Acts

Scriptural Sermons

New Testament: Acts

By Rebecca Clancy September 15, 2021
Acts 2:22-24 Matthew 22:35-37
By Rebecca Clancy March 26, 2021
As newly called conscripts, Jesus’ disciples made up a decidedly ragtag corps. Jesus’ first conscripts were Peter and his brother Andrew. Peter and Andrew were, as we all know, fishermen. It’s safe to conclude that Peter was the dominant brother. Peter was always the one to take the lead. He was always the first to speak up. And he was always right at Jesus’ side. In fact, for many key parts of Jesus’ ministry, Andrew was nowhere to be found. He was probably sick of being in Peter’s shadow all the time. No doubt he had been there his whole life long. Jesus’ next conscripts were James and his brother John. Again, they were fishermen. James and John were nicknamed the Sons of Thunder. They must have been fishermen with attitudes. And their attitudes toward Peter and Andrew could only have been competitive. How could it be otherwise? Two sets of brothers? Both sets fishermen? One set nicknamed the Sons of Thunder? And in fact, James and John were known for being competitive. They once took Jesus aside and requested the number two and number three positions in whatever it was that Jesus was hatching. They weren’t even sure exactly what it was, but they were sure that they deserved to have higher positions than the others. Jesus’ next conscript was Matthew. Matthew was not, thank heavens, a fisherman. Had he been a fisherman, it would have complexified group dynamics beyond confusion. Matthew was, rather, a toll collector. This, in fact, would have clarified group dynamics. The four fishermen now had a common enemy. Toll collectors were collaborators with Rome. Not only did they collect tolls from the peoples Rome occupied to pay for their use of Roman roads, but they were notorious for overcharging then skimming off the top. Where there is money, of course, corruption is in the wings. The fishermen may have had their personality flaws – birth order issues, delusions of grandeur, and the like -- but at least they were not traitors and thieves. No doubt the plot thickened with the conscript Judas. Judas was a zealot. You could say that zealots were the opposite of toll collectors. Toll collectors were collaborationists. Zealots were insurrectionists. Zealots opposed Roman occupation with fanatical and violent zeal – hence the name zealot. Their modus operandi was guerrilla warfare. They were known to have mingled among crowds with daggers concealed in their cloaks with which they stabbed Roman sympathizers. This definitely discouraged Roman sympathizers. Rome, in turn, invented the crucifix to discourage Zealots. You can imagine the dynamics between Matthew the collaborationist and Judas the rebel - not exactly kissing cousins. And then there were the rest of the conscripts – Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, James, the son of Alphaeus, Thaddaeus, and Simon. Not much is written about them, because there was probably not much to write. We could presume them to be slackers. All Thomas is known for, for example, is his doubt. Yes, the newly called conscripts made up a decidedly ragtag corps. It’s a wonder they could be in the same room together. As far as I can make out, they had but one thing in common. They all hoped to get something out of Jesus. They had taken a risk in reporting for duty, albeit not much of one. They didn’t have that much to lose. A toll collector? A zealot? A quartet of fishermen? A handful of slackers? They definitely had more to gain than to lose. But none the less they had taken a risk in reporting for duty. None of them were quite sure what Jesus was establishing, but he was establishing something, and in taking a risk in reporting for duty, they had staked their claim. And now it was payoff time. Jesus was finally getting down to brass tacks. He had made a name for himself throughout all the land through his provocative words and works. He had processed into Jerusalem to public accolades. He had captured the interest of every Jew in the city. The momentum made it certain. The disciples would now receive what they hoped to get out of Jesus. Visions danced in their heads – the fishermen, of prestigious appointments; the toll collector, of money; the zealot, of the overthrow of Rome; the slackers, of sinecures. Jesus had gathered them all together in one room. Their eyes were fixed on him with anticipation. And what did Jesus do? He washed their feet. Peter, true to his personality, would have none of it. That was a servant’s job, and a servant’s most menial job - to wash feet caked with sweat and dirt and dust. Peter sat stupefied with horror as Jesus took off his outer robe and kneeled down before him, “Lord are you’re going to wash my feet?” he cried in dismay. Jesus persevered, saying, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” Jesus tried to impress upon his disciples again and again that even in their incomprehension they must trust him, but it was always for naught, as it was now. Peter declared defiantly, “You will never wash my feet.” But Jesus was not to be dissuaded. “Unless I wash your feet, you have no share in me.” Jesus was now threatening to disown Peter, and this was not lost on him. He repented immediately, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” But Jesus’ intention was not to be altered. And so, he washed their feet. And when he had finished, he attempted to explain why he had done so. “If I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. I have set an example that you should do as I have done to you.” So that was it? That was what they were going to get out of Jesus? Jesus was nothing more