Before Constantine: When Christians Refused the Sword

For the first three centuries of the Christian faith, the followers of Jesus were known for something remarkable: they refused to kill. In an age when the Roman Empire celebrated conquest, military honor, and the power of the sword, Christians taught that Christ's teachings called for a radically different way of life. They believed that the kingdom of God advanced not through violence, but through suffering love.

This early Christian stance differs significantly from much of modern political Christianity. Today, the church often aligns itself with national power, military force, and the rhetoric of war. In contrast, many early believers viewed following Christ as incompatible with shedding blood.

Recognizing this early Christian position is more than historical curiosity; it compels us to ask an uncomfortable question: how did the church shift from often refusing the sword to frequently blessing it?

The Teaching of Jesus

The starting point for the early church was not political theory but the teachings of Jesus Himself.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Christ spoke words that shocked the violent world of the first century:

“But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.” (Matthew 5:39, KJV)

And again:

“Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you.” (Matthew 5:44)

These teachings were not abstract moral ideals to the early Christians. They were commandments from the Lord; they had pledged to follow them.

When Jesus was arrested in Gethsemane, and Peter drew his sword, Christ rebuked him:

“Put up again thy sword into his place: for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.” (Matthew 26:52)

The earliest Christians remembered this moment well. If the Lord refused violence even to defend Himself, how could His followers justify violence to defend their interests?

Even before the church began writing theology, the New Testament itself already pointed in this direction. The apostle Paul wrote:

“Recompense to no man evil for evil… avenge not yourselves… be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.” (Romans 12:17–21)

For many early believers, the conclusion seemed obvious. Christians were called to overcome violence not with greater force, but with faithful endurance.

The Witness of the Early Church Fathers

The writings of early Christian teachers show that this view was widespread in the first centuries.

Justin Martyr (c. AD 100–165), an early Christian philosopher, wrote that Christ’s coming had changed how believers approached violence. Defending Christianity before Roman authorities, he said that those who were once violent now refused to wage war, even against enemies.

Justin pointed to the prophecy of Isaiah that nations would beat their swords into plowshares. He believed that prophecy was being fulfilled in the Christian community.

Another powerful voice was Tertullian (c. AD 160–220). Writing in North Africa, Tertullian argued that Jesus's teachings made military violence incompatible with Christian discipleship. Reflecting on the moment when Jesus commanded Peter to put away his sword, Tertullian concluded that Christ had effectively disarmed His followers.

For Tertullian, the issue was simple. A soldier must be willing to kill. But Christ commanded His followers to love their enemies. The two loyalties could not easily coexist.

Origen (c. AD 184–253) shared a similar view. He said Christians worked for society’s good—but not with weapons. Instead, they fought through prayer, righteousness, and spiritual struggle.

Christians, he said, had become “children of peace through Jesus.”

Perhaps the strongest early statement comes from Lactantius (c. AD 250–325). In his work Divine Institutes, he wrote that it is never lawful for a righteous man to kill another human being. Killing in war, he argued, could not be separated from murder.

Statements like these recur in early Christian literature. Not every believer lived by this ethic completely, but early Christian teaching leaned strongly toward nonviolence.

Martyrdom Instead of Retaliation

The conduct of the early Christians under persecution reveals just how seriously they took these teachings.

For nearly three centuries, the church existed without political protection. Roman authorities periodically persecuted Christians for refusing to worship the emperor or participate in pagan rituals.

Yet Christians almost never responded with armed resistance.

Instead, they endured imprisonment, torture, and execution. Stories of martyrs circulated throughout the church, inspiring believers to remain faithful even in the face of suffering.

When Polycarp of Smyrna was ordered to deny Christ in order to save his life, he famously replied:

“Eighty and six years have I served him, and he never did me any wrong. How then can I blaspheme my King who saved me?”

Polycarp did not fight his executioners. Like Christ before him, he accepted death rather than abandon the way of love.

This willingness to suffer instead of retaliate became a powerful testimony. Roman observers were often shocked that Christians faced death without hatred for their persecutors.

A Different Kind of Kingdom

A deep theological conviction underlay early Christians’ refusal of violence. They believed they belonged to a different kingdom.

