Acts
3:12-26
Easter
3
April
15, 2018
William G. Carter
“And
now, friends, I know that you acted in ignorance, as did also your rulers. In
this way God fulfilled what he had foretold through all the prophets, that his
Messiah would suffer. Repent therefore, and turn to God so that
your sins may be wiped out, so that times of refreshing may come from the
presence of the Lord, and that he may send the Messiah appointed for you,
that is, Jesus, who must remain in heaven until the time of universal restoration
that God announced long ago through his holy prophets.
A
week after Holy Humor Sunday, the expectation lingers that there might be one
more joke. So here’s one that I like:
A guy is sitting
at home when he hears a knock at the door. He opens the door and sees a snail
on the porch. He picks up the snail and throws it as far as he can. Three years
later, there’s a knock on the door. He opens it and sees the same snail. The
snail says, “What was that all about?”
That’s
the point of Peter’s speech. In the days after the death and resurrection of
Jesus, Peter addresses the question, “What was that all about?”
Peter
and John are up on the steps of the Jerusalem temple. In the name of Jesus,
they have just helped a man crippled from birth to stand up. Not only to stand,
but the text says he started “leaping and praising God.” It’s an orthopedic
miracle, performed free of charge. The man used to beg for handouts, and now he’s
up and jumping around. Peter and John are instant celebrities. What’s that all
about?
Peter
says, “It’s about Jesus.” Don’t stare at Peter and John. Don’t scratch your
head. Don’t ask them for an autograph. This is a sign that Jesus Christ is
alive. Easter was not a single day; it is an ongoing reality. Every once in a while,
the evidence bubbles up. A man who couldn’t walk for his entire life is now up
and dancing. The Christ who spent a lot of his time among us healing other
people is alive and still healing.
It’s
an astonishing moment. The storyteller says the healing created a crowd. People
rush in. They are curious. They are dazzled. How can this be?
Peter
is never one to turn down an available microphone. He turns the question back
on the crowd to say, yes, indeed, how can this be? Jesus was among us. He
healed scores of people. His power changed a lot of lives. The were no longer weak,
no longer ignored, no longer reduced to begging those going to pray in the
Temple for a couple of bucks for bread. Jesus gave life to people. That’s what
he did and everybody knows it.
“Yet
you rejected him,” says Peter. “You rejected him and handed him over to be
killed.” What was that all about?
It’s
a good question. We don’t ask it very much once Easter is over. Why did they
reject Jesus?
If the
question comes up, it’s usually sometime between the hosannas on Palm Sunday
and the triumph on Easter. One of the curious things about American
Christianity is that we have shouts of joy on Palm Sunday, and then we have more
shouts of joy on Easter. Some people never notice that, in between, somebody
dies.
From
time to time, I’ve done an informal survey during Holy Week. I wander up and
down the aisles of the supermarket and wait until I see somebody I recognize.
- Then I ask, “Are we going to see you on Maundy
Thursday?” “Oh, I don’t think so,” somebody will say. “It’s too dark and it’s
kind of depressing.”
- Are you able to come to worship on Good Friday? “Well,
no, we are going to hard-boil some eggs and color them. It’s a good day to
take off.”
- So I change my approach. We chat for a bit, then
I say, “One of my favorite worship services of the year is on Maundy
Thursday. Do you think you can come?” “We have to pack for Disney World.”
- In quiet desperation, I try one more time: “Hey,
we have a fresh approach to Good Friday. There’s a service at noon; it
used to be three hours long, with six sermons (that was kind of grim), but
we’ve shrunk it down to 58 minutes. It’s not so bad. I hope you can come.”
He said, “Does anybody go to that anymore?”
Why
do you suppose people in our own day celebrate the death and resurrection of
Jesus by ignoring the death?
Maybe
it’s because of our cultural obsession with success. Nobody likes a downer. Just
think positive thoughts. Put together a little dance troupe and sing, “Look on
the bright side of life.” Jesus is victorious over death? Right? Isn’t that the
point? He is stronger, mightier, more powerful. I believe I’ve said some of
those things myself.
If
that’s the message that gets you through the bumps in life, I understand that.
There is some hard-earned wisdom that comes from an upward-orientation. So much
so, that I hate to bring up two small warnings. First, just because you expect
everything to turn out well doesn’t mean that it will; we still have to deal
with the truth that we are unfinished human beings, with flaws, failures, and
feelings of inadequacy.
That
reminds me of a psychological study somebody did about ten years ago. A team of
researchers visited a number of those mega-churches that emphasize positive
thinking and uplifting music. Know what they discovered? The rate of clinical
depression is far greater in places like that. That might be why the people go
there, to feel better… and it’s not working.
But
there is a second warning for those who wish to avoid the dark side and emphasize
the positive. Here it is: the Risen Christ has scars. He comes back and says to
those who love him: see the nail prints? Easter does not patch him up. Christ is
alive, thoroughly alive, and he is scarred. His scars are a reminder of what
kind of world this is, even though he is alive.
So
that’s what Peter’s speech is trying to address. He will not let the crowds sweep
him away after a miracle; Jesus did plenty of miracles and somebody nailed him
to a tree. “This Jesus was the Holy One, the Righteous One,” he says. “He was
the Author of life, the one whose very name made this man strong and gave him
perfect health. And you killed him. God raised him from the dead – but God did
that because you killed him.”
And
dare I ask, one more time: “What was that all about?” What was that cross – and
that resurrection - all about? Peter answers with a single word: “Ignorance.” “You
and your leaders killed him out of ignorance.”
Now,
that’s a harsh description, don’t you think? We are Presbyterians, most of us.
