Living in Faith
Commentary
Living by faith implies both belief and action. Sometimes that’s described as faith versus works, as if it were possible to have one without the other. However, the assumption of the good news is that having one will lead to the other. Indeed, it demands it. In this week’s passage in Acts, the extraordinary faith of the believers leads to the extraordinary action of erasing the seemingly unbridgeable gap between the unimaginably rich and indescribably poor of the Roman world. The First Letter of John insists that if we are followers of Jesus we can’t help being light — and if we have no light we are not followers of Jesus. Finally, Jesus explains that his works illuminate our faith, our beliefs, about the nature of our relationship with God.
Acts 4:32-35
I belong to a group known as the Church of the Brethren, a group dedicated to determining our faith and practice through the mutual study of scripture by believers. Now I suspect we’re no more successful at this than anybody else, but that’s the ideal. Harmony is achieved together.
There can be false starts. The first Brethren baptism was in 1708, in one of the German states. The Brethren spent a few decades struggling in Europe before emigrating to Pennsylvania in 1719 and 1729. In between our founding and our exodus, Brethren studied the scriptures and came up with two decisions. First, because the end of the world was looming it seemed that the apostle Paul was calling the church to practice celibacy. They also decided that they would share all their worldly possessions in common, after this passage in The Acts of the Apostles.
As it turned out, one of their important leaders in Colonial America, Sander Mack, was conceived while his father and mother were supposedly practicing celibacy. Incorrectly, obviously. It didn’t work. And by the time they came to America, they no longer had a common purse — but they intentionally shared with everyone who had need, with the result that some church leaders were impoverished, gladly, because of their support of both members of the church and members of the communities in which they lived. They returned to scripture study and decided both decisions were incorrect and together they reinterpreted the scriptures.
Sometimes when two new piano students get together, they sit down at the keyboard and begin to play the Frank Loesser/Hoagy Carmichael song “Heart and Soul.” Somebody plays the simple chord progression on the left side of the piano while the other, with one finger, plunks out the melody. There’s a certain satisfaction for the newbies to magically create harmony. Any good player can do much better, playing with both hands, filling out the simple left-hand chords and right-hand melodies with wonderful complexities, but that doesn’t take away from the absolute wonder, joy, and delight felt by those struggling with their first lessons, their fingers aching, to do something that sounds like harmonious music.
Heart and Soul. The Greek words kardia and psyche, translated “heart and soul,”call to mind the Greek version of Deuteronomy 6:5, known to Luke and Paul and other first-century Christians, as half of the two Great Commandments,”You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and strength.” We’re not going to worry about what exactly heart and soul meant to the Jewish believers who recited this every synagogue service as part of the Shema (Hear! O Israel!). But this pairing of heart and soul is part of what proves the great power of the early Christians. They had heart and soul (Acts 4:32), they made harmony despite their very different backgrounds, which was made apparent in the way they shared with each other without any thought of gain or return. In the ancient Greek and Roman world, one gave great gifts to those more powerful and wealthy than oneself, in the hope of even greater gain. One cultivated these rich and mighty people because of what they could do for you. All Christian believers, free and slave, rich and poor, gave heart and soul — their all — and none experienced want, nor did any worry about status. No doubt like beginner piano players, they struggled with what accomplished Christians knew as easy chords, and the rhythm was off on different occasions. But so what? God was — and is — creating a new thing among them — and us — so leave the musical criticism to others. We didn’t — and don’t — wince as we make this work, heart and soul.
1 John 1:1--2:2
Just as we have to remind ourselves that the letters of the New Testament are written to believers in the second person plural — y’all if y’will — so too it’s important to note from word one that the First Letter of John is written in the first and second person plural. This is us, speaking and hearing, not me and you. “We declare to you,” the letter begins, using language that calls to mind the glorious opening of the first chapter of John’s gospel, “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” Further parallels ensue when in the first person plural, the letter writers remind us that God is the light shining in the darkness. Here the point is made that we walk in the light, not the darkness. Otherwise we deceive ourselves. The one thing singular about this passage, pardon the pun, is that Jesus alone is the atonement for sins, but then it’s back to us — not our sins alone, but the sins of the whole world.
That’s why we’re addressed as “My little children,” not “my child.” This is part of the harmony implicit in not only 1 John, but all three lectionary scriptures. It’s us, not me, me, me.
John 10:19-31
This text comes up in the spring, during the Easter season, but put on your imaginary jackets and shiver against winter’s cold blasts, and shelter with Jesus in Solomon’s Portico, seeking some protection from the gales of December. John’s Gospel revolves around a three-year cycle of festivals drawing pilgrims from across the empire to Jerusalem, and this is one that makes the Romans nervous, because it’s Hannukah, the remembrance of when the temple was profaned by Antiochus IV Epiphanes, who ignored the centuries long religious tolerance practiced by the Persians and later by the Greek rulers who followed Alexander the Great. He murdered and enslaved thousands, forbidding Jewish religious practices, and profaned the temple with practices that were remembered with the phrase “The abomination of desolation.” Jesus quoted that phrase in his own apocalyptic discourses.
But under the leadership of the Maccabees the people threw out the tyrant, reclaimed the temple, and though there was only enough oil for the lamp to shine day in the sanctuary, it miraculously shone for eight days. Hence Hannukah.
