Acts 6:8-7:2a, 51-60 *
In the name of Christ Jesus, dear friends:
How many of you have a birthday that falls within a week of Christmas? For those of you who said yes, how many of you have ever received a birthday present that was wrapped in Christmas paper? Or how many of you have a close friend or relative who totally forgot your birthday because of its proximity to the holiday season?
It doesn’t seem fair, does it? Everyone else gets parties and presents and cakes with candles, but if your mother brought you into the world sometime in the latter part of December your birthday takes a backseat to Christmas.
My birthday wasn’t last week. My birthday isn’t coming up this week. But I think I know how you feel. My name is St. Stephen. And out of the three hundred sixty five days in a year, the Christian Church decided to honor me today, the day after Christmas.
But you know what? I don’t mind. In fact, I am honored . I am honored that my special day is so close to the birthday of my Savior. After all this day is not really about me. It is about what Jesus has done for me and what Jesus has done through me.
When I remember that, I can’t be resentful. When I remember that, I can only be thankful. This is my day. This is my day to celebrate the gift of a Savior. And as you listen to my story this morning, I hope that you will celebrate with me…
The official name of my day is the Festival of St. Stephen, Deacon and Martyr. Some of you may recall how I earned the latter title, but you may not know how I came to be known as a deacon. Luke provides all the details in Acts 6.
After our Lord ascended into heaven, the Christian church experienced a period of tremendous growth. The challenge for the twelve apostles was to meet the growing demands of a growing ministry. And there was one particular issue that brought everything to a head.
In those days the government didn’t sponsor any kind of welfare program, so people in need depended on the generosity of others to survive. Jesus’ followers had developed an informal support network to provide for widows, but it didn’t take us long to realize that the system wasn’t perfect.
The Greek speaking Jews began to complain because their widows were being overlooked in the daily distribution of food. This was not done with malicious intention. The job had just become too big for twelve people to handle by themselves. And so the disciples put their heads together and came up with a solution.
To make sure that no one would be overlooked again, and to allow the Twelve to dedicate their time and energy to the ministry of the Word, the disciples decided to appoint seven men to take over some of the church’s administrative tasks. And this is where I enter my name enters the sacred text of Scripture.
Luke describes me as “a man full of faith and of the Holy Spirit” (Acts 6:5). I don’t mention this to brag or to draw attention to myself. I am proud to say that my heart is full of faith, but I will be the first to admit that it is the Holy Spirit who gave me that faith. And it is the same Spirit who gave me this unique opportunity to serve.
Waiting on tables wasn’t very glamorous. Making sure that little old ladies had enough
to get by from one day to the next didn’t make me rich or famous either. But it was important work. It was rewarding work. And whenever I wished that I could be like
the apostles, whenever I daydreamed about preaching a Pentecost sermon like
Peter, I remembered the words of Jesus: “Whatever you did for one of the
least of these brothers of mine, you did for me” (Matthew 25:40).
I had heard about the many miracles of Jesus, how he changed
water into wine, how he stopped a raging storm with just a word, how he brought
Lazarus back to life after four days in the tomb. I saw the apostles perform many miracles in
Some people praised God because of my miracles. Some people listened a little bit closer to what I said because of what I did. But there were also some people who wanted to argue with me. They didn’t want to hear about my miracles. They didn’t want to hear about their sin. They didn’t want hear any more about Jesus. But even my harshest critics couldn’t stand up to me. Not because I was a great orator. Not because I was a college debate champion. But because I spoke the Truth.
Little did I know that God was using these confrontations to prepare me for the greatest challenge of my life, but before I get to that I have a confession to make. You honor me today as St. Stephen, Deacon. And that is what I am. I served God by serving God’s people. And any service done in the Lord’s name is a blessed privilege.
But I am not called St. Stephen because I am perfect. There were days when I didn’t want to get out of bed. There were days when I felt like I was just going through the motions. There were days when I wondered if I was making a difference. There were some days when I just wanted to give up.
