Illustration by Bea Rios
How can I understand the margins of the margins? I am a gringa woman, a white Anglo-Saxon Protestant (WASP), who was raised in the majority culture of the United States, a country that has been an empire since the First World War. Yet I have now lived in Argentina for more than 25 years.
My life in Argentina has transformed me considerably. As soon as I arrived here as a mission coworker, I lost many of the privileges that white women in the United States gained in the 1970s and ’80s. The expectations on me as a woman were very specific and rigid. The general violence against women here can be diverse and profound in the family, in the church, and in society. When the institute where I was teaching closed, I also went from being a relatively wealthy mission worker to being an immigrant without formal institutional connections, forced to live with the economic instabilities of a country whose economy depends on the comings and goings of the diverse “empires” of our time—especially the multinational financial corporations or the multinational extractive (agricultural and mining) corporations that tend to produce more poverty at the grassroots level of society, destroy important ecosystems, and only invest when there is a chance of profit for the external stockholders. Furthermore, according to the Argentine Constitution, despite religious freedom, the Argentine State only supports the Roman Catholic Apostolic Church—providing state funds for theological education and bishoprics—leaving theological education outside of the Roman Catholic Church to depend on donations from groups outside of Latin America.
Thus, as a woman, an immigrant, and a Protestant theologian living in Argentina, I have faced personal and structural violence, poverty, and structural discrimination. I explain my own sitz im leben, from which I view the story of Christianity, because of its resonance with the experience of many Latinx and other immigrants to the United States and to Europe who experience many similar kinds of violence and discrimination, both personal and structural. I deeply believe that the study of the story of Christianity that can best benefit Latina churches within Latin America and around the world is a history that highlights how theology and churches have interacted with the power structures of their own time and space—both when expressions of Christianity have censured and discriminated against those in the margins and when they have provided for a freedom of protagonism and expression at and from the margins.
As a professor of church history, teaching this way is challenging and fascinating. And a key part of teaching in this way involves teaching students how to ask questions of our historical Christian documents that will help us to better understand the context of the church today. In this article, as a case study, let us take a look at the Act of the Martyrdom of Sts. Perpetua and Felicitas, in Roman North Africa, c. 203 CE, during the imperial reign of Septimius Severus. As we consider how to ask questions of the text, in light of the power structures with which it contends—as I might teach the text to my students—we will draw out lessons on ministry to and from Latin American Christians today in the 21st century.
Questions for Our Reading
An easily accessible edition of Act of the Martyrdom of Sts. Perpetua and Felicitas in Spanish is that of Daniel Ruiz Bueno, through Internet Archive.1 To set the stage for the text, in my lecture materials, I present the changes in the religious policy of the Roman Empire under the Emperor Septimius Severus that led to this particular martyrdom: the empire-wide imposition of worshiping the Sol Invictus, and the person of the emperor as this divinity’s son, along with the prohibition to convert to Judaism, including the Christian movement within Judaism. I also present evidence of resistance to the Roman Empire amongst the peoples of Roman North Africa and other colonized regions of the empire whose people yearned for self-governance. This means explaining not only the change in religious policy but also the political threat that the emperor sensed from the margins, the colonized regions, that led to the change in religious policy.
Against this particular backdrop are Perpetua and Felicity: According to the prologue of the Act, the anonymous author indicates that the first was an educated and wealthy young Roman matron, daughter and wife of highly placed Roman
functionaries in Carthage. The other, her slave. All this means that in order to understand the growth of Christianity in late second century Roman Africa, we need to study family structures as well as the
religious and political structures of the Roman Empire.
With all this in mind, here are questions we need to wrestle with: Why would slaves and wealthy young women turn to Christianity? What were the family structures to which Roman women were supposed to submit at that time? How does this text express the martyrs’ freedom to choose whom to love in peace and joy in the midst of mandates and violence?
In this particular article, we also ask: How does this primary source show how Christianity in Roman North Africa defied empire and family, supporting the liberation from slavery, from patriarchy, and from imperialism?
