Could I be a martyr.
I hope so.
I pray so.
But I say that as someone who gets tired,
someone who falls short,
someone who knows the quiet ache
of not living up to his own hopes.
And maybe that’s exactly where martyrdom begins—
not in strength,
not in certainty,
but in the honest place
where all we have left to offer
is a small, trembling yes.
Today we remember Saint Paul Miki and his companions—
ordinary disciples
who walked toward death
with hymns rising
and forgiveness on their lips.
They weren’t spiritual giants.
They were men leaning on Jesus
because they had nothing else to lean on.
Scripture says,
With his every deed he offered thanks…
With his whole being he loved his Maker.
That’s not perfection.
That’s surrender.
That’s the slow, daily shaping
that prepares a heart long before the moment of testing.
And the Gospel tells us
that Herod heard about Jesus
because His name was spreading everywhere.
Herod heard the sound of the Kingdom and trembled.
The martyrs heard the same sound and came alive.
So maybe the real question isn’t,
“Could I be a martyr.”
Maybe it’s,
“Can I let Jesus meet me in my poverty today—
in my fatigue,
in my limits,
in the places where I feel small—
so my yes can quietly take root.”
Saint Paul Miki’s final breath
was a breath of fidelity.
But that courage was formed
in the same daily struggle we know so well.
Lord, shape my heart in that humble place—
so whether my witness is loud or hidden,
public or quiet,
my whole being may love my Maker,
and my every deed may give You thanks.
Prayer
Lord Jesus,
meet me in the small places of my heart.
In my fatigue, my limits, my quiet failures—
let Your strength rise where mine falls away.
Shape my yes in the hidden moments.
Root my courage in Your mercy.
Make my life a witness to Your love,
whether in boldness or in quiet faithfulness.
Hold me close,
and let every breath give You praise.
Amen
