A Reflection for Tuesday of the Fourth Week of Easter
Find today’s readings here.
Those who had been scattered by the persecution
that arose because of Stephen
went as far as Phoenicia, Cyprus, and Antioch,
preaching the word to no one but Jews.
There were some Cypriots and Cyrenians among them, however,
who came to Antioch and began to speak to the Greeks as well,
proclaiming the Lord Jesus.
The hand of the Lord was with them
and a great number who believed turned to the Lord.
The news about them reached the ears of the Church in Jerusalem,
and they sent Barnabas to go to Antioch.
When he arrived and saw the grace of God,
he rejoiced and encouraged them all
to remain faithful to the Lord in firmness of heart,
for he was a good man, filled with the Holy Spirit and faith.
And a large number of people was added to the Lord.
Then he went to Tarsus to look for Saul,
and when he had found him he brought him to Antioch.
For a whole year they met with the Church
and taught a large number of people,
and it was in Antioch that the disciples
were first called Christians.
One can imagine the zeal of the early apostles whose work is described in today’s first reading, especially after the martyrdom of Stephen. Having already received the good news of the resurrection of the Christ, they now recognize that this is no passing enthusiasm, no “New Apostle Summer” they’re part of: This is going to be life or death. Stephen’s martyrdom hasn’t deterred them—it has only convinced them to evangelize more.
Evangelize more…but not evangelize everyone. At least not yet. It takes some strangers in their midst to start with that business, the Cypriots and Cyrenians who show up and begin preaching the good news to the Greeks of Antioch. What’s next—Roman centurions? Ethiopian eunuchs? Philippian jailers? But Barnabas comes to Antioch, and he sees with his own eyes the fruits of their evangelization. His first thought? Saul has gotta see this. And within a year, the small group once called “the Way” is now the church, called Christians. Where would they be, one wonders, if not for the witness of those Cypriots and Cyrenians who didn’t care about the same things they did?
We can be like that. Well, I can be like that. Maybe it’s covering a papal conclave involving cardinals and commentary from every corner of the globe and every ideological stripe; maybe it’s being squished into a pew at an Easter Mass full of strangers we never see any other Sunday; maybe it’s a million other moments in life when the temptation is to think “Wait, what? I have nothing in common with that person. Why is he/she here?”
Sometimes those limits can be good, of course; far be it from me to suggest we should all just go along to get along, a strategy that never really works when it comes down to important questions like one’s faith. (In fact, every time you advise someone that “it’s all the same no matter what you believe,” St. Stephen looks balefully at you as another rock hits him.) But the believers in today’s reading do not suddenly become milquetoasts or universalists when they see what good comes from the late arrivals from Cyprus and Cyrene. Rather, they are forced to re-evaluate their own parochialisms, their own lack of freedom. And when they do that, unexpected graces arrive and a community emerges.
From Deuteronomy through the Gospels, we are all called to care for the stranger. But in passages like today’s from Acts, we see that it can also be important to listen to the stranger. Sometimes that person from a completely different starting point has a great deal to teach us—about what it means to be Christian and about much else.