In this essay, I do not have space to go into the background details. Bantu, González, and Irvin and Sunquist give general insights.2 What I would like to do, now that I have suggested some questions that we can ask of the text—questions that arise from my own context of living and teaching in and from Argentina—is to look at how the Act of the Martrydom of Sts. Perpetua and Felicitas provide some answers for Latin American Christians today.
A Reading of the Martyrdom Act of Sts. Perpetua and Felicitas
The obvious primary theme of this Martyrdom Act, through the words of Perpetua herself, is the Holy Spirit’s provision of visions and prayers that inspire Perpetua in godly love, for her own encouragement and that of her brothers and sisters in Christ.3 However, the theme of the freedom to choose whom to love, be that the Christian God or other human beings, is promoted not only by the deeply charismatic and apocalyptic spirituality of the young woman but also by the more subtle references to disobedience to patriarchal family structure and to the Empire. In this essay, I would like to look at the references made to these themes so as to understand more profoundly how radically dangerous Christian love was perceived to be and how radically freeing it was in early third century Carthage—and then to draw from this lessons for Latin American Christians today.
Resistance to Patriarchal Family Structure
First, let us look at the theme of resistance to patriarchy in the text. This theme is represented by Perpetua’s relationships with her father, her infant son, and her beloved slave, Felicitas.
Perpetua’s own narration begins by presenting her father who comes to visit her in jail and who “ardently desired to make [her] apostatize.” When she insists that she can only be called a Christian, her father, “irritated by this word, rushed at [her] with a gesture of gouging out [her] eyes.” And when he left, she “thanked the Lord . . . and was relieved that he was gone.”4 Although her relief might seem antagonistic in this part of the narration, she clearly recognizes her father’s affection for her and is troubled by it. Yet she cannot call herself by any other name than “Christian.” She feels free to defy her father, in spite of his affection and in spite of his paternal mandate.
Perpetua’s father appears again and, between tears, says, “Take pity, my daughter, on my gray hair; have pity on your father. . . Look at your siblings; look at your mother . . . Look at your little son, who will not be able to survive you. Lay aside your spirits.”5 Yet Perpetua responds, “You must know that we are not placed in our power, but in God’s.”6 Perpetua’s deepest desire is not to submit to her father’s will but to induce him to submit to and accept God’s will. Submission can be very difficult for a patriarchal authority figure.
In a final attempt to manipulate his daughter, Perpetua’s father refuses to turn her baby son over to her for nursing. Yet for the first time, as Perpetua narrates, “because as such God wanted, neither did the child miss the breasts anymore nor did I feel any more burning in them. Thus the Lord ordered it, so that I would not be tormented both by the anguish for the infant and the pain in my breasts.”7 God frees Perpetua from her maternal duties and allows her to rejoice completely with her companions in their upcoming martyrdom. She is freed from all family ties to follow her most intimate desire of communion with her Lord in the baptism of blood.
Another piece of evidence in the text that demonstrates resistance to patriarchal hierarchies is Perpetua’s obviously affectionate relationship with her slave, Felicitas. Both catechumens, they converted to Christianity approximately at the same time. Perpetua recently became a first-time mother, and Felicitas is imprisoned being eight months pregnant with her first child. Felicitas is extremely saddened by the thought that her pregnancy might keep her from sharing in the communion of martyrdom with the others. Perpetua leads the group in prayer that they would not have to “leave behind such an excellent companion, as a solitary walker on the path of their common hope.” As soon as the group finishes their prayers, Felicitas goes into labor and delivers a baby girl. It is clear that all of the martyrs understand that they are all equally valuable and blessed in Christ. Whether of noble family, common family, or slaves, their affection for each other and respect for each other is the same—there are no differences. Perpetua herself calls Felicitas “an excellent companion.”8 This lack of differences among the martyrs continues to be described through the text’s epilogue, including how the martyrs love for one another is made notoriously public until the very end, when they walk calmly into the amphitheater, bloody and ravaged, and give each other a final kiss of peace.9
The adscription to Christianity that the text describes overturns the family hierarchy of the Roman nobility in Roman North Africa. Slaves are more deeply appreciated than fathers, sons, and even emperor. Perpetua, as a woman and author, celebrates this interruption and deconstruction of traditional Roman family values. Her understanding of Scripture, her deep and unfaltering faith, and her profound love for her companions can be an example for young Latinx Christians as they strive to give testimony to the love of the Lord Jesus Christ through faithful disobedience to hetero-patriarchal norms in churches and families, oftentimes in the face of deeply entrenched discriminations in these same social structures.
