Sermon from 8/28/21 St Stephen’s Day Acts 6:8-7:2a, 51c-60
For a few months now
I have been preparing a campaign to run for school board. I have met with teachers, principals, retired
educators, trusted friends, students and community members to learn from their
perspective and hear their concerns. It
has been a valuable learning experience.
Out of these diverse perspectives there has been one question that seems
to come up again and again, one question that almost inevitably finds its way
into either the beginning or end of a conversation, and that is: “Are you sure
you want to do this?”
It is asked out of care, concern and a realistic understanding of the divisive world we live in today, where anything you say or do will make someone mad. In addition to this, those who have known that I am running have sent me links to articles about school board meetings across the country breaking out into shouting matches or sometimes, even worse, fist fights. I have seen videos of school board members being escorted to their cars amidst screaming parents making angry gestures. And through it all I continue to be determined, fueled by my care and concern for my own children, the children I know through volunteering in the schools, the teens I minister to here at our church and fueled by my deep hope and passion for a future with hope, a bright future of opportunity, respect and possibility.
And yet, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was being invited into some serious contemplation by the Holy Spirit on Wednesday. It was that same question, the “are you sure you want to do this?” Only this time it was in a text message I saw on my phone as I sat right in the middle of a contentious school board meeting, just a few blocks away from here. People were angry. The kind of angry that skips polite greetings, proper procedures and waiting your turn. There was shouting, booing, clapping, tears and just a general feeling of unease. Again, I wasn’t deterred, seeing all the more the importance of having people on the board who are open-minded and able to stay calm under fire. And then I listened to a story on NPR about school board meetings in America. They interviewed one woman, a school board president, whose son drives her to meetings so that her car can’t be identified and she keeps a baseball bat by the front door now and immediately assesses what in the board room might be used as a weapon by angry citizens.
After hearing that story, I came home to reflect on the scriptures for today in preparation for this sermon. First it was the reading from Jeremiah where God tells Jeremiah to prophesy to the people and he does, he says what God tells him to say and they say, “you shall die!” and gather around him. And in the Gospel reading from Matthew we hear Jesus say, “Therefore I send you prophets, sages, and scribes, some of whom you will kill and crucify, and some you will flog in your synagogues and pursue from town to town …” And of course the story of the saint we celebrate today, St Stephen. A man who, even though he was “full of grace and power, did great wonders and signs among the people” … and had “the face of an angel” was surrounded, dragged and stoned to death because of the words he spoke about Jesus.
It’s a lot. A reminder that even when you are called to something, even when you speak for the benefit of the community, even when you believe you are speaking a prophetic word from God … there are no guarantees for your safety. In fact, it might actually be more likely you will make people angry. Truth-telling is not usually the way to make people happy. Basically, what I heard again and again in the readings for today is: “are you sure you want to do this?”
As I was contemplating all of this I also had the usual worries about my kids being in school during a pandemic, my husband running a church during a pandemic and other disrupting thoughts- paired with a jam packed schedule where I literally needed to be in multiple places at the same time. If anyone noticed my shrinking, picked at fingernails they might have asked “are you sure you want to do this?”
In the midst of all of this I was reminded of something. Something we all know in a deep place within ourselves, something we forget, we drown out with worries, disappointments, hurts and fears. Something at the heart of Jesus’s words to every grieving and depleted person he met. Something found in the faith of Jesus on the cross and echoed by Stephen as he cried out on his knees surrounded by bloodied rocks ... “I will be ok no matter what.”
I have a framed quote by my bed from St. Julian of Norwich, it says “All shall be well, all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well.” She said this not as she sat at a park on a perfect weather day beneath the warm sun and smiling sweetly at the chirping birds. She wrote these words in the midst of an illness that almost took her life, a persistent illness she suffered through. In the midst of dramatic visions that made her sound crazy to outsiders. During a difficult time period where the future was uncertain and disease was rampant. As she knew the realities of pain and was surrounded by uncertainty she proclaimed “all shall be well.” Similar to “I will be ok no matter what” these are not situational words based on our conditional comfort or good feelings, this is instead a deep truth, one that comes from persistent faith and a willingness to connect with the Holy Spirit within. It comes from the moments when we let ourselves give in to God’s abiding presence and experience that peace which passes understanding.
When I read the Acts reading and feel that tension build. When the people are angry and accusing Stephen and he doubles down on his indictment of their hardened hearts, their refusal to listen to the Holy Spirit … I kind of want to say to him “are you sure you want to do this?” But he does not waver, he does not soften his message and no one around can deny that he is “full of grace and power.” Even as they close in on him, even as his body is overcome, even when he knows he will die, he boldly speaks from faith and assurance, the kind of faith that knows that “all shall be well” even when pain and fear are screaming otherwise. And his last words are asking God to forgive those who brutally murder him. Stephen unleashed a well of peace, love and courage that continues to pour out all these many years later as we read his words and commemorate his life and death.
And so our church bears his name. As I strain my neck to look up to the top of the tower from down at the bottom I think about when those stones were laid. When the founders of the church invested their time, talents and money to build this beautiful building. A testament in stone to a hope that lasts longer than our bodies, a faith that cannot crumble or be shaken. Did others ever ask them “are you sure you want to do this?” as the tower stretched higher and higher. And now here it stands in the midst of a busy downtown, through all weather, through pandemics, through uncertainty, through fears and division. And it bears the name of St Stephen, the man who knew “all shall be well.”
