At All Times

Proverbs 17:17, John 15:12-17
Dialogue Sermon – Bill Carter and Guy D. Griffith
June 19, 2022

“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name. I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.”

Bill Carter:

Let me read Proverbs 17, verse 17: “A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.” (RSV)

I've been carrying that one around for a long, long time. I keep it tucked into my pocket. The proverb is there to remind me and acknowledge what I know to be true from my experience. And this is one of the great one liners of the book of Proverbs. Each proverb in this book of 31 chapters is distilled from human experience. You live for a while. You pay attention, you boil experience down to a single truth and you say it in a single line, and then you carry it around because this is what life is about.

“A friend loves at all times, a brother is born for adversity.” The wise Sage (or group of sages) who compiled this book had a lot to say about human relationships. Every chapter, almost every line. And in this verse, friendship is marked by accompaniment, by someone who is with you by companionship, both in troubles and in celebrations. In that companionship you learn – and practice - making time and space for one another.

So here's one of my all time, best friends. We've been friends for 40 years. But what is a friend? All of us know friendship, but we find it hard to define. Yet we know it when we see it. We know it when we experience it. We know it when we have a friend and the friend has us.

Guy Griffith:

It was such a joy on Thursday to spend a little bit of time with some of the men at your church, talking about our passage from John's Gospel, chapter 15. John's gospel offers an intimate view of Jesus. Some say it's like a Rembrandt painting where all the light focuses right on Jesus, and the rest is in a little bit of darkness. This passage from 15 comes from a section where Jesus is concluding his time with the disciples. He knows that the end is close. These are the last important things he can say to his friends.

What's so interesting about that we don't have or see a defined doctrine of the Trinity, but here in this part of John's Gospel, Jesus is constantly talking about my Father and the Spirit together.

So we, we have a practical experience of the Trinity. John Calvin, the father of the Presbyterian church uses the image of God's fountain, a fountain overflowing as the example of what the Trinity is. God's love overflows because there is such closeness between the Father, Son, and Spirit. They weren't holding it back but letting it out to others and to us.

That's a vision of what does friendship means. It's born in the very depths of God's relational being. We are created for relationships.

Bill and I had a professor at Princeton Seminary named Jim Loder, and Jim had the best definition of love that I've ever heard. You can write this down. It sounds a little bit like a dictionary definition, but the more you live with it, the more you like it. He said, “Love is the non-possessive delight in the particularity of the other.”

I can't possess the friend. When I see Bill, I don't want to change Bill. I want to celebrate who Bill is as God's gift. And the Trinity invites us into that kind of intimacy of God's love overflowing, as we see and appreciate the uniqueness of the other and want to be in their presence. We move not from the sense of hierarchy, but a mutuality. We care about one another, not pretending to be more important, but just standing side by side.

Bill Carter: 

When we thought about how we would preach this sermon today, we might have had one of us stand in the pulpit and the other at a shorter music stand. But here we are sitting side by side because this is what friendship is. It's side by side.

And there are a lot of counterfeits to friendship. We learned this very early, like the school kid who has a day ruined by discovering they've been betrayed, or shredded by gossip, or overheard some kind of  false witness, some distortion of truth. Or discovering, as one of my kids discovered, a social hierarchy. She came home one day and said, “I'm not one of the popular kids.” I said, “Wait a second. You're in kindergarten.” There had already been kind of sorting out who's popular and who's not.

Some connections are also purely situational. You're seated next to one another in classroom, or play together in a sports team or a band, or work side by side. And when that situation is over, you discover that the bond wasn't quite as tight as you thought.

Sometime back, my wife told me how she had developed a friendship with somebody with whom she worked. The friend left for another job. And in that departure, the friend could not mark they had anything other than a work relationship. It was purely situational, got them through the work days, but didn't last.

So Guy and I met on the very first day at Princeton Seminary in New Jersey, 40 years ago this September. I was unloading my Toyota station wagon, pulling out an electric piano and an amplifier, with only room for a few clothes. And I roll the load to the elevator on my hand truck and hit the button to go to the second floor. The door opens and there he is, head full of curls, in a stained shirt. And I laughed out loud. I thought, “Here's somebody who's just as off balance as I am.” And it brought out the truth. We were both pretty good students, but spent the next couple of weeks wondering how in the world we ever ended up in a school like that.

Guy Griffith:

We had a Dean who wisely told us that, “The first two weeks you'll wonder what you're doing there. And after that, you'll wonder what everybody else was doing there.” Some of the best advice we ever got! Bill and I lived next door to each other that first year. We began to be exceedingly close.

And one of the, the first qualities that we think about when it comes to friendship is a similar perspective. Things don't completely overlap, but there's enough similarity. And for us, that includes the passion for the church and the love of the church.

Bill Carter:

But there is not a complete overlap. Guy played rugby in college. I don't really give a wit about that sport. And he's never quite learned what a 13th chord is in jazz either. Yeah.

Guy Griffith:

I'm not sure I've known anything about jazz, as a matter of fact.

Bill Carter:

But we have a shared understanding and perspective, a commonality of viewpoints. Frederick Buechner describes one of his first great friends, and this is a wonderful line. He says, “Jimmy was another who saw the world enough as I saw it to make me believe that maybe it was the way the world actually is.”[1]

Or the passage from C.S. Lewis in his book, The Four Loves, where he talks about the love that his friendship. He says, it's the experience of standing by somebody. And you realize that you aren't alone, that you've both been viewing the same situations from the same perspective. Up until then, you thought you were on your own. [2]

Guy Griffith:

Yeah. I think another quality is intentional participation in one another's lives. We talk about who's on your speed dial. Bill has been on my speed dial since 1982. That was before we had speed dials. Bill started a clergy group, while I dropped out of it early because I was not a lectionary preacher and my ministry responsibilities called me in other areas. And I needed to have my continuing ed time that way. But when that group concluded, we've started another one with another close friend from seminary and other friends along the way. So there's been intentionality about that.

Beyond that, nothing that has happened personally or ecclesiastically that we haven't been there for one another. I participated in his ordination service, installation services, weddings, and he at mine, preaching installation services, standing with me at weddings.

Bill Carter:

We’ve been there for one another's divorces and remarriages too.

Guy Griffith:

Exactly. And celebrating our kids together as well.

One of the stories about his wedding: he called me right before he and Jamie got married and said, “I have a challenge. Somebody's asked me to do their wedding at the same time as my wedding. How am I going to do that?” And it's like, “Bill, don't do that.” So we came up with the plan. I would leave the sanctuary in my tuxedo, go to . . . where was it?

