Yellow Martyrdom
Martyrs, Monks and Mothers walking the way of self-emptying love
A sharp sound wakes me up. My body desperately wants to keep sleeping, and there’s a momentary battle between this instinct and my effort to rouse my being. I know, with the sound, that I have a sacred duty, and I am called here at 3 AM to fulfill my vocation to love God. In the moment, I feel like I have neither the strength nor the desire to get up and do my sacred duty. I ask God for help. Then, I rise and do what my body does not want, as a sacrifice of love. Once committed, I feel my heart warm as my attention shifts from self to the one I love.
Who am I? The little story I just described, intentionally vague, could easily have been written by a contemplative monk or nun about waking up to the bell for the daily prayer office of Vigils. In fact, I was describing my experience of waking up last night to the cries of my nearly two year old son. In both cases, the Christ follower is called to lay down self-will in the service of love. The monk or nun donning robes for 3 AM prayer and the parent throwing on a sweatshirt to tend to a tearful child are both acts of sacrificial love. To lay down one’s life in love - it’s one of the most ancient and revered templates for the life of faith.
Martyrdom - Red, White, and Green
Perhaps the first well-articulated template for Christian transformation was martyrdom. From the crucifixion of Christ to the stoning of St. Stephen, the earliest Christian community was faced with violent persecution. Eleven of the twelve apostles were martyred, and the only survivor, St. John, was miraculously preserved from an attempted execution. To follow Jesus for the first three centuries of Christianity meant accepting the strong possibility of being killed for this commitment. It was a literal invitation to lay down one’s life, a choice to pursue eternal life through the sacrifice of one’s earthly life. When some Roman soldiers saw the transcendent joy and courage with which Christians met their violent deaths, they were overwhelmed by the power of God revealed to them. They chose to convert in the moment and be killed on the spot for their minutes-old proclamation of Christ.
Something powerful, bizarre, and otherworldly was happening in these deaths. The martyrs were being destroyed, and yet they were manifesting Christ’s power and victory over death. Hearts were opened, and as many as were killed, many more were converted by the divine love unleashed in the death of God’s faithful ones. In the late second century, Tertullian declared, ‘The blood of martyrs is the seed of the the Church’. Christians began gathering for prayer at the burial sites of martyrs, and reported cases of supernatural light shining forth from graves. Miraculous healings occurred as Christians prayed to Christ along with invoking the prayers of the martyrs.
In this most intense period of the early Church, martyrdom became something of a guide for the life of Christian discipline. To follow Christ meant literally laying down one’s life, or at least accepting the distinct possibility of being killed for one’s profession of faith. The act of sacrificing one’s self-will and desire for bodily preservation in service of life with Christ became a central, defining act of Christian faith. God’s power was liberated in the life of a Christian by their willingness to follow in the footsteps of Christ and literally lay down their life out of love for God.
This template worked well for three centuries. In the fourth century, a strange spiritual crisis emerged in the Church. Christianity was first tolerated, and then less than seventy years later became the official religion of the Roman Empire. Suddenly, martyrdom was no longer likely, and could no longer be upheld as a definitive possibility for Christian faith. Yet, the call for self-emptying was obviously central to the Way of Christ. How was a Christian to faithfully lay down their lives when nobody wanted to kill them?
Enter White Martyrdom. Around the year 400, Saint Jerome articulated that it martyrdom was still possible as the age of mass persecution was closing. However, this would be an inner martyrdom, a spiritual laying down of self-will and a daily taking up the cross of Christ even without the likelihood of violent death. Thousands of Christians fled the more world-friendly milieu of the newly Christian Roman state, and ran to the wild margins of the empire - the deserts of Egypt, Palestine and Syria. These ‘Desert Fathers and Mothers’ became the first Christian monastics, and over a few centuries developed sophisticated systems of spiritual discipline and practice by which one could learn a daily sacrifice of self-will leading to ever-greater theosis, or participation in the divine life of God. Their faith in Christ was carried out through voluntary self-denial. Fasting, celibacy, voluntary poverty, and laying down of all self-centered thoughts and desires became a new way to give oneself completely to Christ, while still living. This ‘White Martyrdom’ was discovered to be an equally intense and equally generous gift of self, leading to deep intimacy and participation in the life of the Trinity.
