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To turn to the Book of Acts from the Gospel of Luke is to experience deja vu. Once again the mysterious Theophilus is addressed, in much the same words as before: "In the first book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus did and taught from the beginning ..." (Acts 1:1; cf. Luke 1:1-4). It has long been accepted that Acts is the second volume of the Gospel of Luke, and stylistic studies show beyond a doubt that the two books come from the same hand (thus we speak of the author of Acts as "Luke"). It was common practice in Greek and Roman literature to begin a book with a prologue (often addressed to a patron) and to signify the continuation of that book with a similar prologue. The maximum length of these ancient writings was determined by the practicalities of the scroll, which could only be so long (the codex, or book form, came into widespread use shortly after the New Testament books were written, in part because of its adoption by Christians, who could now have all of their sacred books in one volume). Luke needed two scrolls to tell his whole story. Luke and Acts are really of the same piece, one book in two volumes; thus biblical scholars typically speak of the entire work as Luke-Acts. For some of us, it seems odd to come to the last page of Luke and see on the next page the beginning not of Acts, but of John; a professor once suggested we get looseleaf Bibles so we could arrange the books properly!

Indeed, all that I said in the chapter on Luke could be repeated here. The same themes are present: the link with the Old Testament as a continuation of the biblical history (Acts 1:19-20; 2:17-21, 25-28, 31, 34-35; 3:18; 4:11, 25-26; 7:1-53; 8:32-33; 13:26-27, 33-35, 41, 47; 15:1-35; 17:11; 18:28; 24:14; 26:6, 22; 28:23, 26-28); references to God's "plan" (boule, 2:23; 4:28; 5:38; 13:36; 20:27) and divine necessity (dei, 1:16; 3:21; 4:12; 9:16; 14:22; 17:3; 23:11; 27:24); the story of the prophet and the people, with Jesus as the prophet like Moses (7:1-53), the disciples as the new generation of prophets (2:43; 5:12) who seek to re-form the divided people of God (1:15-26; 2:41, 46; 5:14; 6:7; 9:31), which now includes the Gentiles (Acts 10-28); the preaching of the forgiveness of sins (2:38; 3:19; 5:31; 8:22; 11:18; 13:24; 17:30; 19:4; 20:21; 26:20) through the power of the Holy Spirit (1:5, 8; 2:1-13; 4:1-22; 5:12-42; 6:8-10; 8:4-40; 10:44-48; 11:27-28; 13:1-2; 4-12; 16:6-10; 18:24-28; 19:1-7; 19:21-22; 20:17-38; 21:1-14; 23:9; 28:25) to the ends of the earth (1:8).

For lectionary preachers (and their listeners), the deja vu experience that is Acts is literally an Easter experience. The only time those who follow the lectionary read the Book of Acts in church is Easter, when it pinch-hits for the Old Testament. Liturgical planners recognize that Acts is an Easter book; the centrality of the risen Jesus comes through more clearly nowhere else in the New Testament, with the possible exception of the writings of Paul. And whereas Paul employs the resurrection as a factor in his pastoral care for the churches in his charge, Acts tells a story about what the risen Jesus has been up to in those churches -- and in particular, how those churches came to be in the first place. This important witness is available to the worshiping community only during the Easter season; smart liturgists and preachers will make sure the message is heard.

What Jesus Began

The prologue to Acts is very clear: it is about what Jesus did next. "In the first book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus began (archomai) to do and teach from the beginning ..." (Acts 1:1, author's translation). Many translations (such as NRSV, which reads "Jesus did and taught") miss the significance of the word "began" -- archomai is not simply a helping verb, but has inceptive force -- thus the sentence means, "Jesus began to do and teach." The first book, the Gospel of Luke, begins the story of Jesus' deeds and teaching. The implication is that this second volume, the Book of Acts, is about what he did next. Jesus will personally continue his work into the second book.

This is not mere metaphor on Luke's part. Jesus really does appear to do things and teach in Acts. Of course, he is there at the beginning, "giving instructions through the Holy Spirit to the apostles whom he had chosen" (1:2). Jesus takes this time to continue his work among them. "After his suffering he presented himself alive to them by many convincing proofs, appearing to them during forty days and speaking about the kingdom of God" (1:3). He also gives final instructions: "Wait for the promise of the Father" (1:4), "You will be baptized with the Holy Spirit not many days from now" (1:5). He stays with them until he is taken up into a cloud to heaven (1:11).

