Faith In His Name -- Third Sunday of Easter

Acts 3:12-19

April 15, 2018

            There once was a man born lame, never able to walk on his own two feet. Life was hard for most people, but it was especially rough for someone like him. There were no programs designed to help him function in society. There was no technology available to help him overcome his disability. He was not mobile without the help of others. He had no living except for what he could earn by begging.

            It isn’t known for sure if the man was a person of faith. It is probable that he was born into a religious family. Most of the people in his community were. The Law of his faith would have been ubiquitous in his life, in his world – even if it was not the law of the land or the empire. But whether the man believed or not, whether he put much stock into what religion had to say, we don’t know.

            What we do know is that the man was carried to the temple by others everyday. While everyone else made their way inside to pray, the man was set outside of the gate called Beautiful so he could ask for alms. What irony?! How much beauty could his life have held? I can only imagine what he must have looked like – legs useless, perhaps he had a ragged mat to rest on, perhaps he just waited in the dust. What could he have seen of the people who passed by? Their feet? Their legs? Did he wait there in resigned and numb destitution, thinking that this was all his life was and it was all his life would ever be? Next to that gate called Beautiful, he lay, day after day, asking the church goers for their spare change.

            Maybe the man thought that this day would be like all the others? But it only takes one moment, one event for everything to change, for everything that was before to be over, and everything from that moment on to be new.

            This was that day. Two men were walking into the temple. The man asked them for alms, just as he asked everyone else who walked by him. But these two men did not just throw in a shekel and keep moving. These two men stopped. One of them said,

            “Look at us.”

            The man looked. He looked beyond their feet, beyond their legs. He looked at their faces. The men stared back at him. The one who told him to look said,

            “I have no silver or gold, but what I have I give you; in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, stand up and walk.”

            Then this man took the lame man by the hand and raised him up. Feet that had been crippled were now strong. Ankles that had been weak were now sturdy. The man stood upright for the first time in his life. The man once lame did not just stand, he jumped. He walked into the temple with these two men; he walked and he leaped and he praised God!

            The other people inside recognized that this was the man they had just seen lying by the gate called Beautiful. This was the man they had seen unable to walk, pleading for alms so that he might live another day. They stared at him in wonder and amazement.

            As you can imagine, this man, this walking, leaping, praising man did not want to leave the two men who had healed him. He clung to them, and all the other people gathered there to pray ran to Solomon’s Portico where the three men stood: the healed man and the two who raised him up.

            “When Peter saw it…”

            That is where our part of the story comes in. But the healing of the lame man outside the temple gate is where the larger story begins. Peter and John were those two men who stood and stared at the man unable to walk. Just as Peter and John stared at him, the people now stare at them. Peter stares back. With that he begins to preach. That is what our part of this story is: a sermon.

            “You Israelites, why do you wonder at this, or why do you stare at us, as though by our own power or piety we had made him walk? The God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, the God of our ancestors has glorified his servant Jesus, whom you handed over and rejected in the presence of Pilate, though he had decided to release him. But you rejected the Holy and Righteous One and asked to have a murderer given to you, and you killed the Author of life, who God raised from the dead. To this we are witnesses. And by faith in his name, his name itself has made this man strong, whom you see and know; and the faith that is through Jesus has given him this perfect health in the presence of all of you.”

            That’s quite an opening to a sermon, isn’t it? Hey folks, why are you so amazed? This man was healed in the name of Jesus. Remember Jesus? He’s the one you rejected. He’s the one you had handed over. He’s the one whose life you traded for a murderer. He’s the one you killed. That’s who healed this man. Not us. It was his name that healed this man. Faith in his name made this man walk; made him whole again.

            I’m not sure if this would be considered a good way to win friends and influence people. Peter does go on to tell them that they acted out of ignorance, as did their rulers. But the good news, folks, is that God used their ignorance; God used their rejection for the good. In fact their rejection and Jesus’ suffering fulfilled all that the prophets had foretold about the Messiah.

            Although his sermon goes on, we end with Peter’s call to the people to repent. They did act out of ignorance, and God still worked good from it, but now they can repent. Now they can turn to God and their sins will be wiped out, wiped away, erased and forgotten.

            Tough words. Hard words. Even Peter’s proclamation that the people and the rulers acted out of ignorance does nothing to soften them. What I find disturbing about this passage, and others like it, is that it has been used to justify condemnation and persecution of Jews throughout the centuries. They were the “Christ killers.” This persecution is not an ancient event either.

