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One of the most stirring martyrdoms recorded in church history is Polycarp's. When the venerable bishop of Smyrna (modern-day Izmir, in Turkey) heard the Romans were planning to arrest him, he heeded his friends' advice and withdrew to a small estate outside of town. But while in prayer there, he had a vision. "I must be burned alive," he told his friends. When the soldiers arrived, his friends once more urged him to run, but Polycarp answered, "God's will be done."

After being escorted to the proconsul, Polycarp carried on a witty dialogue with his questioner, who flew into a rage and threatened Polycarp with death by fire. "The fire you threaten burns but an hour and is quenched after a little," Polycarp answered; "for you do not know the fire of coming judgment, and everlasting punishment, that is laid up for the impious. But why do you delay? Come, do what you will."

At the execution scene the soldiers began to secure him to the stake, but Polycarp stopped them: "Leave me as I am. For he who grants me to endure the fire will enable me also to remain on the pyre unmoved, without the security you desire from nails." He prayed and the fire was lit. The second-century chronicler of this martyrdom said it was "not as burning flesh but as bread baking or as gold and silver refined in a furnace." The martyrdom, he added, was remembered by "everyone"—"he is even spoken of by the heathen in every place."

Calm demeanor. Courageous words. A death noted by unbelievers. One can't help admiring this type of martyrdom and feeling ennobled and encouraged by it. Unfortunately, not all martyr stories are so inspiring.

There were about 300,000 baptized believers in Japan at the end of the 1500s, thanks to the efforts of Catholic missionaries. But in 1614, the Japanese emperor decreed: "The Kirishitan [Christian] band have come to Japan, not only sending their merchant vessels to exchange commodities but also longing to disseminate an evil law, to overthrow true doctrine, so that they may change the government of the country and obtain possession of the land. This is the germ of great disaster and must be crushed."

When the fury was unleashed, crucifixion was the preferred method of execution. On one occasion, 70 Japanese were crucified upside down on the beach at low tide. As the tide rolled in, wave after wave, the water lapped at the Christians' hair, then their foreheads, and finally their noses and mouths, until all 70 were drowned.

A relentless, ferocious persecution was carried out for years, so that by 1630 nearly all Christians had been killed or had committed apostasy. "Christianity in Japan had been destroyed," wrote missions historian Stephen Neill.

A small remnant remained, however—hidden, scared, constantly looking over their shoulders, never daring to tell any but the closest loved ones of their true beliefs. In such an insular atmosphere, their beliefs slowly metamorphosed: within three generations, the Trinity had become Father, Mother Mary, and Christ the Son. The children's children remembered that Jesus had died on a cross, but they didn't know why he had died.

Apostasy. Ineffectual witness. Theological decline. The obliteration of a church. Though a regular feature of the church's history, these are not the kinds of martyr stories we love to hear about or talk about. Why is that?

Obviously, these kinds of stories don't make for good sell copy—"Christians Killed, Church Dies"—or good devotional material—"Sometimes, when Christians are martyred, the bad guys win!"

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May 19 1997, Vol. 41, No. 6