Tolerating Jezebel (Thyratira)

Revelation 2:18-29
Pentecost 4
June 16, 2024
William G. Carter

And to the angel of the church in Thyatira write: These are the words of the Son of God, who has eyes like a flame of fire, and whose feet are like burnished bronze: “I know your works—your love, faith, service, and patient endurance. I know that your last works are greater than the first. But I have this against you: you tolerate that woman Jezebel, who calls herself a prophet and is teaching and beguiling my servants to practice fornication and to eat food sacrificed to idols. I gave her time to repent, but she refuses to repent of her fornication. Beware, I am throwing her on a bed, and those who commit adultery with her I am throwing into great distress, unless they repent of her doings; and I will strike her children dead. And all the churches will know that I am the one who searches minds and hearts, and I will give to each of you as your works deserve. But to the rest of you in Thyatira, who do not hold this teaching, who have not learned what some call ‘the deep things of Satan,’ to you I say, I do not lay on you any other burden; only hold fast to what you have until I come. To everyone who conquers and continues to do my works to the end, I will give authority over the nations; to rule them with an iron rod, as when clay pots are shattered— even as I also received authority from my Father. To the one who conquers I will also give the morning star. Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.

One Sunday, we had a visitor here. Sometimes they stand out. They come up the hill breathless and ask where the restroom is, before returning to pick up a bulletin and find a pew. She said later that she was warmly welcomed, and I believe it. We aspire to be a friendly place.

But that day, everything seemed to go wrong. The pastor had put the wrong hymn number in the bulletin. The church administrator hadn’t proofread it. The liturgist skipped the call to worship and jumped into the call to confession. The choir was missing most of the altos, even though they had been at the Wednesday rehearsal. The preacher called for the offering. One of the ushers was fiddling with his phone, so it took a full sixty seconds for the offering plate to come down the aisle.

All through the service a baby cried, a lot. The well-meaning father thought he could get the child to stop; it didn’t work. Then at the peak of the wailing, the alarm at the fire station went off and would not stop. When we get a Sunday like that, we roll our eyes and say, “At least there is coffee.” Except unknown to all of us, the coffee pot had died. Oh well. Say the benediction and call it a day. Everybody has something to chuckle about.

When she met me at the back door, she said with a broad smile, “I want to thank you for this church.” For the church? Really? It’s your first time here. “Yes,” she said, “and I will not be coming back. Wish I could, but I am just passing through. But thank you for the church.”

For the church? “Yes,” she said. “This is the most tolerant church I’ve ever seen. You’ll put up with everything.” Then she shook my hand and went out to the car.

I suppose we can take that as a compliment. We are a tolerant church. We’ll put up with a lot. You’ve certainly been putting up with me. I’ve been putting up with you. But I wonder how much we would be willing to endure.

I know a church that hired a new secretary. After working for a couple of weeks, she decided to join the membership. So did her son, who was probably in his forties. The two of them met with the pastor and a few elders. They talked about the church or tried to. Yet the secretary’s son kept pushing for a membership directory. “Can I get a list of all the people who belong?” Sure, but first we want to say we have communion once a month. There are Bible studies at these times. We want to give you a pledge card. And he says, “When will I get a membership list?” Must have said it three or four times. I mean, his mom is the new church secretary, and he wants a church directory.

Within a week or two of him receiving the directory, the pastor got some complaints. Apparently, Raymond, the new member, was calling the members and inviting them into a pyramid scheme. “Invest a thousand dollars with me, and in six months I can double your money.” He was working the list, had called all the “A’s” and “B’s” and was halfway through the “C’s.” The elders said, “Pastor, you have to do something.”

So, he phoned Raymond and said, “You can’t do this.” Raymond said, “It is a free country. I can do whatever I want.” The pastor, “You’re using your freedom to take advantage of fellow church members.” Ray said, “But it’s my business. Why do you think I joined the church?” They talked themselves into a stalemate. The pastor asked two elders to visit with Ray in his home. Ray lost his cool and quit his membership on the spot. Then he continued to phone up the “D’s,” “E’s, and “F’s,” until his mother told him to stop.

How long do you let it go on?

Theologian Robert Farrar Capon said it best: “The church is merely the world under the splash of baptism.” What happens out there can happen in here. We know that to be true. There are sleazy ministers; I’ve known a few. There are destructive church members; more than a few. And there are moments that nobody could ever make up.

Like the bridal party that cracked open a case of beer in the church lobby. Or the two sextons who used to play five card stud at the communion table after everybody left. Or the youth group leader who gave too many backrubs to the teenage girls. Or the volunteer who showed unsavory pictures of herself on Facebook. It has all happened. I assure you.

And then there’s my friend who landed at a new church in foxhunt country. About a year into his tenure, he raised questions about the church’s balance sheet. It was a large sum of money. They were proud of it. And the entire portfolio was managed by one church member in his one-person firm. The pastor asked, “Is this right?” Everybody said, “We trust him.” He kept inquiring. Three months later, they showed him the door. He couldn’t tolerate the potential risk to the church’s endowment. They couldn’t tolerate the questions he asked.

Today, we hear the Risen Christ speak to the church in Thyratira. It was a small town, perceived by historians as “inconsequential.” And of the seven churches who get a letter from Jesus, Thyratira gets the longest letter. The harshest, too.