Bill Carter:

The Dunmore Holiday Inn.

Guy Griffith:

And between the wedding and reception, I would marry this couple and then come back. It was it didn't quite pay for my trip up here, but it wasn't bad. Close. Yeah. It was pretty close.

Bill Carter:

This continuing connection, this weaving of life, is a third dynamic as friendship moves from coincidence to intention. Over time you develop even more in common than you realized, no matter how much you had in common to start with. My first church was eight miles from the house where Guy grew up.

Guy Griffith:

When he went there, my dad was not in particularly good health. My dad had emphysema and multiple sclerosis and his world had really diminished. He would walk with a cane in one hand, an oxygen bottle in the other, and waddle from the house to his car, drive to his courtroom where he served as a municipal judge. And then waddle from the courtroom three doors down, and at every lunch and every dinner in the same restaurant. But he was really starting to decline.

I asked Bill to watch out for him. And Dad ended up in the hospital right before I got ordained. I called and asked, “Would you go visit Pop in the hospital?” And the first thing he did was ask Bill, “Hey, I've got a legal pad over there, grab that. I want to rewrite my will.” So that night Bill called and said, “Hey, I know what you're getting.” This is helpful stuff.

Bill Carter:

Not only was Guy’s father in the hospital. He was in St. Luke's in Bethlehem, the very hospital where one of my kids is winding up her rotation for medical school this week. These are not coincidences. The same kid also went to a school that I had never heard of before I met Guy. American University, his Alma mater

Guy Griffith:

The best school in the country. Why wouldn’t your daughter want to go there?

Bill Carter:

What else happened to bind us together?

Guy Griffith:

Well, this speed dial thing. We talk once a week. Yeah. So I get this call from Bill, “Hey, I have a member moving down to Nashville. You want to invite her to church?”

Oh, who is that?  “Susan Kelly, our director or music.”

Sure enough, I took Susan out. We went to this great barbecue restaurant. Who knew she was vegan? Took me a little while to figure that out, but Susan joined our choir and has been such an incredible blessing. In fact, she and Alan are in Spain with our church choir on a tour right now.

Bill Carter: 

This kind of deep connection leads to another quality of friendship, which is honesty, complete honesty. I see his quirks and foibles with 200% clarity, and he sees mine. We are relentless in busting one another's chops. 

Guy Griffith:

Indeed.

Bill Carter:

There's this kind of understanding when we're going through trouble. We understand both the trouble and also the resources. And we push one another. We've been pushing one another to embrace and work through work challenges.

Or in your case for the past 32 years. I pushed him and said, “Would you buy a headstone for your father in Wilkes Barre? Which we went to go see this week. It was finally planted where it needed to be. There's this mutual accountability. It's not just keeping in touch. It's deeply being there for one another.

Guy Griffith:

And I think another thing we looked at was this mutual concern and support which is never one-sided. Love goes both ways.

Bill is often the person I call when I've had a real heartbreak in ministry. This summer, when I was traveling out west, I thought of a young woman in my congregation, who was a single mom with a great young daughter. She was visiting her parents at their home on the Russian River in Idaho. She looked like a 1940’s starlet, good looking, an incredibly important young woman in our congregation, with the gift of encouraging other young moms. She was out for a run. A logging truck took a corner too fast and flipped over on her. I can barely talk about that without the emotion being real.

Who do you call when you have to do a funeral like that? You call your friend. Yeah. Because he's had those things as well.

Bill Carter:

At the same time we've shared an interest, not only in our vocation as pastors, but as Christians, and going deeper into the love of God, and constantly nudging one another about that. Usually down with good humor, which is one way to cope with stress. Neither of us are beyond sending obnoxious birthday cards to one another.

Or push it a little further, sending obnoxious postcards to one another - in care of one another's offices where the secretaries can read 'em. Yeah!

Guy Griffith:

In fact, Nancy in your office could tell stories from over the years.

One other thing about making the priority of time with one another. I served a church in Charlotte for about five and a half years, and Bill was coming down to preach at the Massanetta Springs Bible Conference. Well, that's crossing the Mason Dixon border, so it's in the neighborhood. I don't know how far away it was, but I went up and I was so glad I did, because poor Meg and Katie were absolutely miserable about being there. At least Uncle Guy could be with them. Finding time to spend with one another is important.

And this gets to that last quality. We want to talk about it that there's nothing “useful” about friendship.

Bill Carter:

Say more about that.

Guy Griffith:

Friendship means I'm not interested in using the other for selfish purposes, for nothing reductive or manipulative. The purpose is solely to enjoy one another.

Bill Carter:

Here’s one of the things we've decided to do this summer, I challenged Guy by sending him a copy of a book that I owned, a collection of sermons by Eugene Peterson. I said, “Let's read this together this summer.” One day he calls me up and says, “Turn to page 19, a sermon about Abraham being the friend of God.” And what did you find there?

Guy Griffith:

Two things I'll read out of it that really captured my mind. What's unusual about Abraham and Moses is that they are called friends of God in the Old Testament. And Peterson writes,

 

Here is another element contained in the word friend. Friend is totally about the relationship, not a function. There's an everyday ordinary quality to it. We find ourselves friends with people not for what they can do for us, but simply for who they are. And if we suspect we're being singled out for someone's friendship, because of what we can do for that person - social privilege, economic advantage, et cetera – we are apt, and rightly so, to resent it. God was not Abraham's friend who ordered to network with him. And there was no hint in the story that Abraham considered God's friendship an invitation into the world of celebrities. Abraham found every day, practical ways to express appreciation or loyalty to God, and God found everyday practical ways to express appreciate and loyalty to Abraham. Abraham was not in love with a dream or aspiring after an ideal. He was God's friend, period. The evidence? The relationship was worked out on journeys and at water holes.[3]

And then this:

 

This is how friendship works. Friends remember one another in both common and uncommon ways. They call one another at the spur of the moment. They remember special days. They visit simply for the pleasure of the others' company. Things don't have to get done in friendship. Friendship is not a way of accomplishing something but a way of being with another in which we become more authentically ourselves.[4]

I think that's perfect.

Bill Carter:

It is. So on this unusual sermon today, we reflect on a forty-year friendship. We do it not just to tell our story, but to spark you to reflect on your stories, that you might consider your friendships, your relationships, those people who are on your speed dial. They are bound to you with hoops of steel. This is the “fullness of life” that Jesus invites us into.