Against this backdrop the Judeans asked if Jesus was the Messiah — as in, another Maccabee. This conversation followed the words of Jesus about being the Good Shepherd and the gate for the sheep, and how God’s flock included many who others would consider outside of the fold. Then as now people expected Jesus to settle political and economic quarrels when in fact the lordship of God transcends the passing controversies of today even while addressing them from an eternal viewpoint. The cold blasts blow — are we ready to take shelter with the flock, recognizing the lordship of the Father and the Son, who are one, or are we going to ignore the eternal for what is only fleeting?
Acts 4:32-35
I belong to a group known as the Church of the Brethren, a group dedicated to determining our faith and practice through the mutual study of scripture by believers. Now I suspect we’re no more successful at this than anybody else, but that’s the ideal. Harmony is achieved together.
There can be false starts. The first Brethren baptism was in 1708, in one of the German states. The Brethren spent a few decades struggling in Europe before emigrating to Pennsylvania in 1719 and 1729. In between our founding and our exodus, Brethren studied the scriptures and came up with two decisions. First, because the end of the world was looming it seemed that the apostle Paul was calling the church to practice celibacy. They also decided that they would share all their worldly possessions in common, after this passage in The Acts of the Apostles.
As it turned out, one of their important leaders in Colonial America, Sander Mack, was conceived while his father and mother were supposedly practicing celibacy. Incorrectly, obviously. It didn’t work. And by the time they came to America, they no longer had a common purse — but they intentionally shared with everyone who had need, with the result that some church leaders were impoverished, gladly, because of their support of both members of the church and members of the communities in which they lived. They returned to scripture study and decided both decisions were incorrect and together they reinterpreted the scriptures.
Sometimes when two new piano students get together, they sit down at the keyboard and begin to play the Frank Loesser/Hoagy Carmichael song “Heart and Soul.” Somebody plays the simple chord progression on the left side of the piano while the other, with one finger, plunks out the melody. There’s a certain satisfaction for the newbies to magically create harmony. Any good player can do much better, playing with both hands, filling out the simple left-hand chords and right-hand melodies with wonderful complexities, but that doesn’t take away from the absolute wonder, joy, and delight felt by those struggling with their first lessons, their fingers aching, to do something that sounds like harmonious music.
Heart and Soul. The Greek words kardia and psyche, translated “heart and soul,”call to mind the Greek version of Deuteronomy 6:5, known to Luke and Paul and other first-century Christians, as half of the two Great Commandments,”You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and strength.” We’re not going to worry about what exactly heart and soul meant to the Jewish believers who recited this every synagogue service as part of the Shema (Hear! O Israel!). But this pairing of heart and soul is part of what proves the great power of the early Christians. They had heart and soul (Acts 4:32), they made harmony despite their very different backgrounds, which was made apparent in the way they shared with each other without any thought of gain or return. In the ancient Greek and Roman world, one gave great gifts to those more powerful and wealthy than oneself, in the hope of even greater gain. One cultivated these rich and mighty people because of what they could do for you. All Christian believers, free and slave, rich and poor, gave heart and soul — their all — and none experienced want, nor did any worry about status. No doubt like beginner piano players, they struggled with what accomplished Christians knew as easy chords, and the rhythm was off on different occasions. But so what? God was — and is — creating a new thing among them — and us — so leave the musical criticism to others. We didn’t — and don’t — wince as we make this work, heart and soul.
1 John 1:1--2:2
Just as we have to remind ourselves that the letters of the New Testament are written to believers in the second person plural — y’all if y’will — so too it’s important to note from word one that the First Letter of John is written in the first and second person plural. This is us, speaking and hearing, not me and you. “We declare to you,” the letter begins, using language that calls to mind the glorious opening of the first chapter of John’s gospel, “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” Further parallels ensue when in the first person plural, the letter writers remind us that God is the light shining in the darkness. Here the point is made that we walk in the light, not the darkness. Otherwise we deceive ourselves. The one thing singular about this passage, pardon the pun, is that Jesus alone is the atonement for sins, but then it’s back to us — not our sins alone, but the sins of the whole world.
That’s why we’re addressed as “My little children,” not “my child.” This is part of the harmony implicit in not only 1 John, but all three lectionary scriptures. It’s us, not me, me, me.
John 10:19-31
This text comes up in the spring, during the Easter season, but put on your imaginary jackets and shiver against winter’s cold blasts, and shelter with Jesus in Solomon’s Portico, seeking some protection from the gales of December. John’s Gospel revolves around a three-year cycle of festivals drawing pilgrims from across the empire to Jerusalem, and this is one that makes the Romans nervous, because it’s Hannukah, the remembrance of when the temple was profaned by Antiochus IV Epiphanes, who ignored the centuries long religious tolerance practiced by the Persians and later by the Greek rulers who followed Alexander the Great. He murdered and enslaved thousands, forbidding Jewish religious practices, and profaned the temple with practices that were remembered with the phrase “The abomination of desolation.” Jesus quoted that phrase in his own apocalyptic discourses.
But under the leadership of the Maccabees the people threw out the tyrant, reclaimed the temple, and though there was only enough oil for the lamp to shine day in the sanctuary, it miraculously shone for eight days. Hence Hannukah.
Against this backdrop the Judeans asked if Jesus was the Messiah — as in, another Maccabee. This conversation followed the words of Jesus about being the Good Shepherd and the gate for the sheep, and how God’s flock included many who others would consider outside of the fold. Then as now people expected Jesus to settle political and economic quarrels when in fact the lordship of God transcends the passing controversies of today even while addressing them from an eternal viewpoint. The cold blasts blow — are we ready to take shelter with the flock, recognizing the lordship of the Father and the Son, who are one, or are we going to ignore the eternal for what is only fleeting?