When Jesus stood before the Roman governor Pilate, He declared:

“My kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight.” (John 18:36)

For the early church, this statement defined their relationship to power. They prayed for rulers and obeyed the law when possible. But they did not believe the kingdom of Christ advanced through military force. transforming lives.

The Turning Point of Constantine

A major shift occurred in the fourth century with the rise of the Roman emperor Constantine the Great.

In AD 313, Constantine issued the Edict of Milan, which legalized Christianity and ended centuries of persecution.

For the first time, Christians were no longer outsiders in the Roman world. Instead, the church found itself closely connected with imperial authority.

As the church found itself connected to imperial authority, new moral questions arose: If the empire now had a Christian emperor, could Christians serve in the army, fight to defend society, or support the state waging war in the name of justice?

These new realities forced Christian thinkers to reconsider longstanding traditions.

The influential theologian Augustine of Hippo developed what later became known as the “just war” theory. Augustine argued that war might sometimes be morally justified if conducted by a legitimate authority for a just cause and with the right intention.

Augustine’s reasoning eventually became the dominant perspective in much of the Western church, replacing earlier approaches.

Yet many historians observe that this marked a significant departure from the pre-Constantinian church's posture. Whereas the church had once endured persecution without resorting to violence, it was now learning how to wield political power.

Remembering the Earlier Witness

Throughout history, various Christian movements have revisited the first three centuries as a model for the church’s stance on violence, seeking guidance from the early witnesses.

Seventeenth-century Quakers revived this perspective. Under George Fox, early Friends taught that Christ’s Spirit removes the roots of war from the heart.

In 1660, Quakers issued a declaration that became known as the Peace Testimony. In it, they rejected all outward wars and the use of weapons.

For them, this was not just a political position. It was a return to what they saw as the original teaching of Christ and the early church.

A Question for Our Time

The purpose here is not to glorify the past or ignore present complexities. War and politics raise hard questions that Christians have debated for centuries.

Yet, the early church’s witness challenges us to reconsider our assumptions today.

Early Christians believed that the cross—rather than the sword—showed God's power. They thought Christ’s kingdom grew through sacrificial love, not coercion.

In a world still marked by violence, their example is both unsettling and inspiring.

Perhaps the greatest question the early church leaves for us is this:

If the followers of Jesus once believed that loving their enemies meant refusing to kill them, what does faithful discipleship require of us today?

When Words Make It Easier to Kill

The longer I live, the more convinced I become that wars are fought with “words long before they are fought with weapons.” Before the first bomb falls, before the first shot is fired, language begins to change. People stop speaking about their enemies as neighbors, families, or human beings. Instead, they become "monsters", "animals", or simply ‘ “targets" We are seeing this today in the way many speak about the people of Gaza. Some political leaders describe the population in sweeping terms—as if millions of men, women, and children were nothing more than extensions of a militant group. Others speak of them as if they are somehow less than human, or as if their suffering does not matter. Even more troubling, I have heard some voices in American churches repeat the same language. As Christians, we should tremble when we hear such things. Because the gospel of Jesus Christ does not permit us to speak of any people as though they are disposable.

The First Step Toward Violence 

History teaches us a painful lesson: “dehumanizing” language always comes before great cruelty". Before the Holocaust, Jews were described as vermin. Before the Rwandan genocide, Tutsis were called cockroaches. Before many wars, enemies were portrayed as animals or disease. Once people are no longer seen as human, the conscience grows quiet. It becomes easier to justify what once would have horrified us. This is why Scripture warns us about the power of the tongue. James wrote: > “Therewith bless we God, even the Father; and therewith curse we men, which are made after the similitude of God.” > —James 3:9 (KJV) Think about that carefully. The same mouth that sings hymns on Sunday can be used to curse people who bear the image of God. And that is a terrible contradiction.

Every Human Being Bears the Image of God 

The first chapter of the Bible tells us something profound about humanity. > “So God created man in his own image.” > —Genesis 1:27 (KJV) Not just Americans. Not just Israelis. Not just Christians. “All people.” Every child in Gaza. Every child in Israel. Every person in every nation. The image of God is not something that governments grant or remove. It is something God himself has placed upon humanity. When we speak about people as if they are less than human, we are not only insulting them—we are dishonoring the God whose image they bear.

