A Faith Born Under Empire

Today's Scripture

Around AD 50, a mob in the Greek city of Thessalonica dragged a man named Jason before the authorities for hosting Christian missionaries. Listen carefully to the charge they shouted.

Acts 17:6-7 — "These men who have turned the world upside down have come here also, and Jason has received them, and they are all acting against the decrees of Caesar, saying that there is another king, Jesus."

Daniel 2:44 — "And in the days of those kings the God of heaven will set up a kingdom that shall never be destroyed, nor shall the kingdom be left to another people. It shall break in pieces all these kingdoms and bring them to an end, and it shall stand forever."

Philippians 2:9-11 — "Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father."

The Big Idea

Rome did not persecute Christians for adding a new god. Rome had thousands of gods and room for more. The trouble was three words: Jesus is Lord. "Lord" means the one with the final say over everything. If Jesus holds that title, then Caesar does not — and the first Christians refused to pretend otherwise, even when it cost them their lives.

Reflection

A riot over three words

Notice what the mob in Thessalonica did not accuse the Christians of. Not weird rituals. Not bad behavior. The charge was political: they were "saying that there is another king, Jesus" (Acts 17:7). In the Roman world, that was treason.

Caesar was not just a ruler. The empire called him "son of god" and "savior," and stamped those titles on its coins. Buy bread in Thessalonica, and the loose change in your hand preached a tiny sermon: Caesar rules the world. We are not so different. Our pockets carry little glowing screens that tell us every day what is powerful, what is glorious, and whom we should fear.

So when Christians said "Jesus is Lord," everyone understood the math. Two people cannot both have the final say. A century later, Roman officials arrested an old bishop named Polycarp and genuinely tried to help him: What harm is there in saying "Caesar is Lord," offering a pinch of incense, and saving yourself? That scene, recorded in an early account called the Martyrdom of Polycarp, shows exactly where the line sat. It was one sentence. He would not say it.

Abraham Kuyper, a Dutch pastor who later became prime minister of his country, explained why that sentence was impossible:

"There is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human existence over which Christ, who is Sovereign over all, does not cry: 'Mine!'" — Abraham Kuyper, "Sphere Sovereignty" (1880)

If Jesus owns every square inch, there is no inch left for Caesar to own ultimately. That did not make Christians rebels. Jesus himself had drawn the line with precision: Mark 12:17 — "Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's." Taxes belong to Caesar. Worship does not. The early church paid the first and refused the second, and Rome could not tell the difference between that and revolution.

An older promise than Rome

The Christians were not inventing something new. Centuries earlier, the prophet Daniel had stood in the capital of another superpower — Babylon — and announced that God would one day "set up a kingdom that shall never be destroyed" (Daniel 2:44). It would outlast every empire and "break in pieces all these kingdoms."

In the dream Daniel was interpreting, the world's empires formed a giant statue — a head of gold, a chest of silver, legs of iron. Then a stone "cut out by no human hand" struck the statue, shattered it, and "became a great mountain and filled the whole earth" (Daniel 2:34-35). Mark that phrase: no human hand. God's kingdom would not be built the way empires are built — by swords, taxes, and fear. It would arrive as God's own doing, and it would not stop growing.

By the first century, the list of shattered kingdoms was already long. Babylon had fallen. Persia had fallen. Greece had fallen. Rome was simply next in line, though no one in Rome believed it. The Christians read Daniel and understood their moment: they were citizens of the kingdom that does not fall.

Around AD 150, a philosopher named Justin Martyr wrote an open letter to the emperor — an apology, which back then meant a reasoned defense, not an "I'm sorry." He explained what kind of kingdom Christians were actually waiting for:

"And when you hear that we look for a kingdom, you suppose, without making any inquiry, that we speak of a human kingdom; whereas we speak of that which is with God." — Justin Martyr, First Apology

The kingdom of God is not a country with borders and an army. Vaughan Roberts sums up the Bible's whole storyline in one line — the kingdom is:

"God's people in God's place under God's rule and blessing." — Vaughan Roberts, God's Big Picture

But notice — Rome also claimed a people, a place, and a rule. That is why the two announcements collided. And heaven is not shy about how the collision ends. Revelation 11:15 — "The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign forever and ever."

