Acts 7 Sermon: Stephen’s Testimony
About
Drawing on the texts of Luke 15 and Acts 7, this sermon explores what the Bible has to say about arrivals: the moments when someone's coming means something to the one receiving them, and what it means that Stephen, in his final moments, looked up and saw Jesus standing. Whether you are a prodigal making your way home, a weary traveler in need of rest, or someone simply longing for the presence of Christ to be real to you, this sermon is an invitation to consider the arrival that awaits every believer.
The Feeling of Being Welcomed
One of the best things about coming to church is being welcomed. You come to church, and someone’s already there. They welcome you. They are happy to see you. Then, you are here, and someone comes in after you, and you give them the welcome you received.
There is something special that happens when someone you love arrives.
When Barb and I and the kids would visit my mom and dad, my parents never waited for us to enter the house. We'd give them a heads up about when the plane would land and when we thought we'd be rolling in, and sure enough, by the time the front tires hit the gravel of their driveway, someone would be out the front door, ready to welcome us. Arrivals.
Barb's parents were the same way. The side door would be open, and they'd be making their way over to us before the car stopped rolling. Arrivals.
When our youngest was born in Costa Mesa, California, eventually the chaos and busyness of his birth had settled, and everything was calm. The sun was going down behind the last mountain range before the Pacific Ocean. Beautiful orange and purple. For years, Barb and I had wondered if our family was complete. How will we know? And about two hours after he was born, I looked over at her and said, "We're all here. This is us. We've all arrived."
And I think most of us know that feeling of an arrival from both directions: the feeling of being the one who arrives, and the one who is waiting for the arrival.
There is something special about it, when your coming means something to the one who is receiving you.
Big Wayne
I went to seminary in Marin County, which is just over the Golden Gate Bridge. On Mondays and Fridays, a group of us would meet up at an outside basketball court and we'd play from 3:30 pm to about 6 pm.
I am a hair over 6'4" and my friend, Wayne, was 6'8" – 6'9". We'd usually play against each other. He was from Nebraska. Big, big guy. We called him Big Wayne. At the point I'm about to tell you, we had played against each other, guarding, pushing, striving each other for about 18 months, maybe longer. I think he and his wife were married on the same day Barb and I were married. Nevertheless, one day, he didn't come to the court. He was sick.
Next week. He was sick.
He worked in the registrar's office, and I talked to him. He had recently been coughing a lot, finally got in front of a number of doctors and he was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. He was starting chemotherapy at the age of 26.
And his body's reaction to it was normal: loss of appetite, weight loss, hair loss. The whole thing. I'd see him, and he looked tired. Very tired. He was concerned about his wife and was unsure if he was going to have to drop out.
Many months later, new students have arrived. They've joined us in the classrooms and on the court. It was a rare, warm, sunshiney spring day. And it brought out a lot of people. We had 15-20 players who are cycling in and out. We were dribbling, shooting, and stretching. And a car pulled into the lot. The door opened and it was Big Wayne. "Oh, it's good that it feels good enough to visit and be outside."
Oh, no. This is different. He is dressed in his basketball shoes and shorts. He had been medically cleared. He was healthy.
Then all of the sudden, the dribbling slowed. Heads turned. And then, all at once, spontaneous applause, "Yeah! Way-ne. Way-ne! Way-ne!" He was back. He arrived. He was well.
Nobody planned it. It just rose. Because something in that moment was true, right, and good, and it easily demanded our attention. We loved him. And we watched his arrival.
Arrivals in Scripture
The Bible is full of arrivals.
There is a father in one of Jesus' parables, which we just heard, who has a son who left. He took his inheritance early, burned it all up living a life of pleasure, and he ended up finding a job feeding pigs in another country.
And when the son finally comes to his senses and turns toward home, the text says the father saw him while he was still a long way off. He was already watching, there on the front porch in the rocking chair. Watching. Waiting. Hoping. And then he sees his son and he's already moving toward him. He ran to meet him, threw his big arms around him, called for new clothes and a ring. "We're having a party. My boy has arrived."
There is a prophet named Elijah who arrives at his own collapse. He is exhausted. Wants his life to end. He is done. He lies down under a juniper tree and tells God, "That's a wrap. Beam me up." (Loosely translated)
No. Nope. No. God doesn't rebuke him. An angel touches him and says, "Get up and eat. The journey is too much for you." And the lesson is there: God meets the arrival of depletion and tiredness with bread and rest.
And of course, there are the two disciples on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24). They arrive home with a stranger, arriving with grief and the wreckage of their hopes. And there, the risen Christ walks into their arrival. Uninvited. Unrecognized. But there.
God has always been a God who meets arrivals.
Stephen's Arrival
Which brings us to Stephen. Faithful Stephen. Stephen with character, integrity, faith, and courage. Treated unfairly. Treated in a way that is beneath anyone.