Guy Griffith:

During my sabbatical time, I’ve been thinking of friendship as a sacrament. In our Protestant tradition, we say we only have two sacraments, baptism and the Lord’s Supper. The standard for a sacrament is Jesus did them and told his folks, “You do them too.”

I want to argue that, if a sacrament is a means of grace, it's a way we experience God's grace. Then friendship should be included as a sacrament, too. Jesus was a friend. And as John's Gospel tells us, he told his friends to be friends as well. And we experience God's love, this great gift of God's presence. “No one can see God,” scripture says, “except in one another.” And so we experience God's grace in these gifts of friendship, as I have with you for forty years.

Bill Carter:

And lest we forget it, here is the proverb for today: “A friend loves at all times and a brother is born for adversity.” Thank God for that. Amen.

---

[1] Frederick Buechner, The Sacred Journey (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 1982) 70.

[2] C. S. Lewis, The Four Loves (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Inc., 1960) 96.

[3] Eugene H. Peterson, “Friend of God,” As Kingfishers Catch Fire (Colorado Springs: Waterbrook, 2017) 19.

[4] Ibid, pp. 19-20.

The Promise

John 16:12-15
Trinity Sunday
June 10, 2022
William G. Carter

Jesus says, “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth; for he will not speak on his own, but will speak whatever he hears, and he will declare to you the things that are to come. He will glorify me, because he will take what is mine and declare it to you. All that the Father has is mine. For this reason I said that he will take what is mine and declare it to you.”

It is a scene familiar to so many of you. You come into a room like this and take a familiar seat. Around you, there are people you know. The preacher is at the front of the room. You know him. You’ve heard him speak. You are familiar with his voice.

For some reason, he’s going on for a while. He’s moving beyond the ritual expectation of a sermon. No, he’s going on and on and on.

Perhaps the circumstances warrant this, a crisis that must be addressed. Or it’s a topic dear to the preacher’s heart, and he feels compelled to share something he knows all too well. Or the long sermon is prompted by the preacher getting too much sleep or drinking too much coffee. Whatever!

Imagine the relief when the preacher says, “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear to hear them now.” Everybody takes a breath, for they recognize there’s a fine line between a long sermon and a hostage situation. They know that preacher has so many more things to say to them. And they are relieved to know the preacher recognizes the listeners can only absorb so much. They can’t bear to hear much more.

And the preacher’s dangling expectation is that he will have more to say to them in the days and months ahead.

Lots more, in fact.

Can any of you identify with this? If so, you can identify with the disciples of Jesus. Of all the long speeches in the Gospel of John, this is the longest. Jesus has been speaking for three and a half chapters, and will go on for another half chapter, followed by a chapter-long prayer. That is a lot of red ink in your red-letter Bible.

The Gospel of John portrays Jesus as an imaginative preacher and thoughtful teacher. When he’s not speaking, he’s doing something, and then he follows it by a long description of what he just did. This is how he reveals God – by what he does and what he says. And in this section, he’s been going on a while.

The setting for this long speech is the Last Supper. The storm clouds have formed against him, and Jesus knows the time is short before he leaves this life and returns to God. So these are his last-minute instructions; well, ok, maybe not last minute – more like last hour. He wants to instruct his followers on how to make their way though the world without him.

The evening begins with the washing of feet, and then the lesson: “As I have washed your feet, so you must wash one another’s feet.” After this, a series of lessons:

• Love another as I have loved you.
• Where I am going, you cannot go, but I will come again to take you there.
• If you love me, you will do more than I can do.
• Even though I go, stay with me by staying in my love.
• Don’t be surprised when the world hates you because the world hated me first.
• Stay with me by staying in my love.
• It is to your advantage that I go away because God will send the Spirit – My Spirit.

And then, “I have many more things to say to you, but you can’t bear to hear them now…” No doubt, the air is thick with confusion and fear. What will it mean to live without the physical presence of Jesus? He says it’s time for him to go. What now? How are we going to make our way forward?

Then comes the promise: the Spirit will come. In the Greek language of our text, “Spirit” is a feminine noun. So, the Spirit will come. She will keep teaching. She will keep speaking. She will now work through all of you. She will lead you into the Truth, which is the Truth about me as well as the Truth about yourselves. She will glorify me.

It is a powerful promise, for it opens to us a functional understanding of the Trinity. The Father sends Jesus on a mission to the world, to reveal truth and grace. As Jesus returns to the Father, Jesus and the Father send the Spirit, to continue revealing truth and grace. As Father, Son, and Spirit, God has a continuing relationship with the world. Jesus who has said so much to us will keep speaking through the Presence of the Spirit. Faith has a future. The words recorded in the Bible will keep opening up to reveal God. Heaven is not closed but available here on earth.

Now, this is a risky thing for Jesus to say. Because after he’s gone, what’s to keep his followers from veering off course? There has been no shortage of crazy ideas popping up for the two thousand years. Often, it’s come from some new charismatic leader convincing his followers of a “new revelation.” As a result, there has been a proliferation of Christian denominations.

Some sell all their possessions, gather on a mountaintop, and start the countdown for the Lord’s return. Others insist on pulling back from society, living in chastity, and then wondering forty years later why their group is dying out. Some argue over big theological words which they have elevated over all else. Others take the risky step of declaring God loves more people, and includes more people, than their old church did.

And then some – this includes the Presbyterians – will make a big statement that becomes enshrined and frozen in time, while others believe that God is perfectly capable of continuing to speak in a language we can understand.

I remember taking part in a ministers’ retreat at Camp Lackawanna, back when we had a lot of ministers. We were reviewing a new confirmation curriculum. It was a friendly conversation. One of the ministers sat over on the couch. He always had a smile, and he was an old duffer, the kind who slept in a coat and tie. Pretty soon, he made it clear that he enjoyed being with the rest of the clergy but had no intention of changing his approach to confirmation, or anything else.

We asked, What do you do? He said, “I require my confirmation class to memorize the Westminster Catechism.”

But that document was approved in 1648! “Yes, but it contains all we need to know about the Christian faith.”

One of the younger ministers said, “But haven’t Christians had any new thoughts since 1648?” And he looked astonished. Didn’t know what to say.

Later when a few of us went for a walk, somebody joked, “I don’t think Harry had a new thought since 1648.”

Now, we can laugh about that, or argue about that, or stay frozen in our convictions. I prefer to simply quote Jesus: “I have many things more to say to you, but you cannot bear to hear them. But when the Spirit of truth comes, he will lead you into all the truth about myself.” He was speaking not only to frightened disciples at the Last Supper. He was speaking to the church.