The concept of ‘Green Martyrdom’ is a little more difficult to pin down, and has been articulated in several ways. One thread of Green Martyrdom seems to have arisen in ancient Ireland, as the sixth century Irish monks and nuns sought out wild and untamed places to live in radical devotion to God. They followed the example of the desert monastics, but with an additional emphasis on the practice of living with maximal exposure to the wild forces of Creation and the Creator God. They were known not only to fast and pray, but to hold all-night prayer vigils in rocky streams or in the ocean, totally vulnerable to the wild forces of Creation among whom they knew their smallness and immediate need for God.
As the ascetical practices of White and Green Martyrdom grew, the original martyrdom of bloody death came to be known as ‘Red Martyrdom’. So we have in the Christian tradition three ancient paths of self-sacrifice leading to greater union with Christ - Red, White, and Green Martyrdom. These are powerful, tried and true paths, and there are countless saints that have followed each of these path as expressions of their faith and fidelity to Christ.
Praying like a monk in the world
One of the guiding questions of our work and life at Metanoia is how lay people - including married couples and parents - can live a life of radical devotion to Christ that is of equal vitality, intensity and transformative power as the ancient monastic paths. We Catholics are often presented with a false duality of either pursuing serious religious devotion via celibate monastic or priestly life, or a much more worldly, secular way of life where not much more is expected of ‘the faithful’ than regular attendance at Sunday services. This may be a bit of a caricature, but it’s rooted in reality. When I was in my twenties, I was deeply driven to deepen my life of prayer, and yet I never had any sense of being called by God to vowed celibacy or to join a religious order. There were many Catholics in my life who were troubled by this - they couldn’t understand why I wasn’t becoming a priest or a monk. I sometimes had a sense that some lay people, in particular, even felt threatened by my life - as if by my spending hours a day in prayer I was exposing the lie that lay people ‘in the world’ are categorically too busy to make a serious commitment to prayer. This struck me as deeply untrue, and a highly destructive attitude for spiritual growth. There must, I thought, be a way that lay people can be called to a life of equal holiness and devotion as the disciplined, structured way of monks.
For this reason, I became deeply involved with the work of Contemplative Outreach in my twenties and thirties. Contemplative Outreach is an organization committed to teaching Centering Prayer, along with Lectio Divina and other spiritual disciplines that are rooted in the Christian monastic tradition, to lay people. I’ve seen many people make great gains in their lives of faith through adopting these practices, yet I remain concerned that the model that is often used by lay Christians involved with Contemplative Outreach is still a sort of ‘importation’ of monasticism into life outside the monastery. It is as if, in a sense, that we’re trying to do monastic spirituality without the benefits of the structures of monastic life. Inevitably, there is less silence, less structure, and less solitude for a Christian living ‘in the world’ than for monastics. Are we then condemned to doing ‘monasticism lite’, a sort of weak White or Green martyrdom where we struggle to fit it in among the greater pressures of work, married and family life in the world?
Alongside these concerns, for the last decade or so I’ve been reflecting on the image of the mountain, which is a classic metaphor of monastic spirituality. The mountain is an image of ascent, of solitude, silence, transcendence, and separation from the world. The monk labors to rise up, to elevate themselves from the dissipation of worldly affairs and bodily passions, to commune with the God who is spiritual, transcendent, eternal - utterly beyond time and space and worldly concepts. In my search for an authentic life of prayer, I was deeply shaped by the image of the mountain. For about a decade I regularly took solo retreats where I prayed for days on literal mountaintops. Yet inevitably, as I turned to married life, I had to realize I couldn’t stay on the mountaintop forever. With deep respect for the monks who are called to remain there, I had to return to the valley below. When I did so, the mountaintop ceased to be the most helpful spiritual metaphor. How helpful is the ‘monastic mountain’ for those of us who are immersed in ordinary jobs, village life, marriage, parenting, and other concerns of the world?
A parallel image of Christian devotion has grown in my and Lisa’s imaginations over our married life, and that is the image of the river. It’s also a classical Biblical image. Moses meets God on the mountain, but it’s a river of life that flows from the Temple of God in Ezekiel’s vision. Jesus is transfigured on the mountaintop, but He is baptized in the river. In both places, the Father speaks and declares Jesus as His beloved Son. The river is the complementary image to the mountain. If the mountain portrays a spirituality of transcendence and ascent, the river portrays a spirituality of immanence and descent. The river is both enduring and ever-changing. We go down to the river, and the valley is the place of life, change, and dynamism. If the mountain is silence and stillness, the river is sound and activity. Both are essential aspects of life in God. If monasticism is symbolized by ascending the mountain, perhaps lay, married and family life can be symbolized by swimming or paddling in the river. It’s a spirituality of immersion, of entering in, of embrace and participation in the messiness of life. It’s not opposed to the mountain, but its complement. The river is the feminine energy or expression of a life of devotion, which complements and balances the masculine energy and expression of the mountaintop.