Now, it’s not all bad. The Lord says, “Thyratira, I know your works. I know about your love, your faith, your service. I know about your patient endurance. And it’s clear you are improving: the works of faith in your church now are greater than what you used to do.”

Then he adds, “But I have this against you: you tolerate Jezebel. She’s leading my people astray.”

Leave it to Jesus. He knows the Jewish scriptures. Of all the so-called Bad Girls of the Bible, Jezebel was the worst. She explodes into the scroll of First Kings. A Phoenician princess, she married King Ahab of Samaria. She corrupted the religious life of Israel, hunting down the Jewish prophets and tearing down the worship altars around the country. In their place, she installed altars to Baal, the Canaanite god of self-indulgence. All this led to a big showdown with the prophet Elijah, who won the contest, but then she put a price on his head. Jezebel was rich and she was nasty.

Yet by the time Jesus dictates the letter to Thyratira, the Old Testament Jezebel had been dead for nine-hundred-fifty years. She died in far-off Jezreel, hundreds of miles away from Thyratira. So, it is obvious Jesus is not speaking literally of that Queen Jezebel. She is a symbol of something else.

In the same light, when she is condemned by Christ for “beguiling” his servants, leading them into sexual chaos, and enticing them to idolatry, there’s something more at stake. Ever since the prophet Hosea, Israel’s covenant-breaking had been depicted in sexual terms, like a wife who cannot stay faithful to her husband. It is a lurid warning, a big red sign “Don’t Do This,” a harsh reminder that the invitation to follow Christ is never an invitation to indulge ourselves or titillate our emotions. It is only following Christ. It’s not about getting ahead, but rather giving up, not about filling up but rather emptying yourself. It’s about surrendering the ego to gain the mind of Christ, and taking on the works of love, faith, service, and patient endurance.

Here is what Eugene Peterson says about Jezebel and her enticements:

 Jezebel was the symbolic nickname for the lying teacher who tricked Christians into foolishness. Centuries earlier, the historical Jezebel had introduced a religion into Israel that was glamorous and entertaining. It was all appearance and no substance. It appealed to self-interest, greed, lust. It nearly put Israel under. Jezebel keeps showing up century after century in congregation after congregation. She showed up in Thyratira and John warned the church. The appeal of the Jezebel lie doesn’t fade. In fact, right now we are under a media blitz of Jezebel teaching. It is April Fools’ religion and promises two things: to make you feel good and to get you what you want. And what chance does “Deny yourself and take up your cross daily” have against that?[1]

All this raises a simple question for Thyratira and Clarks Summit: why are we here? Really, now, why are we here? Is religion a scheme to get ahead or an invitation to lay it down? Are we here to be impressed by flashy promises or to learn how to give ourselves away? Are we here to strategize our success or to hear the truth about our own corruption? These are questions of discernment, the spiritual practice of sorting through what the truth is and what is a lie. And the closer we approach Christ, the deeper the questions become.

The invitation to the churches in each of these seven short letters is the invitation to repent. This is why Jesus sends each a letter. Most of the churches are doing good things. Yet each has a serious task or two to work through. The tasks are greater than resurfacing the parking lot or balancing the budget. More like, calibrating the heart to cast off the empty pieties and straightening the soul from the spiritual distortions. The work is never done until the day it will really be done.

As to that final day, Christ promises “the morning star.” That is the sign that something new has begun, in us, for us, and beyond us. If we press on, the morning will come. The dawn will break. And heaven will declare, “This is what we’ve been waiting for.”

Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

---

[1] Eugene H. Peterson, The Hallelujah Banquet: How the End of What We Were Reveals Who We Can Be (Colorado Springs: Waterbrook, 2021) pp. 95-96.

Living in Satan’s Neighborhood (Pergamum)

Revelation 2:12-17
June 9, 2024
Pentecost 3
William G. Carter

And to the angel of the church in Pergamum write: These are the words of him who has the sharp two-edged sword: “I know where you are living, where Satan’s throne is. Yet you are holding fast to my name, and you did not deny your faith in me even in the days of Antipas my witness, my faithful one, who was killed among you, where Satan lives. But I have a few things against you: you have some there who hold to the teaching of Balaam, who taught Balak to put a stumbling block before the people of Israel, so that they would eat food sacrificed to idols and practice fornication. So you also have some who hold to the teaching of the Nicolaitans. Repent then. If not, I will come to you soon and make war against them with the sword of my mouth. Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches. To everyone who conquers I will give some of the hidden manna, and I will give a white stone, and on the white stone is written a new name that no one knows except the one who receives it.

When I go out in the countryside, people ask sometimes, “Where is your church?” I tell them it’s in Clarks Summit and they respond, “Is that on a hill?” Yep, we are up in the hills.

“But where is it?” they ask. It’s over the hill in Scranton, and they say, “Oh, that’s the coal mine town where what’s-his-name grew up.” OK, but the coal mines shut down 65 years ago, and there are plenty of what’s-his-names who grew up there.

“So, where is it?” they ask. I answer, “It’s in northeastern Pennsylvania,” and they say, “Can anything good come from northeastern Pennsylvania?” Obviously they have never met anybody else from here.

