A Faith of Many Rooms | A Quiet Revolution

Scripture Texts:

Acts 7:55–60

John 14:1-14

Colorful Architecture by Paul Klee.

In 2018, my spouse Ames and I found ourselves at a crossroads.

We were discerning our next step. Ames had finished his master’s program, and we weren’t sure whether to stay where we were for his PhD or move somewhere new. I had struggled to find my place in that small town in Idaho, so at first, I assumed I’d be ready to leave.

But as we weighed our options, something unexpected happened. I didn’t feel ready to leave this place. 

What ultimately helped us decide to stay— for four more years—was not my job, or his family, or our friends, or even our farm business, though all of those mattered.

Instead, it was the invitation to join the Stephen’s Ministry team at our church. 

Stephen Ministry is a nationwide, nonprofit organization that trains laypeople to provide confidential, one-on-one, Christ-centered care to those walking through life’s hardest seasons—such as grief, divorce, job loss, or illness.

It began with the vision of the Rev. Dr. Kenneth C. Haugk, a pastor and clinical psychologist. Guided by his conviction in the priesthood of all believers—and in the role of the pastor to equip others for ministry—Rev. Haugk developed a program to train a small group of his own parishioners as the first Stephen Ministers.

Today, thousands of trained caregivers help to extend the reach of a pastor’s spiritual care in communities across the country. 

Stephen’s Ministers walk alongside individuals in crisis, week by week, offering a listening ear, a steady presence, and prayerful support. In doing so, they help carry out the church’s caring ministry in a way no one person can do alone. 

The name “Stephen’s Ministry” was inspired by the ministry of Saint Stephen, detailed in the book of Acts. 

Today’s scripture tells the story of Stephen’s tragic end, his stoning and martyrdom. But his story didn’t begin here.  

Here is a little background:

In Acts chapter 6, the community of believers, the “People of the Way” as they were called, was growing quickly. And so the original twelve disciples were super busy serving the people. Not only were they preaching every day, to whoever would listen, and engaging in dialogue with anyone willing, but they had also organized a daily distribution of food to the needy among them. 

The People of the Way were building a movement to feed people both in body and spirit.  

But then some of the Greek ethnic converts began to notice that their widows were being overlooked in the daily distribution of food.

This wasn’t just a logistical problem—it was a matter of justice. If the People of the Way were going to be a truly intercultural community, they needed to figure out whatever bias or oversight was causing this and address it.  

The disciples realized they were spread too thin; they could not do it all without help. So they began to delegate responsibilities to a new generation of leaders. 

Among the seven chosen to take responsibility for this caring ministry—the daily distribution of food—was Stephen.

Stephen is described as someone “full of God’s grace and power,” who was doing great wonders and signs among the people (Acts 6:8). His life and witness drew attention—and not all of it was welcome.

As opposition against the “People of the Way” grew, some began to take notice of Stephen. Stirring up anger and accusations against him, smearing him and his belief in Jesus as false, and bringing him before the authorities for punishment (Acts 6:11–14). 

In one of the most brutal scenes of the Book of Acts, Stephen is stoned to death. Overseeing this execution was the young man Saul, who would one day become the Apostle Paul. We might wonder if when Stephen prays to Jesus to “not hold this sin against them,” Paul’s mind begins to change.

In Stephen’s story, we begin to see that the early followers of Jesus knew the cost of their faith—they knew what it was to be misunderstood, misrepresented, and accused of “blasphemy.” 

And Stephen bore this without resentment or fear. The man who has lived out his faith through acts of mercy and care dies with words of mercy and care on his lips. 

In this story, we see that Stephen embodies the kind of posture of hope and trust in Jesus that Jesus himself describes to his disciples in today’s Gospel lesson. 

As I described just moments ago, in this passage, Jesus is preparing his friends for his death. They are anxious about being left behind, and so he offers these words of comfort. 

"Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me." 

He reminds them of the fundamental relationship of trust and love between them and Jesus, between them and God. And it is because of this bond of trust that they should not worry that Jesus is going to be with God. He will be okay. 

