JUNE 26, 2024

   ...This story shall the good man teach his son;

And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be rememberèd-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
~ Shakespeare, Henry V

JOB 7-9

32“He is not a mere mortal like me that I might answer him,

that we might confront each other in court.

33If only there were someone to mediate between us,

someone to bring us together,

34someone to remove God’s rod from me,

so that his terror would frighten me no more.

35Then I would speak up without fear of him,

but as it now stands with me, I cannot.(9:32-35)

ACTS 7:44-60

54When the members of the Sanhedrin heard this, they were furious and gnashed their teeth at him. 55But Stephen, full of the Holy Spirit, looked up to heaven and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God. 56“Look,” he said, “I see heaven open and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God.”

57At this they covered their ears and, yelling at the top of their voices, they all rushed at him, 58dragged him out of the city and began to stone him. Meanwhile, the witnesses laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul.

59While they were stoning him, Stephen prayed, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” 60Then he fell on his knees and cried out, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” When he had said this, he fell asleep.

JOURNAL 

"This story shall the good man teach his son..." Shakespeare’s words echo not just as poetry but as a rally cry for those of us called into struggle. Not senseless suffering, but sacred battle—waged not only on battlefields, but in hearts, homes, classrooms, and quiet moments of despair.

In Job 9:32-35, we find a man stripped of everything yet still grasping for a mediator—someone who could reach between heaven and earth and make sense of his agony. “If only there were someone to mediate between us,” Job cries. In Job’s words, I see the mirror of all humanity crying out for someone who understands both divinity and dust.

Centuries later, in Acts 7:54-60, that Mediator stands—literally. Stephen, filled with the Spirit, looks up and sees Jesus standing at the right hand of God. Not sitting. Standing. As if to receive his brother. As if to honor his courage. As if to say, You are not alone. You didn’t flinch. You spoke the truth. And I see you.

Stephen's death wasn't a tragedy—it was a catalyst. A seed planted. And Saul, standing there holding coats, would one day become Paul—an apostle of unstoppable grace. Sometimes the greatest victory is hidden inside the bloodiest moment. Conflict, it seems, is the crucible of transformation.

But somewhere along the way—especially in the last hundred years—we've begun to believe the lie that happiness is our birthright, that ease is the goal, that life is supposed to be smooth, curated, and soft. We've traded the battlefield for the marketplace. The soul for the illusion of control. And like me, so many have fallen into the subtle trap: If I’m not happy, something must be wrong.

Well—something is wrong. Eden was lost. And we’ve been aching ever since. But the ache is not pointless. It’s the echo of paradise. And in the ache, God implanted purpose. Not to escape conflict, but to redeem it. Not to fear the fire, but to be forged in it.

Sports teach us this. Brotherhood is formed through pain. Meaning is discovered in shared adversity. You don’t bond with teammates over sunshine and smoothies—you bond in the trenches, on fourth and long, when you’re sore and tired and still choose to show up. Even the one who wins the championship knows heartbreak—he knows the journey, the price, the scars.

So why are we surprised by suffering? Why am I still so shocked when peace doesn’t come wrapped in comfort?

Maybe it’s because I still forget the truth: that conflict is not the enemy. It’s the path. It’s the battlefield that forges sons and daughters of the King. It’s the moment that offers us the chance to be shaped into who we were always meant to be. It’s the platform upon which grace becomes visible.

In my life, I’ve often avoided conflict—not because I’m weak, but because I misunderstood it. I thought peace meant the absence of pain. But real peace, God’s peace, is forged in the fire—not in its absence.

Just as Stephen’s final breath sparked the transformation of Saul, just as Job’s plea for a mediator found its answer centuries later in Christ, we too are called into the arena—not to escape it. Not to make comfort the goal. But to find joy in obedience, in brotherhood, and in the good work we were created to do.

"For God is able to bless you abundantly," Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 9:8, "so that in all things, at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work." Not comfortable work. Good work. Eternal work. And oftentimes, difficult work.

This is where joy is found—not outside the battle, but within it.

So, Lord, teach me to see conflict not as a curse but as the canvas on which Your glory is painted. Make me brave like Stephen, honest like Job, and resolute like the soldiers of Saint Crispin’s day. Give me a heart that longs not for safety, but for truth—and a soul that rejoices not in comfort, but in calling.

We few. We happy few. We band of brothers.

 8And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.

2 CORINTHIANS 9:8