St. Stephen was stoned to death. He was both the first Christian deacon and the first Christian martyr. He riled up the authorities by speaking out about how they had treated Jesus. They didn’t like Stephen speaking up, didn’t like him publicly denouncing their decisions and actions. They picked up some stones and hurled them at him until he was dead.
Stoning was a common form of capital punishment at the time. It was public. It was inefficient. It took a long time. It was ridiculously painful. It was traumatic. It was cruel. But then again, none of those things made it less attractive. The goal was to create something so heinous it drove fear into the hearts of those who might act out. The cruelty was the point.
For his part, Stephen was gloriously (almost frustratingly) resolute in the face of that cruelty. Remembering Jesus’ own last words from the cross, Stephen asked God to receive his spirit. As he fell to the ground, stones still crushing him, he cried out, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” An impossibly beautiful proclamation – a last gasping reach for grace in the face of death. Uncowed by cruelty, unblemished by violence, St. Stephen the deacon, who’s life had been given to serving others and speaking the truth come what may, devoted his last moments to the possibility of redemption. For him, the hope was the point.
When a great fire consumed a large portion of Rome in the year 64, the emperor Nero was not devastated, but embarrassed. He believed such a catastrophic infrastructure failure would make him look bad, would undermine the idea that he was a divinely appointed head of state. Nero found a scapegoat in the marginalized Christian community in Rome. Those Christians started the fires, he claimed – those violent godless animals. In the midst of the subsequent persecution, St. Peter was executed.
Peter had been a close friend and follower of Jesus. His name had been Simon, but Jesus – maybe half-jokingly, certainly all-lovingly – started calling him Peter, which can roughly be translated to Rocky. First a disciple, then an apostle, then the head of the church in Rome, Rocky Simon Peter had become a strong and resolute leader of the nascent church. The government crucified him in the name of justice and of keeping the peace.
Crucifixion, too, was common in the Roman Empire. More public, more long-lasting, more inefficient, more painful even than stoning. The victims of this form of violence were stripped down naked and forced to carry the heavy horizontal piece of their cross to the site of their death. And again, none of this inhumane brutality was accidental. It was a tactic of terror. The cruelty was the point.
Peter knew the score. Jesus had told him many times before that walking the way of love in a cruel world would have its cost. And Peter had seen what it did to his friend. Peter was undaunted. Once you know the power of love, the magnificence of grace, the friendship of God, I mean what else is there? They bound him and took him to that place he did not want to go, but Rocky was Rocky – stubborn even in his humility, immovable once he knew what he knew. He said, “I’m no Jesus. If you’re gonna kill me, hang me upside down.” Peter had worked the last several decades in hopes that he could simply live into the faithfulness for which he was born. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be worthy of it, worthy of the love that had transformed his whole life. So he used the last bit of rockiness he had to try in his own way to show he was not kidding around about the work of love. The hope was the point.
When authorities arrested Kilmar Abrego Garcia earlier this year, his son was in the car. They called his wife and told her she had 10 minutes to get to where they were and scoop up their son or he’d be taken to Child Protective Services. They then detained Garcia, denied him any legal representation, and unlawfully deported him to a private maximum security prison in El Salvador. Garcia is a Salvadorian immigrant who is here legally. When this became public, our government openly admitted this arrest had been an accident, then quickly reversed course, and said it was intentional, he was a dangerous gang member, he deserved it. Our famously divided Supreme Court unanimously ordered Garcia’s return. They were ignored. No due process. No accountability. A family torn apart in the name of making America safe. The cruelty is the point.
Posters plastered with pictures of deported migrants line the lawn of the White House. Our country’s center of executive power broadcasting mugshots of men imprisoned without trial. High ranking authorities pose victoriously in front of unindicted prisoners, crammed together in cells, or forced to their knees like St. Stephen. Citizens are encouraged to call a hotline and report anyone they suspect might be here illegally. We know who this effects. This is not accidental. The cruelty is the point.
We are witnessing acts of intentional, systematic, public inhumanity on a daily basis. When Rome burned, Nero needed a scapegoat. Our country has found ours. Latino immigrants. Latino immigrants, and trans people, and people of color. There are more cases of measles in the state of Texas than there are trans people in sports in the entire country. But we pass laws that make it legal to inspect a young person’s private parts before allowing them on the soccer field. The cruelty is the point. The teaching of the history and accomplishments of people of color is being wiped from national websites and databases. The cruelty is the point.
When Stephen was stoned, a young man name Saul stood and watched. He didn’t throw any stones himself so maybe he felt he was innocent. He was only one person, so maybe he thought that even if it made him queasy what could he do about what was happening. But he stood there, and he held the coats of the men who hurled rocks at one of God’s children. Complicit. Eventually God would knock Saul off his horse – literally – and transform him with hope. Saul changed his name to Paul and spent the duration of his life working for not only his redemption, but the redemption of everyone he met. He finally found out that hope is the point.
The proper response to cruelty is not, in fact, more cruelty. Cruelty breeds terror and despair, paranoia and division. Those first martyrs lived in hope for a world that honored truth, that practiced justice, that celebrated love. They understood in their bones that cruelty kills the soul, but hope resurrects. They made the spreading of hope and the creation of community the work of their lives.
I pray that we will be knocked off our horses. I pray that we will see Stephen and Peter and Christ himself in the faces of those who are being cruelly treated in America’s name. I pray that we will be their hope. It is not the job of those being victimized to show us the grace of God and act like the great biblical saints. It is not their responsibility to show us what hope looks like. It’s our turn now. It’s our turn to shrug off reckless indifference and bring hope to the hopeless. It is our turn to speak the truth about the cruelty we see, to stand against it, to work for the love that brings dignity to every human being. The hope is the point.