And after reading today’s letter that Jesus dictated to Pergamum, I have something more to say. The next time somebody asks, “Where is your church?” I can say, “It’s up in Satan’s neighborhood.”

No doubt that will prompt additional questions and concerns. Are there haunted houses in your town? After all, if Satan is there, there will be paranormal activity. And there are rumors of such things. There’s that home down on Chase Street in West Pittston. For fifteen years, the family claimed they shared the residence with a demon. It was suspicious enough that some Catholics showed up to do an exorcism. After a lot of prayer, things quieted down, and somebody made a movie about it.

If you live in Satan’s neighborhood, are there dens of iniquity? In the city over the hill, there’s a bar on every corner, and a church across each street. There are many accounts of misery reported from those establishments, but no more than anywhere else.

If you’re in Satan’s neighborhood, is it like Las Vegas? Well, we do have a casino nearby, and a second casino not far away. As far as anybody knows, neither casino has any ties to organized crime.

So goes the popularized evil, that there must be demonic activity, alcohol, and gambling. Throw in some rock and roll, and it may tip the scales.

What is remarkable about the city of Pergamum, where Jesus declares to be where Satan lives, is how remarkably civilized it was. Pergamum was about forty miles north of Ephesus and fifteen miles inland. It was a wealthy city, highly cultured, with a significant level of affluence and influence. For over three hundred years, it had been a capital city on the level of London, Paris, or Berlin. The city was also a center of learning, boasting a library of 200,000 scrolls, second only to the great library of Alexandria which didn’t appreciate the competition. The city hosted power, success, and education. How could any of that go wrong?

Yet, Christ declares there is something sinister at work in that well-informed capital city. He’s not impressed with the city’s reputation, or its affluence, or its longstanding power as a governing center. He sees – and hears – something else.

What did he see? Well, Pergamum was a center for pagan worship. The city housed an enormous Temple to Diana, Greek goddess of victory. There was also a major Temple to Asclepius, Greek god of healing. And the most significant structure was called The Great Altar, probably dedicated to Zeus and Athena. Crafted from marble, it was 116 feet wide, 109 feet deep, with a huge staircase. It was shaped like a large throne. So, Jesus views the Great Altar and sees the throne of Satan.

But it’s what he hears that is even more indicting. Words, words, words. Distorted words. Twisted words. Half-hearted words. Empty words. Self-indulgent words. False words. So, the Risen Lord speaks and describes himself as the One with the sharp two-edged sword proceeding from his mouth. It’s a visual picture of something another early Christian preacher declared. From the letter to the Hebrews,

The Word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing the division of soul and spirit, of joints and marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And before him no creature is hidden, but all are open and laid bare to the eyes of him with who we have to do.[1]

This is the Christ who speaks. He speaks with truth and moral clarity. His speech is distinctive and decisive. His Word has the force to cut away everything false. By contrast, there is the mythical power of Satan, whom Jesus once called “the Father of Lies.” There is “no truth in him,” Jesus declares, and “he is a liar.”[2] For all its opulence, prestige, and worldly significance, Pergamum is the home of Satan, because it is a city infested with lies. Now, there’s something here that has some juice.

The lies started early. The serpent, wily and sly, asked Eve and Adam in the garden, “Did God really say don’t eat from any tree in the garden?” That’s all it is, a question. A distorted question, twisted and unnecessary. Eve, who was the smart one, said, “We can’t eat from the tree in the middle of the garden, lest we die.”

Then the serpent told the truth, at least part of the truth: “You shall not die.” Didn’t finish the sentence: “You shall not die… yet.” With that, the temptation was set forth – to become like God, to think you might become equal with God, which entices us to believe we can replace God, and ignore God, and live without God. And it all begins with a lie.

When God decides to teach the runaway slaves that he freed from Egypt, one of his Ten Commandments is “No false testimony against your neighbor.” That is, no twisted speech when the truth is at stake. Say, for instance, somebody goes on trial for something for which they’ve been accused. Everybody swears to tell the truth or face the consequences. Yet, it is possible to step out of the courtroom, face the reporters, and twist the story in your own direction. It is totally contrary to the sworn truth inside the courtroom. And what lies behind the lies?

It sounds like Adam and Eve. Did you eat the apple? “Well, the woman gave it to me.” Did you eat the apple? “But the serpent said.” Blame somebody else, avoid responsibility, and lie. Lying has always been in our DNA. And it had infected the little Christian church in Pergamum.

“You have been faithful to me,” says the Risen Christ, “but I have this against you: you have some who hold to the teaching of Balaam, He taught Balak to lead astray the people of God.” It’s an allusion to a pathetic sad story from the Jewish scriptures. Remember Balaam? We visited with him on Holy Humor Sunday and heard the goofy story of the obnoxious prophet who couldn’t get his own message straight.

It’s a tale that turns out badly. Unable to curse his own people after three attempts, as King Balak wanted him to do, Balaam suggested a party with festive food and dancing girls. It was a subtle shift and it worked. After forty years of austerity in the desert, the people of Israel were swayed by the smell of barbeque and sweet perfume.

