How Much God Has Done

Luke 8:26-39

June 22, 2025

 

            When I was 7, I wrote a poem entitled A Wish. My mother saved this poem with the intention of embroidering it and giving it to me as a gift, which she did. It is in my office right now. Mom told me when she gave it to me that she wanted me to have proof that I was a well-adjusted child. We can dig into my mother’s reasons for thinking it necessary for me to know that I was a well-adjusted child in another sermon, but here is the content of my poem, A Wish.

            “I wish I were a teacher. Or even a nurse. Or a mother with children all around her. I wish I had a husband who was a millionaire. But I am just glad to be me. Because Amy Busse is me and that is that.”

            If I could make a wish today, it would be to talk with my seven-year-old self and discover what it was that made her happy to be her. What did she know about herself that made her so fundamentally content with the person she was? How did the seven-year-old Amy have such a solid understanding of what it means to be Amy? Because I can tell you that since that time I haven’t always had that understanding.

            I hope that it doesn’t shock or concern any of you that I admit that truth; admit that I have struggled with understanding myself, knowing myself, of having periods of identity crises, however that may be defined. I think it probably makes me normal. I think that one of the challenges we often face as we grow up and grow older is trying to figure out who we are amid all the good and the bad that we encounter and endure, all the life we experience. The self-assuredness I had at seven was lost to the deep self-consciousness of adolescence. It began to come back as I entered adulthood, but it was never the same because I was not the same. Who is the same?  Our living changes us, challenges us. All that we experience, the good and bad, the dramatic and the everyday shapes us. What we learn, what we see, who we meet, who we are in relationship with, friendship with, the loves and the losses, the joys and the heartbreaks – all those pieces and parts of our lives shape us, shape our identities. At different times in my life, at turning points along the way, in seminal moments, and in everyday reflections I have wrestled with the question of “Who am I?”  Sometimes my answer to that question has come with grief as well as hope, pain along with pride.

            I realize the pain I’ve felt during my times of identity wrestling is a far cry from the pain this man, this demoniac, endures. We often write off the stories of demon possession in scripture as being undiagnosed mental illness, as though mental illness is so easily treated and dealt with today. But the reality is that mental illness still carries a terrible stigma in our culture and context, so it isn’t as though we fully understand or accept it now. And while I am not sure what I believe about actual demons, I do agree with theologian Debie Thomas, who wrote that if we understand demon possession in a broader, more general way, as that which tries to separate and keep us from God, to keep us dead, when God wants us fully alive, then we are under bombardment every day by demonic forces. And they are coming after us and at us from all possible directions.

            But whether this man was under literal demonic possession or experiencing a severe and ongoing psychotic breakdown or both, he was in pain. He was in physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual pain. Think about how awful this man’s life must have been. He is described as a man of the city. Does this mean that once upon a time he was an upright citizen? Fully functioning and capable? A person with family and friends, a profession, a life? But something changed for him. For a long time, he was without adequate clothing and shelter. He roamed among the tombs, which was probably its own sort of wasteland and wilderness. He was kept under guard but was that more for his protection or for the other people in the city.

He was bound with shackles and chains, but they could not hold him. He would break out of them and be driven by his demons “into the wilds.” The demons drove him to break loose of his bindings, but he could never break free. There was no liberation. Whatever had once made this man a whole person, a unique child of God, seemed to have been destroyed forever. It was a nightmarish existence indeed.

            But then … Jesus arrives. Jesus and his disciples have been traveling in a boat across the sea. While they were sailing they were assailed by a terrible storm, but Jesus calmed it with a word. Now that the storm has subsided and he and his disciples have crossed over to dry land, Jesus is confronted with a different kind of storm – the storm of possession that rages inside this man. 

            This story is found in all three synoptic gospels, Matthew, Mark and Luke. Luke tells us that when the man sees Jesus, the demons in him cry out,

“What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me.” 

The demons recognize Jesus as the Son of God before the people do, and this is not the first instance of that happening. I find it interesting that, if I’m reading it correctly, Jesus has made at least one attempt at commanding the demons to leave the man. It’s almost as if their words are in response to his command. What changes everything is when Jesus asks the man, “What is your name?”  His answer? “Legion.”

            To us, hearing the word legion probably translates to “a great number” or “many” or “a whole bunch.” But the people witnessing this encounter would have heard it differently. They would have had a crystal clear picture of what a legion was. These were people living under Roman occupation. A legion of Roman soldiers was a troop of 5,000 to 6,000 men. That goes well beyond my initial assumption of what a legion might look like.   

            If the demons possessing this man are legion, then how could there be anything left of him? Whoever he was before surely was gone. But Jesus asking that question, “what is your name?” opens the door for the demons to leave and calls the man back to himself. The demons did not want to leave the man. They did not want to go back to the abyss of chaos and evil. As Debie Thomas also pointed out, even evil and chaos resist evil and chaos. The legion of demons  begs Jesus to let them enter a herd of swine feeding on a hillside. Jesus gives them permission. The demons rush out of the man, enter the pigs and the entire herd runs down the steep bank into the lake and drown. 

            This is the point in the story where I think many of us stop listening because we’re horrified at either the animal cruelty that’s involved here or the lost livelihood to the people who own those pigs, or both. It horrifies me too, I promise. But right or wrong, I think we need to get past that and pay attention to what happens next. We need to pay attention to the people’s response to the man. The swineherds have witnessed this, so they run off to tell everyone what they have seen and heard. The people come out to see for themselves and what do they find? This man, who had been so completely possessed by demons that his existence – for that’s all it was – was now truly alive. He who had been naked was clothed. He who had raged and fought and broken every chain that bound him was in his right mind. He who could not be still, be quiet, be calm was now seated at the feet of Jesus, the place where disciples sit. This man, who had been lost to the demons that warred inside him, was now returned and restored.

What do we think the people’s reaction should have been? Do we think they should have rejoiced, celebrated, praised God? Whatever we might think their response should have been, we are all probably disappointed at what it was. They did not run to the man with tears in their eyes, welcoming him back into the fold. They did not rejoice at his restoration. They did not praise God. They did not thank Jesus for giving them back one of their own. Their response was fear. They were afraid. Luke says that they were “seized with great fear.” To be seized with great fear sounds almost like another kind of demon possession doesn’t it?

            The people were seized with great fear, so they did not invite Jesus and the disciples back to their homes for dinner. There were no parties thrown or feasts given. They ask Jesus to leave. Look, Jesus, could you and your friends just go? Could you just leave us in peace and stop changing everything we know and understand? So Jesus gets back in the boat to return to the other side, to Galilee. The man – now healed and whole – begs Jesus to let him go along. But Jesus tells him to go home and tell the people at home how much God has done for him. Jesus commissions the man, the restored man, the whole man, to stay where he was and witness to the people. Make them hear you. Make them see you. Let them know how much God has done for you.

            We may believe this story doesn’t have a place in our contemporary lives. We may believe that we can explain away what the man suffered by calling it mental illness. We may think that that was then and this is now, so what does this story have to teach us? Where in this story, this strange, baffling, out-there there story do we find good news?

            Maybe this story is good news because it challenges us to confront our own fear. How have we been seized with great fear in the face of what God has done and is doing for us? How many times have we chosen the demons of death that we know rather than step into the life we don’t? How many times have we, again as Debie Thomas wrote, settled for tolerance instead of challenging ourselves to love, to really, really, really love?

            And maybe the good news is that this story calls us to remember how much God has done for us. Done, already, past tense. What has God already done for us? What life has God already given us? What healing has God already offered? What transformation has God already accomplished in our midst, in our community, in our lives?