But this is not Jesus' final personal appearance in Acts. He keeps popping up again -- for he is still alive; this is the central message of the resurrection preaching. He appears in Peter's first sermon as one who is alive and sitting exalted at the right hand of God (2:33). He appears in that same place to Stephen just before his martyrdom: "Filled with the Holy Spirit, he [Stephen] gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God. 'Look,' he said, 'I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!' " (7:55-56). Jesus speaks from heaven to Saul: "Now as he [Saul] was going along and approaching Damascus, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him. He fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to him, 'Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?' He asked, 'Who are you, Lord?' The reply came, 'I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting' " (9:3-5). Later, the Lord Jesus appears to Paul in a vision: "One night the Lord said to Paul in a vision, 'Do not be afraid, but speak and do not be silent; for I am with you, and no one will lay a hand on you to harm you, for there are many in this city who are my people' " (18:9-10). What Jesus began to do and teach in the Gospel of Luke, he personally continues in Acts.

Jesus also acts through intermediary characters. Foremost among these is the Holy Spirit. The connection between the Spirit and Jesus is so close that Acts calls it the "Spirit of Jesus" (16:7). The Spirit comes according to Jesus' promise (1:8; 2:1-4) to empower the witness of the disciples "in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth" (1:8). What many do not realize, until they have read Luke-Acts very closely, is that the Spirit is not confined to working through human proxies, but actually functions as a character in the narrative. This is evident in Luke's Gospel (Luke 1:35; 2:26-27; 3:22; 4:1; 10:21; 12:12), but abundantly clear in Acts.

The Holy Spirit in Luke-Acts functions as does any character in any story: it acts, and it comes into conflict with other characters. Acts presents the Spirit as an actor in the story: the Spirit "speaks" through scripture (Acts 1:16; 4:25; 28:25) and independently (8:29; 10:19-20; 11:12; 13:2; 21:11). The Spirit even "testifies" (20:23) and "forbids" (16:6-7), as well as giving words to others (2:1-4). It travels from one location to another (8:39-40; 19:6; cf. Luke 3:22). It appoints leaders (13:4; 20:28). This way of speaking of the Spirit draws on long precedent, as it is quite frequent in the Old Testament (cf. 2 Samuel 23:2; 1 Kings 22:24; Nehemiah 9:20; Psalm 143:10; Isaiah 63:10, 14; Ezekiel 2:2; 3:24; Zechariah 7:12; Wisdom 7:7, 22; 9:17).

As an actor in the story, the Spirit also comes into conflict and/or agreement with other characters. Ananias, in holding back part of his goods, has lied to the Spirit (Acts 5:3), and his wife Sapphira has tested or tempted the Spirit (5:9), with disastrous results. The Spirit does battle with magicians (8:9-25; 13:4-12). Even Paul and his companions butt heads with the Spirit (16:6-7). Thus prodding, pushing, resisting, and propelling, the Spirit continues the work of Jesus in a very personal way. When James says, "It seemed good to the Holy Spirit and to us" (Acts 15:28), one can almost picture the Spirit sitting in an easy chair among the disciples as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

The disciples, of course, are the ones who act most often on Jesus' behalf in Acts. Everything they do is done "in the name of Jesus" (2:38; 3:6; 4:7-10, 18, 30; 5:28, 40-41; 8:12, 16; 9:27-28; 16:18; 21:13). The disciples even take on the characteristics of Jesus, who for Luke is the prophet-like-Moses promised long ago (Acts 7:35-37). They, too, are prophets -- sometimes explicitly characterized so (11:27-28; 21:9-10), but more often described in prophetic terms by Luke. Thus the disciples see visions and dream dreams (2:17; 7:55-56; 9:3-10; 10:3, 10-16; 11:5; 16:9-10; 18:9; 27:23). They are "filled with the Holy Spirit" (2:4; 4:8, 31; 5:32; 6:3, 5, 8; 7:55; 9:17; 11:24; 13:9, 52) to make "bold" proclamation (4:13; 13:46; 28:31) of the "good news" (5:42; 8:4, 12, 25, 40; 11:20; 13:32; 14:7; 15:35). Most important, they are "witnesses" (2:32; 10:41; 13:31; 22:20) who work "signs and wonders" (2:19; 4:16, 22, 30; 5:12; 6:8; 8:6, 13; 14:3; 15:12) among the "people" (3:22; 4:1; 6:8; 13:15). All this language draws on Old Testament prophetic imagery, particularly that of the prophet-like-Moses (Deuteronomy 34:10-12; Exodus 7:3, 9; 11:9-10; Deuteronomy 4:34; 6:22; 7:19; 11:3; 26:8; 29:3; Psalm 78:43; 105:27; 135:9). The disciples, like Jesus, act as prophets; they carry on his prophetic work among the people.


