Category Archives: Acts

Dying For and Dying To (Sermon, Easter 3)

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Acts 6:1-14, 7:44-60
            Once there was a church full of people who loved Jesus and who tried to love one another. They had the best of intentions in all they did, in worship and in serving others. They even hosted a food pantry of sorts with fresh food that was passed out so that all could eat and be satisfied.
            Of course, behind the scenes, things were less rosy. There were some who wished that church could be the way it always was. Too many changes made them upset. They felt that the congregation needed to slow down, heed what had always worked, and focus on their community.
            There were others who felt that innovation was needed, that the church needed to be more open and outward-focused. These people were interested in different styles of worship and new areas of service. They struggled with how slowly things seemed to change and were frustrated by their inability to change everything all at once.
            Then the leaders wanted to help, but were stretched in too many directions. Not all the homebound were being visited, not everyone who needed help was being seen, and when the leaders focused more on administrative tasks- the worship suffered. The community struggled to get things done, to get things right, and to get along with one another.
            This description, of course, is of the church in early Acts. The Christians who were from Jewish backgrounds had memories of the temple worship and a sense of tradition. They were the ones who had always “belonged” and they felt that honoring those traditions was critical to the future of the community that followed Jesus. The Hellenists, Gentile Christian who spoke Greek, were newer to the community, but were equal contributors. They showed up and volunteered and were truly dedicated. They felt that in return for their dedication- their families and relatives should receive the same considerations (like being a part of the distribution of goods).
            The apostles and leaders in the community wanted to be dedicated to teaching and preaching about Jesus, but when they get caught up in the other workings of the community- they aren’t able to study and pray in a way that leads to effective leadership. In order to remedy that situation, they divide up some of the tasks. In particular, seven men are appointed to head up the food distribution- the passing out of goods that everyone has brought together for the good of the order.
            Stephen is one of those seven. He is assigned to distribute food, but he cannot refrain from preaching as he does it. Instead of just handing out the bread and the fruit, he talks about why they are doing this and the motivation behind their community living. He makes some people very angry by pointing out how they are still ignoring the work of God in the world, just as people have done since the world’s beginning. He offends the wrong people and they kill him. He dies for and in the Lord. (And he does so with Saul looking on and approving.)
            Despite the struggles and divisions in the early church over all kinds of things, the Holy Spirit continued to work through them so that people continued to be brought to the faith. Yes, more of them died. Many more were killed for their faithful actions. It had little to with what they believed and lots to do with what they were willing to do to be a part of God’s work of justice and peace in their towns and cities. In order to live out the way of discipleship, some died for the faith and some died to their ideas of the faith.
            Everyone who decided to follow the way of Jesus had to let go of certain ideas, certain convictions, certain assumptions about the world, about other people, about life in community. They had to die- to perish the thoughts- so that the new life of Christ could grow in them. That new life comes with a lot of extra growth that needs much room.
           The community of Christ today is called to the same new life. What are we willing to die to so that the community of Christ will grow? Do we have the conviction of Stephen to continue to talk of Christ, even when it’s not officially our job and when it makes others angry? Are we willing to let go of the way things have always been so that things may become the way God is shaping them to be?
            What would you give up to see new people learning about the love and life in God? What about our life in Christ would you die for and what should you die to?
            We cannot expect that the God of renewal and reformation intends for the church to remain the same. We cannot hope that the Spirit of fire and water will leave things unaltered and unaffected by time and circumstance. We dare not rest on the idea that the Christ of healing and justice will allow us to sit back and organize our creeds while the world struggles in darkness.
            The life of faith is a life of action. A life of action has seasons of growth and seasons of dying. What in this community, in the larger church, in each of our lives is dying so that God’s new growth can spring forth?
            Despite the divisions, the arguments, and the deep grief over change, the early church worked forward in the Spirit to keep the way of life in Jesus the Christ alive and changing their world. We are called to no less of a life of action in discipleship. In fact, we are called to the very same life of healing, sharing, and working for justice. And the very same Spirit is at work in us… carrying us through deaths (of people, of ideas, of traditions) and bringing forth new and abundant life.
Amen.  

This sermon was inspired by this blog post by Jan Edmiston: http://www.ecclesio.com/2013/03/a-risky-invitation-jan-edmiston/. I’ve been thinking about this since I first read it- weeks ago. 