Jesus asks the Pergamum church, “Why do you indulge that Balaam crowd? Don’t you remember that Balaam was an enemy agent, seducing Balak and sabotaging Israel’s holy pilgrimage by throwing unholy parties?”[3]  That blessed congregation had been so faithful. A few of them had paid for their faithfulness with their lives. But here, very subtly, their faithful intentions had been twisted by lies. And Jesus, the Living Jesus, calls them out. He sees things for what they are. He speaks the truth.

And he calls them, not to move on to some jolly theme park where everything is always sunny, but to stay right where they are. As William Barclay says in his commentary on the text,

What the Risen Christ is saying to the Christians in Pergamum is this: ‘You are living in a city where the influence and the power of Satan is rampant – and you have got to go on living there. You cannot escape. You cannot pack your baggage and move off to some place where it is easier to be a Christian. In Pergamum you are and in Pergamum you must stay. ,,, It is there you must live and it is there you must show you are a Christian.[4]

This is the challenge. This is the calling. Stay right where you are. Live there. Be a witness there. Most of all, tell the truth there.

I think of the prophet Isaiah. On the day of his call from God, he laments, “Woe is me! I am a person of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips.”[5] He wasn’t admitting that he was talking smut. He wasn’t using foul language. Rather, biblically speaking, to be a person of unclean lips is to confess that you distort the truth just like the people around you. And our calling, our vision, is to see God who speaks the truth.

Now, this is a challenge, especially these days. There is a cable channel for every political inclination. We can reinforce only what we want to hear. We can get inflamed by toxic voices that are trying to hook us so they can get more advertising revenue and fund their outrageous salaries. They attempt to addict us to outrage rather than tell us what is going on.

I have always believed that journalism is an honorable vocation. So is public service. But when they become tainted by entertainment, when they become twisted out of shape by the promise of power, when money talks and truth walks, the whole human community is wounded. And Satan, the father of lies, has a holiday.

Yet the good news – and there is always Good News – is that Jesus speaks. The Living Christ speaks. His Word slices away all that is false. He calls us to be his faithful witnesses and speak what is true: that all people are fashioned in God’s image, that every life has God-given dignity and value, that those who are pressed down are to be lifted up, that the arrogant and the superficial will be knocked off their cardboard thrones, and that this world is both beloved and redeemable. This is the Word of God. And it’s the truth.

“I know where you live,” says the Risen Christ. “You live in Satan’s neighborhood. Stay there. Tell the truth about me. And I will give you a white stone with a new name written upon it.

Let everyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.

 

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

---

[1] Hebrews 4:12-13.

[2] John 8:44.

[3] Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase of Revelation 2:14-15 from The Message.

[4] William Barclay, Letters to the Seven Churches (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1957) 55-56.

[5] Isaiah 6:5.

Rich in the Midst of Poverty (Smyrna)

Revelation 2:8-11
Pentecost 2
June 2, 2024

William G. Carter  

“And to the angel of the church in Smyrna write: These are the words of the first and the last, who was dead and came to life: “I know your affliction and your poverty, even though you are rich. I know the slander on the part of those who say that they are Jews and are not, but are a synagogue of Satan. Do not fear what you are about to suffer. Beware, the devil is about to throw some of you into prison so that you may be tested, and for ten days you will have affliction. Be faithful until death, and I will give you the crown of life. Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches. Whoever conquers will not be harmed by the second death.”

This is the second letter dictated by the risen lord to an ancient congregation. Jesus Christ speaks to a church in the port city of Smyrna. As soon as we hear these words, we recognize the distance between then and now, there and here. 

The Smyrna church was having a tough time. They were smeared in public by their enemies. The local authorities were about to throw some church members in jail. Christ declares evil was working against that congregation and it would prove to be a test of spirit and soul. Twice he refers to it as “an affliction.” He uses a Greek word that defines affliction as a “squeezing.” The little church is pressed from every side. It would prove what they were made of. 

That’s what trouble reveals for any of us. I recall a small church that I visited. The bats had gotten into the attic and left an indescribable mess. The old linoleum floor downstairs was peeling up. Huge water stains darkened the back wall of the sanctuary. There weren’t many people in worship, but by gum, they were Christians, and they were Welsh. And they weren’t about to give up. “God has called us to worship,” one of them said, “and that’s what we are going to do.” Either we give in, or we go through.

It's even more remarkable that a church like that keeps going even when they don’t have a lot of resources. The Smyrna church was dirt poor. Jesus could see it. We can take that literally, and the scholars suggest some good reasons why. The Christian churches in that time and place were up against a society that worshiped the Emperor of Rome. He declared himself to be divine. He demanded everybody bow down before him in worship. He required them to pay financial support as a mandatory offering to his lordship. He reinforced these demands by the spear. From what we know, the Smyrna church refused to play along.

This is a risky thing. If you stand up against the arrogance and brutality of a national leader, it could cost you a great deal. The emperor takes your number. The neighbors, out of fear or acquiescence, turn their backs on you.

In fact, in the city of Smyrna, within sixty years of this letter, the Christian bishop Polycarp was burned at the stake because he refused to bow before the Caesar du jour. And when that didn’t do him in, he was stabbed. He accepted this willingly, for Jesus was his Lord, not some arrogant pretender. In many places, that was the regular challenge of the early church. Who are you going to worship?