Scholars believe the Gospel of John was written down about sixty years after the words and events described. Sixty years is a long time to remember what someone said and did, even if he was the Savior o the world. Not only was this document written in the name of John, but it was also supported by the community of Christians around John. This is a community document, a church document.

And the experience of the church is that Jesus Christ kept speaking. Sixty years later, probably up in the city of Ephesus, a group of Christian people heard Jesus speak through the weekly sermons, the sharing of stories, the reflection on what they heard Christ say. Their experience was that Christ is alive – crucified and risen decades before, yet now vitally alive. And they heard him through the experience of the Spirit.

Let see if a favorite analogy will work. This text has become so important to me. I call it “memory verse of a jazz musician.” Let me explain. Years ago, I took a week of vacation and took my jazz quartet on tour. The first night we played a concert at Wayside Presbyterian Church, in Erie, Pennsylvania. The best part of the concert is that my grandmother was there. She lived two miles from that church. This was my mother’s mother, who corrupted me as a teenage by giving two recordings by Dave Brubeck. Deep into advanced age, this was the first time she heard me play the piano in twenty-five years.

The concert was over. She wheeled up on her walker, waited patiently as we talked with other concertgoers. While she waited, she picked up a piece of sheet music from the piano, looked at it intently, looked inside the piano, looked back at the sheet music. When I turned to her, she said, “How did you play for seven minutes on one page of music?” I smiled and said, “Grandma, they ask me that at home. I read three verses of scripture and then talk for eighteen minutes.”

She said, “How do they know you’re not just making up stuff?” And I replied, “Grandma, they still have the text.” The band may create a conversation, but they still have the tune. The preacher may generate a conversation, but at the center of it all, there’s Jesus. For the assumption is that the text doesn’t only a past (who wrote it, what were the circumstances); the text also has a future. It has a generative potential that moves forward in time – and this is the promise of the Spirit.

There are a lot of things that the Bible doesn’t talk about. You may have noticed that. And there are a lot of things that the Bible does talk about – but the circumstances were different, or the writers spoke from the assumptions of their culture, never dreaming that other cultures would hear the text. The Bible says, “Slaves, obey your masters,” to which I say, “Yikes!” Or as one of my teachers once observed, “The Bible says women should keep silence in church, but I never knew any women who believed that verse.” Praise God for that. Women founded this church!

The gift of the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of Jesus, is to bring the Bible alive. To connect then and there to here and now. To animate our faith, not put it to sleep. To remind us of what we have conveniently forgotten. To convict us of the Truth we too readily dismissed. To guide us in all our conversations to the Center of it all, which is the grace and truth of Jesus Christ.

Living faith has a living God at the heart of it, and the Spirit of God continues the word and work of Jesus among us. I guess that what I want to say today.

And there’s so much more to say about this… but you cannot bear to hear it now. So, I will see you next week.

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

Reclaiming the First Intention

Acts 2:1-21
Pentecost
June 5, 2022

The other day, as I wandered through the supermarket, I found myself in the greeting card aisle. The section for Father’s Day caught my eye. One card featured the Berenstain Bears, with the kids making fun of their goofy Papa Bear. Another had a Valentine’s heart, as a romantic Mama declared, “Thank you for making me a parent.” Of course, there was the card with Snoopy, addressed to a Cool Dude on a Cool Day. I wondered which of these cards I might receive.

This is how we mark a lot of our holidays. We try to capture the sentiment of the holiday on a greeting card. Sometimes it works, sometimes it goes in a different direction.

Christmas is the best example. On the cover, there’s a manger scene with friendly beasts. Or shepherds, covering their eyes and looking up into the sky. Or wise men still seeking the Holy Child. Or there might be a snow man, a reindeer, or a Jolly Old Elf. What do you put on a Christmas card?

For Easter, we don’t send or receive as many cards, but I’ve seen a few. Always a bunny, or a photo of daffodils, some colored eggs. Yet there’s never a sign of an empty tomb, terrified women, or an angel in white. Hallmark skips the real story and downsizes the event.

So what kind of card is appropriate for Pentecost? This is a big day, too. According to Luke and his writings, Pentecost is just about as important as Easter. Jesus ascends into heaven; the Holy Spirit comes down. How could you depict that? There could be a blazing fire, in hues of red and orange. Or a group of babbling Jewish fishermen. Or a crowd outside, convened by the noise, curious and confused about whatever is going on in that Upper Room.

Pentecost. There is no way to fit that on the front of a greeting card, which is why the greeting card companies don’t sell them. 

So what is Pentecost, anyway? Good question. Turns out, it’s a holiday that had been around for a while. Way back in the book of Exodus, it was called Shavuot, which draws upon the Hebrew word for the number seven, as in seven weeks of seven days. This was a festival to celebrate the first harvest of the wheat crop, numbered seven weeks after the celebration of Passover. So Happy Wheat Festival, everyone! Just floats your boat, doesn’t it?

So this Wheat Festival moved from the countryside into the city, as Israel’s people shifted toward Jerusalem. It became a celebration of God’s Words. There was the Passover, the departure from slavery in Egypt, and then God spoke the Commandments. We don’t know when that happened (newly freed slaves didn’t keep appointment calendars), but they had a good day already set aside – seven weeks of seven days – so Pentecost became a celebration of the Voice of God.

That’s why, in our story, there were Jews gathered from every nation under heaven. They came to Jerusalem to celebrate the God who speaks. It was followed 49 days after the Passover, so the holiday name had shifted to “Pentecost.” (“Penta” signifies 50, fifty days). They weren’t sharing Pentecost cards, but they were celebrating the Torah, the speaking of the Holy God.

And that year, the year that Jesus died, after those Jews came to Jerusalem, after they gathered from every nation, the Wind started to blow, the Fire came down, the flames distributed, and then, All That Noise! Everybody was speaking. Everybody was preaching. Everybody was talking about the great deeds of God. How do you ever put that on a greeting card?

No wonder everyone was confused. They still are. So let me tell it to you straight. Pentecost is about three miracles.

The first is the death and resurrection of Jesus. God did that. Jesus spoke with power, the world tried to silence him, and God brought him back. When Luke describes the event of that day, he says, in his modest way, that the disciples were “speaking of God’s deeds of power,” he’s referring to the death and resurrection of Jesus. He’s talking about the signs and wonders that Jesus performed. He’s talking about the teaching, and the feeding, and the giving as done by Jesus. And this was the first miracle: the ministry, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Pentecost is connected to all of that.