We believe in the power of education. Wherever Presbyterians have gone, we have
started schools and colleges. We expect our preachers to have a lot of
schooling, and if there are lapses (and you know that there are), we expect the
preachers to study and keep learning. We want to eradicate ignorance!
And
yet, a handful of years ago, our denominational offices had a financial crisis.
They had to make some cuts. So do you know the first thing they cut? The
fundraising department – the stewardship department.
Do
you get a sense, maybe, of what kind of ignorance Peter is talking about? It’s
not a lack of knowledge; it’s a lack of something else.
When
I was in seminary, I spent my summer vacations working for a highway road crew.
It was probably the last honest work I ever did. Here’s the way it worked: I
was working on a master's degree, so I was at the bottom of the employment ladder.
That meant filling in the potholes and scooping up the woodchucks. And when
word leaked out I was going to Princeton, they gave me a nickname: The
Professor. It was not a compliment.
It
was a good corrective to the rarified air of my Ivy League seminary. My
co-workers were good people, hard-working people. Some of them had a high
school diploma. Some didn't even have that. But they were full of hard-earned wisdom.
And they also knew that you could have a lot of schooling and still be a fool.
One
day, a guy in a suit and tie ran through a traffic stop on a work site. In his
haste, he almost hit one of the workers. One of the other men on the crew
stepped out into the lane, blocked his passage, and waved a shovel wildly at
the transgressor’s windshield. The man in the suit rolled down the window. The
crew boss yelled, “Hey, Mr. Einstein, didn’t you see the signs or the guy with
a flag?”
The
man in the suit said, “I’m late. Get out of my way.” He rolled up the window
and sped away. I will spare you some of the language he never got to hear.
Suffice it to say, the men on the road crew didn’t think of him very highly. They
thought that very self-important man was a fool.
Can we
see Peter’s point? The government officials of Rome were the most privileged
people of the empire. The religious leaders of Jerusalem were the best educated
people in their city. To accuse them of ignorance is not a critique of their
education or intelligence. It is a description of the darkness in their hearts.
It
is easy to identify when smart and powerful people are afraid. They lie, they
misdirect, they create alternative controversies. They will stop at nothing to
eliminate those who speak the truth. At the root of it all is the presumption
that they can save their own skin by deception and cunning.
“God
told us it was going to be like this,” said Peter to the crowd. “God sent the
prophets, one after another, to speak the truth to power, and power did
everything it could to silence the truth.” This is the age-old script,
recurring in every age. And the diagnosis, according to Peter, is “ignorance.”
We have
heard this diagnosis before. On the cross, Jesus looks upon a fearful, angry
world and prays for this world’s redemption. Remember the prayer? “Father,
forgive them, they know not what they do.” (Luke 23:34) They “know not,” agnostos – it’s the same word. “Father,
forgive them, they are ignorant.”
The
diagnosis will be given again. Another apostle, Paul of Tarsus, will make his
way to Athens, home of the great thinkers and philosophers. He is no
intellectual slouch, so he goes into the market place of ideas to talk about
Jesus. On the way, he passes by one statue after another, each one dedicated to
a different Greek god or goddess. Apollo, Athena, Aphrodite, Dionysus, Hermes,
Poseidon, and Zeus are all there, plus one more – a statue to the “unknown
god.” Just in case there was one that they were missing!
Paul
says, “Let me tell you about that unknown god. That is the ‘agnostos’ god, the God you
do not know, even though he is the source and destination of your life. That’s
the God who raised Jesus from the dead. Smart people of Athens, this God has
overlooked the seasons of human ignorance, but now commands all people
everywhere to repent.” (Acts 17:30)
“This
is a strange kind of ignorance,” Fred Craddock says. "Repent of your
ignorance. Of all the things to do with ignorance - repent of it! It must lie
somewhere deeper, like some unwillingness to open the eyes and heart to God, to
always be knowing and therefore not knowing. Always be on my own and therefore
not God's own. To work hard as a student, get a 4-point average, and miss the
point. That's what Luke is talking about.”[1]
Indeed
it is a strange kind of ignorance. I think of that moment right after God calls
the prophet Isaiah. Isaiah listens, objects, pushes back, and then breaks into
song, “Here I am, Lord! Is it I, Lord? I have heard your voice calling me in
the night.” He’s excited, thrilled really; it is on the threshold of becoming a
Broadway musical.
But
then God gives him the commission: “Go to my people and say, “You keep
listening, but do not comprehend; keep looking, but do not understand.” And God
gets sarcastic: “Make the mind of this people dull, and stop their ears, and
shut their eyes, so that they may not look with their eyes, and listen with
their ears, and comprehend with their minds, and turn and be healed.” (Isaiah
6:9-10)
There
is a kind of ignorance that has nothing to do with a person’s intelligence. It’s
the kind of ignorance that declares, “I’m always right, it’s all about me, and
I don’t need anybody but myself.” How tragic are the consequences of the kind
of stupidity that lodges in the heart!
There
is a way out. That’s the good news which Peter announces. And if you promise
not to cheapen it, I’ll tell you what it is: humility. The best way we renounce
it, the only way to renounce it, is to trust there is a God wiser than we are,
a God who sees clearly even when we distort, a God who is committed to healing
what we have broken, a God who ultimately will make all things right.
Repentance is returning to that God, the real God, the God who would not let
our great mistake of crucifying his Son cancel the great love he has for us and
the world.
And
that’s why we are here, and why we return to worship every week. It’s our way
to turn from our sins and turn back to God. This is more than an empty ritual;
it is the means by which we are cleansed and renewed. If the world could be
saved by our own strength and wisdom, it would be have been saved by now. Even our
best efforts, no matter how good they are, are flawed and temporary. Sometimes
we do all the right things, but not for all the right reasons.
But
we can return. We can begin again. We can always begin again. And our humility is
God’s opportunity.
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