This commitment to Christ affected the livelihood of the church members. We can surmise from the letter that they were regarded as suspicious, which meant that the neighbors shunned them. Refused to employ them. This explains the poverty of the Smyrna church. Due to their trust in Jesus alone, they refused to kiss up to the Roman Emperor. They suffered as a result. To which Christ says, “Stay faithful. Don’t give in when you are pressed.”

Like I said, there may be some distance between then and now, there and here. Or maybe there’s less distance than at first thought. A lot of congregations out there are shrinking. Most of them, in fact. It’s not that the society is hostile to Christian belief; just indifferent. If a congregation has coasted along with the culture, never distinguishing itself as a loving and serving community, these days there will be some attrition. And if the preacher and the people don’t stay clear about the Gospel, if they assume Jesus and Caesar go hand in hand, it’s not long before a lot of folks ask, “What’s the point of church anyway?” Is there anything distinctive about trusting God and believing the Gospel?

Today we hear one answer. Christ is our treasure. He is the pearl of incalculable value. His love, his grace, his companionship are what gives us faith, hope, and life. So, he says to the Smyrna saints, “I know your affliction and your poverty, even though you are rich.” They have something better than money. They have Christ. He refers to himself as “the first and the last.” He came before their suffering, and he will outlive their troubles. He was dead and now is alive, so he says, “Don’t be afraid.” Eternally speaking, there are time limits to all our afflictions. They last, he says, for a mere “ten days.” After that, he gives us a “crown of life.”

Now, hear this for what Christ is saying. Faith never protects us from difficulty. When we baptize a beautiful little girl, as we will in a few minutes, God doesn’t wrap her in bubble wrap. She’s going to have some bumps throughout her life, as few as possible, we hope. We don’t know what challenges she will face, what demands life will put upon her, or even what kind of world we will leave behind for her.

Yet we do know is that she belongs to God through Jesus Christ her Lord. This is her baptismal identity. As we take this baptism seriously, we will work with the Holy Spirit to nurture her faith. We will call forth who she is as a beloved child of God. We will teach her how to trust in her Lord. We will raise her to rely on him as Savior. And in a world of slander, meanness, and twisted values, we teach her that Jesus stands for her and walks with her, no matter what.

This is what it means to be rich. Not to have a lot of money but to know you are loved eternally. To know that you matter. To understand that faith means there is One who is greater than we are. He will see us through, for he is the first and the last, and the One who lives. He says, “Be faithful until the end, which will not be the end. Not really. And if we are faithful, he says, “I will give you the crown of life. 

Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

 

 

Returning to the First Love (Ephesus)

Revelation 2:1-7
Trinity Sunday
May 26, 2024
William G. Carter

No doubt somebody twitched when I announced the text comes from Book of Revelation. Revelation is an unusual book. When we open this book, we see visions and nightmares. We hear choirs of angels and bubbling bowls of wrath. For some, it is a document that spurs speculation on the future. For others, this is a lens to understand the Roman Empire at the time the book was written.

What becomes clear today is that Revelation resembles most of the New Testament in that the whole book is an epistle. It was a circular letter sent to seven ancient congregations. Each of the seven churches got the whole book. Each of them received a specific letter intended just for them. As we work through those seven letters over the next seven weeks, we will be listening to somebody else’s mail.

The first of those letters sounded like this:

 

“To the angel of the church in Ephesus write: These are the words of him who holds the seven stars in his right hand, who walks among the seven golden lampstands: “I know your works, your toil, and your patient endurance. I know that you cannot tolerate evildoers; you have tested those who claim to be apostles but are not, and have found them to be false. I also know that you are enduring patiently and bearing up for the sake of my name, and that you have not grown weary. But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first. Remember then from what you have fallen; repent, and do the works you did at first. If not, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place, unless you repent. Yet this is to your credit: you hate the works of the Nicolaitans, which I also hate. Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches. To everyone who conquers, I will give permission to eat from the tree of life that is in the paradise of God.”

That is the letter. I try to imagine how it was received. The congregation had been around for forty, maybe fifty years. Chances are, it was ridiculously small, especially compared to the grandeur of Ephesus. Ephesus was a major port city on the Aegean Sea, on the western shore of what is now called the country of Turkey. It was a massive city, a crossroads of commerce and transportation. It was also a destination, for it was the home of the Temple of Diana, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. The Roman Empire determined Ephesus as one of the three great cities of the empire, after Rome and Alexandria. And there was this little Christian congregation in the city.

Imagine the excitement when somebody announced, “We have big news today. Our church has received a letter.”

Who wrote it? Was it the apostle Paul? Someone replied, “I hope not. Last time Paul was here, he stirred up a lot of trouble. Besides, he went off to Rome and we never heard from him again. That was twenty-five years ago.”

Was it Mary, the mother of Jesus? Did she write the letter? A member of the prayer group said, “No, she was here for a while, at least I heard she was here. Didn’t she pass away?” Another added, “I don’t know whatever happened to her. It’s like she slipped off to heaven.”

Another said, “I bet it was written from John. Remember John? He used to be our preacher. Then the Roman soldiers came and took him away. I heard he was being held on an island somewhere.” One of the old-timers said, “Let me see the letter for a second. I never learned to read, but I could recognize John’s handwriting.”

