John Huss was a preacher and scholar who became the rector (or leading administrator) at the University of Prague in 1402. From this esteemed position in what is now the Czech Republic, Huss called for reform in the church. Specifically, he advocated for a return to the biblical truth that forgiveness cannot be bought from the church but must be granted by God.

Even though his view was solidly biblical, the king and the pope (John XXIII) saw his teaching as a heretical threat on the established church. Thus, he was excommunicated and he withdrew to the country to continue writing about the need for change.

The church later called a meeting to discuss matters of theological importance. Emperor Sigismud invited Huss to attend the council to defend himself and offered him safety through royal protection.

Upon his arrival, Huss was taken before the pope and ordered to recant his heresy. When he refused, he was treated like a prisoner. The emperor, realizing what was happening, ordered his release. However, upon noticing that Huss’ cause was not popular and any help to him would look like support for a heretic, the emperor refused to provide the safety he had promised.

On June 5, 1415, Huss was brought before the council in chains and ordered to submit to the assembly by recanting his heresy. Knowing that any admission of guilt would involve denying biblical truth and convinced that he would not receive a fair trial, Huss declared….

“I appeal to Jesus Christ, the only judge who is almighty and completely just. In his hands I place my cause, since he will judge each, not on the basis of false witnesses and erring councils, but of truth and justice.”

Huss was taken back to prison and many people pled with him to recant. He would not.

On July 6, he was taken to the cathedral and dressed in priestly garments. In acts of humiliation they stripped him, shaved his head, and placed a paper crown decorated with demons on him. Then, they led him away, tied him to a stake, and gave him one final chance to recant. When he would not, they burned him.

Before they lit the fire he prayed aloud, “Lord Jesus, it is for thee that I patiently endure this cruel death. I pray thee to have mercy on my enemies.” As the flames engulfed him he was heard reciting the Psalms.

In societies where biblical truth is not valued, those men and women who cling to it have always faced persecution. We live in such a society. So don’t be surprised when our commitment to the Truth requires us to a pay an earthly price.

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*Again, I’m in debt to Justo L. Gonzalez’s fine work in The Story of Christianity, vol. 1, pp. 348-351.

While the genuineness of the Roman Emperor Constantine’s faith is a source of endless debate, his impact (both positively and negatively) on Church history is enormous. His rise to power began well before he became ruler of the western share of the Empire in AD 306. After assuming this position, he gradually gained military superiority over the other partial rulers until seizing control of the entire Roman Empire in AD 324.

With his power well-established in 313, however, Constantine instigated one of the most important political agreements in church history: the ‘Edict of Milan.’ This agreement between he and Licinius, another partial ruler of the Empire, included a provision to end the persecution of Christians and return their churches, cemeteries, and other properties to them.

For the first time in the nearly 300-year history of the church, Christians garnered official protection from the government. This agreement brought positive and negative changes that affected the world’s political scene and the Church immediately and for centuries.

Following the enforcement of this edict, the Church set aside an emphasis on the Kingdom of God as they lost the hope of martyrdom. During the early years of the 4^th century the Church faced some of the most cruel persecution in history, which pointed them toward the future reign of Christ and the hope of escaping persecution by dying for their faith. Now living in relative safety and security, the Church began her descent toward complacency.

Doesn’t that church sound familiar? A group of relatively safe and secure individuals who have no vision or concern for God’s eternal Kingdom and certainly no hope of dying for their faith.

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*Again, I’m in debt to Justo L. Gonzalez’s fine work in The Story of Christianity, vol. 1, pp. 113-135.

Adoniram Judson was born in Massachusetts in 1788. He and his wife Ann arrived in Rangoon, Burma in July 1812. As the first English-speaking missionaries in Burma, their ministry was marked by death, disease, and suffering.

After 5 years Judson had learned the language, translated the gospel of Matthew, and written a few gospel tracts. He had also buried two infant children and faced excruciating and unexplainable headaches.

After 7 years Judson saw his first Burmese convert and by his tenth year he had led 18 people to Christ. Two years later, in 1824, the situation went from bad to worse. War broke out in the region and he was arrested under suspicion that he was a spy. He spent 21 months in prison nearly dying several times because the conditions were so awful.

Meanwhile his wife Ann suffered just as much. She gave birth to a daughter shortly after he was arrested. The two girls suffered disease and malnutrition before both died shortly after Adoniram was released from prison.