            If I were to look over my whole life to this point, from that seven-year-old I was to the person I am now, I could name so many things that God has done for me. I could point to so many times when God has been there, with me, with, me, pulling me, pushing me, calling me, comforting me, challenging me, confronting me. And that’s just my one life. What about you? What about us? What about others who need to hear from us? Because Jesus didn’t tell the man to go home and praise God and stop there. Jesus told the man to go home and tell others. Tell others the good news. Tell others how he was unshackled and unbound and loved and made whole. Tell others his name and ask them theirs.

            We are called to witness to others what God has done for us, through our words, through our actions, through our lives. And we are called to help unbind and unshackle, to loose and to love. There is no such thing as privatized salvation. Salvation is for us, and salvation is for the world. It can all begin with one simple question. What is your name?

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

            Amen.

 

 

 

Wisdom -- Trinity Sunday and Father's Day

Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31

June 15, 2025

“O God grant me …

The Serenity to accept the things I cannot change;

The Courage to change the things I can,

And the Wisdom to know the difference.”

 

            Some of you probably recognize this by its most common name, “The Serenity Prayer.” I tend to associate it with Twelve Step Groups. Perhaps you do too. And it is also widely attributed to theologian Dr. Reinhold Neibuhr. But there is a longer version of this prayer, which is less well known.

It is, “God, give me grace to accept with serenity the things that cannot be changed, Courage to change the things which should be changed, and the Wisdom to distinguish the one from the other. Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting hardship as a pathway to peace, taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it, trusting that You will make all things right, if I surrender to Your will, so that I may be reasonably happy in this life, and supremely happy with You forever in the next. Amen.”

I struggle with both versions, not in what they say. They are both beautiful and hopeful and speak to my mind and my heart. But I struggle with them, because reading them and hearing them and finding a moment’s peace in them is one thing but putting them into practice is a whole other ballgame.

It sounds so simple, doesn’t it? Serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Beautiful. Lovely. Poetic. Courage to change the things I can. Inspiring. Hopeful. Encouraging. And the Wisdom to know the difference. Well, there’s where you lost me. It’s the Wisdom part. That last part of the shortened prayer sounds spot on, doesn’t it? I just need the wisdom to know the difference between what I can change and what I can’t. But how much time have I wasted in my life trying to change the things I cannot change, and lacking the courage to change the things I can, but believing that I was doing the opposite? How much time have I spent trying to change what cannot be changed? How much good could I have done – in my life and in the life of others – had I found the courage to change the things I can?  It’s the wisdom to know the difference that throws me off. Where do we find the wisdom? And what is wisdom anyway? It seems to be more  than knowledge or fact or intelligence. But if it is more, what is it? What is wisdom?

With this question in mind, and in preparation for this sermon, I put out a question on a clergy group that I follow on Facebook, asking others, “What does Wisdom mean to you?” Here are some of the responses that I received. “Common sense.” “Wisdom is knowing the only person I can control is myself and that is through the power of the Holy Spirit.” “Wisdom is found in the balance between logic and feeling or head and heart.” “Foolish people blame others for their mistakes. Smart people learn from their mistakes. Wise people learn from the mistakes other people make.” “Wisdom is a deep knowing and discernment that – from and with the Spirit – allows a person to translate skills/information/events into fruitful and shalom-filled living.” “Intelligence is knowing that a tomato is a fruit not a vegetable. Wisdom is knowing that tomatoes don’t belong in a fruit salad.”

And one of the best pieces of wisdom that my mother ever imparted to me – and she imparted quite a bit – was this. When Phoebe was a baby, I called my mom upset because I had read something in one of my baby books that contradicted what I was doing from instinct to care for my little one. My mom listened to my fears and then she said, “Amy, baby books are great, but the problem is the babies never read the same books that you do.” Wisdom.

So, wisdom is knowledge plus experience. Wisdom is discernment. Wisdom is balancing logic and heart. Wisdom is learning from the mistakes of others. Wisdom is knowing that a tomato doesn’t belong in a fruit salad. Wisdom is trusting your instincts when those instincts are connected to a deep love. Wisdom is trusting the Holy Spirit for a guidance that goes deeper than facts. And, to take our verses from Proverbs seriously, Wisdom is not only connected to God and creation, but Wisdom is also a gift of and part of the Spirit, part of the trinity, and has its deep origins in the creation itself.

Proverbs is a lovely but odd book in our canon. Some of this book is made up of what we tend to think of as proverbs, short, pithy statements that you might find in a fortune cookie. But other parts of this book are what we have before us today, a lengthier narrative that doesn’t just proscribe wise advice but offers a deeper understanding and description of Wisdom with a capital W.

In these verses from Chapter 8, Wisdom, described in both the Hebrew and Greek translations, as feminine, stands on a high place besides the crossroads, besides the busy intersection where people travel and encounter one another. She stands beside the gates of the town, another busy place where people would be coming and going on a regular basis, and she calls out to the people. She cries out to all the people who live. Wisdom does not stand at a distance from the people. She stands by the busiest places, the intersections of everyday life, and she calls out to the people to hear her, to be instructed by her.

In the later verses of our passage, Wisdom speaks of her origins in the beginning of creation itself. “The Lord created me at the beginning of his work, the first of acts long ago.” Wisdom was there before the earth was even formed. Wisdom was there before the depths were created, before there were springs overflowing with water, before mountains and hills had been shaped, before soil and fields, before the heavens, before the separation of earth from sky. When the Spirit of the Lord brooded over creation, Wisdom was in that brooding. Wisdom was beside the Lord, “like a master worker.” Wisdom was the delight of the Lord and rejoiced in the Lord and rejoiced in the human race.

So Wisdom is both cosmic and creation. Wisdom is the delight of God and Wisdom takes delight in humanity. Wisdom is the gift of the Spirit and the Spirit. Wisdom is big and out there and Wisdom is deeply connected to our daily living. Wisdom “touches grass” as one commentator put it. She is not just some cosmic entity above and beyond us. Wisdom is here – in us, and around us, and working through us. Perhaps Wisdom is what John was referring to in the beginning of his gospel: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. … And the Word became flesh and lived among us.”

In the language of philosophy, Wisdom is both a concept and a property. I realize that is a very heady, challenging way of trying to understand it. But then again, so is the Trinity, and this is Trinity Sunday. The day when we observe and celebrate something that is ultimately incomprehensible. And I say that after years and years of trying to understand it and impart what little understanding I have to others. But what I do sort of understand is this, Wisdom is part of the Trinity in that it is the Holy Spirit, and wisdom is also that force of love and delight that connects and binds the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in relationship to each other and to us. If Wisdom touches grass, that means that it is practical and pragmatic and is ours as well as God’s. We have access to Wisdom, capital W and wisdom, lowercase w. Wisdom is not just out there. It is here.

Remember those first verses of Proverbs. Wisdom stands by the busiest places of human life and calls out to us. She calls out to us to hear her, to heed her, to learn from her, to delight in her as she delights in us.

I know that I have probably only confused us even more when it comes to Wisdom. But it seems to me that while wisdom is something we most often gain through experience, through making mistakes and learning from them (hopefully after the first time, although often it takes several rounds of messing up for me to finally gain wisdom), the Wisdom that is the Spirit is already ours. The people who responded to my query on Facebook often mentioned that wisdom is trusting in the Spirit for discernment and help. Wisdom is allowing the Spirit to teach and lead. Wisdom comes through the Spirit connecting our experience in the world to our heart and minds. Wisdom is trusting the Spirit to be and do what it was created to be and do: a guide, a teacher, an advocate, an abiding presence, a creative, brooding wind that pushes and pulls us, a deep understanding, a gift, a delight.

And maybe as we trust the Spirit more, we will find that delight, we will celebrate that gift, we will see the Trinity as God in relationship and work harder to build relationships with each other. Maybe as we trust the Spirit with all our hearts and minds, we will be able to live out, every day, every moment, the words of the Serenity prayer.

