During my first
few weeks at General Seminary back in 2009, in the midst of serious transition
and confusion, there was something I missed maybe more than anything: breakfast.
I had not had a good breakfast since leaving home, and our refectory
only provided lunch on weekdays, nothing more.
But there was a group, small but faithful, who helped put breakfast
together for classmates. It wasn’t
much—some cereals, juices, and fruits—but the gesture was lovely. I was touched that fellow students would get
up early to put together breakfast for those of us hurrying off to class after
Morning Prayer. The group was called the
Saint Blandina Society.
I had never
heard of Saint Blandina (whose feast day is today), and I imagine many of you
have not, either. Her story is not a
particularly happy one.
In the ancient
region of Gaul, during the reign of Emperor Marcus Aurelius, Christians were
fiercely persecuted, especially in places with considerable Christian
populations. One such place was Lyons,
where, in AD 177, Christians were prohibited from public life, from
marketplaces and baths. Slaves were
taken into custody and forced to give up their Christian masters, telling
officials that the Christians were involved in incest and cannibalism. These actions roused the whole city to the
point where a group was rounded up and taken to the public arena. There they could either denounce their
Christian faith or be put to death by wild beasts.
St. Blandina
Blandina, a
slave, was among those rounded up, along with the Bishop of Lyons and his
deacon. As Blandina was being tortured,
those gathered in the public arena saw in her visage the image of the crucified
Jesus. In this slave who was giving her
life for her faith, those around her saw the image of their Lord. And though Blandina was killed, along with
her companions, her witness lives on. It
is the very witness of Jesus, of the One who said, “Father, forgive them.” Like her Lord, Blandina never denounced her
faith, never muttered a harsh word to the officials, and because of this the
image of Jesus shown brightly out of her, even as she was being killed.
The Saint
Blandina Society at General Seminary was aptly named. They were the face of Jesus for their fellow
classmates, offering hospitality and conversation, especially for those of us
who were new in their midst. This is our
call. Perhaps not to be publicly
executed for our faith, but certainly to be the face of Jesus. He has gone back to heaven, and while we may not see his face, others can and will see the face of Jesus in us through the power of the Holy Spirit that has come among us. She may have lived over a
century after Jesus’ ascension, but Blandina heard these words and lived them. And because she did, others saw Jesus in her.
The world longs
to see the face of Jesus. If you don’t
bear the face of Jesus to the world, who will?? All too often, because we live in a much
different world from Blandina, we Christians become complacent, lazy. We go to church on Sunday and say hello to
one another, but Jesus is the furthest thing from our minds when we exit our
red doors. The visitor in our midst
longs to be welcomed, to be shown hospitality, to have conversation, to know
that he or she is being cared for. But it is not just the visitor inside our
walls that wants to see Jesus. The world
around us cries out for the kind of love that Jesus preached and lived—the kind
of love that sets the captives free, that preaches truth to power, that sets
the world on fire. The world is poor,
hungry, cold, and lonely. The world is
fractured and in pain. The world is,
perhaps, not all that different from Blandina’s time, after all.
Will you be the
one to show the face of Jesus to the world?