You may not have a day dedicated to your memory, but each one of you is a saint. You are holy in the eyes of God because Jesus has made you holy through his blood. But if you are like me, your attitudes and actions can sometimes be less than 100% sanctified.
You go out of your way to make Christmas extra special, but no one notices. You invite your friends and neighbors to church, but no one comes. You go above and beyond the call of duty at work, but no one cares. You wonder if it’s worth the effort. You doubt that what you are doing is doing any good. You ask yourself if it might be easier to just give up.
It’s a good thing that Jesus never entertained thoughts like
that. The almighty Son of God “made
himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant” (Philippians 2:7). “The Son of Man did not come to be served,
but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Mark
When I ponder the mystery of the incarnation, when I remember that Jesus gave up his throne in heaven to become a man on earth, when I think about what God’s Son was willing to suffer to take away my sins, when the Word made flesh proclaims that he did it all for me, I have to celebrate. The miracle of Christmas has given me a new outlook on life. And in my case, the Lord allowed me to honor him in my death.
Do you remember the trial of Jesus? Do you remember how witness after witness stood up and told lies about him? Can you imagine how that felt? I can because the Jewish leaders used the same tactics against me.
Some were saying that I was guilty of blasphemy. Others testified that I spoke against the
temple and the Law of Moses. Before I
knew it the guards seized me and brought me before the Jewish Sanhedrin. And with every eye in the room focused on me,
the high priest asked: “Are these
charges true” (7:1)?
My initial thought was to make a break for it, but I didn’t. I could have thrown myself at the mercy of the court, but I didn’t. I could have renounced my faith in Jesus and walked out of that courtroom a free man, but I didn’t. Instead the Lord allowed me to see that this threat was an opportunity to be his witness. And full of the Holy Spirit and faith, I opened my mouth to speak.
I won’t repeat everything I said that day (if you are interested you can read my entire address in Acts 7), but please allow me to give you a brief summary. I began by tracing the history of our people all the way back to our father Abraham. I recalled how Joseph was mistreated and sold into slavery by his brothers. I remembered how Moses was rejected by his own people.
Now why did I do that?
Why did I stand up there and give a Bible history lecture to people who probably
knew the Old Testament better than I did?
I did it to establish a pattern, a pattern of God’s faithfulness and
man’s sinfulness, a pattern of God’s invitation and
I could tell by the looks on the faces of the leaders that they knew where this sermon was going. But I couldn’t stop. I had to tell the truth. I had to call them to account. And so I paused for just a moment to gather up my courage, and then I said:
“You
stiff-necked people, with uncircumcised hearts and ears! You
are just like your fathers: You always
resist the Holy Spirit. Was there ever a
prophet your fathers did not persecute?
They even killed those who predicted the coming of the Righteous
One. And now you have betrayed and murdered
him” (
At that moment I fully understood that I was not in control. And even though the court was about to become a lynch mob, my enemies weren’t in control either. God was. God always is. The only difference was that in this case he allowed me to see it. I looked up to heaven and there he was. There was Jesus, not a baby in a manger, but the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God in glory.
After that everything was a blur, but I wasn’t afraid
because I knew where I was going. As the
angry mob hurled stones at me, I prayed: “Lord
Jesus, receive my spirit” (
It is no coincidence that your English word, “martyr,” comes from the Greek word for “witness.”
I put my faith into action throughout my life, but perhaps my most powerful witness came on the day of my death.
And who knows? Maybe one of those Jewish leaders heard my voice over the shouting crowds. Maybe one of them had second thoughts and let go of the rock in his hand. Maybe the Holy Spirit used my death to save another soul from eternal death. I don’t know. What I do know is that it was an honor to live and die for the One who lived and died for me.
Today is December 26th. For many people this is just another Sunday, but not for me. This is my day. This is my day to celebrate, and I want you to celebrate with me. Celebrate my life of service. Celebrate my martyr’s death. Celebrate Christmas and God’s gift of a Savior. Amen.