They Do Not Know What They are Doing

The Stoning of Stephen, Grace Carol Bomer, 2001. Oil on canvas, 32 x 56 in. Private Collection.

“O Thou with Hate Surrounded Chorale (BWV 44, No. 63)” from St. Matthew’s Passion. Composed by Johannes Sebastian Bach. Performed by Leonard Bernstein (conductor) and the Collegiate Chorale and Boys' Choir of the Church of the Transfiguration.

Poetry:

“St. Stephen”
by Malcolm Guite

Witness for Jesus, man of fruitful blood,
Your martyrdom begins and stands for all.
They saw the stones, you saw the face of God,
And sowed a seed that blossomed in St. Paul.
When Saul departed breathing threats and slaughter
He had to pass through that Damascus gate
Where he had held the coats and heard the laughter
As Christ, alive in you, forgave his hate,
And showed him the same light you saw from heaven
And taught him, through his blindness, how to see;
Christ did not ask ‘Why were you stoning Stephen?’
But ‘Saul, why are you persecuting me?’
Each martyr after you adds to his story,
As clouds of witness shine through clouds of glory.

FINDING THE EYES OF CHRIST

Martyr is not a good word anymore. It conjures not valiant saints, but self-absorbed virtue signalers—people looking less like Jesus and more like me.

When I give up my resources, I quietly praise my own generosity. When I serve, some part of me expects gratitude, admiration, or approval. When I refrain from recounting a wrong, I stroke my pride.

Worse? Sometimes, what I call “self-sacrifice”—usually ignoring my needs—is thinly disguised victimhood. It’s a failure of self-advocacy, more symptomatic of codependency than sanctification. It doesn’t draw me deeper into love. So, what makes sacrifice, to use Malcom Guite’s word, “fruitful”?

Stephen teaches us. There are obvious parallels in the deaths of Jesus and Stephen. “Father, forgive them,” and “Into your hands I commit my spirit,” says Jesus. “Receive my spirit,” and “Do not hold this sin against them,” says Stephen.

Receive me. Forgive them. What does being received by God have to do with selflessness in the face of death?Everything.

Here’s my working theory: Only when we relax into the love of God can we truly love our neighbors in a way that’s costly. Only when we trust that our needs will be met by his constant, attentive care can we look wholeheartedly to the needs of others.

Until the crushing moment of forsakenness, Jesus lived from that place—confident in his Father’s present provision and love. How do we get there?

Stephen shows us the way if we follow his eyes. In his final moments, he “saw the face of God.” He sees his rabbi. He sees the living promise of resurrection. He sees his gaze returned with eyes of compassionate love.

The gaze of God is not for the faint of heart. It is utterly exposing, stripping us as naked as our Savior. Gone are the pretenses, performances, illusions. Our failures stand in sharp relief. Our inability to heal ourselves becomes undeniable. But more undeniable is his love.

Here’s a reality evil desperately wants you to forget: God overflows with affection for you. His love is not begrudging or dutiful. His love for you is eager. It’s pursuing. It’s a love that says, You’re worth dying for. Just the chance to call you mine transfigures my pain into joy.

What could beholding such tender love make possible? Could it cut through chaos and fear in the midst of your worst nightmare? Could it move you to bless your accusers and murderers? Could it cause you to sow seeds of forgiveness?

And what could beholding such self-surrender spark in another? Could it reveal the crucified peasant rabbi as the Son of God? Could it become “light from heaven,” piercing blindness?

The revealing question: What do we hope others will see? False sacrifice says, in a hidden way, “See me.” True sacrifice pleads, “See Christ.” Death bears fruit when we who were once blind—now swaddled in the care of Christ—seek to say, by our dying:

Beloved, here is Life. Come and see.

In our ordinary days, may we be martyrs like that. Martyrs like Stephen. Martyrs like Christ.

Prayer:
Dear Jesus,
Amidst pain and confusion, help us to find your eyes. Humble us gently. Secure us in the certainty of your love. And help us to die to self in a way that leads to true life—for ourselves and others. Multiply our meager sacrifices into a bountiful harvest.
Amen

Hannah Williamson
Content Architect | Full Focus
Alumna of Biola University
Torrey Honors College (“18)

For more information about the artwork, music, and poetry selected for this day, please visit our website via the link in our bio.