What does it look like to have an equally devout, self-giving Christian spirituality of the river?
Yellow Martyrdom
I was awake with my son for about an hour an a half last night. After he settled but long before he would stay asleep without my hand on his back, I started pondering the ‘little death’ of self that happens when a parent acts in selfless love. It occurred to me that there’s another, less fully articulated path of self-emptying love in the Christian tradition - the way of the parent. In my Catholic tradition, openness to bearing children is actually one of the requirements for a sacramental marriage. Generating and nurturing new human life is an essential component to the married vocation, though it’s understood that not all married folks will be able to have biological children1. For Catholics, the married vocation is officially considered a spiritual calling of equal weight, dignity, and transformative potential as a monastic vocation. Each entails a complete gift of self, and contains within it a calling to sainthood and ministering God’s love in a profound and unique way in the world.
Functionally, however, there is far less structure, direction, and support for the married path to sainthood than the celibate/monastic path. Monastics have years of preparation, careful mentoring and guidance, and engage in a lifelong study of holy examples of their way of life (the thousands of monastic saints, spiritual writers, and church fathers). Married couples are usually encouraged or required to take a weekend marriage prep class (the details vary by diocese) and are often then set to figure out their own way, with the occasional homily or marriage retreat to boost their efforts. What would happen if we took seriously the idea that marriage is a potential path to sainthood, and a calling to profound transformation in Christ? I believe this is one of the great untapped potentials in Catholic spirituality (and potentially other Christian denominations).
If self-emptying (kenosis in New Testament Greek) is essential to the Way of Christ (and it is), what does a life of self-emptying look like in the context of marriage and family life? If monastics voluntarily take up the practice of White and/or Green Martyrdom, is there a parallel practice for married folks? I believe there is, and this path already exists in the marriages and families of myriads of Catholics, and Christians more broadly. For lack of a better term, let’s call it ‘Yellow Martyrdom’.
Monastic ‘White Martyrdom’ involves conscious self-emptying through voluntary practices appropriate for the celibate and solitary life, such as fasting, prayer vigils, poverty, chastity through celibacy, obedience to an elder, and stability of life. In parallel, married ‘Yellow Martyrdom’ involves self-emptying through conscious practices appropriate for marriage and family life - chastity through monogamy, ‘obedience’ to the needs of one’s spouse and children, fidelity to the marriage commitment throughout life, and the continual setting down of self-will and personal agenda as it arises in the constant relationships of family life.
I see this at play every time (and there are many times each day) I am working on a project, or reading, or praying, and I’m interrupted by the needs of one of our small children. I can ignore them, or I can grumble and begrudgingly respond, or I can chose to drop my agenda in the moment and attend to them with a loving and open heart. Only the third response opens me to the love of God in my heart. Every time I freely let go of my own will to serve my children (or my spouse), I am choosing the path of self-emptying. Every time I forgive one of my kids or my wife for some little irritation or conflict, I am choosing the path of self-emptying. Every time I want to do something that was easy to do as a single person, but instead say yes to helping with bedtime at 7 PM, I am practicing self-emptying. Gradually, once small choice at a time, I’m invited to die to self through the concrete circumstances of marriage and family life. It’s different in form from the little deaths of a monastic as they are faithful to their way of life, but it is no different in intention or transformative potential. The married vocation is inherently more outward, and more directed to the intensive love of a limited number of particular individuals. Celibate, monastic love is both more interior (directed towards God alone), and more diffuse (directed towards detached love for all people) than the particularities of married life. Yet they both orient themselves toward the same ultimate goal - transformation in Christ through self-emptying love.