The empire notices

What did this clash look like on an ordinary Tuesday? Less dramatic than you might think. Christians paid their taxes. They obeyed the laws. They prayed for the emperor — they just refused to pray to him. They skipped the temple festivals, would not burn incense to the emperor's spirit, and called slaves and masters "brother" at the same table.

Rome's confusion shows up in its own paperwork. Around AD 112, a governor named Pliny wrote to the emperor Trajan, puzzled about the Christians he was interrogating. Their crimes, as far as he could discover: they met before dawn, sang a hymn "to Christ as to a god," and swore oaths not to steal, lie, or cheat. He executed the stubborn ones anyway — not for anything they did, but for the name they would not give up. That is what a collision of loyalties looks like when it reaches a courtroom.

That quiet difference spread everywhere. Tertullian, a sharp-tongued North African lawyer who became one of the church's fiercest defenders, taunted Rome about it around AD 197:

"We are but of yesterday, and we have filled every place among you — cities, islands, fortresses, towns, market-places, the very camp, tribes, companies, palace, senate, forum. We have left nothing to you but the temples of your gods." — Tertullian, Apology

Rome sensed, correctly, that this was a rival claim to loyalty. Augustine later put his finger on the empire's deepest engine, calling Rome:

"The earthly city, which, though it be mistress of the nations, is itself ruled by its lust of rule." — Augustine, The City of God

"Lust of rule" is simply the hunger to be in charge. Rome ran on it.

So do we. Think of the last group project you were part of — how quickly somebody (maybe you) needed to be the boss. Every human heart builds a tiny empire and crowns a tiny Caesar. The clash between Christ and Caesar is not ancient history. It runs straight through us.

The King who refuses to share the throne

Here is the question today's story forces: why should Jesus get the title "Lord" instead of Caesar? Caesar's claim rested on legions and crucifixions. Jesus's claim rests on something else entirely.

Matthew 28:18 — "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me." Given — not seized. Read Philippians 2:9-11 again and watch the direction of travel. Caesar grasped his way up. Jesus emptied himself, went down, and was obedient to the point of death on a Roman cross — and therefore God exalted him. The throne of the universe was won by a King who bled for his subjects instead of making his subjects bleed for him.

That is why his lordship is good news and not just a bigger tyranny. The word "gospel" itself means good news — and Roman emperors used that very word for announcements of their victories. The Christians took Caesar's vocabulary and filled it with a better victory. N.T. Wright describes what that victory launched:

"Jesus's resurrection is the beginning of God's new project not to snatch people away from earth to heaven but to colonize earth with the life of heaven. That, after all, is what the Lord's Prayer is about." — N.T. Wright, Surprised by Hope

And entering this kingdom requires no army, no bloodline, no citizenship papers. Romans 10:9 — "if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved." The same three words that could get you killed in Smyrna are the words that bring you home. In fact, Paul says you cannot even say them on your own: "no one can say 'Jesus is Lord' except in the Holy Spirit" (1 Corinthians 12:3). The confession is itself a gift.

Feel the difference between the two kings. Caesar offered citizenship to the well-born and the useful. Jesus offers it to fishermen, tax collectors, slaves, and people who once stood in the mob shouting against him. An empire can demand your obedience and even get it. Only a Lord who died for you can win your heart.

C.S. Lewis strips away the comfortable middle ground we would prefer:

"Christianity, if false, is of no importance, and if true, of infinite importance. The only thing it cannot be is moderately important." — C.S. Lewis, God in the Dock

Rome at least understood that. The mob called the Christians world-turners, and the mob was right — except the world was already upside down, drunk on its lust of rule. The gospel was turning it right side up. It still is.

Going Deeper

Tonight, pull out a coin or look at your phone's home screen — our versions of Caesar's coinage. Ask: what do these objects tell me is powerful and worth my loyalty? Then name your "Caesars" out loud: the grade, the paycheck, the approval of certain people, the fear of certain people. Over each one, say the church's oldest and shortest creed: "Jesus is Lord." Not as a slogan — as an eviction notice to every rival king, and a welcome to the only King who died for you.