            Another aspect of this that bothers me is that Peter also rejected Jesus. He may not have cried, “Crucify him,” but he denied him. He was afraid. He could not stand by his Teacher, his Rabbi. So maybe when you point that finger, Pete, you should point it at yourself first.

            But Peter preached about repentance. He called the people to repent. Repenting is not just remorse or being sorry or sorrowful for some bad thing you’ve done. And while the translation from the Greek is “turn around,” it is also more layered than just a returning to God. It is a fundamental change in perspective, in understanding. In seminary I learned the term, “paradigm shift,” as a way to describe this kind of change, this kind of repentance. I’ve had a number of paradigm shifts in my lifetime. It is that moment when your eyes are opened in a way they have never been before, and you see that you are complicit in something – some unjust system or institution or way of life. And you can never unsee what you have seen, you can never have your eyes closed again. It’s just too big, too monumental.

            Isn’t that what happened to Peter and the other disciples, now apostles? In the resurrection, in the giving of the Holy Spirit, they saw what they could not see before. The foundation of their world was shaken to its core. Their eyes were opened and they could not remain blind anymore. The resurrection completely and utterly changed everything.

            Peter and the other apostles repented. They turned. They saw. They believed. They refused to remain blind. So while Peter’s words were harsh, maybe he did know that the finger of blame was also pointed at him. But maybe he also realized what repentance could really mean, what it could really do. So was his sermon about condemnation or was it a plea? Was he imploring the people to understand what they did, not for the sake of guilt but so that they too might be able to see; so that they too could repent, turn, and be healed, be whole, find faith in the name of Jesus?

            As I said last week, the underlying theme, the fundamental motif of Acts is to show what the community of faith looked like post resurrection. These were the original Easter people. They were trying to live out the good news of Jesus the Christ in word and in deed. Peter’s words were not spoken so that centuries of Jewish people could be persecuted. Peter was his calling his people to repent, to turn to God. And he was calling them to see, to really see what faith in Jesus’ name could look like. Faith in his name could look like a man, once lame, walking and leaping and praising God.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia!” Amen.

Can You Imagine? Second Sunday of Easter

Acts 4:32-35 (36-37)

April 8, 2018

Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people living for today

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people living life in peace, you

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope some day you'll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people sharing all the world, you

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope some day you'll join us
And the world will be as one

            Those are the lyrics to a rather famous song by a guy you might have heard of: John Lennon. He used to be in this band called The Beatles. I heard they were kind of famous at one time.

            This is probably one of the best known songs from the late John Lennon’s solo career. I learned from my rock and roll/Beatles historian, Brent Stoker, that John said he should have given songwriting credit to Yoko Ono. She was the one who wrote about imagining. Regardless of the credit, this is a song that a lot of people know and associate with John Lennon.

            These are also lyrics that some people find offensive, even threatening. The first verse calls on the listener to imagine there is no heaven, no hell. Imagine that we are not surrounded by a supernatural afterworld waiting to punish or reward. Above us there is only sky. If someone of faith doesn’t appreciate those opening lines, they really must not like the second verse either when Lennon calls us to imagine a world with no countries, no loyalties to fight for, live or die for, and no religion too.

            I realize John Lennon was not a religious person. He eschewed formal religion and all its trappings. But personally, I don’t find this song completely antithetical to people of faith, to those of us who live lives based in and because of faith. What would it be like if we lived lives, not solely focused on heaven or hell, but on this moment now? Would it make us take the present a little more seriously, a little less for granted, if we stopped worrying about the afterlife? Can you imagine?

            I think our passage from Acts also makes people uncomfortable. I think these verses also make people feel threatened. Do you remember in the gospels when Jesus told the rich young ruler that, sure, he followed the commandments to the letter, but he had one more thing that he needed to do: sell all of his possessions and give them to the poor? The rich young ruler couldn’t do what Jesus asked of him, because he had great material wealth and giving that up was too much. I’ve heard countless sermons – some that I’ve preached – and countless apologists gloss over Jesus’ words.

            “That’s not what Jesus meant really.”

            “Jesus does not expect all people to give up their possessions or sell off all their wealth.”

            Except … Jesus said to do just that. We don’t have to like it; we don’t have to agree with it. But Jesus said it. I think that same tendency to gloss over what we read applies to this passage as well.

            “Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common.”