Resistance to the Empire
Now, we ask—in addition to the juxtaposition of the peace, love, and joy of the martyrs against the brutality of their death sentence before a crowd of spectators—how does this text demonstrate resistance to empire?
The first steps in Roman circus events were to present the criminals to the tribunal, have the sentences read, and offer a final opportunity for repentance. When the procurator asks Perpetua to take pity on her father and her child and “sacrifice for the health of the emperors,” she refuses.10 For the double crime of denying the divinity of the emperors and of having converted to Christianity, the procurator then orders the catechumens “to be thrown to the beasts.” The stark contrast of the brutality of the Roman judicial system and the peaceful resistance of the Christians is evident—as is also the stark contrast between the infuriated crowd and the love between the Christians in the midst of their final agony/victory.11
Particularly ironic displays of the brutality of the empire and its lack of respect for minorities at the margins of the empire are evidenced by the anonymous eye-witness author of the prologue and epilogue, who describes the last events in the “glorious” suffering of the martyrs. The author explains how Perpetua insists on a more humane treatment of her companions:
How is it that you do not permit us any kind of relief, as we are the most noble of criminals, that is, nothing less than belonging to Caesar, as we are to fight on his birthday? Or is it not to your glory to present us before him with better flesh?
The author then comments that the tribunal is put to shame by her words and orders that they “be treated more humanely.” Perpetua exposes the inhumanity of the Roman criminal system against political prisoners and turns it to the advantage of her fellow Christian prisoners—insisting on their right to dignity.12
Furthermore, “on the day of their victory
. . . they proceeded from the jail to the amphitheater as if they were going to heaven, radiant with joy and with beautiful faces.” However, as they arrived “at the door of the amphitheater, [the guards] wanted to force the men to dress as priests of Saturn and the women as priestesses of Ceres.” It was important to invoke the blessing of these traditional Roman gods in the midst of a minority people in a marginal province who were challenging Roman Imperial traditions. However, the martyrs insist:
We have expressly reached the present point of our very free will, so that our freedom would not be violated; If we have given our soul, it has been precisely so as not to have to do anything similar. Such has been our pact with you.
The guards recognize the prisoners’ righteousness. At which time, the women proceed forth singing hymns, and the men rebuke all: “You judge us, God will judge you.”13
We can see that the solidarity among the prisoners and the leadership of Perpetua, along with a deep understanding of the love of God for persons in the margins of society, help the Christians to proudly insist on their own worth and dignity, defy conforming to social and religious customs, and maintain their faith with integrity.
Conclusion
Throughout this text, Perpetua shows her ability to regroup the martyrs, encouraging them, affirming them in their faith and in their love for one another. Her presence, words, and actions challenge the imperial and patriarchal power structures surrounding them. Indeed, the faith, hope, and love that shine forth from her mock imperial justice and prove it to be injustice. This faith, hope, and love also provide a solemn and solid resistance to her father’s pleas without showing any disdain towards him—even as her resistance to paternal authority is a significant part of what turns the procurator against her and her companions.
We have not discussed in this essay the depth of Perpetua’s faith, hope, and love. Any reader of the Act will notice this theme. What we have presented here is the evidence of the extremely difficult and counter-
cultural context of these early third century North African martyrs. The blood of these Christians was seed specifically because it proved that Christian love and freedom are strongest when it confronts and disputes unjust power structures. The author of the epilogue assures us that many of the people present became Christians because of the love and joy that radiated from the martyrs in the face of imperial brutality.
So, we return to the questions: How can this story of the martyrdom of Sts. Perpetua and Felicitas encourage Latinx Christians in Latin America and around the world? How might reflecting on the resistance of Perpetua and Felicitas challenge the church of Latin America today?