O God grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the Courage to change the things I can, and the Wisdom – the trust, the relationship, the gift, the delight in the Holy Spirit – to know the difference. Thanks be to God, Father, Son, and Spirit.

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

Amen.

 

Holy Fire -- Pentecost Sunday

Acts 2:1-21

June 8, 2025

 

            When Brent and I first got married, we went to a special event at the Country Music Hall of Fame that honored Felice and Boudleaux Bryant, and, if I recall correctly, kicked off a special exhibit of their work. Until I met my sweet husband, I had never heard of these folks. I know that I would have remembered hearing about them before Brent came into my life, simply because you don’t hear the names Felice and Boudleaux very often. I soon learned that even though I didn’t know the names Felice and Boudleaux, I knew many of the songs they wrote really, really well. Songs like, Wake Up Little Suzie, Bye, Bye Love, Love Hurts, and perhaps the one that means the most to us as Tennesseans, Rocky Top.

            Felice and Boudleaux Bryant changed the landscape of songwriting in the Nashville music scene. Felice was Italian, and through her renowned cooking, musicians and music business emissaries alike were introduced to amazing Italian food – which was not traditional to Nashville at that time. And, of course, they wrote Rocky Top, which is you know, Rocky Top! I bet if I started singing it right now, a whole lot of us would join in.

            So, we were at the Hall of Fame for this special event surrounding the new exhibit of Felice and Boudleaux Bryant’s archives and memorabilia, which also included the recipe for Felice’s famous sauce. Felice and Boudleaux are gone, but their sons spoke to the gathered crowd. Their sons were donating their parents’ archives to the Hall of Fame from their original home in East Tennessee. The motivating reason behind this was not just to preserve their parents’ legacy and to make their work more widely known to music fans, it was also because a wildfire swept through East Tennessee in November 2016 and threatened their family home. Putting their parents’ historic work into the Hall of Fame was not just a matter of pride and eagerness to share it with the world, but to keep it as safe as possible for many years to come. The Bryant sons did not want to risk losing their mom and dad’s precious, historic work to flames ever again.

            I don’t blame them. While I am not a fan of big storms, and I know how deadly they can be, I am even more afraid of fire. A raging fire can destroy everything in its path in a matter of minutes, whether it is a single house fire or an urban conflagration like the most recent one in Southern California that destroyed entire neighborhoods and communities. Fire is terrifying, and I completely understand why the children of Felice and Boudleaux Bryant wanted to do everything they could to protect their parents’ legacy. And because fire can be so frightening, I can well imagine that the sight of flames burning in the midst of the disciples must have been a terrifying thing to witness.

            Whenever I preach on this Pentecost story from Acts I focus almost exclusively on the Spirit roaring into their midst like a violent wind, like a tornado and hurricane and tempest all rolled into one. The imagery of that violent wind is a powerful one and, when it comes to Pentecost, is the image that most often consumes my imagination. But the tongues of flame that appeared in the midst of the disciples, the tongues of flame that rested on each one of them, are equally as powerful, strange, and scary.

            The holy land was and is an arid climate, but that does not mean that wildfire was not a real possibility. If we, with our advanced technology and firefighting expertise, struggle to keep wildfires contained and controlled, think about how awful it would have been to deal with a raging fire in that time and place. I suspect that whole villages, cities even, would have been consumed in a matter of hours. So the sight of flames suddenly resting on these disciples must have been terrifying to say the least. And what does the author of Acts mean when they write that the divided tongues of flame rested on the disciples? I’ve always pictured happy little tongues of flame dancing above their heads, almost like something out of a cartoon. But if a tongue of flame rested on each disciple, maybe that was more like the burning bush than a happy cartoon flame? Maybe the crowd of people witnessing this saw these tongues of flame and wondered if the disciples were about to be destroyed by the flame resting on them? Did someone shout “Fire!”? Did someone else make a move to find water to douse the disciples?

            If that was the instinct of anyone there, we don’t read about it. And I suspect that even if that was the inclination under normal circumstances, these were anything but normal circumstances. The minute those flames appeared, the second they rested on the disciples, the real strangeness of Pentecost began. The disciples began to speak – not in their own language, but in the languages of every person gathered there; in the languages of every Jew gathered from the diaspora of that known world. They spoke in the language of the Parthians and Medes, the Elamites and the residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia. The folks from Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and Libya, and Rome were all represented. Every person heard the good news of Jesus in their own language, in their own idiom and syntax and sentence structure. Those tongues of fire were not flames of destruction but of illumination, translation, and enlightenment.

            The text tells us that everyone who was there was “amazed and astonished.” I bet they were! But it wasn’t enough that they were amazed and astonished to hear the story of God in their own languages after flames of fire appeared in the midst of these disciples, it was that the ones speaking their languages were Galileans! A commentary I read about this said that this was a subtle joke and jab; a reference that anyone outside of the region might not get. Apparently Galileans were considered to be the hicks of the region. They were the backwater, backward, uneducated, unerudite, hicks and yahoos of that culture and context. So, while it would have been amazing and astonishing for anyone to begin speaking in all these different languages, it was especially amazing and astonishing that these acts of wonder were being done through Galileans.

            Maybe this was why some people just could not believe what they were seeing and hearing. Though so many of the people gathered there, hearing in their own language, did believe and did accept that something bigger than themselves was taking place, others just wrote it off as drunkenness. They’re drunk, they said. They’re hammered. This isn’t God, this is wine. But Peter stood up and said,

“No. This has nothing to do with drinking. This has everything to do with God. This is the day that God promised. This is the fulfilment of the words of the prophet Joel. These are the last days of the old way of experiencing God. This is God’s new thing right here in our midst.”

            And the flames of the Spirit that descended on the disciples giving them the ability to speak in languages none of them could speak in before, did not stop there. This holy fire was now unleashed on the world. The good news of the gospel spread like wildfire. That’s what we read about in the rest of the book of Acts. When the Spirit came, it not only gave these once timid and terrified disciples new power, but it also took the message of God, the good news of God, out into the world in a way no one expected or even fully understood.

            When the Holy Spirit descended, it came like a violent, rushing, deafening, roaring wind, and it came like fire, holy fire. And when that holy fire entered someone’s heart and mind, it could not be extinguished. And when that holy fire spread from one disciple to another, from one person to another, it did indeed spread like a wildfire would. It would not be contained. It would not be subdued. It would not be barred or blocked or barricaded. The Holy Spirit was unleashed on the world, and there was no stopping it.

            The Holy Spirit, this holy fire, is still on the loose in the world. Its power has not been subdued or diluted. But that does not mean that we know what to do with it or how to deal with it. Maybe we are more like those folks in the crowd who assumed the disciples were drunk. Maybe when we witness the Spirit in others or even feel it trying to reach our own hearts and minds, we push back against it. We try to tame it and domesticate it and make it manageable and palatable. We do this, I think, because when the Holy Spirit comes our lives and their comfortable routines are disrupted. The Spirit did not come to make everything nice. The Spirit came as a wild maelstrom. The Spirit came to destroy the old ways of thinking and doing and being. Is this because the Holy Spirit is about chaos or does it take destruction of some things to build other things anew?

            This sounds scary … and it is. The people who witnessed this first Pentecost must have been terrified. What they knew and understood about God and about one another was upended. But think about what they experienced when those flames rested on the disciples? They heard the good news in their languages. They heard the gospel in their idiom and syntax and sentence structure. God through the Holy Spirit met them where they were. It spoke to them in familiar words. It reached their ears in their native tongue. In the midst of so much chaos, cacophony, and confusion, the words of the gospel in their own language must have also been like a balm for their hearts and minds. The Spirit met them where they were.