than a servant, and they were expected to be the servants of a servant? There’s only one way it could have been any worse. They could have been expected to be the servants of a servant of a servant. Had they had time to consider the matter, they would have surely decided to pack it in. First thing in the morning, it would have been back to the nets, back to the toll booth, back to schemes to overthrow Rome, back to the slacking. But they hadn’t time to consider the matter. Before the next day dawned Jesus was arrested by his enemies, and the chain of events was set in motion that would lead to his execution. All this renders downright inexplicable that some few weeks later, Peter and John, no longer ragtag in any sense of the word, now in perfect harmony of purpose, were about the streets of Jerusalem healing in Jesus’ name. For instance, they encountered a crippled beggar at the gates of the temple, that same temple that Jesus had lately cleansed. Peter declared to him, “I have no silver or gold, but what I have I give you, in the name of Jesus Christ, stand up and walk.” And he did. And not only were they healing in Jesus’ name, they had taken up Jesus’ cause over against his enemies. And when Jesus’ enemies began to persecute the disciples as they had Jesus, Peter with perfect courage of conviction, proclaimed, “If we are questioned because of a good deed done to someone who was sick…let be known to all of you, that this man is standing before you in good health by the name of Jesus Christ, whom you crucified, but whom God raised from death…. ‘the stone that was rejected by the builder, has become the corner stone.’ There is salvation in no one else.” The disciples had become servants of the servant - and with no hesitation, reluctance, trepidation, or equivocation. Just the opposite, in fact. They were sure. They were enthusiastic. They were fearless. They were convicted. And so, what did the disciples come to learn between then and now? They came to learn the qualitative difference between what they wanted to get out of Jesus and what Jesus wanted to get out of them. What they wanted to get out of Jesus was in service to themselves. It was, therefore, selfish. And it was worthless, really, of no real value or substance. It would live with them so long as they lived, and then it would die with them. But what Jesus wanted to get out of them was service to humankind in his way of redemption. It was, therefore, selfless. And it was worthy, of real value and substance. And, yes, it would live with them so long as they lived, but it would never die, just as he never died. It was just like he had taught. It was a treasure hidden in a field which someone found and, in his joy went and sold all he had to buy that field. It was the one pearl of great value who someone sold all he had to buy. And learning the qualitative difference between what they wanted to get out of Jesus and what Jesus wanted to get out of them, learning the qualitative difference between service to themselves and service to humankind in his way of redemption made all the difference in their lives. And it makes all the difference in our lives as well. Friends, he conscripts us too to be servants of the servant; and so, “Be imitators of Christ, and live in love, as Christ loves us and gave himself up for us…” Amen.
By Rebecca Clancy May 18, 2020
When I had my first child Hannah, I was surprised to discover that I had been endowed with a lion’s share, a mother lion’s share, of maternal instinct. I was, in particular, fiercely protective. Hannah’s entire first year I never left her, except once with my sister; and then only because she dared me. I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I went for a walk. It was a grueling thirty minutes. When I returned, I could tell Hannah had been crying. “What do you expect?” My sister asked me. “You’ve never left her.” But Hannah’s tears were scarcely an inducement for me to leave her again. My maternal instinct did not decrease after Hannah’s first year. If anything, it increased. When Hannah was four years old, my mother suggested that I enroll her in preschool. I looked at her in horror and disbelief as though she had just suggested that I cook and eat her. “Preschool!” I spat. “Those places are breeding grounds for bullies and germs. How could you even suggest such a thing!” “Becca,” my mom said, and she was not one to interfere, “Hannah needs to learn how to get along with her peers and to function in a different environment. Above all she needs to be without your constant oversight.” “How would she know the first thing about motherhood?” I fumed to myself. But I couldn’t quite dismiss my mother’s suggestion, because deep down I knew that she was right. So I signed Hannah up for preschool. On the ride there that first day my anxiety and dread were intense. Things were made worse by the fact that Hannah was shy and sensitive by nature. I walked her to the door of her classroom and was allowed to go no further. Her teacher took her by the hand and led her off. She was trying to be brave, but I could tell she was miserable and terrified. I called to her, in a voice I could hardly recognize as my own, to have fun. Then she turned around, and our eyes met. Profound communication can take place in the meeting of eyes. Recall for instance this scene, “….still another kept insisting, ‘Surely this man also was with him; for he is a Galilean.' But Peter said, ‘Man, I do not know what you are talking about!’ At that moment, while he was still speaking, the cock crowed. The Lord turned and looked at him…and he went out weeping.” What was communicated in the meeting of Jesus and Peter’s eyes was their mutual recognition of Peter’s betrayal. What was communicated in the meeting of Hannah’s and my eyes was the mutual recognition that she must now begin to grow up and make her own way in life. I don’t know who it was harder on, Hannah or me. Hannah is an adult now, with a son of her own. She’s still my daughter of course, but I now see her as a woman in her own right. Her ongoing experiences coming of age have broadening her horizons in ways I never could have imagined or orchestrated and made her independent and self-reliant. We went to the park last Sunday. When I saw her interacting with her son, suddenly, out of nowhere, my eyes welled with tears. A child leaving the nest and making her own way in life can be hard on both child and parent, but I think it is harder on the parent. But why is this the case? Why is it hard on either and at all? Any alternative to a child leaving the nest and making her own way in life can only result in a grotesque distortion of the natural course of life. Isn’t it, after all, the very goal of both the child and the parent for the child to leave the nest and make her own way in life? Then why is it hard at all? I guess as life goes on it is hard because it marks the passage of time. Time always seems to be nudging us along faster than we want to go. But initially, it’s hard because there is such a powerful instinct in both parent and child with regard to the child’s security. When the child is very young, if life is not too cruel and harsh, she can create and live for a time in that security. But it can’t stay that way. The child must grow up and make her own way in life, life that is indeed cruel and harsh. That is why it is hard initially. A child growing up and making her own way in life involves, to a degree, leaving her to life. It involves risk to that which it is unthinkable to risk. Familiar realities can sometimes help us to understand realities less familiar. How hard it must have been on Jesus and the disciples for the disciples to come of age. The disciples had left everything behind to follow Jesus. Everything behind. This is nearly impossible to imagine. Try to imagine leaving behind all those things on which you depend – family, home, vocation. But they did. They left everything behind and depended instead upon Jesus. And along the way, they formed a deep attachment to him. How could they not have? Jesus, being the man he was, was a man of tremendous authority and integrity, tremendous power and wisdom – you could even say perfect authority and integrity, perfect power and wisdom. Yet at the same time he was so incredibly human, so incredibly relational, so incredibly vulnerable. They depended upon him, yes, but too they loved him. And Jesus, for his part, loved them back. He indeed looked to them for friendship and support. And too, Jesus was well aware of that to which he would subject them. It’s easy to see why he felt such compassion and tenderness toward them, why he was forbearing of their foibles, he who would deliver those who depended upon him and loved him up to such trials. And so the coming of age of the disciples played out. It is scarcely surprising that when Jesus first announced to them that it was not to be as they thought, that in fact his death was immanent, they reacted to his announcement with denial. But denial, of course, does not change reality. It only evades it. Jesus went to his cross and to his death. But Jesus knew, at least, that he wasn’t leaving them for long. It was just as he had assured them, “In a little while you will no longer see me, but in a little while, you will see me again.” Before the disciples could even have assimilated his death, before their shock could have worn off – Friday afternoon till Sunday morning – he was back among them. He was not the same, to be sure. He was transfigured, just as some of them had seen him on the mountaintop. I’d wager that despite all that his transfiguration portended, they would have preferred him just as he’d been. But at least he was back among them. And this time for forty days. At the end of the forty days he instructed his disciples to go to Jerusalem. They went thinking that Jesus would there at long last inaugurate the kingdom of Israel. But instead, in Jerusalem, he left them again. He ascended into heaven. And this time he left them for good. They would never see him again. He would be with them henceforward, they were soon to discover, only in spirit – the same way that he is with us -- in spirit, a spirit in which we believe, a spirit in which and for which we live, but a spirit which can be so deficient compared to our need for the fullness of him. Why couldn’t he have just stayed? Why couldn’t the disciples have had that much security in this harsh and cruel world? Why couldn’t we? But perhaps Jesus left us with just his spirit precisely so that we could come of age. Perhaps he left us with just his spirit so that we could grow in the conviction of things not seen. Perhaps he left us with just his spirit so that we could struggle to achieve what he taught us was the truth for time and history –the brotherhood and sisterhood of all humankind under the rule of love. Perhaps he left us with just his spirit because he realized that in the course of that struggle we could achieve a maturation for which we were intended. But given this harsh and cruel world, I don’t know who it is harder on, him or us? Probably, as with the parent and child, it is harder on him. And so, when he comes again in glory, when we finally know that eternal security with him he has promised us, let it have been our contribution to have indeed been a people come of age. Amen.
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