In Life and Death
Acts 7:55-60
When I was in seminary I was fortunate to be taught by some of the most preeminent scholars in their field. Among them was Professor Bruce McCormack. Prof. McCormack was a towering figure on campus, not only because of his vast theological knowledge, but also because he stood 6’6” tall. He truly was a giant of a man.
My academic interests didn’t really align with the courses that Prof. McCormack taught, but I didn’t want to leave seminary without taking a class of his. So, in my final year, between the fall and spring terms, I took a special two-week-long seminar called Classics in Reformed Spirituality. Honestly, I don’t remember much about any of the “classics” that we read. Nothing at all, in fact.
However, one of the things I enjoyed about the class was its intimate and informal nature. The format was a seminar, not lecture. There were ten or twelve students gathered around a conference table, not one hundred students spread throughout a lecture hall vigorously tapping on their laptops. And rather than Prof. McCormack simply reading his lecture to us, which he was infamous for doing in his lecture classes, the seminar format allowed for a free-flowing discussion of the assigned readings.
Something else I appreciated was the vulnerability that Prof. McCormack occasionally showed. I remember two occasions specifically. The first was when he confessed a fondness for the song “Tangerine” by Led Zeppelin, even confiding that there was a particular note in the guitar solo to which his heart felt as if it were tuned. I immediately played the song from my phone and asked him to pinpoint the note, which he did.
The second was when he shared with us what being a Christian meant for him. Ever the theologian, he quoted from a theological document, a confessional statement that was written in the German city of Heidelberg in the 16th century. The Heidelberg Catechism, as it’s known, is written in question-and-answer format. The first question asks, “What is your only comfort in life and death?” Answer: “That I am not my own, but belong with body and soul, both in life and death, to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ.”
I don’t know what I was expecting to hear—probably some sort of complex, elegantly reasoned, and irrefutable theological argument. But what Prof. McCormack shared was a profoundly personal statement. He may not have written the words himself, but the words spoke for him. This chaired professor of theology, who had written books and published papers and spoken at conferences around the world, who had forgotten more theology than I would ever learn, was comforted by the fact that he belonged body and soul, in life and death, to his faithful Savior Jesus Christ.
And so do all of us. And so did Stephen, whose life and death are the focus of today’s reading from the book of Acts. As a rule, I don’t like jumping into the middle of a story, or as in the case of today’s reading, really the end of the story. The few verses we read here at the end of chapter 7 are but the conclusion of a much longer story that began in chapter 6. To catch us up to speed, I’m going to briefly summarize how we got here, with the religious leaders so enraged with Stephen that they want to stone him to death.
The story of the book of Acts is the story of the early church. That story begins in Jerusalem, where the community of believers is a mix of Jews, including the twelve disciples, and a growing number of gentiles, i.e., non-Jewish converts who regard Jesus as the Messiah for all—Jew and gentile alike. Then, as now, differences within the church were a source of tension. While earlier in the book of Acts we’re told that the community of Christ followers shared everything in common, so that all needs were met, it’s not long before that ideal is forgotten. Food is not being distributed evenly, with some gentile Christians complaining that the needs of their widows are being entirely neglected. Poor widows are going hungry.
To respond to that need, Stephen is chosen to be among the first deacons of the church. He is described as someone full of faith and the Holy Spirit. This becomes apparent in his ministry, which is said to be full of grace and power, with Stephen performing great wonders and signs among the people. Clearly, God has blessed Stephen’s ministry. And yet, you can’t please everybody. Or more pointedly, no good deed goes unpunished. Some people from a local synagogue take issue with Stephen. Perhaps they are motivated by envy, which seems to be suggested. Maybe they are shamed by this do-gooder. Whatever the source of their discontent, they bring false charges against Stephen, accusing him of blasphemy. They seize him and bring him before the religious council. They coerce people to testify falsely against him.
Now, it must be said that Christianity as a religion distinct from Judaism has not yet happened at this point in Acts. It will be several years before Christianity breaks off from Judaism. The early Christian movement was a movement within Judaism, which is why Stephen is brought before a Jewish council on charges of blasphemy.
Having been accused, Stephen is given an opportunity to answer the charges. And, boy, does he ever! The reason we picked up the story in verse 55 is because the previous fifty-four verses of chapter 7 feature Stephen giving a history lesson to his accusers, reminding them how God’s servants were often rejected by the people, going all the way back to Moses, and before that Joseph, whose own brothers sold him into slavery. With a rhetorical flourish he brings his defense to a climactic finish by asking, “Which of the prophets did your ancestors not persecute?”
As you might imagine, that does not go over well with Stephen’s accusers. To paraphrase Jack Nicholson’s Colonel Jessup from the movie A Few Good Men, they can’t handle the truth! Which is to be expected. None of us likes hearing the truth of our sin spoken about ourselves. None of us enjoys hearing our sin laid bare before us. “Are you saying that I need forgiveness?” Stephen’s accusers go so far as to literally cover their ears like children. “I’m not listening! I’m not listening!”
While there is some humor to be found here, I don’t want to pretend that this isn’t a matter of life and death for Stephen. In fact, it’s a terrifying scene. A scene of horror. His accusers cannot control their rage. In a frenzy they shout and rush at him. They drag him out of the city and begin to stone him. For all intents and purposes it’s a lynching. An angry mob has descended upon an innocent man believing that they are administering justice. A man who has served God faithfully, a man whose ministry served the poor and the vulnerable, a man filled with the Holy Spirit is subject to the wrath of people calling for his death. What’s more, he is innocent of the charges brought against him.
If that pattern sounds familiar, award yourself a point. In many ways the stoning of Stephen is reminiscent of the crucifixion of Jesus. And in his final moments, Stephen’s words echo those of Jesus on the cross. In the Gospel of Luke, as Jesus breathes his last breath, he prays, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” Here in Acts Stephen prays, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” And as Jesus prayed from the cross for God to forgive those who crucified him, so Stephen prays, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.”
“Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” That’s my prayer when someone is tailgating me on the Palisades Parkway when I’m going 75 MPH. Actually, no. My prayer is more like that of the disciples when a Samaritan village rejects Jesus: “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” That will teach them a lesson!
Stephen is, in fact, teaching us a lesson. The reason that we remember Stephen, the reason that his death is recorded in the book of Acts is not just because he is the first Christian martyr. The reason we remember Stephen is that he shows us that forgiveness—forgiveness even of those who have done us an egregious wrong—is rooted not so much in the strength of our will but in the power of Christ who was crucified in order to forgive sinners.
Just before he is led away to be stoned, Stephen sees a vision of Jesus. “Look,” he says, “I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God.” That vision of the ascended Christ empowers Stephen’s witness to Christ’s atoning death. Because he has been forgiven, Stephen is able to forgive. And because we have been forgiven, we are able to forgive, and thus break free from patterns of both vengeance and victimhood. Christ’s forgiveness frees us for a new way.
In his life and in his death, Stephen bears witness to that way. Yes, Stephen is the first Christian martyr, but the Greek word from which we get the word “martyr” simply means to bear witness. It didn’t have the religious connotations that it would later acquire. In other words, Stephen is a martyr not only because he suffered and died for Jesus Christ, but because of the way that his death bears witness to Christ.
That’s the whole ball game. That’s why we’re here. That’s what this life is all about, Charlie Brown. We are here to bear witness that in body and soul, in life and in death, we belong to our faithful Savior Jesus Christ.