When that holy fire descended on the disciples not just for the disciples’ sake, but for the sake of those around them. When it reached their ears, it also reached their hearts and minds, and nothing was ever the same again.

That’s the thing about the coming of the Holy Spirit, when it comes nothing is ever the same again. When the holy fire blazes in our midst, we cannot go back to the status quo. When the Holy Spirit comes, we cannot return to how things were. Everything is changed and so are we. But that is the good news, isn’t it? That is the gospel. Nothing is the same. Everything is different and yet God meets us where we are. God through the Holy Spirit comes to us, speaks to us in our own language, touches our ears, minds, and hearts in our own idiom, with the balm of language that is familiar, and yet nothing is the same.

I know that this is confusing and unnerving and maybe more than a little terrifying, yet that is the essence of the Holy Spirit. That is what happens when we open ourselves to its movement and power. It changes us. It changes everything. But in the change we are transformed. In the change we are made new. In the change we are called to bring this good news to others, to make way for the holy fire, the heavenly blaze to do its work of love and power.

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

Amen.

An Open Heart -- Sixth Sunday of Easter

Acts 16:9-15

May 25, 2025

 

            The official title of the book we call Acts is really The Acts of the Apostles. I imagine the shortening of the name to just Acts probably happened centuries ago, and most likely for the sake of convenience. It would be an awkward mouthful, even in theological circles, to constantly refer to The Acts of the Apostles. Eventually, you just abbreviate it down to Acts, which even though that shortens the title, the contraction of the name does not condense the importance and meaning of this book to believers like us.

            But every once in a while, I think that it is good to dust off the full title and put it out for folks to see, hear, and think about: The Acts of the Apostles. Hearing this full title is a good reminder to us that these are not just a random collection of stories that we read most often in the time between Easter and Pentecost. The whole of this book is dedicated to telling the story of how the apostles, from the moment they receive the Holy Spirit at the beginning until the end when we read of Paul living and preaching in Rome, grow in their faith, their confidence, and their call to preach the good news of the gospel. The whole of the book of The Acts of the Apostles relates the astonishing way gospel of Jesus the Christ spread from Jewish Jerusalem to Gentile Rome and so many places in between. Although it is more a historiography than a complete historical record, the book of Acts lives up to its title and so much more. It is about the acts of the apostles. They receive the Holy Spirit – the story that we will read in its fullness on Pentecost Sunday – and they were off! They were off preaching, teaching, healing, baptizing, persuading, exhorting, and encouraging. Whatever they lacked in courage and understanding when they were living with and learning from Jesus in person, they have now found in abundance through the power of the Holy Spirit. In that sense the title is somewhat misleading. Yes, these are the apostles’ acts, but these are also the acts of God working through the Holy Spirit. These are the acts of the Spirit blowing through families and communities and towns and villages and cities, opening hearts to the Word of God. These are the acts of the apostles, yes, but everything they do is because of what God is doing in and through them.

            I have been thinking about this title as I have been preaching through many of the Acts passages this season, and I realized that if I were given the opportunity to title the book, I would keep Acts of the Apostles, but I would add a subtitle. It would read Acts of the Apostles: Expect the Unexpected. Because if you can count on anything in this book, it is the unexpected. Acts centers around the unexpected – unexpected journeys, unexpected places, unexpected people. Expect the unexpected.

            We have another example of this unexpectedness in today’s story from chapter 16. I doubt that this story is as well-known as other stories in our book of the unexpected, but it is an important one. At the end of chapter 15, Paul and Barnabas, have gone their separate ways. Paul wanted to go back to every city where they had preached the word and see how the believers in those cities were doing. Barnabas did not say, “no,” to this but he wanted to take Mark with them. Paul did not want Mark to come along, because Mark apparently had “deserted them in Pamphylia and had not accompanied them in their work.” This caused an intense disagreement between Paul and Barnabas; so intense that they believed it was better to part company than to try and work it out. So, Paul chose Silas to journey with him, and they set off. As chapter 15 ends, Paul has also met Timothy and invited the young man to travel with them as well.

            If we were to go back and read the opening verses of our chapter, chapter 16, it would seem that Paul and company originally wanted to go to Asia and preach the gospel there, but the Holy Spirit forbade them from doing that. So they go a different way, through Phrygia and Galatia. They came opposite a place called Mysia, and from there they attempted to go into Bithynia, but the Spirit stopped them once again. Instead of going to Mysia, they went down to Troas. That night Paul had a vision – something that seems to happen quite often in this book of the unexpected. In the vision a man of Macedonia stood before Paul and pleaded with him to come to Macedonia and help them. This was all Paul needed to know that God was calling them to Macedonia. FYI: this is the moment when the good news of the gospel spread to the continent we know as Europe. So Paul and Silas and Timothy sail from Troas and eventually reach the city of Philippi. This was a Roman colony, which meant that it was occupied by mostly Gentile people. But even with this unexpected diversion in their travel plans, more unexpected was around the corner. .

            On the Sabbath, Paul and his companions went looking for a place to worship. Maybe there was no synagogue within the city gates. Maybe they wanted the peace of sitting by the river. Maybe they wanted to sing their version of “Shall We Gather at the River” as part of their devotionals. Whatever the reason, they apostles went outside the gates of the city assuming there would be a place to pray there. When they got there, there was a group of women gathered, and one of those women was Lydia. She was a God-worshiper, which can be understood as a Gentile who is not a Jewish convert but still worships the true God of Israel. 

            Even though we only have a few sentences about Lydia in this passage, we learn a lot about her. She was a dealer of purple cloth. To dye fabric or cloth purple was a time-consuming and expensive process. This means that only people of wealth and means would have been able to afford it, which also implies that the people who could afford it had power and influence as well as money. The folks who had the most wealth, influence, and power at that time were royalty, so purple was often reserved for that rank. If Lydia was a dealer of purple cloth, that meant that she rubbed shoulders with those same wealthy, influential people. And we can also assume that while she may not have been counted as royalty, she too had a certain amount of wealth and influence. She was most likely an entrepreneur, something that we don’t tend to associate with women from this time in history. And she was gathered with other women at the river, praying, when the apostles approached them.

            Lydia listened eagerly to Paul’s message, but it was God who opened her heart. God opened her heart to not only accept the gospel but to embrace it with her whole being – mind, body, spirit, heart. Her open heart led her and her entire household to be baptized right then. Again, this tells us that Lydia was the head of her own household – a reality we don’t often encounter. Lydia’s response to baptism, to God opening her heart, was hospitality. She insisted that Paul, Silas, Timothy, and any others who were traveling with them, stay with her. She welcomed them into her home, both in this moment and after Paul and Silas are released from prison later in the chapter. Lydia’s home became a spiritual and physical hub for all the believers in that place. Lydia not only offered hospitality in the moment, but her hospitality was ongoing, generous, and expansive.

            This is a nice, quiet story about a nice, quiet conversion. But what is the “so what” for us in it? What I mean by that, is what does this mean for us today? So what does it have to teach us?  So what does it reveal to us about our own faith and following? Does it call us to respond to God’s grace and goodness with our own hospitality? Certainly. But what is the unexpected? Paul and his fellow travelers certainly did not expect to end up in Philippi. They were planning on taking a very different route, but God had other plans. When they left the city gate and went to the river to pray, did they expect to meet a group of women gathered there? Probably not? And I suspect that they certainly did not expect to meet a female entrepreneur of means. I also suspect that they would not have expected her to have her heart opened by God, being baptized and welcoming them into her home and into her life.

            I think what this story teaches us is that God really does not respect the barriers and boundaries we erect between us and others, whoever those others happen to be. God is working outside of the gates we construct and calls us to step outside of the boundaries of those gates as well. This story is also enlightening about the status of women in the early church. Women were more than just unmentioned, unnamed people in the crowds. They were members, leaders, supporters, and influencers. Women may have been considered subservient by the culture, but not by God, and this would have been a revelation to those at that time just as it may be to us.

