When my son Bryan was small, sometimes he would go into a kind of daydream. He would sit there and seem to stare off into space, and if you spoke to him, he just wouldn’t hear.
He would get so far into himself that we would have to wave our hands in front of his face and shout to get his attention. Bryan had managed to close his ears and shut out the world.
In fact, his first grade teacher told Margaret and me, "You know, sometimes I literally have to take his chin in my hand and turn his face and make him look at me, just to get his attention.” He had closed his ears to the world, his parents, his teacher, everything. He was living inside that six-year old brain.
That is what deacons confront in the church: closed ears. Deacons confront folks who just are not listening, who have chosen not to listen, or who are listening to some kind of static signal that doesn’t make sense. Deacons work with people whose ears are closed. But deacons forgive closed ears.
You see, every one of us has chosen to close our ears to something. Most of us have simply chosen not to listen to some aspect of the Christian faith. If it’s not our thing, we don’t hear it. Some have chosen not to hear when the Bible says, “Do not forsake assembling yourselves together", and they have been erratic in their worship attendance. That’s not listening to one part of the faith; they’re closing their ears. And deacons are going to be called on to deal with that. I’d say, to forgive that.
Others have not heard the Lord Jesus when he commands, “Love one another, as I have loved you.” Some church folks just will not hear that. And deacons are part of the means of forgiveness for those closed ears.
I could go on. I could speak of Christian folks who have closed their ears against racial justice, against sexual purity, against sacrificial stewardship, against a commitment to peacemaking. I could speak of many aspects of the Christian faith we choose to close our ears to. Every one of us has his deaf spots. But let me show you from the Scriptures what I mean when I say that deacons are called to forgive closed ears.
I asked that we read today out of both the sixth and the seventh chapters of the Book of Acts. Normally when we are ordaining deacons, we read only the sixth chapter, which describes the occasion on which the first seven deacons were selected. But seldom do we go on and read the seventh chapter, which describes the martyrdom of one of these seven. Now I admit that it wouldn’t work very well for the Nominating Committee to be reminding prospective deacons that one of the first deacons had to die for his faith; that wouldn’t sell very well. But it is a most instructive part of the Biblical account.
You see, after the first seven deacons were selected and got to work, one of them in particular, a man named Stephen, described as full of faith and of the Holy Spirit, full of grace and power, began to bear a bold witness for his faith. Every place he went, in the corridors of power as well as on the streets where the common people lived … every place Stephen went, he offered his distinctive witness.
And the only defense the men and women of Jerusalem had against a witness like Stephen’s was to close their ears. They just quit listening. They refused to hear the good news. And so toward the end of the seventh chapter of Acts you read that "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.” Then Stephen the deacon "knelt down and cried out in a loud voice, ‘Lord, do not hold this sin against them.’"
Lord, do not hold this sin against them ... not only the sin of murder, but also the sin of closing their ears. The hardness of their hearts, the stubbornness of their spirits … that was the real sin. It always is. It always is. We simply choose not to hear the gospel when it suits us not to hear it. If it isn’t convenient, we don’t listen to it. And that’s why we have to have deacons.
Deacons are the folks who will help forgive closed ears. Deacons are the folks who will become agents of the grace of God, forgiving and empowering and making us new. Now they will pay a high price to do that, just as Stephen did. But we desperately need to have somebody help us be forgiven for our closed ears!
When I was a college student, the deacons in my home church determined that the pastor should be dismissed, and they announced to the congregation that a special business meeting was to be called in order to fire the pastor. I was shocked, I was confused, I was angry. I had no idea that the pastor could possibly have done anything that would merit his dismissal. As the rumors swirled around, they got more and more ridiculous; people were jumping to all kinds of unhealthy conclusions. So when that business meeting came, many of us who were in the pastor’s corner were ready to fight and fight hard.
The chairman of the deacons was presiding. We fairly shouted our questions at him: "What has he done? What is wrong? Why are you doing this?" All he would say is, "There are many concerns, and we the deacons feel the pastor should leave." No matter how many questions we asked this tall, stately, dignified deacon, still the answer was basically the same, "There are many concerns. We feel it is to the best interests of the church that the pastor should go.” And go he did, after a very close vote of the congregation.
Now a few folks had tried to tell me that there really were some significant problems; there really were some important breaches of conduct. But I was one of those who had closed our ears to these things. We had chosen not to believe that our pastor could be guilty. We had closed our ears to the facts, although they really were out there if you were listening carefully. Now this deacon could have trotted it all out; he could have made us listen to all the gruesome details. But he made a different choice. He knew that openly airing a host of grievances would have divided the church and would have damaged the pastor’s future. This deacon forgave our closed ears and by spending his credibility, by hurting his own reputation, and by placing at risk his future as a deacon and a church member. He chose, this deacon, to receive himself the anger of many of God’s people rather than to hurt someone else. He, like deacon Stephen, chose to forgive our closed ears at great cost to himself.
I’ve worked with many, many deacons since then. I’ve served as a deacon, I’ve consulted with deacons in six or seven churches where I served as interim pastor. I have even lived with a deacon! And I’ve learned that deacons can have the capacity to respond to others with grace, compassion, love, and forgiveness. Deacons can often do what a pastor cannot.
You see, we pastors, preachers, are called to speak truth, to speak truth and let the chips fall where they may. Now I would hope to do that with understanding and with compassion, but, nevertheless, you know that sometimes messages from the pulpit have to be messages of judgment, messages with a "Thou shalt not” in them. And so sometimes church members may feel reluctant to approach the pastor with some of their needs and problems; what if’ he starts hammering me with the Bible? Worse than that, what if he preaches not only to me but also about me on Sunday morning? That’s not far- fetched; only this week I had a conversation with one of my former students who is very much afraid this is about to happen to her in her church.
Sometimes people may be reluctant to approach the pastors with their problems; I would hope to assure you you are not going to be abused if you do approach, but I do understand that feeling. And so that’s one reason we have deacons. We have deacons who can be agents of acceptance and of unconditional love; we have deacons so that you can be assured of kindness, gentleness, and, above all, forgiveness, even when you have closed your ears to the good news. Forgiveness.
Look there in the Book of Acts at deacon Stephen. Not a touch of arrogance. No hint of somebody who considered himself superior to others. No suggestion that he should be exempt from trial and from pain just because he is a deacon. Instead, Deacon Stephen accepts the reality of human sin, he accepts the knowledge that he, like his Savior before him, must pay the price of others’ mistakes. And Deacon Stephen goes to his death with a prayer of forgiveness on his lips. That, my friends, is grace. That is forgiving closed ears.
I look forward for each one of you this morning to that moment when you are in trouble, you are hurting or angry or upset or just feeling out of kilter, and your deacon is at your side, putting his or her arm around your shoulders, murmuring a prayer with you, gently probing for some answers to your dilemma. I look forward to that for each one of you, for that will be a moment of grace. That will be a moment in which you will experience the way Christ heals you through one of his chosen servants.
I look forward to that moment when you are discouraged, you have been sick, you have felt abandoned or confused or bereaved. I look forward to that moment because I believe in the men and women we set apart for this work, and I believe that you will find them ready to spend themselves and their energies for you. I believe you will find that they will be there for you when you need them.
And don’t worry about it if in that moment you feel guilty; don’t be in despair if in that moment you know you have disobeyed the Spirit; don’t be afraid to admit that you have closed your ears to the truth. Your deacon, like your savior, will love you just as you are, and will pray for you, "Lord, do not hold this sin against them; Lord, forgive their closed ears."