What the Early Quakers Taught 

The early Friends understood this deeply. They believed that “the Light of Christ shines in every person” . Because of this conviction, they refused to treat any human being as disposable—even enemies. This is why the Quakers became known for their testimony of peace. They believed Christ had come to “destroy the roots of violence in the human heart”, not simply regulate war. George Fox wrote that Christians must “answer that of God in everyone.” That means even those we disagree with. Even those who oppose us. Even those who have done terrible things. If Christ died for the world, then no group of people can be written off as beyond the reach of God’s mercy.

A Dangerous Theology One of the saddest things I see today is how some religious voices treat war in the Middle East as if it were part of a prophetic script that must unfold. Some even speak as though suffering in that region is somehow necessary for the end times. But when Christians start talking that way, something has gone terribly wrong. Jesus never told us to celebrate war. He told us to “bless the peacemakers”. > “Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.” > —Matthew 5:9 (KJV) Not the warmakers. Not the cheerleaders of destruction. “The peacemakers.”

The Real Test of Christian Faith 

The real test of our Christianity is not how we speak about people we agree with. It is how we speak about people we fear, dislike, or consider enemies. Jesus said: > “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you.” > —Matthew 5:44 (KJV) That command is not easy. But it is unmistakably clear. If our language makes it easier to hate a whole people, then our language is not coming from the Spirit of Christ.

Words Matter 

A bomb may destroy a building, but words can destroy something deeper—the “moral boundaries that restrain cruelty”. Once those boundaries fall, terrible things become possible. That is why Christians must guard their speech. We must refuse to speak of any nation, race, or people as though they were less than human. Because the moment we do, we have already begun to drift away from the heart of the gospel.

A Prayer for Our Time

 The world is filled with anger right now. But followers of Jesus are called to be something different. We are called to be witnesses to another kingdom where mercy triumphs over hatred, and where every human life is treated as sacred. May God give us the courage to speak truthfully, to love boldly, and to remember that every person we talk about— even those across oceans and borders— is someone made in the image of God. And that is something no war should ever make us forget.

The Real Danger: Confusing National Interests with the Kingdom of God

This past week I have heard a great deal of religious language used to explain political events. Leaders speak of God blessing wars. Commentators say conflicts in the Middle East are necessary to bring about the end times. Others claim that national success proves that God is on our side. Whenever I hear such things, a concern rises in my heart. There is a danger that has followed the church through every century: confusing the interests of a nation with the Kingdom of God. 

The Kingdom of Christ is not the same thing as any earthly government. Jesus made that clear when He stood before Pilate and said: John 18:36 (KJV) “My kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight…” The Jews of Jesus’ day expected a political Messiah who would overthrow Rome and restore national power to Israel. Instead, Christ established a kingdom that operates in an entirely different way. His reign begins in the human heart. Luke 17:21 (KJV) “The kingdom of God is within you.” 

That truth is central to both the Quaker and Wesleyan understanding of the Christian faith. The early Friends believed that Christ rules directly in the conscience through the Inner Light. Because of that conviction, they rejected the idea that God’s kingdom could be advanced through political power or military force. In 1660 the early Quakers wrote a declaration that still speaks with remarkable clarity today: “We utterly deny all outward wars and strife, and fighting with outward weapons, for any end or under any pretence whatsoever.” Why would they say something so radical? Because they believed Jesus meant what He said. Matthew 5:9 (KJV) “Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.” 

John Wesley also warned about confusing national religion with true Christianity. He often spoke against what he called “nominal Christianity”—a faith that identifies with a culture or nation but does not transform the heart. For Wesley, the Kingdom of God was not about political power but about holiness. Romans 14:17 (KJV) “For the kingdom of God is not meat and drink; but righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost.” 

Notice the marks of Christ’s kingdom: righteousness peace joy in the Holy Spirit Those things cannot be created by governments or armies. They are produced by the Spirit of God working in human lives. When Christians begin to confuse national interests with the Kingdom of God, several dangerous things can happen. War may be described as a divine mission instead of a tragic result of human sin. Political leaders may be treated as spiritual authorities simply because they use religious language. And the church may lose its prophetic voice because it becomes too closely tied to political power. 