Stephen is being stoned. And when you slow down and really recognize what it would mean to die through the process of people picking up 2-5 pound stones and throwing them full force at your face, it is harrowing.
He has faithfully testified about his faith in Jesus, but the crowd has covered their ears. They do not want to hear another word. He knows he is about to die.
And in that moment Stephen looks up and sees the glory of God, and he also sees Jesus standing at the right hand of God. The right hand -- a place of privilege, power, and authority.
What Does It Mean That Jesus Is Standing?
What's interesting is what Jesus is doing. He is standing.
That word has occupied the minds of readers and scholars for two thousand years. Throughout the New Testament, the ascended Christ is almost always described as being seated. Being seated is the posture of royal authority, of completion, of rest. But not here. Here, Jesus is on his feet.
What does it mean?
The word martyr literally means the one who testifies to what they have seen. The first Christians were called martyrs because they stood before councils and testified about what they saw and heard -- what Jesus did or taught. Stephen is called a witness in Acts before he becomes what we now call a martyr.
Some say that Jesus is standing to witness the witness. A sign of honor and interest.
Others say the standing posture is about verifying the ascension of Jesus. Remember, in Acts 1, Jesus appears to the disciples over the course of 40 days and then ascends to heaven. Stephen's vision confirms what the early church proclaimed: Christ is alive, exalted, and glorified at the Father's right hand.
Others suggest that Jesus standing is the posture of intercession: Christ is standing as an advocate, praying for Stephen before the throne.
The text does not tell us which one. So, let's not feel compelled to resolve it. It's okay if we let this be a mystery.
We Do Not Only Depart -- We Arrive
But here is what Christians across the centuries and traditions have agreed upon, regardless of which reading they favor: when we die, we do not only depart here, we arrive somewhere else.
We arrive at a place. We arrive in the presence of God, a place we often call heaven.
We not only arrive at a place, but more specifically, we arrive to a person, and that person is your Lord, Jesus Christ.
He is the one who knows our name. He knows the number of our days. He knows when we try to be a faithful witness. He sees. He is attentive.
One of our catechisms gets to the crux of it. The question: What is your only hope in life and death? And the answer: My only comfort in life and death is this, that I am not my own, but belong, body and soul, in life and in death, to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ.
What about my sin? What about my guilt? What about when I've not been a faithful witness? The answer continues: He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood, and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil. He also watches over me in such a way that not a hair can fall from my head without the will of my Father in heaven: in fact, all things must work together for my salvation.
What they thought would end Stephen ended up giving Stephen something no one could take away: the pleasure and the presence of eternal God. But didn't Stephen lose? Someone might say? And I don't know how he would answer, but maybe Stephen would reply, "It's hard to feel like you are losing when you gain heaven forever."
Whatever You Are Carrying Today
Are you a prodigal? Jesus is waiting on the porch for your arrival.
Are you tired and weary like the prophet? Jesus, today, offers you bread and cup for your journey.
Or have you had these hard to explain experiences like the disciples on the road to Emmaus? Your heart burned for the truth. You sought. You hoped. You tried. And now you see that what you longed for was the presence of Christ to be real to you.
To look up and to imagine what Stephen saw, the radiating, pure glory of God, unencumbered by sin or the senses, and nearby, in a place of power, authority, and prayer, Jesus Christ.
And one day, at a time and place that only God knows, you will see him, Jesus Christ, THE faithful witness face to face. You will believe like you've never believed before, because your faith will turn to sight. You will see with your own eyes what you've only been able to catch a glimpse of here.
Just like Stephen, the chaos of earth will give way to the calm of heaven. And Christ is not there just waiting for you to show up, he will rise and greet you, and you will be embraced into the wide and warm welcome of home.
What a Day That Will Be
Recently, I was remembering my grandfather, my dad's dad. He was a big, silly man. He was a farmer for all of his life. And he played the fiddle, and when he did, he stomped his foot to the rhythm, and the whole house shook. And when he sang, it sounded like happy screaming.
And he played hymns from the red Baptist hymnal. And I remember him playing and the song we'd sing in church. It was a congregation like this one, filled with hope and heartache and longing, people who had known what it meant for a loved one to depart, and who longed to arrive and experience what Stephen saw.
And the hymn's words speak so deeply. The rhythm is a swaying kind.
(1) There is coming a day
When no heartache shall come
No more clouds in the sky
No more tears to dim the eye
All is peace forever more
On that happy golden shore
What a day, glorious day that will be.
Chorus:
What a day that will be
When my Jesus I shall see
And I look upon His face
The One who saved my by His grace
When He takes me by the hand
And leads me through the Promised Land
What a day, glorious day that will be
(2) There'll be no sorrow there
No more burdens to bear
No more sickness, no pain
No more parting over there
And forever I will be
With the One who died for me
What a day, glorious day that will be.
(Hymn What a Day That Will Be by Jim Hill (1955))
