MANY centuries ago, at the hands of an angry people, Stephen, "a man full of faith," met a violent death. His ardent and outspoken stand for Christianity differed from their stand for an established ritual of worship, and his reproof aroused their antagonism. They regarded his attitude and speech as blasphemous. At an earlier date they had crucified Jesus for his faith in God, and for his having gone about his holy mission everywhere declaring Him. Stephen himself, as a follower of Jesus, had done "great wonders and miracles among the people."
Ever alert to that which they thought of as opposing their prescribed religious practices, the Sanhedrin was stirred up by Stephen's defense, and the people ran upon him and stoned him.
The name "Stephen" in the Greek signifies a crown, and surely Stephen's courage and zeal, and his forgiveness, were his crown as he murmured his last words, his pure spirituality at peace in the consciousness of Truth. "Lord," he pleaded, "lay not this sin to their charge." What more beautiful lesson of forgiveness has been found since that distant day? What surrender has been like unto it in our own lives? What greatness, what grace, might in any wise approximate it? At that supreme moment of understanding and love Stephen fully and freely forgave his enemies. Forgiveness—true forgiveness—leaves thought entirely clean.
