On St. Stephen’s day

Stephen, filled with grace and power, was working great wonders and signs among the people.

Certain members of the so-called Synagogue of Freedmen, Cyrenians, and Alexandrians, and people from Cilicia and Asia, came forward and debated with Stephen, but they could not withstand the wisdom and the spirit with which he spoke. … When they heard this, they were infuriated, and they ground their teeth at him. But he, filled with the Holy Spirit, looked up intently to heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God, and he said, “Behold, I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God.” But they cried out in a loud voice, covered their ears, and rushed upon him together. They threw him out of the city, and began to stone him. The witnesses laid down their cloaks at the feet of a young man named Saul.  As they were stoning Stephen, he called out, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.”  (Acts 6:8-10; 7:54-59)

Last year, before his Angelus prayer with the crowds gathered in St. Peter’s Square in Rome, Pope Francis said: “In the joyful atmosphere of Christmas, this commemoration [of St. Stephen] may seem out of place. For Christmas is the celebration of life and it fills us with sentiments of serenity and peace. Why disturb the charm with the memory of such atrocious violence? In reality, from the perspective of faith, the Feast of St Stephen is in full harmony with the deeper meaning of Christmas.” Pope Benedict also reflected about this and he said, “At first glance, to join the memory of the "protomartyr" and the birth of the Redeemer might seem surprising because of the contrast between the peace and joy of Bethlehem and the tragedy of St. Stephen, stoned in Jerusalem during the first persecution against the nascent Church” (Angelus, 26 December 2006). One might ask:  “How can tragedy be a source of joy?”

As both popes declared, in order to understand this link, we have to search for the deeper meaning of Christmas. Yes, Christmas is the celebration of joy amid the suffering of people, of light coming in the darkness of this world if not of our hearts. The birth of baby Jesus did not occur in a clean, beautifully and richly decorated palace, which would not have been such a bad idea for the birth of the Son of God; not a bad idea at all, that is, if we see things from our point of view. But the Emmanuel, the God with us, had a better idea: he wanted to share the circumstances of our lives, for he wanted to be like us in everything, except in sin. Let us remember St. Paul writing to the people of Corinth saying: “For you know the generous act of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that by his poverty you might become rich” (2Cor 8,9). This is the source of our joy!

  

However, if we want to understand Christmas, we have to meditate on the mystery of the incarnation and ask the Lord to illumine our mind and our heart so as to appreciate what he has done for us.

On the first Christmas night the angel of the Lord announced to the shepherds the good news: “To you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord” (Lk 2, 11). This was the message wrapped in the glory of singing angels. But the story of Christ’s birth strikes us by its simplicity: “She [Mary] gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn”. There is a lot of beauty in this simplicity, so different, sometimes, from the way artists interpret the greatness of this act of God or the way we prepare our Christmas cribs with so many decorations. Not that I am in any way against this way of presenting the Christmas scene, for this is our way of expressing awe at what God has done for us. In a way we are interpreting our sentiments, and we are acknowledging our limited abilities and we are telling God: “We really do not understand you! We appreciate your Gift and we profess our limited understanding!”

It is easy for us to be impressed by the poverty surrounding Christ’s birth: the baby in a manger, wrapped in bands of cloth, and not having a decent place where to be born for there was no place at the inn for this simple working-class family. We might imagine that things would have been less dramatic if he was born in a warm, clean and comfortable room. It is not so for, if we do not pay enough attention we might easily miss the fact that the immensity of Christ’s birth lies in the fact that the Son of God took on himself our humanity and became man, a real human being. The word ‘real’ is truly important, for it means that he who is immortal took upon him our mortality, he took upon himself the reality of death. As Pope Benedict said on St. Stephen’s day in 2005, “The shadow of the Cross was already extending over the manger in Bethlehem”. This is the mystery of the Incarnation.

If we want to better understand the Christmas message we cannot separate Incarnation from Redemption, for Incarnation without Redemption is meaningless. Birth is our first step towards death; Incarnation is the first step towards Redemption. The feast of St. Stephen on the day after Christmas illustrates this idea.

The Acts of the Apostles tell us the story of St. Stephen, and when it comes to the point of Stephen’s death it points to three personages: there is Stephen being stoned to death, and there is Jesus to whom Stephen points saying “Behold, I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God”, and there is young Saul at whose feet “the witnesses [false witnesses, let it be said] laid down their cloaks” (Cfr Act ch 6 and 7).

During his last moments on earth, facing death in its face, Stephen did not see death but Christ’s glory at the right hand of God. He did not focus on life on earth ending tragically, but on the glory of God where he knew he was being taken by his and Our Lord. Stephen is telling us that death is not the end of life that started with our birth. He saw it only as a passage to life eternal, from being “poor” to “becoming rich” as the apostle Paul said.

And then there is young Saul who from a persecutor of the Church became one of its stronger defenders, preachers and one of its main columns. He was present at Stephen’s killing and an accomplice. Perhaps Stephen’s testimony during his speech to the Council or through the tranquillity of his last recorded words of faith: “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit” left a lasting impression on this young man.

During his Angelus prayer on St. Stephen’s day of 2008 Pope Benedict said: “It could be said a posteriori that precisely Stephen's witness was decisive for his conversion … When Saul [on his way to Damascus], having fallen to the ground, heard himself called by name by a mysterious voice and asked: "Who are you, O Lord?", he heard the answer: "I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting” … We could almost say that in Christ's voice he recognized Stephen's, and also that through Stephen's intercession divine grace touched his heart. This is how Paul's life changed radically. From that moment, Jesus became his righteousness, his sanctification, his redemption (cf. 1 Cor 1: 30), his all.”

Today, on the feast of the first martyr we can, with St. Stephen, look through Christmas to Easter and to Christ’s glory at the right hand of God, where we wish to be taken by the Emmanuel who, just before his passion prayed: “Father, I desire that those also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am, to see my glory, which you have given me because you loved me before the foundation of the world” (Jn 17, 24). Let us also remember that the testimony of our faith, hope and love can echo one day in the heart of people, without our knowing it, and become a good seed for the conversion of our fellow citizens, like Stephen’s was for the conversion of Paul.