            Yikes! If we’re supposed to be doing that, then we are a long way off from living as the Word of God intends, aren’t we? I have quite a few possessions, and yet I have made no move to sell any of them or hold them in common with others. But that is what this community, this early community of believers did. Although our particular part of this passage ends at verse 35, if you read verses 36 and 37 you will hear about another man in this community. He was a Levite, whose name was Joseph, but he was called Barnabas by the apostles. Barnabas means “son of encouragement.” Barnabas owned a field which he sold, and he brought that money, that profit, and also laid it at the apostle’s feet.

            This passage is one of the many that highlights the underlying theme of Acts. What does it mean to live together when you believe that Jesus lives? What does it mean to be a church of people who believe in the resurrection? These were people, believers – new and old, who lived post-resurrection. Not all would have witnessed the resurrected Christ, but they believed in that so strongly that they were trying to shape their lives together around what the resurrection meant to them.

            Can you imagine?

            Let’s be clear: the new church in Acts did not always get it right. There were conflicts, not just among believers, but among the apostles. You can’t read too far in Paul’s letters to the church in Corinth without realizing that the early church had conflict and struggles over interpretation and living out what they believed it meant to be the church. Acts is not a perfect blueprint or a checklist for being a church, the Church. But it is a larger story of people living as though the resurrection happened, as though everything they understood or knew or thought had changed.        

We could make the statement that we are trying to do the same thing. We too believe in the resurrection, the resurrected Christ, and we are trying to shape our lives around that belief. That is why we are a church, a congregation. We believe in the resurrection, and we try to live as though we do.

The challenge comes, and it was the same challenge that the early church faced, is that nothing in the world around us seems to have changed. Everything seems the same. Innocents in countries like Syria are still dying because of a brutal, bloody civil war. Many of our sisters and brothers in Puerto Rico do not have electricity and access to clean water and the necessities for life. Our teachers, in this state and others, are forced to walk out of classrooms because not only are they not paid a living wage but our students don’t have the basics they need to learn. We are as divided as ever – here at home and around the world. Nothing seems to have changed, and it is easy to lose hope because it seems that humanity never will change.

Can you imagine?

So we believe in the resurrection, and we are technically Easter people, a post-resurrection community. But what does that mean? What difference does that make? I’m not going to stand up here and tell you that it is time to sell all of our possessions and put them in a common purse. But maybe we need to think about how we think about the resurrection? Is it doctrine or is it relationship? If it is only doctrine than we can recite our beliefs in our creeds and move on; but if believing in the resurrection means that we see it as new relationship then everything really is different.

It seems to me that these early believers, this community of folks trying to live together, saw the resurrection as relationship. They were trying to live together as Jesus the man and the resurrected Christ would have them live. When we think about our lesson from John’s gospel, was Thomas seeking proof? No. He wanted what the others had already received – a new relationship with the Jesus who rose from death to new life. When we let go of resurrection only as doctrine, a tenet to which we must ascribe, and view it instead as relationship, new relationship with the Christ, with God and with one another, then we do live as though everything has changed. Because it has! We are Easter people!

Can you imagine what our lives together can and will look like when we see resurrection as relationship? Can you imagine what our lives together can and will look like when we focus our living – not only on the afterlife but how we live right now? Can you imagine the abundant possibilities to witness and live out the love of God when we focus on the new relationship we have been given in the resurrection?

Can you imagine?

Let all God’s people say, “Alleluia!” Amen.

Just As He Told You -- Easter Sunday

Mark 16:1-8

April 1, 2018

            “Five more minutes, folks. Five more minutes.” 

            No three words have filled my heart with such dread as “five more minutes.” Why would an announcement of time cause such consternation in my soul? Out of context it makes no sense. It is the context that makes the difference.

            “Five more minutes,” were the words I would hear during an exam. “Five more minutes,” was spoken by the test proctor to let all of us taking the exam know that our time was almost over. When I was taking a straightforward question and answer test, hearing “five more minutes,” did not bother me all that much. It was when I was writing an essay that the announcement, “five more minutes,” made my heart constrict within my chest.

            Why? Generally, I’m a good essay writer. As long as I’ve studied and know the information I am supposed to, I can usually organize my thoughts quickly and write them down cohesively and cogently. Yet hearing, “five more minutes,” would make me realize that I had to wrap things up and wrap them up quickly. I needed to make my point, draw a conclusion and be done already. I know that I have ended several essays abruptly because of the words, “five more minutes.” I know that I have missed some finer points I hoped to make because the announcement that my time was almost done made me rush to get to the ending.

