People of the Way

Our Bible study spent this last week reading and talking about some of the story of Acts, the beginnings of the early church. Included in the passages we read was a bit more about Stephen, the first martyr of the church – today’s Acts reading gave us just the finale of his story, if you will, the terrifying moment of his death. So this is where I have to stop and confess that I’ve always found Stephen just a little annoying, all those pictures of him looking up to heaven while enraging everyone around him. There’s a reason for this: My brother’s name is Stephen, and we siblings always liked to suggest that we had biblical precedent for throwing rocks at him when he got annoying – which was often. St Stephen’s feast day happens to be the day after Christmas, when the family was gathered together and everyone was a little tired and wired and bored…so we had plenty of provocation to respond to. And to be fully honest, if you read the whole passage, the long sermon that St Stephen gives that fires everyone up against him is pretty darn provocative. Not to say he deserves what’s coming, but well, if he were my brother…

But the story does give us a kind of early warning signal in our Easter season. The good news of the resurrection is wonderful news, God making a way out of no way, doors opening, new life out of darkness. The one who loves us so much is alive, fully alive; death is conquered and we are free. But the resurrection is also provoking news. It means that lots of things we think are settled suddenly are not. It means we don’t have a full understanding of it all, and we certainly don’t have much control.

And that provoking can bring a reaction. Stephen was preaching good news, but what he said certainly wasn’t received that way. This world punishes those who trouble the waters too much. Stephen dies the way Jesus did – speaking the truth and paying the price for it. And yet keeping his own heart pure and open to the end: ‘Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.’ ‘Do not hold this sin against them.’ And as he dies, the pattern is set for all those martyrs who will suffer and die in the centuries to come. As the letter to Peter says, we Christians see Jesus as the cornerstone. But there are plenty who find him a stumbling block instead. Beware, people of the Way, Stephen’s story says. This road isn’t a smooth one. You may find plenty good trouble if you choose to walk along it.

Not very comforting, is it? There are words to comfort us in today’s gospel, though, words that are familiar ones from many funerals. In my Father’s house are many mansions – many dwelling places. At a funeral, we hear in this that the Father’s house with all the mansions in it is heaven, the place we all hope to get to when we die. That’s one way to understand it, and it is what we need to hear at a funeral, that our loved one will find their home with God.

But I think Jesus is talking about more than heaven. The Father’s house is his image for the relationship between Jesus and God – a relationship that has a lot of room in it for us to dwell in too. Echoing this, our psalm today talks of God as a castle to keep us safe, a stronghold, a tower of strength. And Peter writes of us as living stones, built into a spiritual house. God is our house, we are a house for God, we are invited into the house Jesus and God live in together. Being in this house, this space of love held by Jesus, means home, the experience of truly being at home. The comfort of feeling safe, known, held.

But when Thomas asks Jesus more about this, how do we get there, exactly? Jesus sounds a little less comforting. You know how, he says. I am the Way there. The Way, the Truth, and the Life. Not so much the Home where you can hunker down and hide from the world, but the Way. Not the thing that makes you feel safe, but the Truth. And I’m calling you ever onward into life, to follow me.

And as you recall, the tabernacle where God’s presence dwelled with the Israelites all those years wasn’t a fixed house either. It was a tabernacle on the move, wandering through the desert with the people. God okayed the building of the Temple at a later date, but almost grudgingly – and it didn’t stand forever. Jesus went around talking a lot about how the temple would be torn down, and in fact, that is what happened. But what he really meant was that the presence of God isn’t fixed in one place. It’s moving, as it always has. And so must we.

Easter is a season of resurrection. But the season also leads into what’s coming next – that is, the Holy Spirit. Jesus promises to his disciples that although he won’t be around forever in bodily form, God’s Holy Spirit will be coming to inspire and lead them. And they will be his witnesses throughout the whole world. Something sure happens at Pentecost, because it’s remarkable how much those clingy, confused disciples change after that day. They perform healings, they step up to lead, and they preach boldly to all kinds of people in power – even when, like Stephen, those in power want them to stop. They don’t play it safe; they don’t get to. And neither do we.

I heard a quote recently from the rock musician Nick Cave, who, interestingly, is a Christian – despite a long stretch of all the usual horrible rock star behaviors, he kept coming back to Christianity. And he now talks openly about his faith. He’s clear it isn’t just a private spiritual path for him, another way to peace and happiness. He talks about religion as ‘spirituality with rigor’ – spirituality can be amorphous, he says, kind of squishy. But religion ‘makes demands on us.’

That quote has been recurring in my head now for weeks: Religion makes demands on us. That encapsulates so well what it feels like to follow Jesus. There’s plenty of kind of vague spirituality in our culture that is primarily focused on making us feel good and safe. But religion isn’t about that – there’s a challenge in it, there’s a different way of being involved in it, there’s something it impels us to do. It’s risky – because God is risky. And God calls us forward into new and risky things all the time.

God never promises that if we follow this Way, we’ll be safe and sound, at least not the way we’d rather understand that. But God promises to be with us. To hold us tight as we go, to travel with us, behind and before, to lead us on the path. We aren’t asked to do anything Jesus didn’t do. Just this: tell the good news. Be a force for healing. Shine your light in this world. Bring people to come and see. And so be part of God’s redemptive work. ‘And remember,’ says Jesus, ‘I am with you always, to the end of the age.’ May we have the courage to say yes to this call, and God’s strength as we go.