The second miracle is that the eleven disciples, and Mary the mother of Jesus, and all the others with them were empowered to speak about Jesus. God did that, too. God’s Spirit blew through the windows, filled the lungs of the followers of the Christ, and they exhaled Good News to the world. This is God’s doing. Just a brief time later, the Temple leaders scratched their heads. How is it possible that these simple, uneducated fishermen are so bold and articulate?[1] Well, they had gathered to celebrate God’s speech – and thanks to God, now they are speaking! That’s the second miracle: they proclaim! And God did this, too.

But don’t miss the third miracle. After God’s vindication of the Lord by raising him from the dead, after those who love Jesus are empowered to proclaim him, there’s a third miracle as great as the others. Simply this: everybody understands the message. Everybody comprehends the good news is not just for Jesus who is alive, not merely for the disciples who speak, but for all of us. Nobody is excluded, everybody drawn in.

A new community is formed. That’s the miracle.

Pentecost is the undoing of all the confusion at that old Tower of Babel. You remember that story. Our mythical ancestors presumed they could storm heaven by building a tall skyscraper. They underestimated their ineptness. They thought they could climb up there and make themselves equal to God.

The plan crashed and burned, and those sad folk ended up merely talking to themselves. All of them isolated, unable to communicate with one another, unwilling to listen, refusing to learn how to reach out to one another, and everybody out for themselves. This has always been our default human condition.

By contrast, Pentecost offers the miracle of community. God creates understanding among a human family that was diverse from the very beginning. God unlocks hearts, opens minds, and provides a depth of comprehension that creates community. In one brief shining moment, everybody gets it: Jesus is alive, death does not have the last word, cruelty is conquered by love, and now, a new human community is possible! This is all God’s work, God’s Word, God’s way. God intends for us to live together in peace with his Living Word at the center.

Now, this is chapter two in the book of Acts. In chapter three, there is pushback from those who refuse to listen. By the end of chapter four and the beginning of chapter five, selfishness stains that community of Christ followers. Yet we still have that memory of chapter two. There is a God-given unity that comes before the division. There is the testimony of truth before the spins and lies and attempts at self-preservation. It is possible to live together. To share, to understand. We can dwell in faith, hope, and love. We can work with each other, side by side, guard each one’s dignity, save each one’s pride. This is a reality. For God has given us Pentecost.

The world struggles to understand this. Those who guard crumbling principalities believe it’s not possible for people to get along. That’s why they work so hard to keep dividing us.

And let’s be honest how churches argue and split, in one generation after another. Maybe you heard about the first two Scots who are arrived in America. The first one started First Presbyterian Church. The next one began Second Presbyterian Church, right across the street.

And let’s confess the presence of a destructive gene in our DNA. Any one of us is perfectly capable of blowing up a friendship and hurting those we love. Any one of us is tempted to be arrogant or rude, or insistent on our own way. Yet God gave us Pentecost – to proclaim and understand that the love of Christ is stronger than the power of destruction. And if we find ourselves being fished out of the continuing mess of daily life, we know there is a power at work in Jesus to create what the world dismisses as impossible.

It happens here in this diverse family of faith. There are differences of opinion about so many things. Yet at the end of the day, we affirm that what we have in common is so much greater than whatever could divide us. And what we have common is the presence of Jesus Christ, who gives us his Spirit and calls us to enlarge his Table.

So, Happy Pentecost, church of God. You are a wonder to behold and a work in progress. And everything we share is a miracle from God.

 

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

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[1] Acts 4:13

Who's Captive? Who's Free?

Acts 16:16-40
Easter 7
May 29, 2022

William G. Carter  

Memorial Day offers a time for us to give thanks for those who have gone on before us. We plant flowers, tidy up graves, and review the memories lodged within our hearts. With special gratitude, we thank God for those who have given their lives in the service of our country. They have made sacrifices for our well-being. They have seen action to defend our values. And somebody will add, we remember those who have fought for our freedom.

For our freedom. Freedom.

Today we are reflecting on freedom today, and its antithesis, captivity. And we will be instructed once again by an adventure story from the Acts of the Apostles (text). Listen to Luke’s first-hand account:

One day, as we were going to the place of prayer, we met a slave girl who had a spirit of divination and brought her owners a great deal of money by fortune-telling. While she followed Paul and us, she would cry out, “These men are slaves of the Most High God, who proclaim to you a way of salvation.” She kept doing this for many days. But Paul, very much annoyed, turned and said to the spirit, “I order you in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her.” And it came out that very hour.

But when her owners saw that their hope of making money was gone, they seized Paul and Silas and dragged them into the marketplace before the authorities. When they had brought them before the magistrates, they said, “These men are disturbing our city; they are Jews and are advocating customs that are not lawful for us as Romans to adopt or observe.” The crowd joined in attacking them, and the magistrates had them stripped of their clothing and ordered them to be beaten with rods. After they had given them a severe flogging, they threw them into prison and ordered the jailer to keep them securely. Following these instructions, he put them in the innermost cell and fastened their feet in the stocks.

About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them. Suddenly there was an earthquake, so violent that the foundations of the prison were shaken; and immediately all the doors were opened and everyone’s chains were unfastened. When the jailer woke up and saw the prison doors wide open, he drew his sword and was about to kill himself, since he supposed that the prisoners had escaped. But Paul shouted in a loud voice, “Do not harm yourself, for we are all here.” The jailer called for lights, and rushing in, he fell down trembling before Paul and Silas. Then he brought them outside and said, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?” They answered, “Believe on the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household.” They spoke the word of the Lord to him and to all who were in his house. At the same hour of the night he took them and washed their wounds; then he and his entire family were baptized without delay. He brought them up into the house and set food before them; and he and his entire household rejoiced that he had become a believer in God.

When morning came, the magistrates sent the police, saying, “Let those men go.” And the jailer reported the message to Paul, saying, “The magistrates sent word to let you go; therefore come out now and go in peace.” But Paul replied, “They have beaten us in public, uncondemned, men who are Roman citizens, and have thrown us into prison; and now are they going to discharge us in secret? Certainly not! Let them come and take us out themselves.” The police reported these words to the magistrates, and they were afraid when they heard that they were Roman citizens; so they came and apologized to them. And they took them out and asked them to leave the city. After leaving the prison they went to Lydia’s home; and when they had seen and encouraged the brothers and sisters there, they departed.