Toss Of The Coin

Jesus prepares the disciples personally for this continuing work by remaining with them for forty days, giving them proof of his bodily resurrection, and teaching them further about the kingdom of God (Acts 1:3). He reiterates the "promise of the Father" (Acts 1:4, cf. Luke 24:49), the gift of the Holy Spirit: "For John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with (or "in") the Holy Spirit not many days from now" (Acts 1:5; Jesus once again proves himself a prophet, since his words come true at Pentecost, 2:1-4). Jesus reiterates and extends John the Baptist's use of the term "baptize" (baptizo), which essentially meant "to dip"; the disciples would experience an overwhelming immersion in the Spirit soon (cf. 11:16; 19:1-7).

Since they have not yet experienced this total immersion of prophetic power, they are still a bit confused about what is happening: "Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?" (1:6). They do not realize that they are being formed as the basis of an entirely new Israel, one of a different order. They think of Israel as a political territory in space and time, while Jesus thinks of Israel as the people of God. The kingdom is God's rule over human hearts, and it will involve the proclamation of the prophetic word in the power of the Spirit and the formation of a new community around that message (2:41-47; 4:32-37). Jesus' reply steers them away from "times or periods" (1:7) toward their mission: "But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth" (1:8). The disciples will indeed take on the name Jesus gives them, "witnesses" (cf. 2:32; 3:15; 5:32; 10:39, 41; 13:31; 22:15). The expression is double-edged; the disciples both witness to Jesus, and function as his representatives ("my witnesses").

Jesus' final word also sets out the geographical plan of Acts, and has often been seen as an outline for the book (1:8). Acts picks up where the Gospel left off, the center of the two-volume narrative is Jerusalem. Soon the disciples take their witness to the rest of Judea, and into Samaria (Acts 8), and then into the wide-ranging travels of Paul. There is some debate as to the significance of "the ends of the earth." Many believe that it refers to Paul's final trip to Rome (Acts 28), and thus signifies the actual end of the book. More likely, it refers to the extreme limit of the inhabited world, leaving the story to continue beyond the book's end. In fact, some ancient authors considered Ethiopia to be "the end of the earth," and in perhaps a sly allusion to that tradition, an Ethiopian is converted rather early in Acts (8:26-40). The story of the Ethiopian eunuch is but one instance of a character who is sent along from the pages of Acts to be a part of a larger untold story (Acts 8:39). But it is not necessary to go all the way to chapter 8 to find the disciples preaching to the inhabitants of far-off places; they do so immediately on receiving the Spirit at Pentecost, as the crowds that were gathered in Jerusalem for the festival hear the good news proclaimed in their native tongues: "Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappodocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, but Jews and proselytes, Cretans, and Arabs -- in our own languages we hear them speaking about God's deeds of power" (2:9-11).

The physical removal of Jesus himself from the sight of the disciples is reminiscent of Old Testament stories about the transition of prophetic power: Moses transmits his "spirit of wisdom" to Joshua (Deuteronomy 34:9), and Elijah is carried away in front of Elisha (2 Kings 2:9-12). Luke pictures Jesus similarly taken into heaven before the disciples (Acts 1:10-11). Once again, the prophetic mantle has been transferred. As they stand there gawking, two heavenly messengers assure them that they have not seen the last of him. As the King of Israel, enthroned at the right hand of God, he will be with them in a new and more powerful way (cf. 2:24-36; 7:55). As with Joshua and Elijah, the departure of the prophet makes way for the disciples to gain their share of the prophetic Spirit (1:8; 2:14; cf. Deuteronomy 34:9; 2 Kings 2:9).

The first order of business, however, is to re-form the community in light of its recent loss. That the narrative does not proceed directly to Pentecost is a sign of how important the next scene is; the story about the choosing of Matthias is not an awkward insertion. Rather, it is imperative for Luke's overall purpose. Judas' defection was not just a personal failure; it was a betrayal of his office as an apostle (everything about Peter's speech in Acts 1:15-22, which is quite different from Matthew's account of Judas' end [Matthew 27:3-4], points to Judas' defection from the Twelve). If Israel is to be re-formed on a new basis as the obedient people of God, it must also stand in continuity with Israel of old. The new Israel is not formed from scratch, but from the believing remnant, those who have accepted God's new prophetic visitation. Jesus himself had told them the plan: "I confer on you, just as my Father has conferred on me, a kingdom, so that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom, and you will sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel" (Luke 22:29-30). This Israel, like that of old, must have twelve leaders to represent the twelve tribes; the symbolism was essential. Thus the necessity of replacing Judas.

