Stephen is the first martyr in Christ's Church. He modeled God's love in life and death. While it may sound disconcerting, each of us who claim to follow Jesus are also called to be martyrs.
© 2026 The Rev. Seth Olson
This sermon was preached on the Fifth Sunday of Easter at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL. You may watch a video of it here.
Holy God, may my words be your words, and when my words are not your word, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.
One day in seminary, I was sitting in a class on liturgy, our worship. It may be a churchy word, but liturgy simply means “the work of the people.” Christian worship is the holy work of turning our hearts, bodies, minds, imaginations, and lives toward God — the God who is more real than anything else.
I loved those classes because they helped me see that worship is not just something we attend. Worship is something that forms us.
And one day, in a lecture on the Daily Office — our prayer services for morning, noon, evening, and night — my professor, the Rev. Dr. Nathan Jennings, said something I am still turning over in my heart and mind.
He looked at us and said, “All of us are called to be martyrs.”
And the room got very quiet.
Because that is not exactly the kind of inspirational quote you put on a church brochure. “Come to church. All of us are called to be martyrs. Join us for coffee hour.”
Then he continued, “All of us are called to lay down our lives. Some Christians will give their lives by living for Christ. Others will give their lives by dying for Christ. Our prayers are practice for that. Because when we pray, we stop what we would otherwise be doing, and we turn toward God.” I have never forgotten that.
All of us are called to be martyrs. That may sound dramatic or troubling. But it is also deeply Christian. Because the word martyr does not first mean someone who dies. The word martyr means witness.
A martyr is someone whose life tells the truth. A martyr is someone who bears witness to what is most real, most holy, most life-giving, most true. Today, in Acts, we meet Stephen, the first martyr of the Church. But before Stephen is remembered for dying, he is called to serve.
Earlier in Acts, the apostles realize that some widows are being neglected in the daily distribution of food. The Church is growing, but growth has created a problem. Some people are being overlooked. Some are being left out. Some are not being cared for.
So the community chooses seven people to serve. Stephen is one of them. He is among the first deacons of the Church. That matters.
Stephen’s witness does not begin with a dramatic death. It begins with tables. It begins with food. It begins with noticing who is being neglected. Before Stephen preaches with courage, he serves with compassion. Before Stephen dies like Jesus, he lives like Jesus.
Sometimes we imagine martyrdom as something far away, heroic, and impossible. Something for saints in stained glass windows. Something for ancient Christians facing emperors. Something for people braver than we are. But Stephen’s martyrdom begins in an ordinary and holy place: caring for those who were being forgotten.
His life had already been laid down before the stones were ever picked up. And then, in today’s reading, Stephen stands before the powers of his day. He bears witness to the story of God. He tells the truth. When rage overtakes the crowd and violence begins, Stephen looks into heaven and sees Jesus standing at the right hand of God.
As he is being killed, Stephen prays, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” And then he cries out, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” It is almost impossible to miss the echo of Jesus. “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” “Father, forgive them.”
Stephen has become so formed by the way of Jesus that even in the moment of his death, his life takes the shape of Christ. That is witness. That is martyrdom.
Not because Stephen wanted to suffer. Not because violence is holy. Not because God needed his death. But because Stephen’s life had been so given over to the love of God in Christ that even death could not make him stop bearing witness to mercy.
Most of us will not be called to Stephen’s death. But all of us are called to Stephen’s witness. All of us are called to lay down our lives — not usually all at once, but daily. Prayer by prayer. Choice by choice. Act of mercy by act of mercy. Forgiveness by forgiveness. Surrender by surrender.
We lay down the life we would otherwise be living so that we can live the life of Christ. Today’s Psalm reminds us that we do this when we metaphorically move from the fortresses of this world into the shelter of God who is our crag and our stronghold. Of course, making the shift from relying on ourselves to relying upon God isn’t always quick, easy, or straightforward. This is where First Peter helps us.
Peter writes, “Like newborn infants, long for the pure, spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow into salvation.” Grow into salvation. I love that phrase. Salvation is not just a status we claim. It is a life we grow into. We grow into mercy, courage, forgiveness, truth, love—we grow into the Way of Christ.
Peter then proclaims Christ, the rejected one, has become the cornerstone. The one cast aside becomes the foundation of a new way of being human. And then Peter says that we, too, are living stones, being built into a spiritual house. This doesn’t mean we create a walled off castle to keep us safe. We are to do this in the world with our lives.
So, Peter here evokes baptismal language. Identity language. Calling language. “You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people.” Those words are not meant to make us arrogant, they’re not a weapon, nor a claim of superiority. They are a vocation.
Peter tells us who we are so that we can remember what we are for: “In order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.”
God calls us out of darkness and into light. Out of fear into love, shame into belovedness, distorted relationships into reconciliation. God invites us to move from the shadowy places where we hide from God, ourselves, and each other — and into the marvelous light of Christ.
And then God sends us to proclaim that light. Not only with words, though words matter. But with lives that bear witness. Lives that say: another way is possible. A more merciful way, a more courageous way, a more truthful way, a more loving way is possible, which brings us to the Gospel.
Thomas says to Jesus, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Thomas is so relatable here because so often we do not know the way.
We don’t know how to be faithful in a world this anxious, to love enemies, to forgive, to give ourselves away without losing ourselves. Simply put, we do not know how to follow Jesus when the path gets taxing.
And into this, Jesus speaks, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.” Not: I will hand you a map, give you a five-step plan, or make the path easy. But: I am the way, which means we know the way by knowing Jesus. We know the way by seeing him touch the untouchable, feed the hungry, welcome sinners, forgive enemies, wash feet, and lay down his life in love.
And in the resurrection, we have seen that this self-giving love is not a pipe dream. It is not a sentimental ideal. It is not naïve optimism. It is the deepest truth of the universe. The way of Christ is the way of life.
So, in your holy imagination, wonder with me: What would it mean for you and me, for us to lay down my life? Not necessarily to die, but to witness. To give up what we would otherwise be doing so that love becomes visible.
Maybe it means coming alongside someone who is lonely. Perhaps it’s visiting someone in prison. Or your witness might be feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, or tending the sick. Your witness of God’s love might be forgiving someone who does not deserve it — which, of course, is the only kind of forgiveness there is. Witnessing can even mean loving the enemy without pretending the enemy has done no harm, telling the truth when silence would be easier, praying when we would rather stay busy, distracted, or numb. Now, all of these will cost us something. So how might we move towards this way of witnessing?
Prayer, for prayer is practice for martyrdom. Prayer is preparation for laying down our lives. We stop what we would otherwise be doing, and we turn toward God.
And, little by little, God forms us—like Stephen, like the apostles, like the saints who came before us, which means we do not do this alone.
We stand on the shoulders of those who have walked before us. We are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. And we walk alongside one another now. That is the point of the Church. We help each other walk the way of Christ. We remind each other that the Kingdom of God is near. We witness what it looks like!
And we practice together the self-giving love of Jesus until, by grace, our lives become the good news of Christ. So yes, as strange as it sounds, all of us are called to be martyrs because all of us are called to be witnesses.
All of us are called to lay down the lives we would otherwise live so that the life of Christ may be revealed in us. And the good news is this: The one who calls us is also the way. The one who sends us is also our refuge. The one who asks us to lay down our lives is the source of life.
So may we place our spirits into the hands of God. May we grow into salvation. May we be built upon Christ, the cornerstone. May we walk the way of Jesus. And may our lives bear witness to the self-giving love that is the truest thing in all Creation. Amen.
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