As we heard last week, the Word of God had moved into Europe. The Word traveled from Jerusalem, to Samaria, through Turkey – and now to the ends of the earth, specifically to the region of Macedonia, northeast of Greece. Paul and his companions happened upon a wealthy merchant by the name of Lydia. She heard the good news of Jesus and welcomed the messengers into her home. A small circle of Christian believers began in the city of Philippi, as they preached the Word and offered prayers.

Yet one day, as we heard, the apostle Paul blew a gasket. His annoyance had been building over a few days. As he and the others went back and forth to Lydia’s place of prayer, they kept passing this unusual young woman. She kept calling out. She was persistent. She was loud. She was obnoxious. And she was a slave.

In that time and location, slavery was legal. It was an open economy without many limitations. Some men owned this woman. They discovered she had a special ability to tell fortunes. So they bought her – literally purchased her as a slave – and used her to make a buck.

She had a remarkable skill. The single person could ask, "Will I find the right mate?" The married couple could inquire, "Will we ever have children?" The business owner could wonder, "Will my fortunes rise next season?" In each case, for a significant fee, she provided an answer, a true answer. Her ability made a lot of money for her owners. They kept her fed and on an invisible chain of exploitation. They were free to do this. She was their captive.

However, something inside her would also blurt out the truth for free. I’m guessing it happened when her owners weren’t paying attention. As Paul and the others passed by, she would cry out, “These men are slaves of the most high God. These men are slaves of the most high God.” Nobody paid her to say it. The words just came out.

And they kept coming! “These men are slaves of the most high God. These men are slave of the most high God.” Every time they passed. Who wants that kind of exposure, even if she was telling the truth? Clearly, she couldn’t help herself. And the shouting continued, every single time. “These men are slaves of the most high God.” It was so annoying. Clearly, she was not only enslaved by her owners; she was enslaved by an unseen spirit.

It became so annoying that Paul had it. So one more time, “These men are slaves of the most high God.” Paul turned, looked at her, identified that thing within her, and said, “In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, I order you to come out of her.” The shouting stopped. She was quiet. She was free. Free from that fortune-telling spirit that turned her into a commodity. She was free to be who God created her to be.

As you know, this healing infuriated her possessors. Why? You know why: they couldn’t exploit her anymore. They could make money off her ability anymore. And they were enraged. Up until now, they thought they were free to do whatever they wanted, pushing this woman forward as a sideshow attraction. But they can’t do that anymore. They thought they were free, but they were captive to their own greed.

So they grab Paul and his buddy Silas, drag them to the center of town, push them before the magistrate, and make up some accusations: These men are Jews. They are disturbing the peace. They are pushing customs that are not . . . lawful for Roman society. A riot breaks out. The citizens pile on. Paul and Silas are beaten badly (so much for “disturbing the peace”). And these two outsiders are thrown into a jail cell.

You can determine the real charges for yourself: casting out an unclean spirit, or liberating an exploited young girl, or – and this is probably it – messing with the pocketbooks of a couple of oppressive businessmen. Whatever the case, Paul and Silas, formerly free, are now imprisoned. They were free, but they are captives.

Except the two of them don’t act like captives. Even though their ankles were chained to the walls, something in their spirits was not bound. They started praying. They started singing. They kept on praying, they kept on singing. They were having a Holy Hootenanny in jail. All the other prisoners could hear them, as they sang about Jesus who is free from the powers of death. Paul was a prisoner, right? But free as a bird.

So they kept singing, they kept praying. It got to be about midnight, when suddenly the ground shook violently. The rafters of the jail wobbled. An earthquake shook so fiercely that all the prison doors flew open, and all the shackles fell off the prisoners’ legs. Not only that, but Luke also says the earthquake was so powerful that it woke the jailer from his evening snooze. That must have been some earthquake!

And the jailer looks up and down the hall. All the doors are open. This man is terrified. He had one job – to keep the captives in their cells – and he presumes they have all run away. Oh, the shame! He knows the rules: if a prisoner escapes under your watch, you might as well be dead. He is afraid of the awful consequences of losing his detainees, so he prepares to fall on his sword. He is a captive to his own fear.

Just then, Paul calls out, “We are all still here. Don’t do anything rash.” And the jailer couldn’t believe it. He rushes in, looks around, sees these prisoners where they’re supposed to be, takes them outside of that badly shaken jail, and then falls to his knees. “What must I do?” he blurts out. “What must I do to be rescued, to be saved?”

And Paul says, “Let me tell you about Jesus. He was a good man, falsely arrested for doing charitable deeds. He healed many, spoke truth to power, and this is what got him condemned. He suffered a shameful death, a death on a cross – but then God raised him and lifted him as Lord over all. Jesus was a captive – but he is free. Hear the news and trust it.”

This jailer who has been shaken awake so abruptly took the two prisoners to his home, cleaned their wounds, bandaged their bruises, and asked to be baptized. Then they all sat down to have something to eat. The jailer, once fearful, was now free. Paul and Silas were still captives, under the watch of the jailer, but they had been free all along.

The story moves along from there. When morning comes, the magistrates send word through the police, “Release the prisoners and tell them to skedaddle.” But Paul said, “What? After a night like that?” They can’t pretend it didn’t happen. They can’t merely do a political washing-of-the-hands. He said, “You tell the court that we are Roman citizens (see, he could play that card when he had to). Not only were we falsely accused, but you also can’t just whisk us away secretly. Come and release us yourselves.”

See, he’s still a captive – but he is free. The authorities come to apologize, and to gently request them to leave. Apology accepted, farewells are made, and off they go. The Word of God moves on.

It’s a remarkable story, given the interplay of captivity and freedom. Those who believed they were free were prisoners of something. Those who had been captives are curiously liberated. And the event that set the whole, long tale into motion was the release of a young woman - enslaved, commodified, captive to an unseen spirit – she is set free, and this exposes the other imprisonments that seem so familiar to us all.

There’s a woman who found herself hooked on painkillers; she thought they might set her free, but they enslaved her. Or that business person, on the surface might appear liberated by a whopping paycheck yet is merely wearing the golden handcuffs of a consuming job.

One of the privileges of my job is standing backstage at weddings. I often hang around with the nervous groom as he steadies himself before walking in. I can’t tell you how many times his buddies will joke, “Tom, you are trading in your years of single freedom for the old ball and chain.” They laugh, but I can testify that a good marriage is one that frees you from the tyranny of selfishness.

Who truly is the captive? Who is free? And what are we going to be captive to?