Viewing the world from the economic instability of Argentina,14 it is easy to note the US military enterprise and the imperial strategies of US, European, and Chinese multinational financial and extractivist corporations. These are “empires” that promise peace and prosperity, yet the cost in human life, poverty, the destruction of important South American ecosystems, such as the Amazon and the River Plate, and the deforestation of the once richly biodiverse South and Central American jungles, prove the injustice and unfairness of this so-called “peace and prosperity.”
Furthermore, many young Latinx Christians are finding that the hetero-patriarchal family structure in Latina societies and in many Latina churches are rigid and exclusive. In the Roman Catholic church, women can be catechists but cannot administer the liturgies and sacraments. The sacrament of marriage severely restricts the rights women have to make choices about their own bodies, and the church further marginalizes LGBTQI+ persons. In Protestant and evangelical churches, there are few ordained women pastors in their own right. Many pastors’ wives are not recognized as ministers, but their ministry is often more important than that of their husbands who are officially ordained. Many youth—men, women, and queer—are driven out of the churches and their Christian families because they are not able to submit to the violence of hetero-patriarchal authority. The prophetic voice of Christian love and recognition sustains many of these young people, as it did the group of North African martyrs in 203. However, in many cases, it is the churches that are the first to preach against the integrity and human rights of women and people of sexual-gender diversity.
Here is where the study of Christian history speaks to Christians today. The Christian witness of the North African martyrs was political and structural, not just religious or pious. Likewise, we know that the Christian witness of churches today also must be political, structural, and prophetic, and not just religious or personally pious. Our deep love for God and for one another must unmask the falseness of imperial promises, defy accepted social customs, and provide for the freedom of protagonism and expression of even “the least of these” (Matt 25:40).
Kathleen M. Griffin is adjunct professor of church history and has been a member of Fuller’s faculty since 2016. Previously, she served as a mission co-worker and adjunct professor of church history at the University Institute – ISEDET (Instituto Superior Evangélico de Estudios Teológicos) in Buenos Aires through Presbyterian World Mission for 14 years, and also as a visiting professor in theological studies at the Emanuel Seminary of the Asociación La Iglesia de Dios, also in Argentina. She has lived in Argentina since 1998.
How can I understand the margins of the margins? I am a gringa woman, a white Anglo-Saxon Protestant (WASP), who was raised in the majority culture of the United States, a country that has been an empire since the First World War. Yet I have now lived in Argentina for more than 25 years.
My life in Argentina has transformed me considerably. As soon as I arrived here as a mission coworker, I lost many of the privileges that white women in the United States gained in the 1970s and ’80s. The expectations on me as a woman were very specific and rigid. The general violence against women here can be diverse and profound in the family, in the church, and in society. When the institute where I was teaching closed, I also went from being a relatively wealthy mission worker to being an immigrant without formal institutional connections, forced to live with the economic instabilities of a country whose economy depends on the comings and goings of the diverse “empires” of our time—especially the multinational financial corporations or the multinational extractive (agricultural and mining) corporations that tend to produce more poverty at the grassroots level of society, destroy important ecosystems, and only invest when there is a chance of profit for the external stockholders. Furthermore, according to the Argentine Constitution, despite religious freedom, the Argentine State only supports the Roman Catholic Apostolic Church—providing state funds for theological education and bishoprics—leaving theological education outside of the Roman Catholic Church to depend on donations from groups outside of Latin America.
Thus, as a woman, an immigrant, and a Protestant theologian living in Argentina, I have faced personal and structural violence, poverty, and structural discrimination. I explain my own sitz im leben, from which I view the story of Christianity, because of its resonance with the experience of many Latinx and other immigrants to the United States and to Europe who experience many similar kinds of violence and discrimination, both personal and structural. I deeply believe that the study of the story of Christianity that can best benefit Latina churches within Latin America and around the world is a history that highlights how theology and churches have interacted with the power structures of their own time and space—both when expressions of Christianity have censured and discriminated against those in the margins and when they have provided for a freedom of protagonism and expression at and from the margins.
As a professor of church history, teaching this way is challenging and fascinating. And a key part of teaching in this way involves teaching students how to ask questions of our historical Christian documents that will help us to better understand the context of the church today. In this article, as a case study, let us take a look at the Act of the Martyrdom of Sts. Perpetua and Felicitas, in Roman North Africa, c. 203 CE, during the imperial reign of Septimius Severus. As we consider how to ask questions of the text, in light of the power structures with which it contends—as I might teach the text to my students—we will draw out lessons on ministry to and from Latin American Christians today in the 21st century.
