Cyprian of Carthage

In my hometown, Wenzhou, China, the Seventh-day Adventist Church has experienced more than 40 years of division. There are four distinct groups within the same Adventist heritage, each representing a different understanding of what it means to be Adventist. Based on the names used by local Adventists, they are the “Old Faction,” the “New Faction,” the “Wheatfield,” and the “Wilderness Faction.”¹

I come from the Old Faction. This label emerged mainly after the division as a practical way to classify the different groups and distinguish one faction from another. To me, terms such as “conservative” or “traditional” describe it better than “old,” while for my father and grandfather, the word “old” in Chinese may have carried a sense of orthodoxy.

Since I was little, my family taught me the importance of Ellen G. White’s prophetic ministry for the church. I was also taught to avoid unclean foods and to keep the Sabbath carefully, which meant avoiding certain secular activities.² In worship service we used traditional hymnals and generally did not accept instruments other than classical ones, such as the piano.³

As for the church administration today, we support the organizational structure of the General Conference, affirm the message of the 28 fundamental beliefs, and still use Sabbath School materials in synchrony with the global church.

Looking back, I believe my Adventist experience has been similar to that of many who grew up in Adventist families around the world.

Against this backdrop, however, the New Faction became dissatisfied with the beliefs and traditions that had shaped the church since the first missionary came to Wenzhou. They began to see themselves as a group of reformers. They first introduced changes to the liturgy, adopted hymnals with lyrics different from those used by the Old Faction, and added a special form of communal prayer. What marked them more clearly was a reduced emphasis on Ellen G. White’s prophetic role and a decision not to use Sabbath School lesson materials. They also felt that the Old Faction placed too much emphasis on dietary laws and the Ten Commandments, which, in their view, made salvation appear dependent on works rather than on grace. To highlight the exclusive role of grace in salvation, they adopted a more flexible attitude toward dietary restrictions. Friends from the New Faction told me that they were allowed to eat unclean foods before baptism and were expected to follow dietary guidelines afterward. Personal practice is not identical to official instruction, of course, but this still shows that such regulations receive less emphasis in their community.

The Wheatfield, sometimes called the Newer Faction, represents a further development of this trajectory. The name suggests that they are more liberal, or perhaps more radical, than the New Faction. They retained the liturgical changes and the strong emphasis on grace inherited from the New Faction, from which they originated, and also adopted elements of the doctrine of salvation from other Protestant traditions. Their differences from traditional Adventism are most evident in their discomfort with Ellen G. White’s prophetic identity and their rejection of certain aspects of the 28 fundamental beliefs.

For some leaders, faith becomes a means of defending personal pride rather than seeking the mind of Christ.

In China, churches must register with government authorities in order to obtain legal status and the right to have a church building. For some believers, this registration feels more like coming under governmental administration than entering a relationship of equal cooperation, because it requires joining the country agency that supervises Christian churches and accepting certain restrictions. The Old Faction, the New Faction, and the Wheatfield are all legally recognized within this system.⁴The Wilderness Faction, however, although similar to the Old Faction in tradition and practice, refuses this form of cooperation with the government. As a result, it is considered “illegal” in the Chinese context, and functions as an underground church. In the North American context, conversations about China’s “underground churches” or “house churches” often refer to situations that resemble those of the Wilderness Faction.

My childhood unfolded in these kinds of dynamics, and as I grew up, I began to realize that such division in the church was far from normal. All of this naturally leads to a question that has shaped much of my theological interest about the unity of the church.

This is where Cyprian of Carthage becomes especially significant.

Who Was Cyprian of Carthage?

Cyprian of Carthage is recognized as a saint in both Eastern and Western Christian traditions, commemorated on August 31 in the East and September 16 in the West. Born around A.D. 210, he became the bishop of Carthage in A.D. 249. That same year, A.D. 249 was also the year Decius came to power (reigning from 249 to 251), and in A.D. 250 his persecution fell upon the Christian communities like a rain of fear and violence. Some abandoned their faith, while others fled to safer regions. In the early church, martyrdom carried significant spiritual weight; many bishops followed the example of Jesus, Peter, and Paul, confronting their enemies and choosing death rather than flight. Cyprian, however, acted differently. He withdrew to a place of safety to avoid the persecution. Later he defended this decision, writing, “Whosoever abiding in Christ departs for a while does not deny his faith, but waits for the time.”⁵According to this explanation, his intent was not to deny his faith but to preserve his life for the sake of his ministry, believing that a shepherd’s duty included protecting the flock through wise decision rather than reckless sacrifice. What the actual motives were, of course, remain beyond our certainty, but this is how he himself chose to present them.

One Roman emperor after another came and went, and imperial policies toward Christians remained generally hostile. Nevertheless, Cyprian ultimately could not escape the fate of martyrdom. In response to Emperor Valerian’s edict,⁶ this time he did not seek to escape martyrdom, but wished to face it in Carthage, among his own people. The Proconsular Acts⁷record Cyprian’s public trial, capturing his final moments before execution. When questioned, he openly affirmed his Christian identity and refused to obey the emperor’s command to perform Roman rites. After receiving his defiant answer, Governor Galerius Maximus pronounced the sentence that he should be executed by the sword. He was martyred shortly thereafter.

On the Unity of the Church

Cyprian’s framework of unity was deeply shaped by the historical realities of his time. The church in the mid-third century depended heavily on strong leadership, a condition perhaps inevitable under the constant threat of heresies and external persecution. Cyprian bound the identity of the bishop and the church inseparably together, teaching that “the bishop is in the Church and the Church in the bishop.” This understanding arose from the early patristic conviction that Peter, as the “rock” of the church, shared Christ’s authority with all the apostles. Since bishops were seen as successors of the apostles, they inherited that same authority.