Peter uses the language of divine necessity: "One of these must (dei) become a witness with us to his resurrection" (1:22). All this is happening in accordance with God's plan ("the scripture had to be fulfilled," 1:16), and so confident are the disciples that God is at work here, that they are able to leave the final decision to the casting of lots (a frequently-used decision-making tool in the ancient world, cf. Leviticus 16:8; Numbers 26:55; 33:54; Joshua 19:1-40; Jonah 1:7-8; Micah 2:5). Note, however, that there were criteria other than bald fate: Peter sets out absolute qualifications (it must be someone who was there from the beginning, Acts 1:21-22), cites scripture (1:20), and the entire community engages in prayer (1:24-25). The lot simply allows God to make the choice between two equally-qualified candidates.


Tongues On Fire

The promise of the Father (Luke 24:49), given first by John the Baptist (Luke 3:16) and reiterated by Jesus (Acts 1:5), comes to the band of disciples on the day of Pentecost: "When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability" (Acts 2:1-4).

Pentecost was a harvest feast, but it may have been connected with the giving of the Law to Moses. Pentecost means simply "fifty," since the date was calculated as the fiftieth day after Passover. Originally the celebration of the spring harvest, the Feast of Weeks, Pentecost (along with Passover and Tabernacles) was one of the major feasts that brought pilgrims to Jerusalem to worship at the Temple (cf. Exodus 23:14-17; 34:18-24; Deuteronomy 16:16; 2 Chronicles 8:13). Later, the rabbis began to think of Pentecost as celebrating the giving of the Law, and as a covenant-renewal feast. Thus it was sometimes connected with the fire on Mount Sinai, and with flaming speech and speaking flame. Fire was often a symbol used for the Law, and also was connected with the presence of God (cf. Exodus 3:2; 13:21-22; 14:24; 19:18; 24:17). As enticing as these images may be in light of Acts 2, and Luke's ongoing comparison between Jesus and Moses, there is little evidence outside Luke-Acts that this connection between Pentecost and Sinai was made in Luke's time.

The crowds that hear the disciples' message are presumably from the large group of pilgrims who would normally gather for the feast, though Luke's statement that they were "living in Jerusalem" may indicate that they were permanent residents of that cosmopolitan city. The exact place is unspecified; Luke mentions only a "house" (2:2), perhaps the same house with the "upper room" of the previous scene (1:13). But this episode seems to happen out in the open, since the crowd gathered for the festival can hear them (2:5); this would eliminate the "upper room." Many have suggested somewhere in the Temple as a sensible locale, given the presence of the crowd, but this would be stretching the sense of "house"; Luke is at best unclear. Also unclear is the number of disciples who are present. In the upper room, there was a crowd of about 120 persons (1:15); however, in this scene, the only ones explicitly mentioned are Peter and the eleven (2:14) -- but is the rest of the community implied by the scriptural references to sons, daughters, young men and old (2:17)? Throughout Acts, disciples other than the twelve receive and are empowered by the Spirit (e.g., 19:1-7), but at least on one other occasion the giving of the Spirit is connected exclusively to the original apostles (in Samaria, 8:14-17). Luke left loose ends in his narrative; some scholars have speculated that Acts is in some respects a not-quite-polished draft. Luke may have had theological reasons, however, to blur lines where the story touches on the Spirit, perhaps because he believed with John that "the Spirit blows where it chooses" (John 3:8).

The tangible aspects of the Spirit's appearance help stress its character. The designation of time, "suddenly," and place, "from heaven," highlight divine and not human control of the Spirit's action. Luke, like John, uses word-play to enhance the narrative, since "Spirit" (pneuma) can also mean "wind." In this case, there is a certain urgency, even violence, connected to the Spirit, since the sound coming from heaven is like the rush of a violent wind (Acts 2:2; note that Luke refers only to a sound -- he does not say that wind actually rushed). The comparison with the wind also highlights the unpredictable nature of the Spirit. The sound "filled" the whole house, much as the Spirit would "fill" disciples to empower their witness (cf. 2:4; 4:8, 31; 6:3, 5, 8; 7:55; 9:17; 11:24; 13:9, 52; also Luke 1:15, 41, 67; 4:1). There are visible signs of the Spirit, "divided tongues, as of fire" (as with the wind, there is no actual fire, just a comparison). "Tongues of fire" (2:3) alludes not only to the audible tokens of the Spirit's empowerment (the disciples will speak in other languages, 2:4), but to John the Baptist's promise of baptism with the Spirit and fire (Luke 3:16; Acts 1:5). The prophecy that the disciples would be baptized with the Spirit is thus confirmed, as is the prediction that they would "be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth" (Acts 1:8; cf. Luke 12:12), because the disciples immediately begin preaching to representatives of "the ends of the earth": "Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each" (Acts 2:5-6). The catalog of nations that follows (2:7-11) has a slightly archaic flavor ("Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia"), which lends a certain air to its allusion to "the ends of the earth."