Questions for Our Reading
An easily accessible edition of Act of the Martyrdom of Sts. Perpetua and Felicitas in Spanish is that of Daniel Ruiz Bueno, through Internet Archive.1 To set the stage for the text, in my lecture materials, I present the changes in the religious policy of the Roman Empire under the Emperor Septimius Severus that led to this particular martyrdom: the empire-wide imposition of worshiping the Sol Invictus, and the person of the emperor as this divinity’s son, along with the prohibition to convert to Judaism, including the Christian movement within Judaism. I also present evidence of resistance to the Roman Empire amongst the peoples of Roman North Africa and other colonized regions of the empire whose people yearned for self-governance. This means explaining not only the change in religious policy but also the political threat that the emperor sensed from the margins, the colonized regions, that led to the change in religious policy.
Against this particular backdrop are Perpetua and Felicity: According to the prologue of the Act, the anonymous author indicates that the first was an educated and wealthy young Roman matron, daughter and wife of highly placed Roman
functionaries in Carthage. The other, her slave. All this means that in order to understand the growth of Christianity in late second century Roman Africa, we need to study family structures as well as the
religious and political structures of the Roman Empire.
With all this in mind, here are questions we need to wrestle with: Why would slaves and wealthy young women turn to Christianity? What were the family structures to which Roman women were supposed to submit at that time? How does this text express the martyrs’ freedom to choose whom to love in peace and joy in the midst of mandates and violence?
In this particular article, we also ask: How does this primary source show how Christianity in Roman North Africa defied empire and family, supporting the liberation from slavery, from patriarchy, and from imperialism?
In this essay, I do not have space to go into the background details. Bantu, González, and Irvin and Sunquist give general insights.2 What I would like to do, now that I have suggested some questions that we can ask of the text—questions that arise from my own context of living and teaching in and from Argentina—is to look at how the Act of the Martrydom of Sts. Perpetua and Felicitas provide some answers for Latin American Christians today.
A Reading of the Martyrdom Act of Sts. Perpetua and Felicitas
The obvious primary theme of this Martyrdom Act, through the words of Perpetua herself, is the Holy Spirit’s provision of visions and prayers that inspire Perpetua in godly love, for her own encouragement and that of her brothers and sisters in Christ.3 However, the theme of the freedom to choose whom to love, be that the Christian God or other human beings, is promoted not only by the deeply charismatic and apocalyptic spirituality of the young woman but also by the more subtle references to disobedience to patriarchal family structure and to the Empire. In this essay, I would like to look at the references made to these themes so as to understand more profoundly how radically dangerous Christian love was perceived to be and how radically freeing it was in early third century Carthage—and then to draw from this lessons for Latin American Christians today.
Resistance to Patriarchal Family Structure
First, let us look at the theme of resistance to patriarchy in the text. This theme is represented by Perpetua’s relationships with her father, her infant son, and her beloved slave, Felicitas.
Perpetua’s own narration begins by presenting her father who comes to visit her in jail and who “ardently desired to make [her] apostatize.” When she insists that she can only be called a Christian, her father, “irritated by this word, rushed at [her] with a gesture of gouging out [her] eyes.” And when he left, she “thanked the Lord . . . and was relieved that he was gone.”4 Although her relief might seem antagonistic in this part of the narration, she clearly recognizes her father’s affection for her and is troubled by it. Yet she cannot call herself by any other name than “Christian.” She feels free to defy her father, in spite of his affection and in spite of his paternal mandate.
Perpetua’s father appears again and, between tears, says, “Take pity, my daughter, on my gray hair; have pity on your father. . . Look at your siblings; look at your mother . . . Look at your little son, who will not be able to survive you. Lay aside your spirits.”5 Yet Perpetua responds, “You must know that we are not placed in our power, but in God’s.”6 Perpetua’s deepest desire is not to submit to her father’s will but to induce him to submit to and accept God’s will. Submission can be very difficult for a patriarchal authority figure.
