It is hard to grasp the ancient quality of such a place. Former history classes reviewing ancient civilizations now swirl in my head while the actual remains surround me. The feeling is one of awe at first and then the actual history of this place begins to flood my mind – so many lives and souls lost: the gladiators and martyrs who shed their blood on the arena floor and the spectators, who reveled in and cheered on their deaths, in turn, shed their humanity in the stands.
Knowing that so many innocent people died for their faith makes me evaluate my own. Do I have their unwavering faith? Do I truly have the knowledge they possessed, knowing that as they faced public and brutal execution, their next breath would be before The King? If I do, why do I allow the everyday trivialities get in the way? Why do I feel I need to be in the lion’s den in order to have extraordinary faith?
Dying in "glory" is one thing and probably unlikely for me in suburban life, so I need to learn (and relearn and relearn) to die to myself daily. I need to learn how to bookend my day with God and fill the spaces in between by putting Him first, by putting others before myself. To truly know God is to love God, and to love God is to love selflessly. I need to live such a life as to be convicted a Christian when the time comes.
*stunned silence* I think I would feel the same as you being in that place. Amazing.
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