Speaking in other languages (literally, "other tongues," heterai glossai) is one sign of the Spirit's presence in various stories throughout Acts (cf. 10:46; 19:6). In each case, the gift of other tongues has a clear and definite purpose in the narrative. Here, it enables the disciples to preach to the representatives from the ends of the earth. In the case of the centurion Cornelius, "speaking in tongues and extolling God" (10:46) confirms that the Gentiles have been given full admission to the people of God; Peter later will argue that the act of God giving the Spirit before he could even finish his sermon was sure proof that the movement toward the Gentiles was divine: "If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?" (11:17). In the case of the disciples of John the Baptist found in Ephesus, "they spoke in tongues and prophesied" (19:6) to signify that they had finally received John's promise of baptism in fire and the Spirit.

It is impossible to make Luke's picture of tongues-speaking and the gift of the Spirit into systematic theology. The coming of the Spirit is sometimes connected with the laying-on-of-hands (8:17; 19:6), but not always (2:4; 10:44); it is definitely connected with baptism (2:38; 19:6), but may precede it (10:44). The coming of the Spirit sometimes results in speaking in tongues (2:4; 10:45; 19:6), but not always (8:15-17). Luke is certainly nowhere near as systematic when it comes to this spiritual gift as Paul (cf. 1 Corinthians 12-14). It is clear that for Luke, the primary function of the Spirit is to empower the disciples for their witness to Jesus, sometimes through extraordinary actions (Acts 1:26; 8:29, 39-40; 13:4; 16:6-7), but most often by inspiring the disciples' speech (Acts 1:8; 2:4; 4:8, 31; 5:32; 6:3, 5, 10; 7:55; 9:17; 11:24, 28; 13:9; 15:28; 21:4, 11). The Spirit in Luke-Acts is primarily the prophetic Spirit, which inspires the witness to Jesus.

There is some debate whether the speech of Pentecost was a miracle of speaking or hearing (this is somewhat related to the wider debate, beyond the scope of this book, about whether tongues-speaking, ancient or modern, has actual linguistic structure or is only ecstatic unstructured utterance; most linguists think the latter). On the one hand, Luke asserts that the disciples spoke in "other tongues," as if they were actually speaking the various languages of the Parthians, Medes, et al. On the other hand, the crowd is said to be bewildered, because "each one heard them speaking in the native language of each" (2:6); if one places the emphasis on the verb "heard," then we are talking about miraculous hearing as much as miraculous speaking. The picture in the first case here would be of a veritable Babel, with each disciple speaking a different language, and it would be hard to see how anyone could hear anything through all that noise; the second scenario, with the disciples speaking in harmony, and each ear translating for itself, makes for a cleaner picture. However, Luke clearly portrays the disciples, not the crowd, as inspired by the Spirit, and the portrait of disciples speaking the good news in many languages fits in well with Luke's overall story of the proclamation to the ends of the earth. The disciples' inspired speech in languages they have not learned foreshadows the universality of the Christian mission.

As we have already seen, Luke's narrative portrait in this scene is not without its rough edges -- he even pictures the whole crowd speaking the same words in unison! This should not bother us too much; Luke's narrative is stylized, and conforms to the standards of historical writing of his day, where speeches often were used to put events into perspective for the reader. Speeches of ancient historians often were a form of authorial commentary, pointing the readers to the true meaning of the story; they were not meant so much to portray the actual words spoken, but the general feeling of the situation. In this, Luke succeeds admirably.

Peter's speech in the power of the Spirit sets the tone for the story that follows. With the eleven standing in support behind him, he debunks the notion that the work of the Spirit represents drunken speech (2:14; cf. 2:13). Not only is it too early in the morning to be drinking, what has happened here is the fulfillment of scripture: "In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams" (2:17-18; cf. Joel 2:28). Peter's sermon is littered with other references to scripture, reflecting Luke's conviction that this is the fulfillment and continuation of the biblical story (2:17-21, 25-28, 31, 34-35); it is part of "the definite plan (boule) and foreknowledge of God" (2:23). The sermon is a concise summary of Luke's view of the whole: Jesus was attested a prophet by "deeds of power, wonders, and signs" (2:22), was "killed by the hands of those outside the law" (2:23), but raised by God from a death that could not keep him in its power (2:24). The disciples are witnesses of this resurrection, proclaimers of his exaltation to the right hand of God, and receivers of his promise of the Holy Spirit (2:32-33). Their message is simple, and repeated again and again throughout Acts: "Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven; and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit" (2:38; cf. 3:19; 5:31; 8:22; 10:43; 11:18; 13:38; 17:30; 19:4; 20:21; 26:18, 20). Peter speaks for all the others, and his words echo through the entire book; at last, the tongues of the disciples have caught fire, and the world will be turned upside down for it (17:6).