            This story demonstrates that God would not be bound by any other divisions, categories, or labels humans devised to separate one from another. Perhaps this is what is most unexpected of all – God opened the hearts of Jews and Gentiles, insiders and outsiders, men and women, poor and rich, young and old, and so on and so on. Whatever plans the apostles made, whatever expectations they may have had about their work, their call, their ministry, God reminded them again and again, that they were following God and not the other way around. When we follow God, truly follow God, trusting in the Holy Spirit to guide us, we should always expect the unexpected. And we should always follow with an open heart, because we just never know to where or whom God is going to lead us, but if it is God leading us, wherever we find ourselves is the place where we most need to be. And whoever may be placed in our path is the person or people we most need to encounter. If we are following God, following in the footsteps of Christ, and trusting in the power of the Holy Spirit, we should always expect the unexpected. And that is good news indeed. Thanks be to God.

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

            Amen.

 

Hindering God -- Fifth Sunday of Easter

Acts 11:1-18

May 18, 2025

            There is a high rise where Shakey’s Pizza used to be.

There is a high rise where Shakey’s Pizza used to be.

There. Is. A. Highrise. Where. Shakey’s Pizza. Used. To. Be.

I realize that this statement requires some unpacking to make sense to you, so here goes. Shakey’s Pizza was the “it” pizza place in Green Hills, the neighborhood in Nashville where Brent and I grew up.  Shakey’s was the place where I spent much of my teenage years. It was tradition to go to Shakey’s after football games. If you were on a date, before you would go home, you’d stop by Shakey’s to see who was there. Shakey’s is where I learned how to play two of my favorite video games, Centipede and Joust. Shakey’s is where we stopped by on prom night, before we went for our fancy dinner, because we were friends with the manager and the other employees and they wanted to see us dressed up. Shakey’s is where my longtime writer friend, Keith, would go in the afternoons when he got off work. He’d get something to eat and sit in a booth and write. When I got my driver’s license, I drove to Shakey’s. When my parents decreed that I could only see my boyfriend once a week, I would sneak off for a few minutes whenever I got the chance and we’d meet for a few minutes at Shakey’s. Trust me, my parents were not clueless, they knew what I was doing. Shakey’s is where we watched the premier of Michael Jackson’s Thriller video on the big screen.

Shakey’s was more than just a pizza parlor, it was a huge part of my life. And it wasn’t just a big part of my life only. Brent and my brother and sister and all their friends went to Shakey’s too. It was an institution for several generations of teenagers and families. Shakey’s is forever woven into my memories from that time. And now there is a high rise where Shakey’s once stood. And while I know that everything changes, nothing stays the same, I still get a lump in my throat when I see that high rise, because I remember vividly what was there before, and when I remember Shakey’s I remember being young and full of great expectations.

But … everything changes. Change can be hard. Change can be bad. But change can also be good. Sometimes it is necessary. Sometimes I crave change. I need to do something different – change my hair, rearrange the furniture, anything, just to create a little change. Yet, in the bigger picture, these are relatively small changes, and small changes generally don’t cause the same kind of stress that big changes do. (Although I will admit to having shed many tears over bad haircuts over the course of my life.)  I think though, that change, whether it is good or bad or somewhere in the middle, can be frightening because it represents the unknown and the uncertain. We often don’t know when we lean into change, whether it will be good, bad, or otherwise, and that’s what makes it scary. Maybe this change will be the best thing we ever did, or maybe it will turn out all wrong. We just don’t know. Sometimes what we think of as change that is bad – like a high rise where Shakey’s used to be – might end up being a good change after all. What we perceive to be bad change is really change that is necessary and needed, even though it is hard to go through. I think that is what Peter was faced with in the story we read from Acts.

            The apostles and believers who were in Judea heard that Gentiles – those others – had “accepted the word of God.” Apparently, this was  a change they were not prepared for, so as soon as Peter arrived in Jerusalem the other apostles wanted to know what happened. More specifically, these circumcised believers wanted to know why Peter, also a circumcised believer, ate with uncircumcised believers. They did not ask Peter about the Gentiles acceptance of God’s word or what that acceptance entailed. They wanted to know why Peter shared table fellowship with these others, because if they were not circumcised then they did not keep kosher. These uncircumcised others did not follow the strict dietary laws, so if Peter ate with them, it was a good bet that he had violated the dietary laws too. And if that were true, Peter had better have a good reason for doing what he did.

            Peter did have a good reason and his reason was sound. He recounted to them the vision he received. He was sitting on the roof where they were staying in Joppa. Peter was hungry, and while he was waiting for the meal that was being prepared, he fell into a trance and had a vision from God. In the vision he saw a sheet being lowered by its four corners from heaven. On that sheet was every kind of creature imaginable: mammals, birds, reptiles. Along with the sheet of critters came a voice telling him to get up, kill, and eat. It was the Lord speaking to Peter, but Peter refused God’s command.

            He told the Lord that he had never put anything profane or unclean in his body, and he was not about to start now. Three is a scripturally significant number, and as in other stories, this exchange with God happened three times. Three is also a significant number for Peter. Peter denied Jesus three times before the crucifixion. The resurrected Jesus gave Peter three chances to declare his love for Jesus, wiping out the three denials. And now God called Peter to kill and eat anything on that sheet three times. Three times Peter said, “No.” But after the second time the voice told Peter,

            “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.”

            The sheet was lifted back to heaven and Peter’s vision came to an end. But with the ending of the vision came the arrival of men sent by the centurion, Cornelius.

            Cornelius had also received a divine message. He was instructed by an angel to send for Peter. Peter went with the men. Cornelius and his whole household not only listened to Peter preach, but they also received the gift of the Holy Spirit and believed! Even though they were uncircumcised!

            Peter told Cornelius that it was unlawful for a Jew to associate with a Gentile, but he finally understood what God was telling him in his vision. The vision was not just about food. It was about people. If God commanded that people were clean, then he could not call them unclean. If the Gentiles, the others, the outsiders, could receive the Holy Spirit and believe just as Peter and the other apostles had, then who was Peter to hinder God? How could Peter say, “no” to God’s “Yes”? Who was Peter to hinder God?

            I think it is instinctive of our human nature to draw dividing lines between us and others. We like to create categories and impose labels. This category is good. That category is bad. This group of folks is good. That group of folks is bad. These people are acceptable, and those people are not. These are the insiders and those are the outsiders. We all do it. Certainly, Jesus’ first believers did it. Yet when Jesus was living among them, he spent a great deal of time blurring the lines society tried to maintain between people and groups. Heck, Jesus didn’t just blur those lines, he leaped right over them. If you recall, the cream of the religious crop of Jesus’ day had trouble with the folks Jesus chose to sit at table with. I guess it shouldn’t be surprising then, that table fellowship was causing problems all over again.

            And from the earliest stories in scripture, we learn that while God called the Israelites to be his chosen people, it was to bless not only the Israelites but all the people of the world through them. That was God’s covenant with Abram. Through you, God said, I will bless all the families of the world. No insiders. No outsiders. God’s children.

            So, Peter’s vision did not just dispel the idea of clean and unclean food. It made it clear that the dividing lines we draw between ourselves, and others are our lines, not God’s. They are us saying, “No!” even as God is saying, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” And Peter realized that in pushing back against God’s command in this vision, in trying to say, “No” to God’s “Yes”, Peter was hindering God. And who was he to hinder God?

            Who are we to hinder God?