“Just a minute,” said another, snatching the parchment away. “Yes, that’s his handwriting. I would recognize it anywhere. John wrote this down.” As he scanned the document, his countenance changed.

“What is it?” they asked. “Is the letter from John? We haven’t heard from him in some time. Did he write something for us?” And the last man said, “John wrote it, but this letter is not from him. It’s not from Mary. It’s not from Paul. This letter… is from… Jesus.”

Now, that is something. Who has ever gotten a letter from Jesus? But there it was, in ink on the papyrus. And he continued, “To the angel of the church in Ephesus write: These are the words of him who holds the seven stars in his right hand, who walks among the seven golden lampstands.” Yes, that’s Jesus, their Lord and ours. He holds the Light. He walks among the Light. He gives the Light. And he dictated the correspondence while John wrote it down.

Those are the preliminaries. But what does the letter say? If Jesus Christ, Risen Lord of the Universe, were to compose a note to your congregation, what would he say?

Fortunately, there are plenty of positive comments. “You are a hard-working group of people,” he says. You put in the time. You extend the extra effort. You labor long and hard, and your effort shows. You are patient, too, not expecting flashy and superficial results, but taking steady and incremental steps to further the Gospel. This is a church that endures, a church that sticks around, not some fly-by-night stage show with a lot of razzamatazz.”

Not only that, but it is also a church with a high level of expectations. No room for evildoers in the Ephesus congregation. Get your name in the police blotter of the newspaper, and they will toss you out. Post something rude, offensive, or discriminatory on the Ephesus website, and the leaders of the congregation will call you in and dress you down.

It reminds me of the meeting minutes that I read from the last church I served. One of their members had been observed on a long moral slide. Folks in town had been whispering, then murmuring, then complaining. The church elders called him in. They sat and glowered at him, while they made him stand and face the accusations. He has shown up intoxicated, and those old Welsh elders let him have it. “You are banned from this church building,” they decreed, “until you get your life together.” The old coot who told me the story exclaimed, “That’s when church was church. It counted for something.”

We could almost hear the Word of Christ to Ephesus, who says, “You do not tolerate evildoers. You test the hypocrites and determine the fakes.”

But then, the Risen Christ says, “Yet I have this against you…” And all the oxygen leaves the room. The Christ who affirms their strengths also sees their weaknesses. Or at least, this one overriding weakness: “I have this against you, that you abandoned the love you had at first.” Whew… Apparently that church was so good at being good that they turned their back on the glue that held them together: the love of Christ for them, the love they had for Jesus, and the love they used to have for one another.

Were they efficient? Absolutely. Regularly updated their manual of operations. Did they make an impact in the wider community? Despite the size of that opulent city, everybody knew about that little church. Everybody knew about the Jesus that they worshiped. Did they resist the indifference of the wider community? Did they hold fast to what they believed? Did they confess that Christ is risen, and God is rescuing the world that is beloved of heaven? Of course they did.

The problem seems to be that perfection has become more important than connection. As someone observes,

Christ was annoyed because the church has developed some sort of ‘works litmus test’ to determine which efforts were worthy and which were not…Preoccupation with the work of love for the lordship of Christ overwhelmed an allegiance to the first love they had one demonstrated toward each other. In the same way that a healthy sell can metastasize into a cancerous one, their commendable insight degenerated into discrimination… Once known as a loving community, they had suddenly become a policing one. Ephesian faith had become a matter of Ephesian quality control. Assessment became more important than love.[1]  

How does this happen? How does a community constituted by love lose its love? Good question. All I know, all we know, is that it can happen.

All of us remember what it is like to fall in love. There was that moment when the sparks flew, the pulse quickened, the breathing paused. All you could do is think about this incredibly attractive soul that God had created just for you. The flowers bloomed, the clouds parted, the birds sang. You did whatever you could to make yourself available to appear when that person appeared. You rearranged your life and made yourself available.

Sadly, that hot fire of passion can sometimes turn cold. Maybe there was a betrayal or breach of trust. Or a huge mistake that could not be corrected. Perhaps it wasn’t a crisis so much a sequence of small decisions that frosted the heart and made everything practical. Rather than give yourself away, you hold something back. Rather than share you negotiate. Instead of asking what you might do, you consider what you must do. What are my duties? What are my obligations?

And when the relationship gets to that point, it’s a short distance before you reduce it all to a transaction. What must I do to get something out of it? This is what the risen Christ calls out in the Ephesian church, that they have abandoned love, pushed away from love, whether it’s love for Christ or love for one another. In this letter, Jesus doesn’t specify. He simply asks, “Where’s the love?”

That’s a fair question. During his days on earth, the Gospel stories portray Jesus as a deeply attractive person. The fishermen dropped their nets to follow him. A sick woman pushed through a crowd to touch him. Some tore the roof off a house to get to him. All the apostles couldn’t stop talking about Jesus, just like the newly engaged couple can’t stop telling their friends about the one who wants to claim them.