Cyprian elevated this principle further, making episcopal unity itself the foundation of the church’s unity in Christ. For him, the bishops collectively shared in the apostolic succession and thus participated together in the unity of the body of Christ. Thus, when a Roman elder named Novatian⁸ tried to challenge the church’s election of Cornelius by having himself ordained as bishop without proper approval, Cyprian strongly condemned this act as a serious attack on the church’s unity.

 Notably, unlike the later Western tradition, Cyprian regarded the bishop of Rome as possessing, not a practical supremacy, but rather a symbolic primacy among equals. Hence, he did not recognize the bishop of Rome as the “bishop of bishops.” Cyprian also declared that “outside of the Church there is no salvation.”⁹ Within his theological framework, baptism was closely tied to salvation, and the church was inseparably bound to the bishop. Christians could receive salvation only through the church and the bishops. Consequently, if the integrity of the episcopal office was in doubt, the validity of baptism itself came into question. This conviction formed the core of Cyprian’s disagreement with the bishop of Rome, Stephen. Stephen argued that the efficacy of baptism rested not on the minister but on the invocation of the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. But in any case, Cyprian did not break with Stephen over their differences on the doctrine of salvation, even though the bishop of Rome put some pressure on him.¹⁰

His vision challenges us, in our own time, to seek a fellowship rooted in faithfulness to Christ and love for one another, a unity based not on structure but on seeking the truth.

Cyprian faced resistance in the local church. His rapid election as bishop of Carthage inevitably provoked resentment among certain elders and members of his church, while his withdrawal during persecution drew further criticism. Pontius, his deacon and biographer, however, later recorded that Cyprian forgave those who had opposed his election and even counted some of them among his closest friends.¹¹Although some of his opponents later contributed to divisions within the Church of Carthage, Cyprian’s treatment of those who opposed him showed that he could choose humility over hostility.

Why Is Cyprian Significant for Us?

            In our time, many conflicts are driven more by position than by truth. Differences of opinion are easily magnified into hostility, and the space for honest dialogue is often replaced by emotion and labeling. The church is not exempt. For some leaders faith becomes a means of defending personal pride rather than seeking the mind of Christ. Disagreements over doctrine or church ministries are too often handled outside the framework of the love of Christ. Instead of beginning with gentle dialogue and patient correction, as Jesus taught in Matthew 18:15, 16, many move directly to confrontation, treating those who differ as enemies of the faith.

Scripture indeed warns Christians to beware of those who corrupt the church, and prescribes firm discipline when needed (cf. Matt. 18:17; Rom. 16:17, 18; 1 Cor. 5:11-13). But it also commands us to love both our brothers and our enemies (cf. John 13:34, 35; Matt. 5:43-45). Why then do so many communities skip the path of love, ignoring gentleness and moving straight to exclusion? Who, then, has drawn the line for what it means to “forsake the name of God”? Is it by their own desires, or does it truly come from Scripture? Those who claim that their voice is the voice of the Holy Spirit, if they do not test it, can they really use such a claim to “teach” the church and its members, and to justify the division within the body of Christ?

            As Seventh-day Adventists, we do not share Cyprian’s understanding of how baptism, episcopal authority, and the unity of the church relate to salvation. We believe that Christ Himself is the foundation of the church, and that salvation is transmitted directly between God and the believer through faith, not through hierarchical structures or sacraments. Likewise, our understanding of the unity of the church is based not on apostolic succession but on the work of the Holy Spirit, uniting believers of every nation, language, and social background into one body in Christ.¹²

            His vision for the unity of the church, however, was firm and deeply felt. What we can learn from him is not the specific form of unity he proposed, but the longing for unity itself, and the path toward it through humility instead of hostility. His vision challenges us, in our own time, to seek a fellowship rooted in faithfulness to Christ and love for one another, a unity based not on structure but on seeking the truth.

            This is also why we commemorate the Reformation. Although the division of the church was a break, it did not stem from separating itself, but from the corruption and decline of the medieval Roman Catholic Church and its neglect of truth. The Reformation marked a return to the heart of seeking truth, moving the church from human tradition back to the Word of God. In the same way, the pioneers of the Seventh-day Adventist Church gathered together with this same conviction and committed themselves to a shared return to and steadfast defense of biblical truth. For us, physical unity is precious, but a unity based in biblical truth and brought forth through a Christlike attitude matters even more.

Afterword

How much of Wenzhou’s division was rooted in truth and how much in differing positions is something we cannot fully know. But the fact that these churches still call themselves Seventh-day Adventist suggests that there is still space for conversation. This has also been seen in practice. In recent years the New Faction has shown gradual changes in areas such as the use of Sabbath School materials and renewed attention to Ellen G. White, while cooperation and conversation among the Old Faction, the New Faction, and the Wilderness Faction have also become closer.

Of course, it is not an easy task to speak of physical unity among these churches. Even when disagreements arise, we should seek understanding and biblical unity before division becomes irreversible. We must remember, though, that love is not indulgence, and unity does not stand above truth. For certain principles, if no consensus can be reached, division, sadly, may be the best option. At the very least, people should not pretend to hold the same faith while acting in ways that contradict it. Yet repairing a cracked glass is far easier than piecing together shattered fragments, which is why we must learn to talk before the cracks deepen.