            Last Sunday I talked about baptism as a sacrament of belonging, and I think it is this question of who belongs and who doesn’t that is the crux of this passage and indeed the gospel. Who belongs? Peter thought he knew. Peter thought he understood who was supposed to be in and who was supposed to be out. Peter thought he grasped belonging, especially when it came to being a follower of Jesus, to being a recipient of the Holy Spirit. But God made it clear to Peter that he did not know, and he did not understand. Do not call unclean what I have made clean. Do not try to dictate who belongs and who doesn’t. Do not say “No” when I have said, “Yes.” Who was Peter to hinder God? Who are we to hinder God?

            Peter realized that when he tried to control who belonged and who didn’t, he was hindering God, and to hinder God was to hinder the new thing God was doing. Peter was hindering God because he was resisting a change he wasn’t prepared for. Peter was resisting a change to something he held sacred his entire life. This must have been terrifying for him. This wasn’t just the change that comes when one business gives way to something new. This was change to something Peter believed to be unchangeable. Don’t call unclean what I have made clean. Don’t say “No” to my “Yes.”

            Who are we to hinder God? It seems to me that discipleship, following this narrow path that Jesus walked, is about embracing change, embracing the new thing God continues to do in our midst. It is about constantly learning and relearning that God will not be put into a box of our making, that when it comes to belonging, we don’t get the final say, that whatever boundaries or lines we draw around people, whatever labels we use and categories we create, God will not be bound or limited or hindered. And that means change and that is good news. It really is. Take it from someone who does not welcome change, this is good news. God is doing something new. We read it in Revelation, we see it in this and so many other passages from Acts, and this deep change is the heartbeat of all four gospels. God is doing something new, what we think is unclean, God is making clean, our no is outweighed by God’s great yes. God is doing something new, and no matter how we might try, we cannot hinder God. But let’s try harder not to hinder God from this moment on. God is doing something new. Thanks be to God.

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

            Amen.

           

           

 

 

 

The Lord Is My Shepherd -- Fourth Sunday of Easter

John 10:22-30

May 11, 2025

 

            Some of you may remember the iconic RCA Victor advertising image of the little black and white dog sitting very still in front of the large bell of a gramophone, listening. The caption for the advertisement read, “His Master’s Voice.” The original painting that spurred the later advertisements, was of a real dog named Nipper who lived in Britian in the late 19^th century. There’s an interesting history about Nipper and how the original painting came to be, but I’ll leave that for you to research in your own time. Suffice it to say that the image of the little dog, Nipper, listening to his master’s voice was everywhere – at least that’s how I remember it. It was on RCA record labels, and it was recreated on what we now as “merch.” It is an iconic image.

            When I first moved to New York State – a thousand years ago – I lived south of the capital, Albany, but served a church on the north side of the city. So, I often had to drive into Albany, and in an older neighborhood there was a building that must have once been an RCA building, because sitting on its roof was Nipper! Well, it was a large sculpture of Nipper, listening, even though there was no gramophone in front of him. I started thinking of that building as somehow belonging to the dog, and I drove by it every chance I could. My life was and is a pretty noisy affair most days. It’s filled with a variety of voices and other sounds, music, television, street noises, cars, sirens. And even when I’m quiet and have shut out the sounds from the outside, it’s not necessarily quiet in my own head. My mind feels like it is constantly whirring with worries and questions and to-do lists and random trains of thought traveling in every direction. I find the picture of the little dog listening to his master’s voice not only sweet but peaceful. How wonderful it would be to focus so completely on that one voice, that one sound, and not be distracted by every other sound and noise out there. I wish that I had the ability to do that better, and I wish it because there is one voice that I would very much love to hear more often, but it is a still, small voice. It is a voice that often gets lost in the din of all the other voices. The voice that I long to hear more clearly and more often is the voice of God. If God still clearly speaks to people from the heavens or in burning bushes or through prophets, then I’m not privy to it. Or maybe the voice of God is there, but everything else in my life is so noisy, including all that’s happening in my own head, that I just can’t hear it.

            I can blame my inability to hear the divine voice on all the noise in my life – external and internal. But what about the people who confront Jesus in our passage from John’s gospel? What’s their excuse? It was at the festival of Dedication and Jesus was walking in the portico of Solomon. This was the area of the temple where the kings would sit and issue decrees of justice.  As Jesus is walking, the religious authorities come to him and say,

“How long will you keep us in suspense?  If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.”

One commentator writes that there are two ways to look at this question posed by the people who confront Jesus. One is that this is a politically charged question. The people questioning him may have been trying to give him enough rope in a sense. If he answers that he is in fact the messiah, then they can charge him with blasphemy. The second understanding of their question is that these are people who just want to understand who Jesus is. They don’t ask this question to trick or trap Jesus. They ask him because they want to understand, they want to grasp his identity.

In earlier verses it says that the people were divided over Jesus, so scholars suggest it is reasonable to see both angles at play. But I think that what is more important is how Jesus responds.

“I have told you, and you do not believe. The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me; but you do not believe, because you do not belong to my sheep. My sheep hear my voice.  I know them, and they follow me.”

 My sheep hear my voice. The implication is that if these folks really were believers, they would hear his voice. They would have already figured it out. And Jesus makes it clear that his voice is heard most loudly, most clearly in his works. He does works in his Father’s name and those works testify to him. They testify to his identity. His works proclaim beyond any words he might say that he is in fact the Messiah. The passage then ends with Jesus saying, “The Father and I are one.”

Biblical commentator Gail O’Day writes that the Greek that is translated as “one” in the New Revised Standard Version is not speaking so much about Jesus and God being one person or one essence or one being. Instead it means that the Father and the Son are “united” together.  Jesus’ works are united with his Father’s. When you see what Jesus does, you see what God does. So, if you believe that Jesus and God are united, if you recognize that Jesus’ works of grace and mercy and healing are God’s works, then you are a believer and therefore you hear clearly hear Jesus’ voice. You are one of his sheep. His sheep hear his voice. Anyone who doesn’t is not a believer. After all, Jesus seems to say it plainly.

“You do not believe, because you do not belong to my sheep.”

But what about those of us who believe and yet we struggle to hear his voice? What about those of us who believe but also doubt, who wrestle with our faith? Does this mean that we are on the outs, out of the fold, out of the flock?

Theologian Debie Thomas has also struggled with this pronouncement from Jesus. She writes that she could assume it does not apply to her because she is a cradle believer, knows the bible, reads her prayers, engages in the liturgy, etc. And yet there are many times when she struggles, struggles to hear the voice of Jesus in a world that is not only noisy but violent, in a world where death strikes down innocents and justice seems but a dream. Does that put her outside of the fold just as I worry it does me? As Thomas wrote, Jesus’ words suggest that belonging is predicated on believing, but in fact he is saying the opposite. In Thomas’ words, “You struggle to believe because you don’t consent to belong.” It isn’t the belief that comes first, it is the belonging.

“You struggle to believe because you don’t consent to belong.”

Time and again, Jesus has shown the people around him, including the religious authorities, that he and the Father are one. The works that he does are possible because he and God are united. But still people don’t believe because they refuse to belong. They refuse to submit to the possibility that through Jesus God is showing them a different way – to be, to live, to love. They refuse to belong so they cannot begin to believe.

We long to belong – to something, to someone. I don’t think there is a human in this world who doesn’t want to belong somewhere, somehow. It seems to me that Jesus is trying to tell those who question him that they choose to belong to groups that give them power and groups that give them prestige, but they refuse to belong to the One who gives them life. Belonging comes first and belief follows. If we are willing to belong, we will find our way to belief.

In a few minutes we will baptize baby Noelle. There are folks at different points along the theological spectrum who argue with infant baptism, saying that it must be a conscious choice on the part of the believer. I understand their thinking. A baby cannot make that choice, so those who don’t support infant baptism view it at worst as invalid, and at the least lacking in theological soundness. My standard response to this argument is that the reason we baptize babies and children is because we believe that God’s grace is alive and working in our lives whether we know it or not, and baptism is the sign and seal of God’s grace. I still unequivocally believe this to be true. But I also realize that our baptism is also a profound act of belonging. In her baptism today, we know that Noelle cannot make a profession of faith for herself. We know that she cannot answer questions about scripture or tell us in ten words or less why she believes, why she loves Jesus.

