In the year 107, a man named Ignatius was marched from Antioch to Rome under armed guard. He was the bishop of Antioch, a student of the apostle John, and he was going to die. The Roman authorities had sentenced him to be thrown to wild animals in the Colosseum.
He knew this. He had time to think about it. And what he chose to do with that time was write letters.
Seven letters on the road to Rome
Ignatius wrote seven letters during his journey. Not appeals for rescue. Not laments. Letters to churches he loved, full of theology, encouragement, and an almost bewildering joy. He urged the Ephesians to meet together more frequently. He reminded the Magnesians to respect their young bishop. He told the Romans not to prevent his martyrdom, because he wanted to "attain to God."
These are not the words of a man in despair. They are the words of a man who knew exactly what he believed and wanted to make sure others held on to it after he was gone.
Polycarp's letter to the Philippians
Polycarp, the bishop of Smyrna, was another student of John. He wrote to the church in Philippi sometime in the early second century, a letter full of practical instruction and pastoral warmth. He quoted Paul's letter to the same church. He reminded them to care for widows, to be patient, to forgive.
When the authorities came for Polycarp years later, the accounts say he refused to flee. At the stake, he prayed aloud — not for deliverance, but in thanksgiving. He had already said what needed to be said. His letter was already written.
What they chose to say
What is remarkable about these letters is not their courage, though they are courageous. It is their content. Given a final opportunity to speak, these men did not rage against their persecutors. They did not dwell on their suffering. They wrote about love, unity, faithfulness, and the hope of resurrection.
They used their last words to build up the people who would survive them. They understood what Paul also understood — that written words do ministry that presence cannot.
This is not a natural instinct. The natural instinct, facing death, is to think about yourself. Ignatius and Polycarp thought about the people they were leaving behind. They asked themselves the question every farewell letter must answer: what do they need to hear from me? It is the same question Paul asked when he wrote to Timothy knowing he might die.
The same question, now
You are probably not facing execution. But if you believe in the rapture, you believe in a departure that comes without warning and leaves no time for final words. The situation is different. The question is the same.
What do the people you love need to hear from you? Not eventually. Now, while you have time to think about it carefully, to write it down, to get it right. Ignatius and Polycarp belong to a Christian tradition of farewell letters that stretches from the apostles to today.
Ignatius had a road from Antioch to Rome. You have today.
Write your letter now — while the road is still ahead of you.