Outside the Council hall, the six Leaned hard against the blackened bricks And tried to see the man whose voice They loved.
The church had made its choice Of Stephen first—and no surprise: He was a humble man and wise. He wore the crown of wisdom like A child; but when he spoke, the strike Of lightning came less piercing than The words of this courageous man.
Outside the Council hall, the six Leaned hard against the blackened bricks And heard the golden voice begin To rise—not bitter at the sin Of so-called Freedmen or the lies Of bribery or the blinded eyes Of Alexandrians—but bold And solid like a bar of gold.
"‘All heaven is my holy throne! And earth belongs to me alone, My footstool!' Says the Lord of hosts. ‘Shall I be awed by marble posts, Or stand in debt to hammered wings? Did not my hand make all these things?' Now hearken, stiff-necked Israel, Bend down your brazen back and tell Your Maker you have sinned. Repent! That you have killed whom God had sent, And then within the temple shade Broke every law that he had made." He hadn't always been this strong. There were the times not very long Ago, when he was just a kid Who trembled at the dawn, and hid When his turn came to speak in school, And felt like he was just a fool When Jews and Gentiles called him names, "Hey, Stevie-half-breed!" And the flames Of shame would cauterize his cheek. His brilliant father was a Greek, His gentle mother was a Jew. And that meant he was split in two, A mongrel to the other boys.
At first he took his little toys And played alone, then later on, In years when all the toys were gone, He took his father's parchments down And crafted for himself a crown Of knowledge in the solitude Of his own room, safe from the rude And painful mockery of life. The years went by, he took a wife, Who bore him sons, and Stephen swore One day (he thought) for evermore That neither he nor they would be The victim of such mockery Again.
But then the Christ appeared. And Stephen watched while he was smeared In Nazareth and Tyre and then Bethsaida, Sidon, Chorazin: "Born of a virgin, Ha! We know Another name for that. You crow Too loud, Jesus of Nazareth!" But Stephen stood and held his breath, And trembled at the memory Of ridicule and misery. He followed him from place to place And fixed his eyes on Jesus' face Whenever scribes would jeer and hiss. He'd never seen a face like this: The eyes were brimming pools of peace; No grudge or hate had cut its crease Or set his jaw or drawn his lips, Not even at the crack of whips Or rattling of swords. "What kind Of face is this," he thought, "maligned, But without fear or guilt or rage?" And Stephen seethed inside the cage Of cowardice and bile.
Until The day, with mouth agape and still, He stood outside the city gate And saw, as in a glass, the hate Of timid men swell up and kill The Lamb, His face!—One final glance From Christ—all power and radiance! The walls of Stephen's cage fell flat, And bitterness shot like a bat To find some other human cave, And make some bitter soul a slave. And Stephen made a solemn vow: "I covenant, O Lord, from now Until the day I die to love My enemy. O God above, Let me be broken now and brave." Within a year the former slave Was known through all Jerusalem As "Deacon with a diadem!" The childlike servant with a crown, And golden tongue of truth, renown For wisdom through the promised land, And no one living could withstand.
But now inside the Council hall, Cyrenians had tried to call This man a blasphemer against The law and God, and then dispensed With legal trappings of the realm And set themselves to overwhelm The council with a brawl.
The six Leaned hard against the blackened bricks. But only Prochorus could see— An old man out of Galilee, Whose love for Stephen knew no bounds. Parmenas pulled his cloak, "Those sounds, What are they, Prochorus?" There rose An awful murmur in the hall, And then there broke above it all The voice of gold: "Behold, I see An opening in eternity, A window in the heavens wide, And there the Son of Man beside The Lord of host—at his right hand— And risen on their feet to stand And witness to the thing you do, And welcome me when you are through." "What does he look like, Prochorus?" The old man's face was ominous. "He has the face of Gabriel, Or even Christ, I fear. Run, tell Elizabeth to meet us by The eastern gate, Parmenas." "Why, My father?" "She's his wife, my son, And they should say farewell. Now run!" "But, Prochorus, what will I say? And what about the children?" "Pray, Parmenas, God will speak for you, Now go, there isn't time." He knew The treachery and speed of rage. That morning yet he'd seen the stage Already set with stones piled high Outside the city gate. "But why The young and brilliant sage?" he thought Why not myself? My life is wrought. A good efficient martyrdom: The young remain, the old succumb. "But God does not submit to our Efficiency, and by his power Some rules have simply been reversed: The brightest star will burn out first." The tumult of the crowd was wild. Elizabeth with infant child And Parmenas came breathless to The eastern gate. "What can we do?" She begged old Prochorus. He took The child and gave him like a book To Parmenas, and squeezed her hand, "Elizabeth, here's what I've planned: You might have five tolls of the bell To touch his arm and say farewell. Cover your head. Let's go." He grabbed Her arm and plunged into the crowd, And suddenly, as gross and loud As all the rest, old Prochorus Began to shout and push and cuss His way toward Stephen's clanking chains. They moved in close and saw the stains Of blood already in his hair. Then Prochorus whispered a prayer, Struck Stephen on the back and thrust Elizabeth covered with dust Against his side. And while he railed And pushed and swore, the people failed To see their hands, nor could they hear The final words. A stone flew near Elizabeth, and suddenly The crowd gave way so all could see The prisoner. And Prochorus Pulled them apart with hazardous Delay, and took her out of view; But heard the golden tongue come through, And turned to see him once again. He smiled, "God cleanse your tongue, old man!" And as the stones increased in size, He knelt and lifted up his eyes: "O God, these are my enemies! I gladly serve them on my knees, Have mercy on them, O my God! Have mercy, Christ, lay down the rod! Have mercy, Spirit, melt their hearts, And move them as my soul departs! Lord Jesus, I have kept my vow! Please, come, and take my spirit now." But not from us, O Lord, I pray As we light candle one today!
Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsBibleVersion = "ESV"; Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsLinksOpenNewWindow = true; Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsLibronixLinkIcon = "dark"; Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsNoSearchTagNames = [ "h1", "h2", "h3" ]; Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsCssOverride = true; Logos.ReferenceTagging.tag(); By John Piper. © 1987, 2007 Desiring God. Website: desiringGod.org