What God has Cleansed (Earth Day Sermon)

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Acts 11: 1-18
            Care of creation as a part of our Christian life seems a little obvious. Does it feel that way to you? We believe that God’s hand was active in establishing the universe. We understand that there are natural processes that are mysterious to us. We grasp the fact that we are not alone on the earth and that many millions of plants, non-human animals, fish, and lots of other people can be affected by our choices and our actions.
            So we understand, basically, why it’s important. We get it. But do we change what we’re doing based on what we know to be true? I had a lot of heartburn about having a service on Earth Day, oriented toward creation, with a 12-page bulletin. That’s a lot of paper. But we have people who can’t hear and need to be able to follow the service. We have a worship book that turns out not to be very visitor-friendly in its orientation (lots of flipping back and forth). So we sacrificed trees for the sake of hospitality. Does it mean anything to regret this decision? Could we figure out how to go bulletin free one Sunday a month?
            When I ask that kind of question, I immediately see that I have a problem, a flaw in my thinking. I’m skipping right to the specific before I comprehend the reason for the general. I can read Job and understand, again, that God knows and loves all creation on both the micro and macro- scale. Yet, how am we brought into that love? I do not mean how are we brought into loving creation. I mean, how are we brought into God’s love, into God’s knowledge?
            Imagine, if you will, that you are Peter. The Apostle. You fished for years, your life was pretty much set, and then came Jesus. Like a bat out of Nazareth (or something like that). You follow him. You see amazing things. You have powerful revelations. You deny, confess, distort, and accept. You see the risen Christ. You witness the flames of Pentecost. And through all of this, you’re a Jew. Jesus was a Jew. John was a Jew. Thomas, Andrew, Philip- Jewish, Jewish, Jewish. All the people at the Pentecost event- Jewish.
            And now there are people who believe in Jesus as the Messiah. They trust that he is the Son of God. They experience truth in the story of the resurrection. And they. Are. Not. Jewish. What do you do? Send them away? Slap the pork chop out of their hands and circumcise them on the spot? Tell them it is too bad they weren’t chosen?
            When Peter is in Joppa, God sends a vision to a man named Cornelius. Cornelius is an Italian soldier who believes in God and, in his time of prayer, God tells him to go and see Peter. In the meantime, God sends Peter the dream of the “unclean animals” and repeats the scene until Peter gets the point God is trying to make, “Who are you to say that what I have made is profane? Unclean? Unworthy?” When Cornelius appears before Peter and introduces himself and tells Peter of his vision, Peter probably has a little hallucination of a pig, induced by lifelong hatred of Romans and conflation of Roman soldiers with pigs. Then he realizes this is the point of the dream! Truly God shows no partiality because God has even spoken truth to this Italian swine soldier.
            Of course, Peter later gets a lot of flack for sharing the gospel with Gentiles. His reasoning is actually rock solid, “God did it first.” Peter cannot keep the Holy Spirit from blowing where it will, descending as it desires, inspiring the understanding of truth in whom it shall. One of the interesting ironies of the Bible is how long it takes people who have been called by God to realize that God is also working in other people and in other circumstances.
You might think that people whose understanding of God’s work in history included Ruth, Cyrus (the Great), Melchizedek (blessed Abraham), and Pharaoh’s daughter (raised Moses), among others, might not be so shocked that God would conspire to bring inspiration and salvation to non-Jews. And the thing is, we cannot speak against Peter and the other Jews for being slow to come to this understanding. Christians do it all the time. We forget how we have been grafted onto the tree of life. We assume that we are the very roots, trunk, branches, and leaves. (And we know what ass-u-me does.)
            This brings me back around to care of creation. We did not invent this. A green revolution did not begin with us. It began with God, whose farm is all creation. The stories of God at the beginning of the world mention that there was not yet land because there was not yet people (man) to tend the soil, to care for the land, to be co-creators.
            People have slowly come around to understanding God’s call to all people, God’s welcome and openness to every person. How long can the rest of the world wait for us to understand the extension of renewal and redemption? How long can we pretend that we do not understand Peter’s dream that nothing God has made is profane? How long will we profane what God has made by being careless with what we eat, what we do, what we buy, how we live?
            I’m saying this to you, but the voice in my head is saying, “Sit down and be quiet, you hypocrite. Remove the plank from your own eye.” We’re in this together… on Earth Day… on the third Sunday in Easter…
            Where do we start? Let’s begin by making the revelation of Peter’s dream our prayer: “What God has cleansed you must not call common.” When you eat, let your prayer be of gratitude for the ways the food got to your table. “What God has cleansed you must not call common.” When you look at the grit of spring or cut your eyes from a man holding a sign on the corner, “What God has cleansed you must not call common.” When you take out the trash or sort things for the garage sale, “What God has cleansed you must not call common.” When you look in the mirror, when you wash your face, “What God has cleansed you must not call common.”
            The first step toward the acceptance of Gentiles was the realization that God had loved them already. God was there first. So the first step in our own journey toward care of creation, realizing that God loves it already. God loved it first. And God has loved us to share entrust the responsibility of caring. But we have to begin with understanding that what God has made clean, what God has welcomed, what God loves, cannot be called or treated as common.
Amen.