Yet, as somebody notes, “Before the New Testament was even done being written, the church's wild desire for Christ had become domesticated and organized duties had to be assigned. Arguments and conflicts had to be negotiated. Now, the Christians were doing their work, and the risen Christ affirms that ‘You’re hard at work, I understand your toil.’ The Christians were ensuring that the mission of the church would go forward. The church was even continuing to grow, but some couldn't remember, ‘Why are we working so hard? Why are we so committed?’”[2]

So, Jesus writes a letter to say, “Remember me? Remember how much I love all of you? Remember how I showed you how to love one another? This is the heart of everything I am and everything I call you to be. Remember how love is the glue that holds heaven to earth. Remember that love of God plus love of neighbor is our one holy mission.”

I was wondering, on the day when we ordain and install our church officers, what I might say as a matter of charge to them as they begin their work. We are constitutionally bound, as some of you know, to ask them a checklist of questions. They are not open-ended questions. There is only one right answer to each of the questions. If you listen carefully, I will feed them all the correct answers. Presbyterians make good Ephesians. We want them to get it right.

But really, what do we really want from elders, deacons, and pastors? The same thing we want from one another: to love their church, to love their neighborhood, and most of all, to love the Lord their God with all their heart, soul, mind, and strength. That is the invitation of Jesus. It is all we expect.

If I were ever invited to rewrite the ordination questions, which I’ll never be invited to do, I would replace them all with a single question: What will you do to keep the love alive?

Let anyone who has an ear to hear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.

 

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

---

[1] Brian K. Blount, Revelation: A Commentary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009) p. 57.

[2] As said so well by Craig Barnes in his sermon, “Your First Love,” preached at the Presbyterian Church of Chestnut Hill, Philadelphia, PA, 12 May 2024.

Who's Next?

Acts 1:15-26
Easter 7
May 12, 2024
William G. Carter

Here is a page out the scrapbook of the early church. The author of the Gospel of Luke uses it to begin his second book. Volume One tells the story of Jesus, from the shepherds at the manger to the angels at the empty tomb. Volume Two picks up where Volume One leaves off, with Jesus going up to heaven and the disciples wondering, “Now what?”

All the razzle-dazzle is over. Crucifixion is over, Easter is in the rear-view mirror, Jesus is out of sight. It’s back to business. They return to the familiar upper room. Mary, his mother, is with them. They pray. They shared meals together, and then Simon Peter banged the table with his goblet and began to speak.

“I know we are all missing Jesus,” he said, “but we are missing more than that. Judas Iscariot leaves behind an empty chair. What he did was terrible, and that sad episode has shaken us all. But it’s time to move on. There’s a verse in Psalm 109 – ‘Let someone take his place of leadership’ (109:8).” The room buzzed; people nodded their heads.

It was the first significant decision before a church that had no visible Lord. So how did they handle it? I’ll tell you how they handled it: they formed a committee.

Oh, I know. Luke says nothing about a committee. Let me assure you: that was an inadvertent omission. I mean, you know they must have formed a committee. They had one hundred twenty voices, each chiming in. That's a lot of advice and confusion. I don’t know how you get a large group of people to agree on anything, especially if they are nominating candidates for office.

So, they handed the work over to a committee, somewhere between verse 22 and verse 23. They appointed eight committee members, gave two ground rules. The first: the nominee must have followed Jesus for at least three years; no fly-by-nighters in their leadership. The second: need a decision by tomorrow morning. So, they put on the coffee pot, elected a moderator, and began their work. From the beginning, there was no small debate. No sooner had they started, and hands shot into the air.

The moderator recognizes member number three. "Yes sir. I've been thinking about this, and we need a young person. When I look around and see how old the apostles are, it bothers me. Look at Matthew, James, and Bartholomew! Each of them has one sandal in the tar pit. It’s time to get the next generation involved. God knows, I'm no spring chicken. That's what I wanted to say."

Member number two. "I'm Bob, from Bethany. I have a bakery. I saw a lot of Jesus that last week. We should pick someone with thick skin. No matter what they do, church leaders always get hammered with criticism. We can't choose someone who takes everything personally."

Member number six. "I beg to differ with Bethany Bob the Baker. Sure, there's criticism, but must we nominate some insensitive fool? Jesus cared for the weak and vulnerable, and so must we. There is no room in the church for someone who bulldozes over other people's feelings. I don’t want a leader like that."

Member number seven. "As usual, I'm the only woman on this committee. Jesus always cared about women. He treated us like real human beings. Mary, Joanna, and the others raised money for his journeys. I think we have an excellent opportunity to take a prophetic stand. Let's elect a woman to be the next apostle! Thank you."

Member number eight. "I'm from here in Jerusalem. I wasn't happy with Jesus' choices either. I want to choose someone to be proud of, someone who can stand before the crowds and preach with a silver tongue. Personally, I'm tired of those foul-mouthed fishermen from Galilee. They are sloppy, smell of tilapia, and have no class."

Member number five. "I've been sitting here listening to all of you rattle on. None of you are facing facts. We should sign up the first sucker we can find. This is a big job we want them to do. The less we tell them, the better. Jesus never told the twelve what they were getting into. Why should we? Let’s be practical. No one is going to take the job if they discover how much it involves. Wake up, people! We are trying to fill a slot."

The committee worked through the night. They argued. They drank coffee. When Peter arrived in the morning, the committee said, “We have two candidates, Joseph Barsabbas with four votes, and Matthias with four votes. The vote is locked. How about if we have thirteen apostles instead of twelve? There is plenty of work to do."