The forms of self-emptying vary according to one’s unique circumstances, both between monastics and married folks, but also according to each unique stage and circumstance in life. As parents of young children, self-emptying for Lisa and I often centers around dropping our agenda in the moment to tend to the concrete needs of our children - changing a diaper, cuddling a frightened child, or moving them out of harm’s way (It surprising how often I need to say something like ‘You can’t have that knife yet’ to my one year old). Later in life, parents of teens and young adults may experience it more in the asceticism of letting go our our ideas of how our children’s lives should go, and entrusting them ever more fully to the mercy of God. The circumstances change, but the inner orientation remains constant - I surrender self-will to consent to the will of God and the needs of the present moment. Once we see God’s will as present in the needs of the present moment, being drawn out of prayer and silence is no longer a distraction. It’s a small shift from loving God in prayer, to loving God through the service of others. Both are good and necessary, and mutually self-reinforcing.
Pseudo-martyrdom and authentic self-emptying
A word of caution here - not all ‘martyrdom’ is authentic. The spirit of martyrdom is the total gift of self, in love, to God. All of the colors of martyrdom described here have a false or ‘pseudo’ equivalent. Even literally being killed for one’s beliefs does not necessarily entail death to self - history tells us of many patriots who died while defying their killers from the gallows, filled with anger, pride and passion. It is dying to self while physically dying that makes Red Martyrdom spiritually fruitful. In a similar way, monastic asceticism can end up being a cause for spiritual pride rather than a path to love for God. As St. Paul writes, “If I give away everything I own, and if I hand my body over so that I may boast but do not have love, I gain nothing.”2 In a similar vein, there are many married folks and parents who may self-identify as ‘martyrs’ as they grumble and complain about all the hardships they endure in their state of life. Their complaint merely ends up feeding self-identification, though its a self that is strengthened and hardened around self-pity. Authentic ‘Yellow Martyrdom’ is not essentially about enduring hardship, but rather about freely embracing a path to self-forgetfulness in service to others. A difficult circumstance can either lead to psychic defeat and bitterness, or to increasing inner freedom, depending on whether we respond to the circumstance from self-centeredness or from selfless love. We must beware of pseudo-martyrdom. If we think of ourselves as poor, beat-up and somehow special because of how much we’ve sacrificed, that’s a sign of self-centeredness, not holiness. If we discover we’re thinking of ourselves less, and are increasingly at peace with the others, with God, and with the world, it’s a sign we’re on the path of dying to self.
This brings up the critical issue of training and preparation. I’ve seen the same circumstances either destroy marriages and families, or strengthen them, depending on the inner attitude of the people involved. Both the ordinary psychological challenges that arise in living closer with others, and the challenge of great traumas, are potential seeds for either destruction or transformation. To reap the benefits that each of these potential ‘seeds of growth’ we must be ready and have some ability to see the spiritual opportunity in the circumstance. This is easier with training and mentoring. Healthy monastic culture involves intensive training in spiritual warfare, discernment of spirits, and the ability to see and experience all things in the light of God’s grace and mercy. This training takes several years. Most married folks enter into our vocation with far less. Imagine the benefits that would accrue if every married Christian had a year or more of intensive spiritual training before their wedding date? What if every couple was assigned a wise, spiritually mature mentor couple to walk with them through the first decade of their marriage? I believe this would be utterly transformative in the life of the Christian community. I have a friend who spent years in intensive monastic formation before becoming married and having children. One of his daughters has special needs, and she required his support several times a night, every night, to sleep. For over ten years. This experience, that could easily have destroyed his body and psyche, instead became a furnace for his ongoing purification and self-emptying. He’s one of the most joyful and fully alive people I know. I’ve seen mature parents similarly transformed by the crucible of having to bury a child, and I’ve seen others utterly destroyed by this same tragedy. With proper training, more and more of what could destroy a marriage can become the raw material for greater self-emptying, and conformity to the life of our crucified Savior.
God invites each one of us to transformed life, to a life of ever growing wholeness and holiness. The way to this holiness inevitably involves taking up our Cross and following Him through a path of self-emptying. While this path of life is clearly laid out for Christian monastics, I’m convinced that an equally radical path of self-emptying love is available for married Christians. Call it ‘Yellow Martyrdom’, if you will. The call is to give up one’s life out of love for God and for one’s family, as we walk in the way of our self-emptying Lord and Savior.
Amen, amen, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit. - John 12:24
There are 4 requirements for a sacramental Catholic marriage:
Spoused are free to marry (i.e. not already married)
They freely exchange their consent
They intend to marry for life, be faithful to one another, and are open to children
Their consent is given before two witnesses and a minister of the church.
I Corinthians 13:3