Despite their suffering, God used this couple to bring good news to Burma. Their work resulted in the first Burmese Bible and led to hundreds of thousands of new believers.

The death, disease, and suffering that marked their lives were no surprise to God. In fact, He used all of it to bring salvation to hopelessly-lost people in a remote part of the world.

The truth remains today: God often uses our suffering to bring salvation to others. So remember to look for opportunities to share Christ in the midst of your pain, disease, death, or suffering. For your bad news might be a catalyst for God’s good news in another person’s life.

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To read much more about Adoniram’s life order a copy of his biography, To the Golden Shore: The Life of Adoniram Judson by Courtney Anderson.

By Daniel L. Akin

Akin – the president of Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary – preached five sermons in which he used stories from missionary biographies to illustrate and emphasize the biblical call to reach the world for Christ. This short book presents these sermons highlighting God’s call as seen in and through five men and women. The combination of clear biblical explanation and moving testimonies makes these messages particularly inspiring.

Together these five men and women would form a veritable missionary all-star team as each one lived and died for Christ in a land far from their birthplace. Despite relocating to wildly different parts of the world, their stories bear striking similarities. Among these parallels one emerged above the rest: they maintained an astounding ability to deny self.

Leaving family and friends and comfort at home, they denied themselves in the face of God’s call. Finding disease and poverty and persecution in a foreign land, they denied themselves in the face of God’s call. Burying spouses and children and co-labors along the way, they denied themselves in the face of God’s call. Often laboring years with little or no visible results, they denied themselves in the face of God’s call.

In a culture where we Christians struggle to deny ourselves a million frivolous distractions a day, their example is especially relevant and challenging.

Make time to download and listen to these messages or read this short book very soon. But be very careful because these messages might just change your world – or at least your worldview.

In 373 a man named Ambrose became the leader of the church in Milan.[i] Ambrose, who at the time was governor of the city, had political aspirations and no interested in serving in the church. After his conversion, however, a controversy erupted in the church and he attended a meeting with the hopes of dealing with the potentially explosive situation and maintaining peace in the city. As he addressed the crowd, his leadership and skillful communication convinced the people that he should lead the church.

After attempts to refuse the office and even to escape the city were unsuccessful, Ambrose relented and became the bishop of Milan. Despite his reluctance, he came to embrace this role and God used him mightily.

I mention Ambrose today because one story from his ministry presents a relevant challenge for the contemporary Church.

An enemy army invaded and ravaged a nearby region. As refugees flocked to Milan, news spread that the enemy was holding other people for ransom. In response, Ambrose ordered that money be raised to help both of these groups by melting golden vessels from the church. This order created controversy within the church to which he responded…

“It is better to preserve for the Lord souls rather than gold. He who sent the apostles without gold also gathered the churches without gold. The church has gold, not to store it, but to give it up, to use it for those who are in need…. It is better to keep living vessels, than the golden ones.”

Which vessels are more valuable to you? Which vessels are more valuable to our churches?

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[i] The historical events referenced in this entry, including the extended quotation, are based on Justo L. Gonzalez, The Story of Christianity, vol. 1, pp. 189-193.

So much of 21^st century Christianity is skewed by our culture. Sometimes it’s helpful to reset our minds by remembering the ideals and attitudes of the great men and women of faith from past centuries. One story of a loud death helps me.

A man named Ignatius was the bishop of the church in Antioch when he was sentenced to die in A.D. 107. The imperial authorities wanted to execute him in Rome for amusement as part of a celebration for a recent military victory. Ignatius was ready for martyrdom.

While awaiting execution he heard that some Christians in Rome wanted to rescue him to prevent his death. Ignatius, however, was ready to seal his witness with his blood. In a letter written during his imprisonment, he expressed his disapproval for any attempts to save him. So he wrote…

“I fear your kindness, which may harm me. You may be able to achieve what you plan. But if you pay no heed to my request it will be very difficult for me to attain unto God.”

He continued later in the letter…

“If you remain silent about me, I shall become a word of God. But if you allow yourselves to be swayed by the love in which you hold my flesh, I shall again be no more than a human voice.”

Ignatius was no masochist. Nor did he desire self-promotion through pain. He longed to die physically in a way that would announce the central fact about his life: he was already dead.

God, help us follow Ignatius. Help us to die to self. And lead us to face death (and life) in a way that announces this death.