Acts
2:42-47
Easter
4
May
3, 2020
William G. Carter
They devoted themselves to the apostles’
teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. Awe
came upon everyone, because many wonders and signs were being done by the
apostles. All who believed were together and had all things in common; they
would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as
any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple,
they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising
God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to
their number those who were being saved.
The
book of Acts is a story of what happens after Easter. It begins in Jerusalem, with
Jesus returning to the heaven that sent him. The story expands to the edges of
the known world. Luke, the writer of this story, declares the Word of God is given
for “every person under heaven.” The Word pollinates through the preaching of
Christ’s resurrection. Greater than any virus, the Good News spreads. It takes
root in receptive soil. The Gospel is nourished through the ongoing retelling
of who Jesus is and how he lives among us.
And
this Word takes flesh again in a community called the church.
Imagine
the look on my little sister’s eyes. We were listening to a sermon in the congregation
where we grew up. Sermons had to be endured, even though we frequently heard outstanding
Bible teaching and preaching. To get through a long sermon, the kids in our row
would take a pencil, fill in the O’s and Zeros in the worship bulletin.
Sometimes a roll of Lifesavers would be passed up and down the pew.
One
day, the preacher spoke a line from a letter of Paul: “You are the body of
Christ!” My sister looked up from the art project on her lap, looked up at him,
and turned to me. In a not-quite whisper, she exclaimed, “I thought the Body of
Christ was that little chunk of bread.” Well, that’s what we say about it,
because that’s what Jesus says about it. “This is my body, given for you.”
But
that’s also how the church understands who it is. We are Christ’s continuing
Body for the world. We are the ones who give his words flesh and blood. We are
the eyes that see the needs of the neighborhood. We are the wounded hands that
extend in service. We are the feet that bring the Good News of peace, the announcement
that God rules over all.
The
book of Acts confirms this through the stories it tells. Jesus restored the
legs of a crippled beggar; the church restores the legs of a crippled beggar. Jesus
cast out an oppressive spirit that enslaved one of God’s children; the church casts
out a spirit enslaved one of God’s children. Jesus spoke joyfully of God’s
dominion; the church speaks joyfully of God’s dominion. In every story, on
every page, it is clear. The church continues the life and work of Jesus.
Or
to borrow that phrase from the apostle Paul, “You and I are the body of Christ.”
Now,
this is one of the secrets of the Gospel. It is a secret because it’s not
always obvious. The young woman stood to sing, introducing by saying, “I just want
to sing a melody that the Lord has laid upon my heart.” As she begins a
performance that could best be described as “out of tune,” there are sideways
glances, and a music critic snickers, “The Lord giveth but she taketh away.”
Or
the teenagers tag along to a church meeting after Mom says, “This won’t be long.”
Pretty soon, some self-proclaimed expert pontificates on how 37 dollars
intended for the candle fund have been misappropriated to buy office supplies. He
won’t let anybody go until he gives his fourteen-minute harangue. The teens
look at Mom with eyes that say, “Do we ever have to do this again?”
The
body of Christ? Doesn’t always look that way.
I
have been a Church Insider for so long that I could keep you all morning with
ghastly tales of how the church of Jesus Christ can devolve into a diseased,
leprous caricature of what it was intended to be. Like the lady who counted the
offering money; she put half of it in the church bank account and the other
half in her son’s college fund. Or the guy who always volunteers to be an usher
who hugs the women a little too long. Let’s confess some creepy things have
been done in the name of God.
If
you read the history of the early church, there is nothing new about any of
this. Among Luke’s stories in the book of Acts is the story of a magician named
Simon. He used to dazzle people with his tricks. Simon pulled out his wallet to
buy a dose of the Holy Spirit, so he could perhaps make a few bucks selling it
to others. It reminds me of the guy who joined my church in Allentown, so he
could use the membership list to sell his Amway products.
Or
there were the confused believers in Ephesus, who thought baptism was all about
repentance and getting ready for Jesus, and not about the grace of Jesus who is
already here (19:1-7). Ever since, there have been finger-wagging Christians
who assure others that they will never measure up.
And
from the beginning, there have been well-intentioned Christians who have
quibbled about who belongs and who doesn’t belong, in the name of Jesus who
welcomed everybody. That happened in the early church. In some places, it is
still going on.
To
quote a seasoned pastor who knows a lot of congregations, “You can’t make this
stuff up.” This is what happens when a holy institution is tarnished by human
foibles. Happens all the time, often with a smile and hands folded in prayer. Not
everybody wants to practice forgiveness, but I believe the church is the
laboratory where mercy and new life must be worked out.