In a final attempt to manipulate his daughter, Perpetua’s father refuses to turn her baby son over to her for nursing. Yet for the first time, as Perpetua narrates, “because as such God wanted, neither did the child miss the breasts anymore nor did I feel any more burning in them. Thus the Lord ordered it, so that I would not be tormented both by the anguish for the infant and the pain in my breasts.”7 God frees Perpetua from her maternal duties and allows her to rejoice completely with her companions in their upcoming martyrdom. She is freed from all family ties to follow her most intimate desire of communion with her Lord in the baptism of blood.
Another piece of evidence in the text that demonstrates resistance to patriarchal hierarchies is Perpetua’s obviously affectionate relationship with her slave, Felicitas. Both catechumens, they converted to Christianity approximately at the same time. Perpetua recently became a first-time mother, and Felicitas is imprisoned being eight months pregnant with her first child. Felicitas is extremely saddened by the thought that her pregnancy might keep her from sharing in the communion of martyrdom with the others. Perpetua leads the group in prayer that they would not have to “leave behind such an excellent companion, as a solitary walker on the path of their common hope.” As soon as the group finishes their prayers, Felicitas goes into labor and delivers a baby girl. It is clear that all of the martyrs understand that they are all equally valuable and blessed in Christ. Whether of noble family, common family, or slaves, their affection for each other and respect for each other is the same—there are no differences. Perpetua herself calls Felicitas “an excellent companion.”8 This lack of differences among the martyrs continues to be described through the text’s epilogue, including how the martyrs love for one another is made notoriously public until the very end, when they walk calmly into the amphitheater, bloody and ravaged, and give each other a final kiss of peace.9
The adscription to Christianity that the text describes overturns the family hierarchy of the Roman nobility in Roman North Africa. Slaves are more deeply appreciated than fathers, sons, and even emperor. Perpetua, as a woman and author, celebrates this interruption and deconstruction of traditional Roman family values. Her understanding of Scripture, her deep and unfaltering faith, and her profound love for her companions can be an example for young Latinx Christians as they strive to give testimony to the love of the Lord Jesus Christ through faithful disobedience to hetero-patriarchal norms in churches and families, oftentimes in the face of deeply entrenched discriminations in these same social structures.
Resistance to the Empire
Now, we ask—in addition to the juxtaposition of the peace, love, and joy of the martyrs against the brutality of their death sentence before a crowd of spectators—how does this text demonstrate resistance to empire?
The first steps in Roman circus events were to present the criminals to the tribunal, have the sentences read, and offer a final opportunity for repentance. When the procurator asks Perpetua to take pity on her father and her child and “sacrifice for the health of the emperors,” she refuses.10 For the double crime of denying the divinity of the emperors and of having converted to Christianity, the procurator then orders the catechumens “to be thrown to the beasts.” The stark contrast of the brutality of the Roman judicial system and the peaceful resistance of the Christians is evident—as is also the stark contrast between the infuriated crowd and the love between the Christians in the midst of their final agony/victory.11
Particularly ironic displays of the brutality of the empire and its lack of respect for minorities at the margins of the empire are evidenced by the anonymous eye-witness author of the prologue and epilogue, who describes the last events in the “glorious” suffering of the martyrs. The author explains how Perpetua insists on a more humane treatment of her companions:
How is it that you do not permit us any kind of relief, as we are the most noble of criminals, that is, nothing less than belonging to Caesar, as we are to fight on his birthday? Or is it not to your glory to present us before him with better flesh?
The author then comments that the tribunal is put to shame by her words and orders that they “be treated more humanely.” Perpetua exposes the inhumanity of the Roman criminal system against political prisoners and turns it to the advantage of her fellow Christian prisoners—insisting on their right to dignity.12
Furthermore, “on the day of their victory
. . . they proceeded from the jail to the amphitheater as if they were going to heaven, radiant with joy and with beautiful faces.” However, as they arrived “at the door of the amphitheater, [the guards] wanted to force the men to dress as priests of Saturn and the women as priestesses of Ceres.” It was important to invoke the blessing of these traditional Roman gods in the midst of a minority people in a marginal province who were challenging Roman Imperial traditions. However, the martyrs insist:
We have expressly reached the present point of our very free will, so that our freedom would not be violated; If we have given our soul, it has been precisely so as not to have to do anything similar. Such has been our pact with you.