            Reading these eight verses in Mark’s gospel makes me wonder if Mark wasn’t under some time constraint; even if it was of his own making. Although we have two other endings to Mark’s gospel: the shorter and the longer; it is widely believed by scholars that this is the original ending to Mark’s telling of the story of Jesus.  

            To say that the ending is abrupt is an understatement. There is no happy ending. There is no neat conclusion with all the loose ends tied up in a pretty bow. We don’t even get another appearance from Jesus. Just these three women and a young man dressed in white. Was he an angel? It would seem so, but the text does not state that specifically. What is made clear is that the women did not do what the young man instructed them to do. They did not run right off to tell the disciples and Peter the good news. Instead, fright made them mute. They were overcome and overwhelmed by the young man’s appearance and message. They ran away in terror and amazement; telling no one what they had seen or heard.

            No, this is not a tidy ending. Matthew and Luke must have concurred on that point – their gospels end more conclusively. Whoever the scribes or monks or editors were who added the shorter and the longer endings, they must not have been satisfied with the way Mark left it either. Perhaps Mark heard his own version of “five more minutes,” and rushed to finish. Or perhaps this was exactly the kind of ending – or lack thereof – that he was going for.

            Mark’s version of the good news is open-ended because so is the good news. The good news of the gospel did not end with the resurrection or even the ascension. It did not end with the women running to tell the disciples or the disciples checking the story out for themselves. It did not end with the upper room at Pentecost or in the early churches Paul helped bring to fruition. The good news, the gospel does not end. If it had an ending, it really wouldn’t be the good news of God, would it?

            I resonate with Mark’s gospel the most of all four – one because his version of Jesus is the most human, and two, because when it comes to getting what Jesus was trying to tell them, the disciples fail spectacularly most of the time. As do I. Mark was brutally honest about the disciples’ failings. In verse 8, the women do not fare much better. But I don’t believe that Mark was trying to disparage them. All of them were afraid. All of them were amazed and terrified by the good news Jesus told them. Mark understood this. I think Mark recognized that it would take generations of people to begin to get a glimpse of what Jesus came and did, of who he truly was and is. I think Mark realized that the good news would not be good news if it ended with the people in the original story. For all his immediacy and urgency, I don’t believe Mark finished his gospel because of some time limit. I think he left it where it was so that the next generation of disciples – those people he originally wrote the gospel for and us – could pick up the story and take it into the future.

            But here’s the thing: the news of Jesus’ resurrection did spread. Perhaps the women shook themselves and did what the young man requested after all. Perhaps they went to the disciples and to Peter and told them what they had heard, what they had seen. Maybe they got it together enough to remember what Jesus had told them, and they reminded the disciples of his words as well.

            It’s possible that what was supposed to happen did happen. They woke up from their amazement and terror and took the good news to Galilee. They met Jesus there. They made sure the word of the Lord was spread and far and wide. Maybe the reality was closer to the shorter and longer ending then we realize. Maybe it wasn’t. But whatever the ending was of Mark’s particular chapter, the story goes on and on. Some refer to the story of Jesus as the greatest story ever told. I think of it more as the unending story. Each of us contributes sentences and paragraphs. Each of us adds to the unfolding narrative.

            Jesus told them he would meet them in Galilee. And he tells us that as well. What is Galilee anyway? Jesus was not asking them to have coffee with him at the Galilean IHOP. Jesus was telling them to meet him in the place where the marginalized were found. Galilee was the place of the poor, the oppressed, the forgotten, the lost and the lonely. There, he told them, among those folks, that was where they would meet him.

            Just as Jesus told them, Jesus tells us. We are also called to go to our Galilees. We are also called to put ourselves in the midst of the least of these. Jesus tells us that it is there, on the margins, where we will meet him. Jesus told us this. He has been telling us this all along. And the good news, the gospel, the story of God and God’s Son and God’s people, continues whenever we shake ourselves out of our fear and amazement, and go to Galilee. The resurrection happens again and again, whenever hope rises out of despair, whenever joy rises out of sorrow, whenever we recognize the holy in the midst of the ordinary, whenever we let go of our fear and make our way to Galilee. It is there we see Jesus. It is there we meet the risen Lord. It is there we understand that God has done and is doing and will do a new and wonderful thing. He is risen! Death does not win. The bonds of sin are broken. He. Is. Risen!

            Let all of God’s children, tellers of God’s good news, say “Alleluia!” Amen.