It’s that time of the year: to make resolutions. And it’s also that time of the year: to sum up last year and get the new year off right. The standard image is that of an old man; his replacement is hot on his heels, the bright cheery fresh as a penny baby bouncing with hope and joy. Got news for you, kiddo: when you see that old man, you’re getting a picture of your own fate.

I mean, how much more graphic can you get? Opportunity on one hand, decrepitude on the other and only the passage of time between them.

Even so, though, Janus, the two-faced god of the Romans, is a better image, a more complex way of thinking about the turn of the year or, for that matter, for all moments of great decision, when you come to a crossroads and think after this, things will be different, things will never be the same.

I think of my ordination that way. At least in my church’s belief system, it’s an ontological change: the Holy Spirit comes down and, boom, you’re a different person. Same with marriage. You say a few words, your new life partner says a few words, the officiant says a few words, presses your hands together, you two are now one. One flesh.

Same too, with baptism: some water, a blessing or two, and just like that, you’re a new person. Sins forgiven, washed clean, and off you go. Of course, many do go astray, but that’s OK, your shepherd will find you.

The image of the two-faced god who lives at a crossroads is a powerful one. That holds much energy for me. Because that’s pretty much life, isn’t it?

We have decisions to make that will have lasting changes in our lives. Janus is not two-faced in the sense of duplicitous; he’s not lying, he’s there to represent the reality of our lives. That’s the good thing about making resolutions in the new year. We realize that this time is a time for choices, for us to reconsider some of the choices we’ve made in the past. Frankly, it’s a time to make things right if we have to.

And it’s not just this Roman tale of facing two directions at once, it’s the three saints that follow in order in the Christian calendar that give us a chance to reflect on our choices. These are St. Stephen, Deacon and Martyr (Dec. 26); St. John, Apostle and Evangelist (Dec. 27) and Holy Innocents (Dec. 28).

Like all Biblical stories, these are attempts to recount holy history and also attempts to model godly behavior and therefore our Christian life. The martyrdom of St. Stephen, one of the first deacons (images of Christian service), is a tale that one may get everything right, in this case, the feeding of the Hellenistic widows, who were not receiving their due from the then church. As people who had identified with the Jewish faith knew, widows — worth less than nothing in their culture — were to be taken care of.

In those days when the number of disciples was increasing, the Hellenistic Jews among them complained against the Hebraic Jews because their widows were being overlooked in the daily distribution of food. So the Twelve gathered all the disciples together and said, “It would not be right for us to neglect the ministry of the word of God in order to wait on tables. Brothers and sisters, choose seven men from among you who are known to be full of the Spirit and wisdom. We will turn this responsibility over to them and will give our attention to prayer and the ministry of the word (Acts 6:1-4).

Then, as apostles tend to do, they swanned off and got on with their important things to do, while, basically, the Seven started to organize a food drive, as deacons still do today.

The lesson here is simple: take care of the marginalized.

But the lesson from Acts for the matyrdom of St. Stephen is also simple:

[After hearing Stephen speak, the religious leaders of their day] covered their ears and, yelling at the top of their voices, they all rushed at him, dragged him out of the city and began to stone him. [ … ] While they were stoning him, Stephen prayed, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” Then he fell on his knees and cried out, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” When he had said this, he [died] (6:57-60).

In the Christian view of things, one can do good things and be good but still come to a bad end. (This chapter, Acts 6, includes Stephen’s quite inflammatory word to the council; Stephen was not purely innocent.) But one can and should also pray for those who hate you.

St. John is the exception to the rule: he didn’t do anything — anything that was recorded anyway. He preached love and only love. If you’re looking not to get martyred, then follow John:

“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when Christ appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. All who have this hope in him purify themselves, just as he is pure” (I John: 1-3).

This is the way of mysticism, of removing one’s self from the world. It has the advantage of being pure and holy, but one may not make much of an impact on the world.

And finally, we come to the Holy Martyrs. This is the account of the slaying of the Holy Innocents, the twos and unders whom Herod killed — all because he thought he could catch the Christ Child that way and prevent Christ from taking over his kingdom. This story is probably not factual. It doesn’t appear in a number of contemporary sources in which a story of this magnitude ought to have been featured such as Macrobius’ biography of Herod, which loved telling the stories of Herod’s evil deeds, and it only appears in Matthew, which has made Biblical scholars skeptical of this tale (usually the more times a given account appears in the Gospels, the more likely is it considered to have weight).

But still, a warning for all of us — even the innocent can die.

So,we stand at the crossroads. Where shall we go?

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Issues of Faith is a rotating column by religious leaders on the North Olympic Peninsula. The Rev. Dr. Keith Dorwick is a deacon resident in the Episcopal Diocese of Olympia.