And then he offers this promise: “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?”

For some, this has been interpreted to mean heaven is a kind of gated community filled with mansions in the sky. But what Jesus is describing may be something far more humble and communal.

The "insula" was a unique style of dwelling common to Roman Palestine. 

The unique single-story home consisted of a central courtyard. And surrounding the courtyards were different dwellings on all sides.  

Each nuclear family would have lived in a single room. And they would have shared the central courtyard with what today, in our culture, we would call “our extended” family. But at this time, cousins and aunties and uncles were all just considered “the family.” 

Construction on the insula was ongoing as the family grew. When the need arose, and money allowed, the structure was enlarged, as more and more buildings were added to the compound. 

This paints a pretty different picture from the gated community of American-style, single-family mansions, or European castles, that pop up when you type John 14 into an internet search engine.  

I can sympathize with people who read this passage in such a way. 

In many strands of Western evangelical theology, heaven has been imagined almost like a gated community—where entry depends on having the right credentials, the right beliefs, the right identification at the door. 

And over time, that way of thinking can shape how we see the world. It can blur the line between faith and fear, between belonging and exclusion—where “outsiders” are defined in increasingly narrow ways: by where someone is born, what they believe, or whether they fit within a particular understanding of divine truth.

But that is a very different vision from the one Jesus offers.

Because what Jesus describes is not a guarded estate or border checkpoint—it is a household. A household with many rooms.

And he describes a God who is generous in welcome. A God who makes space—again and again—for a growing family.

In her book A Faith of Many Rooms, Debie Thomas draws on this very metaphor—and how her own experience as a woman of color, of Indian-American heritage, shaped, and at times wounded, by the theology of white-majority churches—to reimagine God as a gracious host in a “many-winged house,” where all stories belong. 

Just like interpreters today, Jesus disciples didn’t really understand what Jesus was saying. 

They wanted to go where he was going. They wanted directions—clear, concrete—to what they assumed was the next destination. They wanted some assurance that they would end up in the same place as him.

And honestly, that doesn’t sound so different from us.

Many approach faith like it’s a one-way ticket to a final destination. As if the most important question is the one plastered on billboards across the country: Heaven or Hell?

But that is not what Jesus is trying to teach us. He doesn’t hand us a map or give directions. 

Instead, he says, “I am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life.”

Unfortunately, this verse too has often been used as a threat, to tell people that they had better get with the program and “accept Jesus as their personal Lord and Savior” or risk damnation.

 But to interpret the verse this way is to rip it from its context and do violence to the spirit of Jesus’ words. Because this isn’t a threat. It’s not a test you have to pass. It’s not a border guard asking for proper identification.  Jesus words are a promise. 

They are words of comfort spoken to anxious disciples who are wondering how they will go on without their friend and leader. 

Jesus is saying: You already know the way—because you know me.

Jesus is reminding them to trust this relationship. To trust their experience of the last three years. To trust in the quiet transformation that God has been doing within and through them. 

Jesus is not only pointing to a destination— He is helping them adjust their posture, their way of approaching the journey of life.  He is guiding them into a posture of trust,  love, and confidence in God’s household of many rooms.

Which reminds me of Stephen. 

Stephen lived with that posture of trust. When he stepped into his caring ministry, making sure widows were fed and helping to make a divided community more just.

And in the end, he died the same way he lived: trusting in God, and with mercy on his lips.

That is the Way. 

Not a set of directions to a destination, but a way of life.

And that’s what drew me to Stephen Ministry all those years ago. When Ames and I joined the program, we were asked to make a two-year commitment—one year of training, and one year of service. At the time, it felt like a significant commitment, especially for something that didn’t offer any obvious, tangible reward. 

In that invitation, I sensed God’s guidance drawing me into a deeper way of life. It was an invitation to be part of a community of care—to walk alongside people in their hardest seasons, trusting that there is room enough, grace enough, and love enough for their story to belong. It was also an invitation to trust that this, too, is the slow, quiet, transformative work of God.

Thanks be to God. 

Sermon originally given by Rev. Delaney Piper on 5/3/26.