"The Stoning of St. Stephen" by Giovanni Battista Lucini, c. 1680. Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
To celebrate the feast day of St. Stephen, the first Christian martyr, on Dec. 26, his namesake, Br. Stephen J., MIC, composed the following poem.
The Vision of St. Stephen
By Br. Stephen J., MIC
“Amen, I say to you, some standing here
Will not taste death until they see
The Son of man who comes in majesty.”
When Stephen heard these words
From the Apostles, fear
Enrobed him, and he pondered, mystified,
And sought beside
The Spirit’s insight, since his own grew dim.
They seemed (he knew not how) ordained for him.
He had not Peter’s loyal, foolish sword,
Nor saw the Lord
Nailed to the tree, the sport of carrion birds
Giving the Bread of Life, His flesh, for food
In banquet royal for all to partake,
Presiding from on high:
His throne, a rugged Cross on which to die;
His crown, of thorns of human make;
His power pouring forth from every wound
On the ungrateful ground. —
No, Stephen witnessed not the holy rood,
Nor in the garden stood
Where Joseph and brave Nicodemus bound
A king’s ransom of spices in the shroud,
And where, on the third day,
Young John and Peter dashed in haste
Until they faced
The stone,
The first defeat of death,
Themselves astonished, out of breath
And wandered wondering away
As Magdalene remained and cried aloud
Blinded by tears till she had nearly swooned
Until the Lord she found.
Nor did he hear the promises of power
In that blest hour
In which the Lord ascended to his throne,
Commanding his disciples still to wait
Until the Holy Spirit should come down
In tongues of flame to crown
Those gathered, hiding danger’s reach,
While he in heavenly state
Prepared their persevering prayer to preach.
Yet Stephen heard their words
As they erupted out that upper room
So boldly, men might think them mad or drunk
As they spoke of the cross,
The empty tomb,
The risen Lord ascended to the height,
The prophecies fulfilled,
That God had made him Christ and Lord,
This Jesus whom his people crucified.
His heart burned, but, now clearer-eyed,
He set his faith in God whom men had killed
And all things earthly seemed but loss
Now that his soul was filled to brim
With one desire, one only, to see Him
Coming in power and light
Before his eyes closed on this world.
O blessed Stephen! One
Of Pentecost‘s miracle catch of fish;
Not long until, when unbelievers hurled
Their hate at you, you would receive your wish
To see the risen Son.
The Spirit set your soul apart
As one of seven, one in mind and heart
To serve the treasures of the church in need
Their earthly wants, and more, indeed,
To feed their souls with gospel seed.
So wondrous was your love
That the divine life-giving Dove
Worked wonders through your hands among the poor:
You went from door to door
From heart to heart
Your heart sharing
For their hearts caring
Sparing no expense of time or toil
Nor giving only part
And saving for yourself the rest
(As Ananias tested, to his cost
And Sapphira, who life and husband lost.)
No stingy heart beat in your breast,
But one pleasantly dripping with the oil
Of brother-love and unity professed.
With more than human wisdom you were wise
And as you preached the word
The Spirit burned the hearts of those who heard.
None could withstand
With wit or art or whim
your knowledge of the Scriptures, taught by Him
Who authored it through many a human hand
And gathered in your land
The monuments of patriarchs, the sighs
Of slaves in Egypt suddenly relieved
And led through water to a promised land,
By the Lord’s mighty arm and outstretched hand.
And gathered, too, were writings of the seers
And sages who, for near uncounted years
Warned Israel the covenants to keep
And not despise
The providence of his all seeing eyes.
These you believed
And the apostles’ witness taught to you
With faith surpassing deep,
And as this faith you labored to dispense
To net up followers like fish
The faltering words failed fully from your foes.
And with nothing to say in their defense,
They ground their teeth
While you,
With eyes upraised, perceived the wreath
That spells your name, the crown of heavenly joy,
Amid your woes—
At last! At last! Your answered wish!
The sight unstained and pure without alloy
Of Him Who sits in heaven true.
You voiced, half-whisp’ring, then out loud,
The heavens opened through the cloud
Of mortal sight, and standing there,
By Him Who sits on heaven’s throne,
The Son of Man and God, Who will declare
Judgment on those
Who mercy would refuse.
But hearts harder than stone
And teeth harder than bone
Could not endure
A truth of faith so sure.
Their cloaks falling
And their neighbors calling
From all sides to accuse
And strike you from afar, hurling hard rocks,
But you, half sunk
On soil, raised up your voice
Amid the pounding and the shocks.
Even in your death throes,
Though they had made their choice,
You cried for Mercy – not relief from pain,
But that those who would strain
Now to destroy you might not bear
The penalty of sin:
That they might one day win
A wedding garment without stain,
In freedom and repentance soon to gain
Heaven’s reward which you do merit now
As underneath the cross of stones you bow.
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