The rest of the world will have to wait a bit, however. Peter directs this particular message to "the entire house of Israel" (Acts 2:36). The target market is Israel; the goal is the re-formation of the people of God. Though their leaders had rejected the prophet on his first visitation (2:36, "this Jesus whom you crucified"), they now have received a second chance to recognize God's work among them: "Save yourselves from this corrupt generation" (2:40). The promise of God has come to Israel, "for you, for your children" (2:39); yet there is an ever-so-gentle hint of the universal mission to come, for the promise is also "for all who are far away, everyone whom the Lord our God calls" (2:39).

Peter's speech leads immediately to the formation of a new community: "Those who welcomed his message were baptized, and that day about 3,000 persons were added" (2:41). The community grows exponentially (and it is beside the point to ask how they could baptize so many people in one day -- Luke simply indicates tremendous and immediate success among the people). The community begins at once to take on the characteristics of their new reality: "They devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers" (2:42). As good Israelites, they gather daily in the Temple (2:46). The prophetic community continues to experience "many wonders and signs being done by the apostles" (2:43). In sharing their possessions, the community creates a new social order as well (2:44-46), to which new members are added daily (2:47). Thus Luke depicts the successful beginning of the new Israel, with the apostles at its spiritual head; the entire community shares the gift of the empowering Spirit, as well as their material goods. The faithful remnant has responded to God's visitation and become a community of prophets themselves.

Where We Ended

The sense of deja vu increases as one reads through the Book of Acts. Paul seems to mimic Peter, who both mimic Jesus. Peter gives a grand speech to the people of Jerusalem (2:14-36); Paul gives a similar speech to the synagogue in Pisidian Antioch (13:16-41). Peter follows his speech with healing the lame man at the Temple (3:1-10); Paul follows his with the healing of the crippled man at Lystra (14:8-18). Both follow the pattern of Jesus, who followed his big speech at the synagogue in Nazareth (Luke 4:16-30) with cures of "any who were sick with various kinds of diseases" (Luke 4:40). These "signs and wonders" accompanied by the prophetic word mark Luke's stereotypical use of the biblical tradition of the prophet, which is the model for all the heroes in Luke-Acts. The risen Jesus continues his work through his disciples, who act in the same prophetic manner as he did.

It is Paul, of course, who gets most of the attention in Acts, once he appears on the scene. From his first appearance as coat-holder at the stoning of Stephen (Acts 7:58), and his subsequent role as persecutor of the church (8:1-3), through his call by the risen Jesus (9:1-31) and his appointment directly by the Holy Spirit (13:1-3), Paul ever so gradually takes over the story. While there had been a few forays by Christian missionaries into Gentile territory (11:19-20), it is Paul who becomes the apostle to the Gentiles, preaching in town after town first to the synagogue, then to the entire city (cf. 13:46; 18:6; 28:28). On this point at least, Luke's portrait of Paul is consistent with that found in Paul's own letters (cf. Romans 1:16). As the Book of Acts moves along, it becomes more and more the story of how a small Jewish messianic movement became a Gentile religion, and thus it becomes more and more a story about Paul.

But Peter, not Paul, makes the crucial move toward the Gentiles. Luke's ultimate concern is to show how God had fulfilled the promises to Israel, and he needs Peter for that. Luke is careful to trace the connection between the restored people of Israel in the early chapters of Acts and the largely Gentile Pauline church in the later sections of the book, lest anyone conclude that God has actually abandoned Israel by turning to the Gentiles. No, it is exactly as Paul had said: the promise was offered first to the Jews, who were divided in their response to God's prophetic visitation, but since it had been offered, God was now free to expand the promise to all nations, which had been the plan all along. It is Peter who provides the link between a gospel preached only to the Jews, and one given to the Jews first, then the Gentiles.

Peter resists at first. Even though the universal mission had been promised by Jesus himself (Luke 24:47; Acts 1:8), it was not something that a faithful Jew could easily grasp. When the hungry Peter sees a bevy of ritually unclean food laid before him in a vision, he is aghast at the suggestion of the voice from heaven that he eat; he has never broken kosher in his life! The threefold vision is a matter of some puzzlement for Peter, until he receives a message to come to the house of a certain Italian centurion named Cornelius. Though "it is unlawful for a Jew to associate with or to visit a Gentile" (Acts 10:28), Peter is encouraged by his vision to respond to Cornelius anyway. He is further amazed to hear Cornelius' own story of a vision of an angel of God, and even more amazed that Cornelius and his party receive the Holy Spirit before he can even finish his sermon (10:1-48). Peter is finally convinced: "Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have?" (10:47).

