Justin Martyr
What Justin Martyr Taught Me About Real Christianity
I was raised to think that being a Christian mostly meant being a decent person and going to church on Sundays. In the Protestant circles I grew up in, that usually meant sitting in padded pews, singing along with a rock band, hearing a short message about how “God wants the best for me,” and then getting back to “real life” after brunch.
But something about it always felt… hollow. Like there was more. Like Christianity used to be about something deeper than coffee bars and clever sermon series.
That’s when I stumbled across Justin Martyr.
Discovering Justin Martyr
Justin wasn’t a preacher in a suit. He wasn’t interested in stage lights or Instagram-friendly theology. He was a pagan philosopher who found Christ—and it changed everything.
He gave up his status, his identity, and eventually his life—because the truth demanded it.
In his writings, especially the First Apology, he doesn’t offer marketing strategies or self-help tips. He speaks of the Eucharist as the literal Body and Blood of Christ. He describes Baptism as a death and rebirth—not just a symbol, but a true spiritual transformation. It’s not a metaphor or gesture. It’s where the old man dies, and the new man is raised in Christ.
And when he lays out Christian worship, it isn’t spontaneous or entertainment-driven. It’s structured. Reverent. Holy.
This was not the Sunday social hour I was used to.
Faith That Costs Something
What struck me most was that Justin’s Christianity was dangerous. It cost him everything. He was arrested and executed for his faith—hence the name Martyr. And he didn’t just accept that fate. He welcomed it.
“You can kill us, but you cannot hurt us.”
— Justin Martyr
When I read that, something in me broke. It wasn’t just conviction—it was a complete unraveling of the version of Christianity I had built my life around.
I realized how soft, how sanitized, how safe my faith had become.
I wasn’t laying down my life—I was decorating it with Christian wallpaper.
I was trying to fit Christ into my plans, my rhythms, my preferences.
I wanted:
- Jesus plus comfort
- Jesus plus career
- Jesus plus entertainment
- Jesus plus the American Dream
But Justin’s words tore through that illusion. His Christianity didn’t leave room for lukewarm discipleship or spiritual convenience. It was full-throated, world-renouncing, and willing to suffer.
He didn’t talk about following Christ as a lifestyle enhancement. He spoke of it as a death sentence to the old self.
And that’s when it hit me:
The Cross isn’t something you wear.
It’s something you carry.
Real Christianity—the ancient kind—doesn’t make peace with the world.
It overcomes it.
Real Christianity Is Sacrificial
Reading Justin Martyr made something painfully clear:
Most modern Protestantism is the bare minimum. It’s been watered down to fit a culture that fears discomfort more than it fears sin.
It’s Christianity Lite—a feel-good, low-commitment version that promises heaven without the cross.
Today, church is often about the vibe. It’s about trendy praise music, mood lighting, and making sure the sermon wraps up before lunch. I’ve literally seen services canceled because the heat wasn’t working.
Can you imagine the early Christians refusing to worship because it was cold?
But Justin didn’t settle for that. Neither did the early Church.
Their faith was gritty, sacramental, and disciplined.
It was forged in persecution and marked by sacrifice.
They fasted.
They prayed through hardship.
They gathered, knowing it might cost them their lives.
They didn’t show up to be entertained.
They came to die to themselves.
Orthodoxy: Finding the Fullness
The more I read Justin, the more I saw Orthodoxy in his words:
- The real presence of Christ in the Eucharist
- Baptism as true death and rebirth—not a symbol, but a sacrament
- Worship that was structured, reverent, and soaked in mystery
- A community of believers who counted the cost and gave their lives for Christ
Orthodoxy doesn’t market itself as convenient or comfortable. It never has.
It’s not designed to make your life easier—it’s designed to make you holy.
In Orthodox Christianity, repentance is not a quick apology—it’s a radical change of direction. It’s breaking pride. It’s waking up every day and choosing Christ again, even when it hurts.
God gave His Son.
His Son was whipped, mocked, spat on, and crucified.
And yet somehow, in modern Christianity, we’ve reached a place where people won’t come to church unless the seats are padded and the coffee is good.
We’ve traded the narrow path for a comfortable parking lot.
But the early Church?
They worshipped in catacombs, not climate-controlled sanctuaries.
They didn’t just believe in Jesus.
They followed Him—to the Cross.
The Road Ahead
Justin Martyr didn’t just give me historical insight.
He gave me a mirror.
He showed me how small my faith had become—and how big it’s supposed to be.
He reminded me that being a Christian means taking up the cross, not just wearing it on a necklace.
It means living the Word, not just quoting it.
It means giving up the world, because you’ve found something better.
So no—I’m not interested in Christianity Lite anymore.
I want the faith of Justin Martyr.
The faith that costs.
The faith that saves.
“Christians are not distinguished from the rest of mankind by country, speech, or customs… They dwell in their own countries, but as sojourners. Every foreign land is to them a homeland, and every homeland a foreign land… They pass their days on earth, but they are citizens of heaven.”
— Paraphrased from the Epistle to Diognetus (reflecting the faith of Justin’s era)
When I read that, it hit me like a freight train.
I wasn’t living as a sojourner.
I was living like this world was all there is—like I could just add Christianity onto my life and call it devotion.
But Christianity, as Justin taught me, isn’t something you add.
It’s something that replaces your life.
It consumes it.
Transforms it.
Flips it upside down.
The early Church didn’t talk about Jesus in therapeutic terms.
They spoke of suffering, sacrifice, submission—and the glory that comes through the Cross.
Justin showed me that to follow Christ is not to seek the bare minimum.
It is to die before you die,
so that you might truly live.