We hear it all. Years ago, complaints about a high school dress code. Adolescents surging full of hormones, arguing, “I am free to wear whatever I want.” What they didn’t notice is what they wanted to wear was exactly what all the other kids were wearing, purchased from the same stores in the mall, same gaps showing too much flesh, same identical look. They told themselves they were free, but the mall told them to fit in with all the others and sold them a bill of goods. Looked like freedom, but it was really a form of captivity.

So here’s the underlying question of the story: who yanks your chain? To whom do you belong?

Like you, I continue to be speechless at the senseless slaughter of innocents in elementary schools, or shoppers in a grocery store. I have a lot to say, just like you, but I don’t know what to say. But maybe here’s one thing. Maybe if we belonged to our children, maybe if we belonged to our neighbors, maybe if we belonged to Christ, we could give up our captivity to violence.

It is clear there are voices that enslave us, unseen forces that play on our fears and diminish whatever it is that makes us human. We won’t be free – we can’t be free – until we belong to something greater than our own anger and our addiction to hostility. And for some we will be free only if we increase our own arsenals, that is a form of madness. Let’s call it what it is – it is captivity to the powers of destruction.

Our recurring challenge is a soul-sized battle. To whom or what will we belong? And are we free, truly free?

The Bible story begins with an act of liberation. A woman in Philippi was trafficked by a couple of men. She was exploited. They were marketing her abilities to line her own pockets. She was enslaved – and Paul called upon Jesus Christ to set her free. That act of truthful healing is what set the whole story in motion.

Yet, even as she had been possessed, she did tell the truth. Do you remember what she called out, whenever Paul and the others passed by? “These men are slaves of the most high God.” Slaves! That’s the word. They did not belong to themselves. They belonged to God in Christ, and that is what set them free.

Reminds me of a song that we used to sing in church before the old hymnal was revised:

Make me a captive, Lord, and then I shall be free.
Force me to render up my sword, and I shall conqueror be.
I sink in life’s alarms when by myself I stand.
Imprison me within Thine arms, and strong shall be my hand.[1]

This brings us close to the mystery of what it means to be a Christian: we belong to Jesus, the living Christ. We surrender to him and give up any illusion of independence. We submit to his ways, awkward as they may be, and turn from our own natural inclinations. We give up the vain dream so commonly voiced in the phrase, “I am my own person,” for we keep opening ourselves to the possibility of how we could be Christ’s person.

To some, in our hyper-individualized culture, this sounds like a form of incarceration. But when we join Christ in the works of healing, forgiveness, and love, we discover that taking his yoke is the true freedom.

No wonder that the Christian people remember how Paul offered advice to one of his churches. He said, “As a prisoner in the Lord” (hear that? He’s not referring to merely being in jail), “I beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.”[2]

This is freedom, true freedom. It is not the shallow temptation to whatever we want, but “bring every thought captive in obedience to Jesus Christ.” (2 Cor. 10:5)

Let me sum it up by saying all of us are captives to something or someone. The question for today is this: who yanks your chain?

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

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[1] “Make Me a Captive, Lord,” by George Matheson. The Presbyterian Hymnal (1990), #378

[2] Ephesians 4:1-3, NRSV

Who Am I to Hinder God?

Acts 11:1-18
Easter 5
May 15, 2022

William G. Carter

Now the apostles and the believers who were in Judea heard that the Gentiles had also accepted the word of God. So when Peter went up to Jerusalem, the circumcised believers criticized him, saying, “Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with them?” Then Peter began to explain it to them, step by step, saying, “I was in the city of Joppa praying, and in a trance I saw a vision. There was something like a large sheet coming down from heaven, being lowered by its four corners; and it came close to me. As I looked at it closely I saw four-footed animals, beasts of prey, reptiles, and birds of the air. I also heard a voice saying to me, ‘Get up, Peter; kill and eat.’ But I replied, ‘By no means, Lord; for nothing profane or unclean has ever entered my mouth.’ But a second time the voice answered from heaven, ‘What God has made clean, you must not call profane.’ This happened three times; then everything was pulled up again to heaven. At that very moment three men, sent to me from Caesarea, arrived at the house where we were. The Spirit told me to go with them and not to make a distinction between them and us. These six brothers also accompanied me, and we entered the man’s house. He told us how he had seen the angel standing in his house and saying, ‘Send to Joppa and bring Simon, who is called Peter; he will give you a message by which you and your entire household will be saved.’ And as I began to speak, the Holy Spirit fell upon them just as it had upon us at the beginning. And I remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said, ‘John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.’ If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?” When they heard this, they were silenced. And they praised God, saying, “Then God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life.

Luke is the author of this book, the Acts of the Apostles. He continues the story that began in his Gospel book. What God has begun in the ministry of Jesus is continuing in the work of those who follow Jesus. There is continuity between then and now.

As he tells the story, sometimes he repeats himself. We can expect that. When something important happens, it’s worth telling again. God sends the Holy Spirit to empower the church, and the Spirit keeps coming. As we heard last week, God began the work of converting a young man named Saul, now renamed as Paul, and that conversion is told two more times.

And today, in chapter eleven, we hear the apostle Peter retell the same story of what happened in chapter ten. The details are the same. In fact, this chapter moves along more quickly than the one before it. Yet the issue is the same: who are you going to let into your church?

Not a new issue, but one of the two initial issues for that early circle of believers. You know the first one: what will we do, now that Jesus has gone up into heaven? He died, was raised, and ascended into heaven – now what? That dilemma was answered quickly. He went up and the Spirit came down. There was continuity between what Jesus said and what the Holy Spirit of God inspired the followers of Jesus to say. The Spirit fills the vacancy with the same holy Power. Jesus has gone, we have power to go on.

And the second dilemma, again, has to do with whom we welcome. Whom we include. The first circle of apostles was very disturbed with Peter, Simon Peter. They heard that Gentiles listened to his preaching. How could this be? Jesus was a Jew, all of them were Jews – what do you mean he was preaching to the Gentiles? And not only were they Gentiles – they were Italians! Not only was he preaching to them – he was eating with them. Can you imagine the Great Apostle Peter, the Rock on whom Christ said he would build his church – and he was eating spaghetti?

So Peter tells them the story. It happened around noon. (Remember last week? Paul on the road to Damascus? That happened about noon.) And Peter was up on the roof, the flat roof, praying his mid-day prayers, and getting a little hungry.

About the time he’s ready to say “amen,” he has a vision. Maybe it began with a growling stomach; we don’t know. He saw the heavens opened, and a holy picnic blanket came down. And that blanket, that sheet, was loaded with all kinds of animals: there were birds, beasts, and lizards, eagles, pigs, shellfish, and snakes. Then that Voice – that familiar Voice from heaven – said, “Get up, Simon Peter, kill one of these and eat!” And Peter was horrified.

