This morning, actually, about 5 minutes ago, I read the last half of Stephen’s sermon in Acts 7 which concludes with his martyrdom. I teared up reading
Then they put their hands over their ears, and drowning out his voice with their shouts, they rushed at him. They dragged him out of the city and began to stone him. The official witnesses
took off their coats and laid them at the feet of a young man named Saul. And as they stoned him, Stephen prayed, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” And he fell to his knees, shouting, “Lord, don’t charge them with this sin!” And with that, he died.
A couple years ago I was reading to a grade 7 class the account of Abraham and young Isaac climbing the mountain where Abraham intends to sacrifice his son.
So Abraham placed the wood for the burnt offering on Isaac’s shoulders, while he himself carried the fire and the knife. As the two of them walked on together, 7 Isaac turned to Abraham and said, “Father?”
“Yes, my son?” Abraham replied.
“We have the fire and the wood,” the boy said, “but where is the sheep for the burnt offering?”
And I couldn’t get through it. I had to ask a student to finish the story.
These accounts can still make me ache.