107 AD Ignatius’ Brave Journey to the Lions

Follow Ignatius of Antioch’s fearless march to martyrdom in 107 AD, writing letters to churches while facing Roman beasts. His bold faith strengthened early believers, urging modern Christians to stand firm in conviction and unity. https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLJdTG9noRxsEKpmDoPX06VtfGrB-Hb7T4&si=W7jZcm46Ka3eJlm5

TRANSCRIPT:

He could hear the lions before he saw them.

Low, rhythmic growls at first—like thunder beneath the sand. But the crowd roared louder. Rome’s Colosseum was hungry, and so were its beasts.

They weren’t waiting for a criminal. They were waiting for a bishop.

Ignatius of Antioch, aged, bound, and beaten, shuffled into the arena. He had written letters all along the road to get here—letters full of love, warning, theology, and flame. Now there were no more words left to write.

Just a final stand to make.

But before we face the lions with him, we have to ask… why was a bishop marching to his death in the first place?

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From the That’s Jesus Channel, welcome to COACH—where we are tracing the story of Church Origins and Church History. I’m Bob Baulch. On Mondays, we stay between 0 and 500 AD. Today… we meet a man who turned his own execution into a sermon the whole church would remember.

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Let’s go back to the year 107. The apostle John has likely died. The churches are now led by men who were trained by the apostles themselves—what history calls the “Apostolic Fathers.”

One of those men was Ignatius, bishop of Antioch in Syria.

His church was large, visible, and fiercely loyal to the memory of the apostles. But that visibility came at a cost. Rome had begun persecuting Christians again—sporadically, but violently. The new emperor, Trajan, was proud, military-minded, and increasingly intolerant of groups that wouldn’t worship the Roman gods.

Trajan gave governors permission to arrest Christians—not for crimes, but for refusing to sacrifice to the gods or honor Caesar as divine. In that climate, Ignatius was arrested and sentenced—not to execution in his home city, but to public death in Rome, where his martyrdom would serve as a warning to others.

But that’s not what happened.

Because Ignatius turned the entire journey into a testimony of courage, faith, and unshakable hope.

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The route from Antioch to Rome was long and grueling. Ignatius was likely transported under heavy guard, escorted by Roman soldiers who viewed him as a dangerous fanatic.

But Ignatius didn’t spend the journey in silence. Instead, he dictated a series of letters—seven, in fact, that we still have today. Each one addressed to a local church or leader. Each one soaked in fire and joy. Each one bearing the voice of a man who knew he was about to die.

To the Ephesians, he wrote (verbatim):

“I am writing to all the churches and I enjoin all, that I am dying willingly for God’s sake, if only you do not prevent it. I beseech you, do not show an unreasonable goodwill toward me. Let me be food for the wild beasts, through whom I can reach God.”

(Epistle to the Romans, ch. 4, Loeb Classical Library)

That quote wasn’t metaphor. Ignatius meant it literally. He saw martyrdom not as tragedy—but as completion. A final imitation of Christ.

It shocks modern ears. But in the early second century, martyrdom was fast becoming the highest honor a Christian could receive.

The apostles had warned of persecution. Jesus had predicted it. And the early church, facing increasing pressure from both Jews and Romans, began to see suffering as proof of spiritual authenticity.

But Ignatius didn’t want to suffer just for shock value. He had a mission on the way to death.

He was calling the churches to unity.

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Across his letters, one theme rises again and a