Optional Memorial of Saint Anselm, bishop and doctor of the Church

Brief Background:

Anselm of Canterbury (c. 1033–1109) was a monk, theologian, and Archbishop of Canterbury, known as one of the greatest thinkers of the medieval Church.

He was born in Aosta (in present-day Italy) and later joined the Benedictine monastery at Bec in Normandy, where he became a teacher and eventually abbot. His deep intellect and holiness led him to be appointed Archbishop of Canterbury, though he accepted the role reluctantly.

St. Anselm is often called the “Father of Scholastic Theology” because he helped shape the method of using reason to understand the truths of faith. He is best known for his famous phrase: “Faith seeking understanding” (fides quaerens intellectum)

He believed that faith comes first, but that we are also called to use our minds to explore and deepen that faith. Among his most well-known contributions is the ontological argument for the existence of God, as well as his writings on why Christ became man (Cur Deus Homo), explaining the meaning of salvation.

Despite his intellectual brilliance, Anselm also faced struggles—especially conflicts with kings over the freedom of the Church. He was exiled more than once but remained steadfast in defending the faith.

He was later named a Doctor of the Church, recognized for both his holiness and his lasting theological influence. St. Anselm is the patron saint of theologians, philosophers and those engaged in intellectual work and study.

REFLECTION:

There is something unsettling about this passage—and maybe that is exactly the point.

As Stephen stands before the people, filled with the Holy Spirit, speaking truth with clarity and conviction, what happens? They do to him exactly what was done to Jesus. They reject him. They silence him. They kill him.

It forces us to confront a hard truth: we often do the same things over and over again.

It is often attributed to Billy Graham that “if Christ were to appear to us today, we would crucify Him again.” Whether those exact words were said or not, the idea hits close to home. Because when truth challenges us, when it exposes something within us, our first instinct is not always conversion—it is resistance.

Stephen names it directly: “You stiff-necked people… you always oppose the Holy Spirit; you are just like your ancestors.” That phrase—stiff-necked—is not just an insult. It is a diagnosis. It describes a people who refuse to turn, refuse to listen, refuse to be led. And Stephen goes deeper: not just outward disobedience, but “uncircumcised hearts and ears.” In other words, the problem is not external—it is interior. And this is where it becomes uncomfortable for us.

Because it is easy to look at them and think, How could they do that?  But the real question is: Where do I do the same? Where am I resistant to the Holy Spirit?
Where do I hear truth but push it aside? Where do I repeat patterns—personally, in our communities, even across generations—because I have not allowed God to truly change my heart?

This is what we might call generational resistance. Not just habits passed down culturally or within families, but a deeper spiritual pattern: resisting God’s voice, again and again. The people in Stephen’s time were not just reacting in the moment—they were continuing a pattern that had been there for generations. And if we are honest, that pattern can still be alive today.

But here is the hope in this passage.

As Stephen is being stoned, he does not respond with anger or revenge. Instead, he reflects Christ. Like Jesus in the Gospel of Luke, he entrusts his spirit to the

Lord and asks forgiveness for those who are killing him. And standing there, watching it all, is Saul of Tarsus—approving of his death. The same Saul who will later become Paul.  The same Paul who will preach Christ to the nations.

Which reminds us of this: Even in the midst of resistance… even in repeated failures… even in generational patterns… God is still at work.

Maybe the invitation for us today is simple, but not easy: To stop repeating.  To start listening. To allow the Holy Spirit not just to speak—but to actually change us.

Because if we do not learn from the past, we risk becoming exactly what Stephen describes.

But if we open our hearts—truly open them—then grace can break even the oldest patterns.