"No,” said Peter, “that can't be. Jesus picked twelve. There are twelve tribes of Israel. Twelve is the number, no more, no less."

The moderator said, “We did what we could. We have two candidates for one position. We are unable to decide. Something else must be done." With that, what follows may be the oddest scene in the entire New Testament. The whole church prays, hands over the whole matter to God. Then Luke says they cast lots and Matthias is chosen.

Wait a second. The nominating committee had worked carefully. They had reviewed every possible option. The lives of two men were at stake. The future of the Jesus Movement was at stake. Yet when the committee reaches a stalemate, the situation is simply tossed into God’s lap. Whatever will be, will be. Is that how the story goes?

Perhaps, but perhaps not. For one thing, the committee did its work. They weren’t looking for anybody. They were looking for a witness to the resurrection of Jesus, searching for someone who knows Christ is alive. It couldn’t be just anybody to fill the empty chair. It had to be the right person.

That’s what our own nominating team has been doing. These days, when we look for an elder or deacon, our nominating team asks first, “What does the church need to get done?” The next question follows logically: “Who would be the best person to do that kind of work?” When they ask those kinds of questions, they begin to sense whom God is calling to the role of leadership. people. And it’s far more satisfying and affirming for the people we ask.

So, the early church gave some prayerful thought about who their leaders could be. It wasn’t sloppy or quick. They didn’t hand off the task to a headhunting firm and say, “Get us an apostle.” No, they looked around the room – who has the ability? Who could do the work? And they came up with two names: Joseph, who some called Barsabbas, and others called Justus; he must have been widely known by a lot of people; and Matthias, about whom we don’t know very much at all.

They came up with two, two possibilities for one position, because it’s generally true that two or more people can do the job that somebody must do. To decide which one, they “cast lots.”

What does that mean? At various times in history, to cast lots was to put several stones in a small cup. The stones would be marked or colored. The cup would be shaken until one of the stones would jump out. It was widely believed this was a fair way to decide, like flipping a quarter and calling heads or tails. As the book of Proverbs said, “Casting the lot puts an end to disputes and decides between powerful contenders” (18:18).

More than that, it leaves the matter in God’s hands. The church has done its part in discerning the right people. Ultimately the final decision is God’s decision – so it is possible to say, the first little stone to pop out of the cup is the stone God selects. So, the church could declare, “The Lord chose Matthias from the two that we carefully selected.”

It is a different way of thinking about decisions than the world does. Imagine if we were to spend more time identifying on who is the best person for the good of the whole group, the leader that God would choose?

How is it that God makes choices untainted by manipulative hands? The story from the early church suggests that the church folks did the upfront work, but they all agreed to hand it over to God. What an amazing thing: a blend of human discernment and Divine selection, if that’s indeed what it is.

I have a friend who grew up as a Mennonite in Lancaster County. She told me her father was chosen as a minister by casting lots. The last minister moved on. The people looked around the church, took notice who was there, who was paying attention to the sermons, who was living the Christian life, and who was available. They saw a few possibilities, took stock of the consensus of the group, wrote the candidates’ names on slips of paper, and placed the slips in a Bible. Sylvia’s father was one of the names written down.

The whole congregation knelt in silent prayer. After a few minutes, the Bible was shaken. The first name to fall out was God's choice as their next minister. It was Sylvia’s father. “I accept this as the will of God,” he said with a shaky voice, and everybody applauded. Then the congregation passed the plate and collected enough money to send him to Bible school, so he would have some idea what he was doing.

Human discernment and Divine decision – that’s what we seek in the Christian church. Last week, I spent some time with a friend from South Carolina. She’s up for election as the moderator of our church’s General Assembly. Someone tapped her on the shoulder and said, “You would be a wonderful leader for us.” He shrugged it off with the usual denials: “I’m not qualified. I’m an African American woman. I’m the associate pastor of a church and my head of staff doesn’t want me gone.”

Yet she prayed about it, while others affirmed her. Finally, she said, “I’ll throw my hat into the ring. Let’s see what God does with this.” The election is about eight weeks away. We’ll see what happens. God is not anxious about it. We can trust God will raise up the right people to lead Christ’s church.

Maybe the selection of Matthias isn’t so unusual after all. He was not picked as one of the original twelve, but he was the next one that God wanted. He didn’t have to campaign to get the position, because he knew the decision wasn’t ultimately up to him. And when he was selected, he did not gloat or boast or strut around like a champion – no, he got to work for the people of God.

You know, there are these moments in our lives, yours and mine, when the stars align, when the angels sing, when the heart is confirmed, and it is as clear as anything is clear that God is ruling over us. There are moments, even seasons, when the work we do feels like the work that God wants to get done. Praise God for when those moments come, because they declare that every one of us has a purpose, that every one of us has something we can do for God and his rule over earth.

As for the other moments, the moments when the vision is foggy, and the way is not clear. Even then, God leads us through. In fact, I’ll never forget one of the best things one of our church members ever said to me. We were talking about leadership and the lights went on in her eyes. And she said, “Rev. Bill, what you’re saying is this: we are the only people that God has to use.” Uh huh, that’s right. We are the ones.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.