The extent of Peter's perceived transgression is made apparent immediately, when the believers in Judea criticize him, not for the preaching per se -- it would have been perfectly acceptable for Peter to convert some Gentiles to messianic Judaism -- but for his table fellowship with them: "Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with them?" (11:3). Luke notes that Peter recounted the entire story of his vision and meeting with Cornelius, "step by step" (kathexes, 11:4). Peter's compelling story is successful in silencing his critics (11:1-18). The end result is in fact a sort of awe: "Then God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life" (11:18).

Unsurprisingly, this episode is not the end of the matter. When Paul and Barnabas find success among the Gentiles in Syrian Antioch, they are faced with a contingent of their fellow messianic Jews from Judea, who claim, "Unless you are circumcised according to the custom of Moses, you cannot be saved" (15:1). The debate spills back into Jerusalem and the so-called "Apostolic Council" (15:4-35). Here again, the power of story asserts itself. Peter stands and retells his own story: "You know that in the early days God made a choice among you, that I should be the one through whom the Gentiles would hear the message of the good news and become believers" (15:7). Peter thus enables the community to hear Paul and Barnabas tell their story "of all the signs and wonders that God had done through them among the Gentiles" (15:12). The prophetic community has been at work even among the Gentiles! The community concludes that they must welcome the Gentiles, while laying down some rules for table fellowship between Jewish and Gentile Christians (15:19-21).

It is hardly a surprise that Luke would present the early Christian community as swayed by the story of the prophetic community at work, because that is exactly what Luke is trying to do with his two-volume work. This he told us from the beginning, in his original dedication to Theophilus: "Since many have undertaken to order a narrative (diegesis) of the events that have been fulfilled among us, just as they were handed onto us by those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and servants of the word, I too decided, after investigating everything carefully from the very first, to write step-by-step (kathexes) for you, most excellent Theophilus, so that you may know certainty (asphaleia) concerning the things about which you have been instructed (katecheo)" (Luke 1:1-4, author's translation).

While "Theophilus" means "friend who loves God," and thus could be a literary fiction, it is just as likely that Theophilus was a real person -- probably Luke's financial patron -- who had already been given official instruction in the Christian faith (katecheo is the root from which we get the word "catechesis," cf. Acts 18:25; Romans 2:8; 1 Corinthians 14:19; Galatians 6:6). Luke thus writes for an audience who is already instructed in and persuaded by the Christian faith.

Luke is quite clear about the purpose of his writing: it is to provide "certainty" (asphaleia). Many translations miss the significance of this word (cf. NRSV, "that you may know the truth"). Asphaleia does not mean "truth" as opposed to "falsehood." In ancient times, it was used as a legal financial term for "written security"; elsewhere in Luke-Acts, it refers to securely-locked doors (Acts 5:23), and the adjectival form is usually translated "safe, steadfast" (Philippians 3:1; Hebrews 6:19). Luke's stated intention is not to give Theophilus knowledge of the truth -- he already has been taught that -- but security, or assurance; Luke intends to assure Theophilus of the truth he already knows.

The truth Theophilus already knows is precisely the truth of Luke's story, the "things that have been fulfilled among us" (Luke 1:1): that God has visited the people with a prophet-like-Moses, who showed by signs and wonders that it was time for a new Israel to be formed, based not on territory or lineage, but on the response of faith to what God was doing among the people. But the leaders of the people rejected the prophet, and like so many prophets before him, put him to death. God proved that this was no run-of-the-mill prophet by raising him from the dead and exalting him to God's own right hand. Thus the people were given a second chance to respond to God's visitation. Once the people had been given that chance, God would fulfill the long-delayed promise to bring the good news to all nations.

Why does Theophilus need "assurance" of this? One need only look at his Greek name, or the last half of the Book of Acts. The community Theophilus came into was overwhelmingly Gentile. Yet God's promises were to the Jews! If the historical Jewish people were not in possession of the promise, how could anyone believe that God was faithful to any promise? If God's word could fail the Jews, could it not also fail the Gentiles? The problem Luke was dealing with was the problem of theodicy: how to account for the justice of God in an imperfect world. Luke's answer is that God did fulfill the promise, first to Israel, then to the nations. Only, the Jewish community was divided over God's visitation; some believed in the prophet-like-Moses, others did not. God remains faithful despite the division, and that faithfulness is shown precisely in the turn to the Gentiles: that which had been promised for so long, good news to all the nations, was now fulfilled.

