Would You Die for Your Faith?

I watched the new movie, The Thirteenth Day, which I bought myself just before Christmas. It was a new take on the story of Our Lady of Fatima. One of the scenes was particularly moving to me. It was when the three children were being interrogated by the police. The police were attempting to get them to tell the secrets that the lady entrusted to them in their visions. All three children, at such young ages, stated firmly that they would rather die than to divulge the secrets that the lady asked them to keep for her.

What strength they demonstrated. They were threatened with death by being dipped into a vat of boiling oil. Francesco and Jacinta were under the age of ten, and Lucia was barely older than that. Yet, they chose to remain faithful to their promise and to endure this hideous, painful death, which they had no idea was just an empty threat.

I began to consider what my answer would have been, faced with a painful, slow death. Would I be faithful to keeping safe the secrets of our faith or standing firm for the Catholic faith if faced with martyrdom? My initial reaction, as a supposedly strong disciple, would be to boldly say, "Of course I would stand firm and accept death." But, would I? How scary would it be to give one's life for the faith? Yet, in the early Church, it was so common for the followers of Jesus to submit to torture and death rather than to give in and abandon their true beliefs.

I guess the answer is to turn day after day to the crucifix and give oneself over and over to the One who so selflessly surrendered His own life for the love of each one of us. He chose the hideous and painful agony in the garden, where He saw all our sins and failings. He was so burdened that He sweat blood. Then he chose the scourging by the Roman soldiers; one so grotesque that He came within inches of death itself. So beaten was He that he barely resembled a man upon its completion, and then they added the insult of forcing the sharp and painful crown of thorns into His sweet, delicate head. He knew all of this was to happen, yet He accepted it out of love. This was a love so compelling that it fed His strength through the whole ordeal so that He could continue trudging on through the streets of Jerusalem, carrying the heavy wood of the crossbeam, the ironic symbol of our salvation. He walked amidst the crowds of jeering, laughing, hateful people, who shouted horrible accusations at Him as he walked the road to His glory. And then He endured the nails in His hands and feet and hung for three miserable hours upon the cross and struggled to breathe while the onlookers cast lots for His cloak. His own close friends abandoned Him. This was the extent of His love for us.

I ask then, for God to give me the strength to always bear witness to Christ; to stand firm in my beliefs and to walk tall in my Catholicism. I ask that should I ever find myself in a moment where I must choose between martyrdom for Christ or denial of Christ, that I wouldn't hesitate a moment before choosing to accept martyrdom for my Lord and Savior, who chose me some 2000 years ago, without hesitation. After all, it is that eternal home where I will be united always with Him that I desire to obtain one day anyway, so martyrdom would be a mere stepping stone; a grace to lead me sooner to my King.