The guards recognize the prisoners’ righteousness. At which time, the women proceed forth singing hymns, and the men rebuke all: “You judge us, God will judge you.”13
We can see that the solidarity among the prisoners and the leadership of Perpetua, along with a deep understanding of the love of God for persons in the margins of society, help the Christians to proudly insist on their own worth and dignity, defy conforming to social and religious customs, and maintain their faith with integrity.
Conclusion
Throughout this text, Perpetua shows her ability to regroup the martyrs, encouraging them, affirming them in their faith and in their love for one another. Her presence, words, and actions challenge the imperial and patriarchal power structures surrounding them. Indeed, the faith, hope, and love that shine forth from her mock imperial justice and prove it to be injustice. This faith, hope, and love also provide a solemn and solid resistance to her father’s pleas without showing any disdain towards him—even as her resistance to paternal authority is a significant part of what turns the procurator against her and her companions.
We have not discussed in this essay the depth of Perpetua’s faith, hope, and love. Any reader of the Act will notice this theme. What we have presented here is the evidence of the extremely difficult and counter-
cultural context of these early third century North African martyrs. The blood of these Christians was seed specifically because it proved that Christian love and freedom are strongest when it confronts and disputes unjust power structures. The author of the epilogue assures us that many of the people present became Christians because of the love and joy that radiated from the martyrs in the face of imperial brutality.
So, we return to the questions: How can this story of the martyrdom of Sts. Perpetua and Felicitas encourage Latinx Christians in Latin America and around the world? How might reflecting on the resistance of Perpetua and Felicitas challenge the church of Latin America today?
Viewing the world from the economic instability of Argentina,14 it is easy to note the US military enterprise and the imperial strategies of US, European, and Chinese multinational financial and extractivist corporations. These are “empires” that promise peace and prosperity, yet the cost in human life, poverty, the destruction of important South American ecosystems, such as the Amazon and the River Plate, and the deforestation of the once richly biodiverse South and Central American jungles, prove the injustice and unfairness of this so-called “peace and prosperity.”
Furthermore, many young Latinx Christians are finding that the hetero-patriarchal family structure in Latina societies and in many Latina churches are rigid and exclusive. In the Roman Catholic church, women can be catechists but cannot administer the liturgies and sacraments. The sacrament of marriage severely restricts the rights women have to make choices about their own bodies, and the church further marginalizes LGBTQI+ persons. In Protestant and evangelical churches, there are few ordained women pastors in their own right. Many pastors’ wives are not recognized as ministers, but their ministry is often more important than that of their husbands who are officially ordained. Many youth—men, women, and queer—are driven out of the churches and their Christian families because they are not able to submit to the violence of hetero-patriarchal authority. The prophetic voice of Christian love and recognition sustains many of these young people, as it did the group of North African martyrs in 203. However, in many cases, it is the churches that are the first to preach against the integrity and human rights of women and people of sexual-gender diversity.
Here is where the study of Christian history speaks to Christians today. The Christian witness of the North African martyrs was political and structural, not just religious or pious. Likewise, we know that the Christian witness of churches today also must be political, structural, and prophetic, and not just religious or personally pious. Our deep love for God and for one another must unmask the falseness of imperial promises, defy accepted social customs, and provide for the freedom of protagonism and expression of even “the least of these” (Matt 25:40).
Kathleen M. Griffin is adjunct professor of church history and has been a member of Fuller’s faculty since 2016. Previously, she served as a mission co-worker and adjunct professor of church history at the University Institute – ISEDET (Instituto Superior Evangélico de Estudios Teológicos) in Buenos Aires through Presbyterian World Mission for 14 years, and also as a visiting professor in theological studies at the Emanuel Seminary of the Asociación La Iglesia de Dios, also in Argentina. She has lived in Argentina since 1998.
Alma Cárdenas-Rodríguez and Raquel Toledo share about the importance of empowering Latina women—and about their respective involvement in such work.
