Tertullian, Antidote for the Scorpion's Sting 12

Who today knows the deepest meaning of Scripture better than Christ's own school? The Lord adopted them as his disciples precisely so they could learn everything, and he equipped them as teachers for us precisely so they could teach everything. To whom else would he have explained the inner sense of his words than to those to whom he revealed the radiance of his glory—Peter, James, John, and later Paul, whom he even let taste paradise before his martyrdom? Are we to believe these men write something different from what they know, making them masters of deceit rather than truth? Peter writes to the Pontians: "What credit is it if you endure a beating for doing wrong? But this is grace: you were called to this, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example so that you might follow in his steps" (1 Peter 2:20). And again: "Beloved, do not be shocked by the fiery ordeal burning among you to test you, as though something strange were happening. But rejoice insofar as you share Christ's sufferings, so that you may also rejoice exultantly when his glory is revealed" (1 Peter 4:12-13). "If you are insulted for the name of Christ, you are blessed, because the Spirit of glory and of God rests on you—provided none of you suffers as a murderer, thief, evildoer, or meddler. But if you suffer as a Christian, do not be ashamed; glorify God in that name." John urges us to lay down our lives for our brothers, declaring that fear has no place in love: "Perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment; the one who fears is not made perfect in love" (1 John 4:18). What fear does perfect love cast out, if not the fear of denial? What perfect love does he describe, if not the love that banishes fear and emboldens confession? What punishment does fear bring, if not the fate of the denier—killed body and soul in Gehenna? If we must die for our brothers, how much more must we die for the Lord, as John teaches, thoroughly schooled by his own Apocalypse! The Spirit commanded the angel of the church in Smyrna: "The devil is about to throw some of you into prison to test you for ten days. Be faithful to the point of death, and I will give you the crown of life" (Revelation 2:10). To Pergamum, he singles out Antipas, my faithful witness, killed where Satan lives. To Philadelphia, he promises deliverance from the final trial because they did not deny my name. From then on he promises every conqueror: the tree of life and exemption from the second death; hidden manna and a white stone with a new name; authority of the iron scepter and the morning star; white garments, a name never blotted from the book of life, a pillar in God's temple bearing the name of God, the Lord, and the new Jerusalem; a seat with him on his throne—the very honor once refused the sons of Zebedee. Who are these supremely blessed conquerors if not the martyrs themselves? Their victories are their battles; their battles are their blood. Even now the souls of the martyrs rest quietly under the altar, their confidence in vengeance feeding their patience, clothed in white robes wearing the brilliance of purity, until the rest fill up the full number of their glory. Then a countless multitude appears, robed in white and waving palm branches of victory—clearly those who have conquered the Antichrist, as one of the elders explains: "These are the ones coming out of the great tribulation; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb" (Revelation 7:14). For the soul's garment is the flesh. Baptism washes away the grime, but martyrdom bleaches the stains white. Isaiah promises that crimson and scarlet will become white as wool. When the great Babylon is depicted drunk on the blood of the saints, there is no doubt her intoxication is served in the martyrs' own cups—a dread that shows exactly what fear brings, equally for all. Among all the reprobate—indeed, before all of them—he assigns the cowardly their portion in the lake of fire and sulfur. So the fear that perfect love casts out carries its own punishment, just as his Letter says.