Why horrified? It’s lunchtime. He’s hungry. But he’s the Jew. That means he’s careful about what he eats. He’s not going to chew on a snake or crunch on a lobster. He’s a Jew. His Bible says all of those animals he saw were ritually unclean. Don’t eat them. That’s what the book of Leviticus says. It doesn’t matter if it’s lunchtime. You don’t eat that stuff if you are a covenant child of Israel. Your Bible tells you this.

And the Voice said, “Go ahead and eat.” This is the Table set before you. This is the Heavenly Banquet floating down as a gift. This is the Joyful Feast given to you by God. “Go ahead and eat.”

Peter says, “Lord, I’ve never put any of that dirty junk in my mouth. I’m trying to be pure here!”

And God says – or is it Jesus who says, “What God has called clean, don’t you call dirty.” And Peter is stunned.

Now this is the book of Acts, and I’m retelling you the story you already heard me read, and because that story in chapter eleven is the same story as chapter ten, it should come as no surprise that Simon Peter sees this vision three times. He hears the Voice three times. And then, just as suddenly, the whole thing’s gone. Vanished.

What is he to make of this? Well, there’s no time to think about it. Just then, downstairs, there’s a knock at the gate. A couple of Italian soldiers stood there and said, “Our army commander has had a vision, telling him to meet with a man named Simon Peter. Is there a Simon Peter here, in the city of Joppa?”

Simon Peter looks up at heaven, looks at them, looks up at heaven, nods his head, says, “OK, I get it. I will go.” Because that Vision of the Heavenly Non-Kosher food still burned in his heart. And he still hears the echo of that Voice, “What God has called clean, don’t you dare call dirty.”

And let me tell you something else, which you might not have noticed. In his Jewish Bible, there is a story of man named Jonah. He’s in the seaside city of Joppa. He has a vision from God to go to the Gentiles, and he doesn’t want to go.

In our text, here is Simon Bar-Jonah (that’s his given name). He’s in the seaside city of Joppa. He has a vision from God to go to the Gentiles and otherwise would not want to go.[1] It’s the story, the same old story, the same recurring story, the same ongoing story, namely, who are you going to let into your church? Or temple, or synagogue, or family.

My teacher Fred Craddock made the connection between the old story of Jonah and Luke’s reappropriation of it in the story of Simon Bar-Jonah. And he lived the lesson. As a kid pastor, he landed in a little church near Oak Ridge, Tennessee. It was an aristocratic bunch, he said, full of the town fathers and mothers. They liked their cozy fellowship.

 

Then the town began to change. Oak Ridge was selected for a national laboratory. They would enrich uranium there. All these other people moved in to build the facility – bulldozer operators, stone masons, concrete pourers, day workers. The lab brought in trailer parks. They had noisy kids. And not only were they laborers – a lot of them were Yankees. Outsiders. Biblically speaking, Gentiles.

 

But Rev. Fred said, “This is our mission. God has put these people on our doorstep. They need the Gospel. They need our church. Let’s reach out.”

 

The next board meeting settled the matter. A motion was made by the brother-in-law of the chair of the board. The motion declared, “We will accept in our church only those who own property in the county.” The preacher sputtered and fumed, but the decision was final. As one of them said in the parking lot after the meeting, “Face it, Craddock, some people just won’t fit in.”

 

Years later, Fred and his wife were driving through the region, when he decided to take her over and show her the scene of his early failures. It took a while to find the church. The area was booming. But there it was, nestled in the pines, with a big sign out front, “BARBEQUE – Chicken – Ribs – Pork – All You Can Eat.” Fred looked at her, she looked at him. He said, “Well, it’s about noon. Let’s get something to eat.”

The place is just jammed: Italians, Yankees, Gentiles, Parthians, Medes, Elamites, Gay and Straight, Red and Blue, Old and Young, Right and Left and None of the Above. Fred couldn’t believe it. He said to his wife, “It’s a good thing this place is no longer a church, because most of these people wouldn’t fit in.”

And the other called Simon Peter back to Jerusalem, dressed him down, and said, “We heard you were eating with those people.” So he had to tell them the story, tell them what he saw in the vision, then tell them what the Voice repeated: What God has called clean, don’t you dare call dirty.

For it was clear to him that God was pushing and shoving the church beyond its own boundaries. He presumed to know where the circle was, surrounding the true believers and keeping out the infidels. He did not expect God was smashing the wall and bringing others in.

Now, I know this is hard for some of us. Where do you draw the line? Well, you don’t. If there’s a line, it’s a dotted line, at best. But at the center of it all is the grace and love of Jesus Christ. We are not defined by the boundary around us, but by the Christ who welcomes all.

I was reminded by a friend who took a church group to the Holy Land. They visited the West Bank, went to a Catholic school that was directed by a Palestinian priest. Over half of the students were Muslim for the simple reason that this was the best school in town. As the priest led the tour, he talked about the required religion classes and chapel services in which all the students took part. “They love to receive the sacrament of communion,” he said.

 

Someone in the group said, “Isn’t it dangerous for Muslims to become Christian? Aren’t their parents upset?” The priest’s face was filled with horror. He said, “Oh no, no, no. I don’t want the Muslim children to become Christian. But I do want them to know Jesus died for their sins, that they are forgiven, and loved by God. I want them to be filled with the Holy Spirit and to receive the means of grace. But I would never want them to become Christians.”

 

Well, imagine that. Grace circling around, with Jesus in the center. And somewhere, some Muslim children are growing up to believe that Christians are gracious.[2]

Now, I know, I know. This is a lot to chew. It’s hard to be pushed beyond our comfort zone, particularly to people who are not like us. Yet just then, the Voice above asks, “If they are not like you, who are you like? Are you like me, gracious and welcoming like me, or are you merely like yourselves?” That’s a good question.

What I know is that God’s future is inclusion. That’s where the Gospel has been headed since the beginning. All shall be welcome. That’s the future that God sets before us. I guess you don’t have to be part of that. But after seeing the extreme effort that Jesus has undertaken to welcome all of us, is it really all that difficult to welcome somebody else? It is his grace, after all. It’s all his grace. And he stands in the center, arms outstretched.

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

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[1] Thanks to Fred Craddock, who made this connection in one of his lectures.

[2] Thanks to Craig Barnes, who told his story in the sermon, “Who Is Your Gentile?”