Stones [Feast of St. Stephen - Acts 6:8-7:2a, 51c-60]

 The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

Acts 6:8-7:2a, 51c-60

 

Stones

 

What becomes of these stones?  Ancient as the worlds, as old as time.  Declared good by the God who crafted them at the beginning, in the beginning.  But now heaped around the body of a saint.  Stained with his blood.  Silently they sleep as the horror of the scene steals the life from a child of God, and the humanity from the frenzied perpetrators.  The ones who took and tossed and killed.

 

These stones could have been something else, served a more noble purpose.  They could have cushioned the head of Father Jacob, as he dreamed of angels and ladders.  They could have made an altar and felt the heavenly fire called down by Elijah.  They could have formed the foundation of the Temple, been a brick in the wall, or even become the chief cornerstone.  They could have fasted with Jesus in the wilderness, resisting the temptation to become bread.  But instead, against their will, they stole life from a man named Stephen.

 

Stephen, it is said, had the face of angel.  But that wasn’t enough to save him.  He dedicated his life to caring for the poor, to feeding the hungry, to visiting widows.  But that wasn’t enough to save him.  He spoke effusively about the extravagant love of God; he was full of grace and holy power.  But even that wasn’t enough to save him.  Following the example of his Savior, in his gravest crisis, he forgave those who hated him.  But those who hated him still threw stones.  Stephen was beautiful.  But sometimes humans are intent on destroying beautiful things, like crystal rivers, and resplendent birds, and lush forests, and even creatures made in the very image of God.

 

But not their coats.  The killers removed their coats before they armed themselves.  They didn’t want to sully their precious garments with the blood of the martyrs.  A young man named Saul watched the coats and watched the killing.  And watched as violence strangled the hearts of religious people.  People who had piously reduced God to easy answers.  People who refused to listen.  People who refused to entertain the idea of repentance.  Or conversion.  Or mercy.  Saul watched, by the coats.  He breathed in the trauma.  He witnessed the strength of stone.  And soon, he became stone and did the same. 

 

We would like to believe that violence is a rare plant that needs a perfectly imperfect environment to take root and grow.  But it is more like a weed – hardy and invasive.  Ready and waiting to break through the surface – out of our most secret places and into the world.  Ready to be awakened.  Sometimes by a mob.  Sometimes by a wound.  Sometimes by a thought.  Sometimes by the need to quiet a persistent voice.

 

Like the voice of John the Baptist.  Like the voice of Jesus.  Like the voice of Stephen. 

 

Only the voice of the martyrs can never be silenced.  Death has no power over a persistent voice; rage no power over the Gospel truth.  Their witness continues to echo through the ages – found still in the mouths of the faithful, in the prayers of the Church, in the stones of their shrines.

 

Like this shrine, this sacred space, this shelter for our souls.  St. Stephen is remembered here.  He is cast in stone.  He casts a shadow over us.  Here, we are in his good company.  And we are shaped by his story.  We are inspired by his courage.  We are rooted in his witness.

 

Even as he witnesses the good done in this place.  Stephen rejoices at our font.  He dines at our banquet.  He recites with us our prayers and gives voice to our songs.  He reminds us that our dead are never past; they are with us.  Unseen and yet present.  Knit into our souls.  Holy family members who have contributed their spiritual DNA to an eternal cosmic cause.

 

A cause that we have inherited: to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ.  Just like our patron.  And to do so in a world that throws stones.  To do so in a world that destroys beautiful things.  To do so in a world that seeks to drown out the cries of justice with the shattered sounds of violence.  St. Stephen carries his martyrdom on his shoulder to remind us that the way of Jesus is a rocky road.

 

And yet it is the road to which we are called.  With God’s help.  And God’s hope.  And God’s grace.  In the wake of the saints who walk the road before us. 

 

What are we to do in this world that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it?  We fold our hands, open our hearts, and live like saints.  We bring new saints to life through baptismal waters.  We plant seeds of hope in the fields of violence.  We shout Alleluias at the grave.  We love with every breath, until love is all that’s left.  We refuse to let the stones silence us. 

 

It may be that stones have a future better than their past.  After all, the stones were never meant to be thrown.  In the beginning, God created them and called them good.  So what becomes of these stones, in this brutal world?  We pick up them up, and we rinse them off, and we use them to build a world far more beautiful.