Justa and Rufina were dedicated Christians in very early church history. These two women made their living by selling earthenware. Yes, I suppose you could say that these pots and cooking materials were a form of self-expression, but… these women were also public merchants. They were very very Christian, and, among their virtues, they liberally shared their income with the poor.

Like the cake decorator from Colorado who, for religious reasons, refused to bake and sell a cake for a gay couple’s wedding ceremony (Masterpiece Cakeshop v. Colorado Civil Rights Commission, 584 U.S. ___ (2018)), these women refused to sell their earthenware to people with whom they disagreed based on religious reasons. Butler writes of Justa and Rufina:

Not to concur to the idolatrous superstitions, they refused to sell vessels for the use of heathenish sacrifices.

Their decision, based on a certain type of principle, stands in distinction to this other assertion by Butler–that Justa and Rufina “were desirous to serve everyone for the edification of their souls”–apparently everyone except for pagans.

These issues appear to be about setting righteous limits: “No, you may not display the cake that I created at a ceremony of which I do not approve.” “No, you may not utilize my pottery in rituals that my religion does not embrace.” “No, you may not bring a person of another race into my home.” “No, you may not swim in the community pool.” “No, you may not wear a shirt with the flag of Puerto Rico in my presence and go unchallenged.” “No, you may not ever vote again even though have you have served the entirety of your jail sentence.”

Asserting these limits, in truth, is neither more nor less than a smoke screen, behind which lurks fear and anger to varying degrees. And, by leading with “No, you may not,” one can successfully avoid ever having to examine (let alone discuss and perhaps transform) one’s fear or anger. It’s a case where the operational belief is that the best defense (to self-examination and change) is a good offense.

Consider what the conversation with Justa (J) and Rufina (R) and their customer (C) would have been like, had it had begun this way:

C to J: Hi, I’d like to buy that large bowl on the shelf behind you.

R to J (in a stage whisper): Look at the blue crescent moon painted on her forehead!

J to C: Well, that bowl costs two denarii. Mind if I ask what you want to use it for?

C to R and J: Sure. We’re having our solstice celebration tomorrow night, and we need something to hold our ritual water.

R to C: We are Christian and we don’t feel comfortable involving ourselves or our wares with pagan things.

C to R: Well, we use the term “wiccan” rather than pagan–but what would you like to know about what we do?

R to C: I don’t feel comfortable knowing anything! My priest has taught us that what you do is ungodly and evil, and I don’t like the idea that something I made with my own hands is going to help you do these terrible things.

C to R: Would it be terrible if I told you that we aren’t so very different? That you have basins for water in your churches–for holy water and for baptisms?

J pipes up: That’s right! We just made the new baptismal font for the church ourself–a couple months back!

R to C: Yes, but we are seeking to save souls, not destroy them and send them to hell forever!

C to R: Then we agree–we want to save rather than destroy that which is sacred–in people, in nature, in the world everywhere!

R to C: But you kill babies and you do sex things.

C to R: No. Who told you that?

R to C: Our priest.

C to R: Well, that’s like my saying you Christians are all cannibals because you talk about eating the body of Christ!

R and J in unison: We’re NOT cannibals!

C to R and J: Exactly! And we don’t sacrifice babies or go around having orgies, either!

R to C: Well, I just don’t know… I guess there’s a lot I just don’t know about.

C to R: Me, too!