Image: İzmir Time Machine The Arrest and the Trial When soldiers came to arrest him, Polycarp did not run. Instead, he greeted his captors with hospitality, ordering food and drink to be brought to them. He even asked for an hour to pray, and they granted it. His prayer was so fervent and filled with grace that several of his guards later regretted their role in his capture. Brought before the governor, Polycarp was told to swear by Caesar’s name, to prove his loyalty to Rome. He could have chosen silence. He could have muttered a few words to save himself. But instead, he stood firm in his faith and act boldly with confidence in his Saviour, who, when entering the stadium spoke to him by voice from heaven saying, “Be strong, and show thyself a man, O Polycarp!”. The other believers who were with Polycarp also heard the voice but no one saw where it came from. Due to Polycarp’s advanced age, the proconsul tried to persuade him to just declare what was asked of him and say, “Swear by the fortune of Cæsar; repent, and say, ‘Away with the Atheists’”. In this context at the time, “Atheists” referred to Christians because they denied the pantheon of Roman gods. But Polycarp, he wasn’t so easily intimidated. Looking around at “all the multitude of the wicked heathen” in the stadium seats, he waved his h...

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 | 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 | 25th October 2025 | Halloween

Picture the scene: the year is somewhere around 155–160, Polycarp has just been arrested and brought to the city. The crowd roared in the stadium. The smell of sweat and fear mingled with the dust of Smyrna’s arena. And in the centre of it all stood an old man — calm, unflinching, his face marked with years of faith. The Roman proconsul urged him again: “Swear by the fortune of Caesar. Curse Christ, and I will release you.” Polycarp looked him in the eye and replied with a defiant response that has echoed down the ages, Eighty and six years I have served Him, and He has done me no wrong. How can I blaspheme my King who saved me? Those words have become immortal in and of themselves, reverberating from pulpits, prison cells, and whispered prayers in dark times. They belong to Polycarp, bishop of Smyrna, and one of the clearest windows we have into the courage of the early Church. The place of Polycarp’s martyrdom was not Rome, as many assume, but the bustling city of Smyrna, in what is now western Turkey. Smyrna was one of the great cities of Asia Minor — wealthy, loyal to Rome, and proud of its grand stadium where games and public spectacles were held. It was in that very stadium, believed by archaeologists to have seated up to 20,000 people, before the watching crowds and the Roman proconsul of the province, that the aged bishop was brought to stand trial. The same stadium that once echoed with cheers for athletes and gladiators would now resound with the final testimony of a Christian who refused to curse his King. The Roman stadium of Smyrna, located on the slopes of Mount Pagos, fully excavated in 2014. (Source) A Disciple of the Apostles Polycarp was no obscure figure on the fringes of history. Born around AD 69, he lived at the very hinge between the apostolic age and the developing life of the Church. Tradition tells us that he was a disciple of the Apostle John, friend and fellow bishop with Ignatius of Antioch, and a mentor to another great bishop — Irenaeus of Lyons. Through Polycarp, we stand just one generation away from the eyewitnesses of Jesus Himself. He served faithfully as bishop of Smyrna (modern-day Izmir, Turkey), a bustling port city of trade, culture, and imperial devotion. When persecution began to stir, Polycarp was not a young zealot but an elderly shepherd who had spent his life guiding others in Christ’s way. His story is preserved in The Martyrdom of Polycarp, one of the earliest martyr narratives ever written, likely composed by those who knew him personally. How the Stadium would have looked in the time of Polycarp. Image: İzmir Time Machine The Arrest and the Trial When soldiers came to arrest him, Polycarp did not run. Instead, he greeted his captors with hospitality, ordering food and drink to be brought to them. He even asked for an hour to pray, and they granted it. His prayer was so fervent and filled with grace that several of his guards later regretted their role in his capture. Brought before the governor, Polycarp was told to swear by Caesar’s name, to prove his loyalty to Rome. He could have chosen silence. He could have muttered a few words to save himself. But instead, he stood firm in his faith and act boldly with confidence in his Saviour, who, when entering the stadium spoke to him by voice from heaven saying, “Be strong, and show thyself a man, O Polycarp!”. The other believers who were with Polycarp also heard the voice but no one saw where it came from. Due to Polycarp’s advanced age, the proconsul tried to persuade him to just declare what was asked of him and say, “Swear by the fortune of Cæsar; repent, and say, ‘Away with the Atheists’”. In this context at the time, “Atheists” referred to Christians because they denied the pantheon of Roman gods. But Polycarp, he wasn’t so easily intimidated. Looking around at “all the multitude of the wicked heathen” in the stadium seats, he waved his h...

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...