The Feast of Stephen 2005

Speaking Index

Delivered 26 December 2004, the Saturday service based on the readings for the Feast of Stephen.

Merry Christmas! We have come here at the close of the day, to gather beside the waters of baptism, to gather at the foot of the cross, and in the warm glow of the world’s welcome to the infant Jesus. We are called here to worship together. It is good that we are here.

As of sunset today, this is the second day of Christmas – the time for Two French Hens as the song has it. It’s called Boxing day in the British Commonwealth countries, where the masters trade places with the servants for a day, officers and enlisted men change jobs, and a second set of gifting takes place.

It’s also the Feast of Saint Stephen, the first martyr of the Christian church. The color of the day is red. We decided to be lazy and leave the white paraments up because my sermon wasn’t ready until just a few minutes ago and these have plenty of red on them anyway.

Look them up

Grace and peace to you from God our Father, and from his son Jesus the Christ, and from the Holy Spirit. Amen

I don't choose the hymns in the hymnal, and I really don't even know who does. Last Saturday evening we gathered across the hall to celebrate Bruno's 90th birthday, and his son Mark commented that it was good to be able to check things out with his dad, even though Mark is a seasoned intelligent man himself. As I was preparing this meditation, I realized that my dad would have known exactly how the hymns are chosen, what the committee is called, who chairs it, and what the requirements are. At any rate, one of my favorite carols starts:

"Good King Wenceslas looked out on the Feast of Stephen,
When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even."

Its five verses can choke me up and bring tears to my eyes, but it hasn't ever made it into the hymnal.

Growing up, I heard the song and somehow got the impression that Wenceslas was Polish. Not so, he was Bohemian. And he wasn't King, he was the Duke of Bohemia, the most powerful man in what we now know as the Czech Republic. The name would probably have been pronounced VENK-uh-lus, somewhat parallel to NICK-uh-lus, who is more closely associated with Christmas.

This was the feudal era, and each lord ruled his own domain. Wenceslas' grandfather created Bohemia by uniting these feudal lords into one realm and became the first Duke of Bohemia. He and his lady, Ludmila, converted to Christianity after hearing the witness of Saints Cyril and Methodius, and Ludmila is herself regarded as a saint in Eastern Europe. She devoted her time and no small part of her treasure building churches and sponsoring priests. She also raised Wenceslas, and instilled in him a deep faith. She probably called him Wencie. (Venkie) When Wenceslas was 13 his father died, and as he was too young to take the throne his mother Drohimira took control as regent. Drohimira was not a Christian, and reversed the policies of the realm, actively attempting to drive the church out of Bohemia.

At age 18, Wenceslas assumed the throne, ending his mother's regency. Still devout, he saw the faith flourish and was known for his fairness and generosity, particularly to orphans and the poor. The "good" part in Good King Wenceslas was certainly true.

So the scene is deep winter in Prague, the year would be between 925 and 928, when the young duke saw the poor man gathering sticks for his fire. Wenceslas clearly did believe in making his faith a central part of his activities, and though we have no reason to think this specific story is an actual historical event, the idea that he would set out to bring warmth and sustenance to a serf is not absurd.

According to the song, the serf lived a league away. A league has had various meanings in different places, but I've never heard it was less than three miles. When he called for meat, wine, and firewood, we can imagine that a duke wouldn't venture out with a trivial armload. So the page and the duke head out into the wind and snow, carrying a heavy load. And the page's strength faltered. The song has Wenceslas tell him:

"Mark my footsteps, my good page, tread now in them boldly,
You shall find the winter’s rage freeze your blood less coldly."

It's easier going to walk in another's footsteps, far less fatiguing. Not only did Wenceslas understand that he was called to follow in Christ's footsteps, but he was called to break the path for others. To lead. To be an example. Alas, Drohimira and her second son didn't approve of all this religious nonsense and the duke was murdered by his brother in 929, at the front door of a church he ran to for shelter when he realized what was happening.