The Bible repeatedly warns God’s people not to place their ultimate hope in political rulers. Psalm 146:3 (KJV) “Put not your trust in princes, nor in the son of man, in whom there is no help.” That does not mean Christians should ignore public life. Governments play an important role in maintaining order and justice. But the church must never forget that our true citizenship lies somewhere else. Philippians 3:20 (KJV) “For our conversation is in heaven; from whence also we look for the Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ.” 

The early church lived under the Roman Empire, yet they refused to treat Rome as the Kingdom of God. Their loyalty belonged first to Christ. Acts 5:29 (KJV) “We ought to obey God rather than men.” In troubled times like these, it is easy to be swept up in fear, anger, and national pride. But followers of Jesus must remember that we belong to a different kingdom. Christ does not rule through armies. He rules through truth, love, and the transforming power of His Spirit. The church’s mission is not to build a Christian nation. Our mission is to proclaim the gospel of Christ and to live as citizens of His Kingdom. And that kingdom is not built by the sword. It is built by the Light of Christ shining in the hearts of His people..

Revival Fires on the Sugar Plain Two Centuries of Spiritual Awakening

 A Land Prepared for Awakening

When the first Friends settlers arrived in Boone County, Indiana, in the early nineteenth century, they entered a land that was still largely wilderness. Families who had migrated from North Carolina and the eastern states came seeking fertile farmland and religious freedom. Among them were Quakers whose faith had been shaped by a deep commitment to simplicity, holiness, and obedience to the inward work of the Spirit.

Out of these pioneer gatherings emerged Sugar Plain Friends Meeting, started in 1827. The meeting began humbly. Early worship services were held in homes and cabins before a meetinghouse was built. Yet from its earliest days, Sugar Plain was marked by a seriousness about spiritual life.

The settlers who gathered there were not merely building farms and homes. They were establishing a community centered upon the worship of God. Their meetings often included long seasons of silent waiting, punctuated by heartfelt vocal ministry when the Spirit moved someone to speak.

Although early Friends did not pursue revival meetings in the modern evangelical sense, their gatherings often produced powerful spiritual experiences. Conviction of sin, renewed faith, and transformation of life were common fruits of these early meetings.

Thus the spiritual fire that would later burn brightly in revival seasons was already present in the faithful worship of the first generation.

The Frontier Religious Environment

The world surrounding Sugar Plain was one of intense religious activity. The early nineteenth century saw the spread of revivalism across the American frontier. Methodist circuit riders traveled constantly through Indiana, preaching in cabins, groves, and newly built churches.

Camp meetings were common, sometimes drawing hundreds or even thousands of people. These gatherings featured powerful preaching, fervent prayer, and extended services that could last several days.

Though Quakers had traditionally been cautious about emotional revivalism, many Indiana Friends lived in close proximity to Methodist and Baptist neighbors whose religious enthusiasm was contagious. Over time, these influences began to shape the life of Friends meetings throughout the region.

Sugar Plain did not remain untouched by these developments. While maintaining its Quaker identity, the meeting gradually embraced forms of worship and ministry that reflected the wider evangelical revival movement.

Mid-Century Renewal

By the middle decades of the nineteenth century, revival meetings had become increasingly common among Friends in Indiana. Ministers and evangelists traveled from meeting to meeting, calling believers to renewed devotion and urging sinners to repentance.

Sugar Plain participated in these movements of renewal through protracted meetings, extended services that might continue for several days or even weeks. Such gatherings often drew people from neighboring communities.

During these seasons the meetinghouse would be filled with worshippers eager to hear the preaching of the gospel. Sermons emphasized the central themes of evangelical Christianity:

• the reality of sin
• the necessity of repentance
• the saving grace of Jesus Christ
• the transforming work of the Holy Spirit

Many individuals experienced conversion during these meetings, while long-time members found their spiritual lives renewed.

The Rise of the Holiness Message

One of the most important developments in the spiritual life of Sugar Plain during the nineteenth century was the spread of the Holiness movement.

Influenced by the teachings of John Wesley, many Christians in America began emphasizing the possibility of a deeper work of grace beyond conversion. This experience was commonly described as entire sanctification or Christian perfection, meaning a heart fully devoted to God and cleansed from the power of sin.