But what we do in this moment is tell her, even though she cannot understand it on an intellectual level yet, that she belongs. She belongs to her family, she belongs to this family, she belongs to the Church Universal, she belongs, most importantly to God. She is a child of God and a child of the covenant, and she belongs. Belief will come, and all the struggles and the joys that come with it. But she belongs. So do we all. Wherever you are on this day with your faith, whether you are struggling or doubting or wrestling or resting, you belong. That still, small voice is speaking, calling us to come into the fold, to trust, to allow ourselves to belong to the One who is our Shepherd. We belong. Belief will come. But we belong and that makes all the difference. Thanks be to God.

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

Amen.

Blinded By the Light

Acts 9:1-20

May 4, 2025

 

            The first car that I ever purchased for myself, by myself, completely by myself, was my Ford Fusion. It was the car that I was driving when I first came here to the church. I drove the heck out of it, then I passed it onto Phoebe who drove it not quite into the ground, but pretty close. We made that car go for as long as it possibly could. As I said, this was the first car I ever purchased just me. Before that I had others along to help me. But I bought this car all on my own. It was a momentous step for me, and I was proud that I negotiated it by myself. I did call my dad a few times to get his thoughts, but he was not there with me during the negotiations. It was just me and I was proud of me and proud of the car. But I hadn’t been driving it very long when I realized there was one design issue that I didn’t like. That car had terrible blind spots. I bought it before backup cameras were commonplace, and I quickly learned that I had to be extra cautious when I was backing out or changing lanes, because other cars could zip up on me and I wouldn’t see them until they were right there. Every car has some blind spots, but the blind spots on that car could be challenging.

            Blind spots are not reserved for vehicles only. We humans also seem to have built-in blind spots. I won’t make the claim that these blind spots are design flaws, but everything that goes into making us us – our families, our culture, our education, our region, our entire context – influences how we view the world around us, and these things can contribute to our blind spots. We see and interact with the world through particular lenses; and while those lenses allow us to see so much, they also make it easy to block things out as well. Blind spots.

            When I was studying this passage from Acts, I thought I knew everything about it. After all, the story of Saul’s conversion experience on the road to Damascus is one I know well. At least I thought I did. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t know or was aware of this story. I remember seeing this story enacted on felt boards when I was a little girl in Sunday school. And felt boards were the height of technology when I was a kid. I probably heard this story read in picture books. It’s just one that I’ve always known – or thought I did. Here is the way I have always heard it.

            Saul, who was the bad guy because he hated Christians, was on the road to Damascus. He had permission from the church leaders – also bad guys – to round up even more of Jesus’ followers when he reached Damascus. But while he was on the way, he was suddenly blinded by a great light, the light, from heaven. The light was so bright and so strong it knocked him down, and he was lying, blind, on the ground when a voice spoke to him from the heavens. It was Jesus’ voice. And Jesus asked Saul, this bad guy, why Saul was persecuting him. Saul did not understand. He asked who it was that talking to him from this great heavenly, blinding light. Jesus answered that it was Jesus, and then he told Saul to get up and go to the city and he would be told what to do. Saul, who could not see because he had been blinded by the light, was helped by the others around him and taken to Damascus. A man named Ananias, who had also heard instructions from Jesus, went and met him. When Ananias laid hands on Saul, and told Saul that he had been sent by Jesus so that Saul could regain his sight and be filled with the Holy Spirit, scales fell from Saul’s eyes. And, just as Ananias said, he could see again. Only this time, he really could see. He could see that Jesus was the true Son of God. He could see that he was now called to a different way, the way of discipleship, the way of following. He could really see. Saul, the bad guy, would be transformed to Paul, the good guy. In being blinded by the light, his blind spots about Christians were gone.

            As I said, I thought I knew this story frontwards, backwards, and sideways. I’ve preached it. I’ve studied it, and Saul was always the bad guy. But then I read an essay by a biblical scholar who pointed out that Saul did not consider himself to be a bad guy. Saul was doing what he thought he was called to do. He thought he was ridding the faith of corruption. He thought he was purifying the faith from evil. He thought he was saving the Jewish people, God’s chosen ones, from being led astray and led to their destruction. Perhaps the first thought that crossed his mind when he was knocked down and blinded by the light, when he heard Jesus’ voice speaking from heaven, was, “Who me? I’m not persecuting anybody. I’m doing God’s work.” Because maybe, just maybe, Saul thought he was the good guy.

            This new aspect on Saul reveals two things to me: Saul had his own blind spots; he was beset by them. And I also have a big blind spot when it comes to this story. I thought I knew it so well, but how could I have never considered that Saul thought that he was in the right and doing the right thing? Saul thought he was executing God’s will. Saul probably thought he was the good guy. He had a big blind spot, and when it comes to Saul, so do I.

            I know that I have many more blind spots than just this one concerning Saul. At this point in my sermons, I will often say, “And I don’t think I’m alone in this.” I’m going to say that now. I don’t think I’m alone in this. I don’t think I’m alone in having blind spots. We all have blind spots. When my eyes were opened to this revelation about Saul, I realized that this story has many more layers to it than I’ve given it credit for.

            It is a story of transformation, true. It is a story about God working through unlikely people, true. After all, Ananias and the other believers knew about Saul and didn’t want anything to do with him. But perhaps there is another layer of meaning to this story as well. Perhaps it is also a cautionary tale. It warns us of the dangers of thinking that we know God’s mind and that we are privy to every working of God’s heart. It reminds us that because we don’t know fully, we need to check ourselves when we try to decide what is pure and what is not; and more importantly who is pure and who is not. Saul was on a purity campaign. He wanted to get rid of the negative elements he believed were leading Gods’ people astray. He thought he was a good guy, a faithful guy. He thought he knew what God’s will was, only to find out that he had been wrong. He found out that he had been blind long before he was blinded by the light.

            Our blind spots can cause us to wreak havoc on one another and on God’s creation. The Church as a body, an institution, has had many blind spots and caused great harm because of them. We, none of us, and I’m pointing the finger at myself, can know the fullness of God’s heart, and the bible is full of stories about God working through the unlikeliest of people. Saul is one of many. But in saying this, I’m not saying that everyone is just all okay and groovy and if we think someone is wrong about something, it is only because of a blind spot on our part. No. People do wrong things, terrible, evil things. And we are called to speak out against evil. But we are also called to remember that we have blind spots, all of us, and that we only see in part. That’s why being a disciple is so difficult.

            Recognizing that we all have blind spots and that there are many other perspectives is not an excuse for allowing injustice to continue. But calling out injustice, working against it, is not the same as trying to rid a community or the world of people we think are wrong. Blind spots, when taken to the extreme, have resulted in some of the greatest atrocities in history.

            Yet acknowledging that we have blind spots, we all have blind spots, is the first step in seeing that God’s will and God’s understanding is so much bigger than we can grasp. Anne Lamott, one of my personal heroes, wrote that she knows she has made God in her image when it turns out that God hates all the same people she does. Blind spots.

            Realizing that we have blind spots and accepting that God works through people we consider to be unlikely is the fist step in trusting God more than we trust in ourselves. Recognizing and acknowledging that we have our own blind spots, that we cannot fully see what God sees, sit to remember that we are made in God’s image and not the other way around. We all have blind spots. But the good news is that God does not. God sees what we cannot see. God understands what we cannot understand. And the really good news is that God sees us, sees our every flaw, sees our sometimes misguided good intentions, sees in us what we cannot always see in ourselves. God sees the whorl of God’s fingerprint in us, all of us. Because in spite of our blind spots, our flaws, our missteps, our sins, God sees us and loves us. May we do our best to overcome our blind spots and see others and ourselves in the same way.