That’s
why it is so essential to hear the brief summary that Luke offers in our
scripture text today. It is a snapshot of the church at its best. They had no
building, although they frequented the Jerusalem Temple when it was still
standing. They had no pastor, for their central leader was in heaven. But they
had the Word of God and they had one another.
According
to the account, they were instructed. The scriptures were opened, and Christ
was proclaimed. The learning happened through a flattening of authority, as
fishermen told stories about Jesus. This is what he did. This is what he said.
There
were signs and wonders, as the church lifted up those who believed they couldn’t
walk and spoke up to those who thought that they could put others down. The
church kept doing what Jesus had done. Those were the every-day signs and
wonders!
Most
remarkably, they shared what they had. They make sacrifices for one another. They
refused to clutch daily goods at the expense of those who had nothing. They
gave of themselves freely. This kind of generosity is as great a miracle as any
other. It counters the natural selfishness that seems to be written in human
DNA, and it is a Christ-like thing.
At
the core of the church’s experience is a remarkable quality of community. There
is one spirit, one mind, one heart. The phrase that Luke uses to describe it is
one that we have all used: they had all things “in common.” That’s an everyday
word, “common.” It is not flashy. It has no sparkle. It is easily dismissed.
But in the New Testament, it is the basis of community. Common, community – at heart,
it is the same word.
Community
begins in the recognition that we are all in this together. It can’t work if
someone is in it only for himself or herself.
With
a pandemic going on, we know this to be true. While some have reacted to our
circumstances with fear, hoarding the cleaning supplies and grabbing more
toilet paper than they will ever use, there are remarkable examples of generosity
and friendship. Some of our church families are delivering cookies on
doorsteps. You are countering the isolation by calling one another on the
phone. You are sending out all those greeting cards that were gathering dust in
the closet. You are expressing appreciation and love. You recognize what we
have in common.
One
of our church members has been recovering from the virus. When we talked on the
phone last week, he said, “You know, Bill, our church is truly a family.” I
smiled and thought of some of the families I have known; most families have a
crazy uncle or a neurotic cousin. Without naming any names, some would say that’s
an apt metaphor for the church.
But
our friend went on to express his deep appreciation for the care and support he
has received: messages from friends, meals dropped off on the doorstep, regular
reminders that our lives are never defined by our weaknesses.
Community
is shaped by what we have in common. And what we have in is Christ, the Risen
Christ, the Second Person in the Trinity who loves us all and desires our
common well-being.
So
I am thankful for the church of which I’m a part. And I’m thinking about what
kind of church we can be, during this sweep of illness, and beyond it. I
believe we want to be the kind of Christian community where everybody is valued,
and love is actively expressed. Even on a day like this, when we cannot physically
take part in the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, we can still break our bread and
share it with glad and generous hearts.
This
is what builds up the household of Jesus Christ. It will catch the interest of
those around us because it is exactly what the world needs.
One
of my favorite writers is a young woman who died last year in an unexpected
reaction to medication. Her name was Rachel Held Evans. She wrote about the
church, even though she struggled for years to find a congregation that would
accept her as a lamb of the flock. But she never gave up, because she trusted
that the love of Jesus was at the center of all things.
Let
me conclude with two paragraphs from her book, Searching for Sunday:
(The New Testament) word for church, ekklesia,
was used at the time of Jesus to refer to the “calling out” of citizens for a
civic meeting or for battle, and is employed in one form or another in both the
Old and New Testament to refer to the people of God, assembled together. So
church is, essentially, a gathering of kingdom citizens, called out – from their
individuality, from their sins, from their old ways of doing things, from the
world’s way of doing things – into participation in this new kingdom and
community with one another.
She
writes,
I’m not exactly sure how all this works, but
I think, ultimately, it means I can’t be a Christian on my own. Like it or not,
following Jesus is a group activity, something we’re supposed to do together.
We might not always do it within the walls of a church or even in an organized
religion, but if we are to go about making disciples, confessing our sins,
breaking bread, paying attention, and preaching the Word, we’re going to need
one another. We’re going to need each other’s help.”[1]
Friends,
we are in this together, because Jesus is in it for us. All of us.
(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.
[1] Rachel Held Evans, Searching
for Sunday: Loving, Leaving, and Finding the Church (Nashville: Nelson
Books, 2015) 255.
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