 |
| "Stoning of St. Stephen" Lucini 17th Cent. |
“But filled with the Holy
Spirit, he gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the
right hand of God.”
(Acts 7:55)
As the striking Hollywood
writers remind us, stories are important. I mean, what is our religion but our
belief in ultimate things like the existence of the soul, the meaning of life,
our ethics, how we relate to one another and the world—all illustrated through
our common story? And, of course, our common story is reinforced through our
rituals and traditions. I like to tell and hear stories. In fact, I love to tell stories. You know: like
the old hymn says, “I love to tell the story of unseen things above, of Jesus
and his glory, of Jesus and his love.”
Unfortunately, there’s
not a whole lot of story-telling I can do with the Gospel appointed for Easter
5, Year C in the Revised Common Lectionary. John’s a little long on theology
here and short on narrative. But fortunately, the First Lesson (Acts 7:55-60)
gives us the stuff of which great epics are made—our first murder in the New Testament.
As you might expect, this
story needs a little back story to
set it up. Our martyr here is Stephen. He’s one of the first seven deacons
appointed in the Christian Church. If you recall from last week, the early
Christians practiced a pretty radical form of social justice. They held
everything in common, gave as they had the ability, and received as they had
need. But, alas! The early church was still made up of sinful folks just like
the rest of us, and a little favoritism started to creep into the distribution
of their social ministry. It seems the Jewish widows and orphans were getting a
little bit more from the Community Chest than were the non-Jewish widows and
orphans. The Gentile converts complained to the apostles. The apostles then did
the very church-like thing of creating a committee
to oversee the church’s social welfare program.
This committee of social
servants—known in the church as deacons
from the Greek word for servant, diakonos—was
comprised of seven good, honest, and faithful guys. The apostles laid hands on
them and prayed for them, and then got back to their own praying and preaching
while the deacons handled the administration. Stephen was, apparently, a really
good deacon. The Bible says he was full of faith and the Holy Spirit[i], and folks liked him. I
guess he was sort of like a Meals on Wheels driver whom all the old ladies want
to introduce to their granddaughters. In any event, he was very popular with
folks. In fact, the whole Christian movement was becoming really popular. It was
so popular that people were
converting by the thousands, and even some Jewish priests were wondering where
they could sign up to become disciples of Jesus.[ii] I think we can conclude
that there’s something of great promotional value about a religion that’s
caring, non-judgmental, and unconditionally accepting. It really works.
However: in this freaky
world of ours no good deed ever goes unpunished. Some of the big shots from the
local synagogue just weren’t about to get on the Jesus bus, so they started
arguing theology with Stephen. Stephen was a pretty sharp cookie who knew his Tora,
and he could make a real good argument for why he was embracing this new way of
living the religious life. This got the old-timers pretty steamed, so they
accused him of committing blasphemy and got him hauled up in front of the council
on charges.
Stephen acted as his own
attorney and took up all of Acts Chapter Seven proving his orthodoxy by
reciting a Readers’ Digest version of
Genesis and Exodus. But then he talked about the Temple—a very touchy subject
when you’re talking to the Temple Authorities. He finishes up by saying that
the leaders of the people, the ones who
should’ve known the commandments and the prophecies, not only called for
Jesus’ death but also ignored God’s Law.
As you can imagine, this
did not go over well.
“When they heard these
things,” says verse 54, “they became enraged and ground their teeth at Stephen.”
And the rest is history. Stephen is the first Christian murdered for his faith—the
first martyr.
I often approach storytelling
by asking, “Who am I or who are we in
this tale?” It’s important to remember that Stephen wasn’t a Christian calling
out the Jews. He was still a Jew commenting on the behavior of his own people. It’s
easy for us as Christians to be the angry mob ready to stone someone whenever
we’re called out on our own hypocrisy, lack of charity, or some other brand of
bad behavior. There are just some folks who never want to be told they’re
wrong. If our sense of identity or self-image is threatened, we’re ready to get
out the torches and pitchforks. Amazingly, the more we’re proved wrong, the
more we tend to double down on our error, grinding our teeth in indignation.
Of course, we might also
be like Saul, whom Luke introduces for the first time in this story. He’s not
actually doing anything wrong, but he isn’t doing anything to support or help
the victimized either. As the murderers doff their coats so as not to soil them
with the blood of the innocent, Saul is more than happy to look after them,
quietly thinking that the man being killed in such a brutal and horrific way probably
had it coming. He has plausible deniability, but his inaction or indifference
make him just as guilty.
And then there’s Stephen
himself. He speaks the truth, and takes the consequences. What is striking
about him is his lack of rancor toward those who oppose him. Rather, his gaze
is fixed on Jesus in glory. Jesus fulfilled. He looks past the present
conflict, refusing to put the spotlight on those who hate and malign, and keeps
focused on the goal. He knows, as Dr. King said, “The arc of the moral universe
is long, but it bends toward justice.[iii]”
In spite of Stephen’s
death, I see this story as a tale of hope and of perseverance. It’s a reminder
that we possess the ability to navigate life in truth and in the way of Jesus.
Or—since I like to quote hymns—as the old song put it:
Turn
your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.
No comments:
Post a Comment