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

            Amen.

Back to the Boat -- Stated Meeting of the Presbytery of Middle Tennessee

John 21:1-19

May 3, 2025

 

            When my daughter, Phoebe, was just a few months old, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. She and my dad were coming to visit their new granddaughter in just a few days, when she called me to tell me that her treatment would require a mastectomy. But her oncologist agreed that the surgery could wait to be scheduled until after their visit to us. This was good news and a tiny thread of a silver lining in the midst of such unwelcome and unnerving news about her health. Just fyi: my mom’s cancer was caught very early, she made it through the surgery fine, and we had her in our lives for almost another 30 years.

            But none of us could predict the future at the time of that call and that traumatic diagnosis, so when I hung up with my mom, I did what I often do when everything around me seems out-of-control and unmanageable – I vacuumed. It’s hard to come to terms with the fact that we control very little in our lives. And I confess that in my heart of hearts what I want most of all is control. I want to control my future. I want to control my present. I want to control the context and circumstances that surround the people I love. Yet when confronted with my mom’s cancer and, even more so, her mortality, which pushed me to confront my own, I did the one thing I knew to do – I vacuumed. Fretting and worrying over mom was not going to get my rugs clean, so it was back to the vacuum for me. And a funny thing which I found out later was that my mom did the exact same thing on her end. She hung up the phone with me and started to vacuum. Like mother, like daughter. I guess some things just don’t change.

            But almost two weeks ago, we remembered and celebrated an event that is supposed to change everything. As it happens every year, Easter arrives with great flourish, ceremony, celebration, music, singing, alleluias, joy, crosses filled with flowers, church pews overflowing with family and friends – and then on Monday the world seems to move inexorably on. Friends and family continue to be diagnosed with cancer. People still die tragically and too young. Wars and violence seem to overwhelm any of the work toward peace. The chains of poverty and oppression remain unbroken. And there are times during this life inexorable that our attempts to be faithful, to answer the call to be disciples seem futile at best. And even though we, all of us believers, declare every year that we are Easter people, and that we will live every day from now in the light of the Easter promise, our lives return to “normal” too. We return to our routines and go about our daily lives with their work and play, joy and sorrow, and nothing really seems to have changed at all.

            From our passage at the end of John’s gospel, it looks as though even the disciples, the ones who were the immediate witnesses to these dramatic events – crucifixion, resurrection – have also returned to life as usual. In these verses before us, John gives an account of a third post-resurrection appearance by Jesus to the disciples. The risen Christ appears to them once more. But where are they? And what are they doing? Seven of the disciples are gathered by the Sea of Tiberius. They are not there preaching to anyone who might be with them on the beach. They are not there brainstorming the ways they will take the good news of the gospel to the crowds. They just seem to be there – maybe waiting, quite possibly feeling lost, confused, and afraid. We don’t really know what they are doing or why, but in a somewhat impulsive move Simon Peter decides to go fishing. In my imagination, Peter is restless and agitated. He can’t just sit there anymore; he must do something. It must have felt like his whole world was crumbling, and everything he thought he understood no longer made sense. So, he did the one thing he knew he could do – fish. I vacuum. Peter fished. Peter announces that he is going fishing. The others follow his lead. It’s as if they all think, “Well, Jesus may be resurrected, whatever that means, but that won’t put food on the table so let’s get back to the boats.”

            And back to the boats they go. They sit in the boat all night but catch nothing. Just after daybreak Jesus stands on the shore. Although the disciples have already seen him twice before, they do not recognize him. Jesus speaks to them about their predicament and tells them to cast their nets to the right side of the boat. They do what he tells them, and suddenly there’s more fish than they can haul into shore. This is the moment when the beloved disciple recognizes Jesus. When the disciples drag their full nets ashore, Jesus is waiting for them with a fire, saying, “Come and have breakfast.” In a eucharistic moment, Jesus breaks the bread and the fish and gives it to them.

            After this breakfast of fish and bread, Jesus asks Simon Peter three times if he loves him. And three times Peter answers, “I love you, Lord.” The third time Peter is hurt because Jesus continues to question him about Peter’s love for his teacher. So on this third go round, he answers, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus responds as he has twice before, “Feed my sheep.”

            I believe that it is widely accepted that Jesus’ purpose in asking Peter this question of his love for him three times was to cancel out Peter’s three denials of him before the crucifixion. Peter denied Jesus three times, and in turn, Jesus gives him three chances to restate his love. Jesus offers Peter forgiveness and commissions him with a ministry and mission. Feed my sheep.

            I think a lot about Peter in this moment. I think the guilt and shame he must have been feeling when this story begins was overwhelming. No pun intended; he must have been swimming in guilt. I find it interesting that before Jesus meets them on the beach, Peter not only decides to go fishing, but he also decides to do the work without clothes on. While this may be strange to us, it probably wasn’t to them. Perhaps it was hot. I suspect that trying to haul in large nets of fish in a robe, especially a robe with long sleeves that hindered movement would have been challenging.

            But I also think that Peter’s nakedness reveals his vulnerability and his shame. When he realizes that it is Jesus on the shoreline calling them in, Peter jumps into the sea to hide himself. It reminds me of the moment in the Garden of Eden when Adam and Eve hide themselves from God because they are naked and feel ashamed. So Peter is vulnerable, and Peter is ashamed, not just at being caught without clothes, but because of what he did and what he didn’t do. But Peter is given another chance. Peter is shown grace. For every time he denied Jesus, he is given another chance to declare his love, and to accept his call to serve. Feed my sheep.

            Perhaps this is part of the deeper meaning of this third resurrection appearance. It’s not about proving that Jesus is actually risen. The disciples have already seen him twice before. It seems to me that this third appearance was to offer Peter the grace he needed to do the work that lay ahead. It was to show Peter and the other disciples that just as death was not the end, resurrection is not an end in itself either. It is a new beginning. Peter and the others have a new call now. They must go back to their boats and fish for people. They must share the good news of the gospel. They must feed Jesus’ sheep. There are still so many people, so many sheep, who need to be fed, flocks that need to be gathered, lost ones who need to be found. It may seem that nothing had changed, that life and its sorrows had gone relentlessly on, but Jesus’ presence with them on that beach tells them otherwise. Everything has changed. And they are called to be a part of it. They must go back to their boats. They must try again.

            This ministry, their work and mission and call, will require all their persistence, all their determination. all their love and fortitude and perseverance. Most of all, it will take courage.

            We know that the disciples find their courage, because they go on to teach and preach and heal and participate in the miraculous ways of God empowered and emboldened by the Holy Spirit. Peter and the others feed Jesus’ sheep and so much more.

            But what about us? Was two weeks ago a dressed up, hopped up version of just another Sunday or has everything changed? And if it is the latter, then we also must find our courage. It takes courage just to live these days, especially these days. It takes courage to follow the gospel. It takes courage to lead and teach and preach and to try and be the human that Jesus was and to follow the Christ that Jesus is. It takes courage to live the gospel, because it is counter-intuitive to everything else in the world around us. And some days its really hard to do. It takes courage to try, and it takes even more to try again because no amount of vacuuming on my part will give me the control I so long for. I need to find my courage to trust God more than I trust myself. I need courage to do the work that I am called to do, to feed God’s sheep. I need courage, the courage that can only be found in God, and so do you. In this work we do today, may we find the courage we need, the boldness we need, the power we need – from God and from one another – to share the gospel, to speak truth to power, to live into the promise of Easter, to feed Gods’ sheep.

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

            Amen.