The Holiness message resonated strongly with many Friends. Early Quaker theology had always emphasized the transforming power of the Inner Light and the possibility of a life of obedience to God. Thus the Wesleyan teaching of sanctification seemed to many Friends like a rediscovery of truths already present in their own tradition.

By the 1870s and 1880s, revival meetings at Sugar Plain and throughout Indiana increasingly emphasized this message of holiness. Preachers called believers not only to forgiveness but also to a deeper life of surrender and victory over sin.

These teachings helped shape the identity of many Indiana Friends as part of the broader Holiness revival movement.

The Great Thorntown Revival of 1893

One of the most dramatic awakenings connected with Sugar Plain occurred in 1893 in nearby Thorntown.

The revival was conducted by evangelists Nathan T. Frame and Esther G. Frame, whose ministry had become widely known among Friends and Methodists. For more than five weeks the meetings continued, with two services held each day.

The revival was notable not only for its spiritual intensity but also for the cooperation between churches. The Friends at Sugar Plain joined with the Methodists of Thorntown, demonstrating a unity of purpose in seeking the spiritual renewal of the community.

From the beginning, the meetings were marked by powerful preaching. The Frames presented the gospel with clarity and conviction, explaining the Scriptures in ways that deeply moved their listeners.

Observers wrote that their sermons were “made luminous by the power of the Holy Spirit.” Their illustrations and explanations brought the message of Christ vividly before the congregation.

Music and prayer also played a central role. The evangelists sang with heartfelt devotion, and their prayers were described as simple petitions offered by hearts in close communion with God.

The results were extraordinary.

More than two hundred and fifty people were converted during the meetings. Many testified that they had experienced not only forgiveness of sins but also the deeper work of entire sanctification.

The revival affected the entire community. Former enemies were reconciled. Backsliders returned to the church. A spirit of quiet seriousness settled over the town.

One report stated that it seemed as if the presence of God filled the atmosphere for miles in every direction.

Youth and the Spread of Revival

A particularly striking feature of the Thorntown revival was the participation of young people.

Nearly all the young men and women of the town were converted during the meetings. Their enthusiasm quickly became a driving force in the continuing revival.

Some of the town’s gambling houses were closed and even turned into places of prayer. Young men gathered there each evening for prayer meetings before attending the main service at the meetinghouse.

Young women organized similar gatherings in private homes.

One of the most moving scenes occurred when more than one hundred newly converted young people entered the meetinghouse together, their faces shining with joy.

As they filled the aisles from the entrance to the front of the sanctuary, the congregation sang the hymn:

“We praise Thee, O Lord, for the Son of Thy love.”

Those who witnessed the scene described it as one of the most powerful spiritual moments they had ever experienced.

The Continuing Influence of Revival

The revival fires that burned in 1893 were not isolated events. They were part of a long pattern of spiritual awakening that had shaped Sugar Plain from its earliest days.

Throughout the nineteenth century the meeting repeatedly experienced seasons of renewal. These awakenings strengthened the church and deepened its commitment to evangelism and holiness.

They also connected Sugar Plain to the wider movements of revival that were transforming American Christianity during that era.

By the end of the century, the meeting had fully embraced a form of Quakerism that combined historic Friends spirituality with evangelical revivalism. This synthesis would later influence the development of the Evangelical Friends movement in Indiana.

A Heritage of Spiritual Fire

Looking back over two centuries of history, it becomes clear that revival has been a recurring theme in the life of Sugar Plain Friends Meeting.

From the quiet devotion of the pioneer settlers to the dramatic awakenings of later years, the meeting has repeatedly experienced the renewing work of the Holy Spirit.

These revival fires have shaped the spiritual character of the congregation. They have called believers to deeper faith, brought new people into the fellowship, and strengthened the church’s witness in the surrounding community.

As Sugar Plain approaches its bicentennial, the story of these awakenings serves as both a reminder and a challenge.

It reminds the church of the faithfulness of God throughout its history.

And it challenges each new generation to seek once again the transforming presence of the Spirit who has so often visited the people who gather on the Sugar Plain.