Now, let's go back to that opening scene with the young Duke and his page looking out over the snow covered ground. When I first learned the song I didn't think much of it, probably thought that the Feast of Stephen was some Polish holiday. Actually, it's today. Well, it's on the calendar as the 26th of December, but as the dates in the church year start at sundown the night before, that's today. Now that I've introduced you to Wenceslas, and some of his nasty relatives, who is this Stephen?

Stephen was a Hellenic Jew, that is from what we now know as Greece or the surrounding area. He was filled with the spirit and gifted with the power of logic and oratory. Some legends maintain that during his ministry he converted Pontius Pilate to Christianity, we don't have any great authority for this, but it gives you an idea of his powers of persuasion and his fearlessness on behalf of the Gospel. Other legends suggest that he was Saul’s cousin and had predicted the conversion of Saul to Paul long before his young cousin watched him being stoned.

The early church was not always a completely cohesive body. They did spend a great deal of time together and pooled their resources, but it seems that the goods weren't always distributed in a way that was perfectly fair. The Hebrews who had converted apparently were taking the cream of the crop, the gentiles and foreigners were treated less generously. Some of these complained, specifically of the treatment of their widows – widows and orphans were supported entirely by the church. The disciples didn't want to stop their preaching to deal with this squabble, so seven respected men were appointed as deacons to supervise the church's property and Stephen was one of these.

As our lesson from Acts said, the spirit also called Stephen to preach and perform miracles. We are told that some of the foreign Jews challenged him, but were no match for him. "But they could not withstand the wisdom and the Spirit with which he spoke". They dragged him before the Sanhedrin, as they had with Christ a few years before, and Stephen took them on as well. And the crowds weren't satisfied to wait for a ruling from the Sanhedrin, they mobbed him and dragged him to the edge of town.

As they began to shower him with stones, he dropped to his knees in prayer, and was killed.

So on this day we are called to remember two martyrs for our faith. Nine centuries separated their lives. One was born to wealth and power where the other had surrendered all his own property to the early church. But both were called to provide for the poor, and both were fearless in the face of their adversaries.

We call them saints, and we are called to follow in their footsteps.

For most of us, this does not mean standing on a street corner preaching, getting dragged off to court, and needing to challenge the magistrate. I'm reasonably sure it won't mean being showered with stones by an angry mob, or clubbed to death at the door of the church. I think we need to realize that it does mean that we will be called to put our faith into action in the world.

I fear that I have too often shied away from this. Times when I could reasonably have been a witness to the Gospel, and didn't speak up for fear of embarrassment. And that itself is pretty embarrassing, as I am rarely hesitant to speak out at any time on any subject.

We need to put our faith into action "out there" in the world. Stephen took care of the Hellenist widows, but also went into the synagogues. Wenceslas was devout in prayer, but also went out into his duchy to visit the orphans and see to their needs. It's fine to contribute to our various drives to feed the hungry here at church, in fact it's noble and necessary. But it's different to stop for a beggar on the street in Seattle, risking that our words will be ignored, that a couple of bucks will go toward the next bottle of Tokay, or heaven help us, risking that we'll be late to an appointment.

We care for our children, our parents, and our immediate neighbors. This is, of course, as it should be. But even pagans take care of their own, we are called to go beyond that.

The witness of Stephen and Wenceslas does not demand that we put ourselves in the way of those who would kill us. Frankly, most of the world doesn't care enough about Christians to want to kill us. But seeing those who risked everything for the faith does call us to risk a little ridicule, embarrassment, or inconvenience as we go about our lives.

Our lives are, for the most part, easy. We have our trials and tribulations, but the fact that we label ourselves Christians doesn't often make our lives more difficult. Tomorrow is the feast of Saint John, beheaded at the whim of a dancing girl. Today is the feast of Stephen. The lives of John, Stephen, Wenceslas, and dozens of other saints who have gone before show that our faith should make our lives more difficult. It will make our lives vastly more rewarding, but much more difficult.

And this is what we call Good News. This is the Gospel of the Lord. Amen.