I say "God willing" because I am hoping that the coincidence between the first deacon, Stephen, and me stops there. For it is written that the congregation in Acts reacted to Stephen's preaching thusly: "When they heard these things, they became enraged and ground their teeth at Stephen…they covered their ears, and with a loud shout all rushed together against him. Then they dragged him out of the city and began to stone him." On second thought, maybe Charlie did know what he was doing when he slotted me in here today; I hope he wasn't trying to plant any ideas in your heads. Just to be sure, I have taken the liberty of removing all hand-sized stones from the Manor.

The book of Acts is known for its sometimes-idealized portrait of the early Christian community. For instance, we are told earlier on in the book that "All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved."

But in this chapter, we see trouble in paradise. Instead of distributing "the proceeds to all, as any had need," we are told "the Hellenists complained against the Hebrews because their widows were being neglected in the daily distribution of food." The "Hellenists" were Greek-speaking Jews, or Jews who had adopted Greek customs, while the "Hebrews" were those who spoke the local dialect, Aramaic, and were more conservative. As Jewish Christians, the "Hebrews" held fast to the rituals of temple worship and the kosher laws, while the "Hellenists" tended to be more lax about such observances, sort of like the difference between Orthodox and Reform Jews today, or Baptists and Episcopalians, for that matter.

So it looks as if the more liberal Jewish believers in Jesus had begun to be treated as-or at the very least, they felt like-second-class citizens, compared to the more conservative Jewish believers in Jesus. Many of the Hellenists were likely from other parts of the Empire, so there's also an implication of socio-economic distinctions, the classic division between the haves and the have-nots, the establishment natives and the outsider immigrants.

In response to the Hellenists' complaint, the twelve Apostles respond "It is not right that we should neglect the word of God in order to wait on tables" (or, to transliterate the Greek, "neglect the word of God in order to deacon"). So they instruct the Hellenists to "select among yourselves seven men of good standing, full of the Spirit and of wisdom, whom we may appoint to this task, while we, for our part, will devote ourselves to prayer and to serving the word." This proposition was pleasing to "the whole community," and they chose Stephen, Philip, Prochorus, Nicanor, Timon, Parmenas, and Nicolaus, the last of whom is a Gentile convert to Judaism who has come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah. Now notice the apostles' shrewdness, for the seven deacons all have Greek, or "Hellenist" names, and so we can assume that when the Apostles said "select among yourselves seven men…," this was directed toward the Hellenists, who were then empowered to put some of their own people into key leadership roles.

And thus we see also the birth of church politics. But more importantly, we see the Apostles being "wise as serpents, yet innocent as doves" in their response to the new needs that a growing and increasingly diverse community has. Like all growing communities, the Apostles face an important decision: to whose voice will we listen? From a political standpoint, the Hellenists "won," but the Apostles' response is not merely a political response. For behind it is the intentionality of discernment, a listening for the voice of the Good Shepherd. In the words of this morning's gospel, they are the sheep who hear Jesus' voice and who "follow him because they know his voice."

We, too, are a growing and changing community. The very fact that three Sundays from now, I will be your priest is one marker of how much this community has grown over the past twenty-odd years. In the midst of the changes we are undergoing, many of us are likely to experience various fears, challenges, joys, and expectations. For instance, in my primary areas of ministry alone we are in the midst of significant shifts and changes in the youth group, the confirmation program, and the academy religion curriculum. In the midst of all these changes, we will be surrounded by many voices, sometimes in harmony, sometimes in cacophany. As Suzanne Farnham asks in Listening Hearts: Discerning Call in Community, "How can we distinguish God's voice from all of the other voices that clamor at us-those of our culture, peer pressure, our careers, our egos?"

In Stephen's case, Acts makes it look pretty simple: Stephen knew God's voice because he saw a vision of God. "Look, I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!" The people's reaction, however, shows in the starkest terms possible that their ears are not open to hear God's voice in Stephen's proclamation: "But they covered their ears, and with a loud shout all rushed together against him. Then they dragged him out of the city and began to stone him."

It was only because Stephen was open the voice of God, "a man full of faith and the Holy Spirit," that he is a model for us in our own discipleship. True, very few of us, if any, will see visions of Jesus, but like Stephen we can be full of faith and the Holy Spirit, and like Stephen, the way we live, and even the way we die, can be testaments to our openness to hearing the voice of God.

Stephen was the first martyr, the Greek word for "witness." He is a martyr not primarily because he died, but because his manner of death witnessed to the reconciling love of God through Christ Jesus. Even as he is being murdered, he prays "Lord, do not hold this sin against them," just as Jesus prayed from the cross in Luke "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."

There are many people in the world today who think of themselves as martyrs for a cause. Suicide bombers and terrorists doubtless have been trained to see themselves as martyrs for a just cause, against unjust oppression. In the Middle East, there is no question that oppression and terror are the bread and butter of many people's day-to-day lives. But a true martyr does not perpetrate violence. Nor are victims of violence true martyrs if their deaths simply become excuses for more violence.

If martyrdom simply continues the cycle of violence, we know something is wrong in the way people have been discipled, that is, taught about the meaning of bearing witness. While it is easy to talk about Muslims and Jews, it is true also for Palestinian and American Christians, for we have all been caught up in this cycle of violence. The good news is that redemptive martyrdom breaks that cycle. When we live into our baptismal covenant, especially to "seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself" and to "strive for justice and peace among all people…respect[ing] the dignity of every human being," we can make a difference both here and throughout God's creation.

What happened in New Testament-era Jerusalem is just as important as what is happening in Jerusalem today. What happened in the early Church is just as relevant to the present-day Church here in Monkton. What I have tried to present to you this morning are a few reflections on discipleship, witness, and service. May we come to a deeper understanding of what it is to be a disciple of the Good Shepherd, to be a servant like the first seven deacons, and to be a witness like Stephen. Amen.