Reflections on Being Safe

More so than any other time in the United States, we are obsessed with our own safety. Perhaps the attacks on 9/11 had something to do with the increasing awareness of our perceived state of vulnerability. Perhaps the 24 hour news service that has invaded our home has created an alternative consciousness of fear. Maybe the fact that we have now been involved in the longest lasting war in our nation’s history has perpetuated an overwhelming sense of our own mortality. Naturally, our reaction is to put up our defenses, bunker down, and ‘be safe.’ I often times wonder if ‘safety’ is really what we are to seek as ones who proclaim Jesus as Lord.

This question has bumped around in my head for a while now for several reasons. First, my wife and I just moved to an area of Nashville called Antioch. We are really excited about living here and getting to know those around us. It is an extremely diverse area. For example, Joy will be working at the local elementary school in which over 20 languages are spoken. Several immigrant populations are also trying to find the resources to live- not an easy task when first arriving to new home. At the same time, Antioch does not have the best reputation. We knew that Antioch has had issues with violence, crime, and home invasions. In the past few days, we have been told by several people to ‘be safe’ in our new residence.

Likewise, I am about to embark on a trip to the Middle East with Christian Peacemaker Teams. My conversations with others have varied tremendously. I have met and talked with Pro-Israel Christian Zionists who warn me about all Muslims trying to kill the ‘infidel.’ And, I have heard from the more liberal leaning Pro-Palestinian side of the danger of meeting the Israeli Defense Forces. Whatever image comes to mind when I mention my trip, I am always told to be careful- to be safe. At what point do we as Christians who are to live a life faithful to the calling of the Crucified One draw a line between safety and recklessness?

My mind easily wanders to the martyr accounts of the first few centuries of Christian living. One in particular, The Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas, has caught my attention. This is a remarkable text, not only for its historical value as one of the earliest Christian accounts written by a woman, but also for its astounding theological value and insight. Perpetua was executed in Carthage in 203 CE; after being mulled by wild beasts, her life finally ended at the end of a gladiator’s sword. Having been arrested for her profession of Christ as Lord, the text weaves in an out of visions, prison, and the family relationships. One such relationship rests between Perpetua and her father: “My father returned from the city spent with weariness; and he came up to me to cast down my faith saying: Have pity, daughter, on my grey hairs; have pity on your father, if I am worthy to be, called father by you; if with these hands I have brought you unto this flower of youth- and I-have preferred you before all your brothers; give me not over to the reproach of men…This he said fatherly in his love, kissing my hands and grovelling at my feet; and with tears he named me, not daughter, but lady. And I was grieved for my father's case because he would not rejoice at my passion out of all my kin; and I comforted him, saying: That shall be done at this tribunal, whatsoever God shall please; for know that we are not established in our own power, but in God's. And he went from me very sorrowful.”

This is actually the second interaction between father and daughter. The first account has the Father leaving the jail cell “with the arguments of the devil.” I in no way wish to compare any of my experiences with martyrdom. Martyrdom is never sought out, but in a world that continues to exist in violence and oppression, martyrdom sometimes occurs. I only wish to point out the embodiment of a hope far greater than earthly safety. In this account, the Father is wishing for the continuance of his daughter’s life. This is easily understood as a type of ‘parental love’ that always seeks out the best for those we love. But in this case, it was a temptation to Perpetua to deny her following in the footsteps of the cross. Christianity for the early Christians wasn’t ‘safe.’ But it did leave to an everlasting rejoicing in the knowledge of Christ and the sharing of his sufferings. In summing up three cases of modern martyrdom (Paul Schneider, Oscar Romero, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer) Jurgen Moltmann explains: "This tells us that the martyrs anticipate in their own bodies the sufferings of the end-time, which come upon the whole creation; and dying, they witness to the creation which is new. Anyone who participates in 'Christ's sufferings' participates in the end-time sufferings of the world. The martyrs anticipate this end for their own time, and in so doing they become the apocalyptic witnesses (martyria) to the coming truth against the ruling lie, to coming justice and righteousness against the prevailing injustice, and to coming life against the tyranny of death."

I only recount this narrative to draw back to the current obsession with our safety. I do not think this mentality is worthy of the gospel. Rather, a disciple of Jesus recognizes the pattern of self-giving love to both neighbor and enemy and gives of himself/herself in the same fashion. Whether it be moving to a neighborhood that has higher rates of crime and poverty, or a traveling half way around the world to protest the world’s constant reliance on violence as a way of life, the appropriate response is not ‘Be safe,’ but rather ‘Be faithful.’ Or as a friend of mine put it last night, ‘be peaceful,’ which when we read the narrative of Jesus may be a road fraught with violence.