And how is Luke to bring this assurance to Theophilus (and by extension, to all who read this story)? We have already seen the power Luke attributes to a story well-told. In Acts 11-15, the repeated narratives given by Peter, supplemented by the stories of Paul and Barnabas, win the day. The conviction of Peter's story came in his careful telling "step-by-step" (kathexes); Luke uses the same word to describe his own writing (Luke 1:3; cf. 11:4). Luke, like Peter, is setting forth a narrative (diegesis), and in that narrative he shows us again and again the power of narrative itself (cf. his use of the verb form, "to narrate," diogeomai, to describe convincing stories, Luke 8:39; 9:10; Acts 8:33; 9:27; 12:17). The orderly story, set forth step-by-step, shows us that God's plan has been moving step-by-step itself, in order that all of God's promises may be fulfilled.

So in the end we understand Luke-Acts by understanding its beginning. When Paul finally stands before the Jews of Rome at the end of Acts, he finds them just as divided as the people of God have been throughout the narrative: "Some were convinced by what he had said, while others refused to believe. So they disagreed with each other" (Acts 28:24-25). For Paul, this is merely a sign that the promises of God in scripture had been fulfilled (28:25-27). Paul announces God's next move: "Let it be known to you then that this salvation of God has been sent to the Gentiles; they will listen" (28:28). Does this close the door on the Jewish people, and Paul's hope that they will recognize the new visitation of God? By no means! This is simply the announcement he has made in city by city, as he went from one place to another preaching the good news first to Israel, then to the nations (cf. 13:46; 18:6). There is no reason to think that Paul would have varied that pattern in the next town.

We never learn what happened next, because the story ends with Paul spending two years in Rome, "proclaiming the kingdom of God and teaching about the Lord Jesus Christ with all boldness and without hindrance" (28:31). The Book of Acts famously ends without ending; we never learn the ultimate fate of Paul, or the result of his trial (though speculation abounds). I believe Luke's ending is of a piece with his overall plan. The ending is open because it must be; the narrative is unfinished because the plan is yet to be fully realized. God is a faithful God, who will assuredly bring the entire promise to fulfillment. The Spirit will continue to work among both Jews and Gentiles. The risen Jesus will continue all that he began to do and to teach, until the good news really has been carried literally to every corner of the ends of the earth. For Luke, there can be no closure of the story, as long as there is gospel left to preach.



Jolt For Jesus

Easter 3, Year C -- Acts 9:1-19a
April 26, 1998


The Book of Acts presents us with a series of conversions; one can hardly leaf past a page without running across a story about mass baptism (2:41), mass healing (5:12-16), the positive response to the gospel of an entire group such as the Samaritans (8:6), the Lystrans (14:8-18), or the Beroeans (17:10-12), or the conversion of individuals such as the Ethiopian eunuch (8:26-40), Apollos (18:24-28), or even entire families such as that of Lydia (16:14) or the Philippian jailer (16:25-34).

In some Christian communities the moment of conversion is distinctive, and considered the most important time of one's life, a "spiritual birthday." In other communities, baptism is honored in this way, sometimes apart from, sometimes in addition to, any moment of personal enlightenment. Some communities allow for various degrees of conversion over a lifetime; it does not make sense, for example, to "convert" someone who has grown up amid the symbols and rituals of the church and never strayed from them. One could point to the Bible itself for a wide understanding of how people come to a mature Christian faith, ranging from Paul's dramatic conversion (Acts 9:1-29) to Timothy's quiet acceptance of Christianity on the knee of his mother and grandmother (2 Timothy 1:5). One may even point to variety in the retelling of Paul's own conversion, which is given in three distinct and differing versions in Acts (9:1-29; 22:3-21; 26:9-20), in addition to Paul's allusions to it in his own writings (e.g., Philippians 3:4-11; 1 Corinthians 15:8-10).

But whether a particular community stresses conversion, or whether it contains folk who can point to such valued religious experience alongside with people who see faith more as a given (or perhaps as an evolution), most Christian communities would agree that faith is expressed in an ongoing commitment rather than a single moment. Thus I believe it is important to stress that Paul's conversion was even more so a call. Not everyone can relate to the drama that brought Paul to faith, but this is not the aspect of Paul's encounter with Jesus that provides a model for all of us -- it is not Paul's conversion but his call that is a normative example. We do not all come to faith through a dramatic reversal of our lives; we are all called to serve Jesus in the lives we have been given.

I don't remember where I got the wacky opening story, but I believe it was from an irreverent ecclesiastical website called "Ship of Fools" (www.ship-of-fools.com), which provides a constant catalog of Christian absurdities. Preachers can find plenty of humorous sermon fodder here, though one must remember that there can be too much of a good thing; what seems hilarious to pulpiteers who must deal constantly with the Church's failings is not necessarily funny to those who take time out of their week to hear a serious word from God.

This sermon was preached at Christ Church, Avon, Connecticut.


I don't know if this is true, but there is supposedly a minister in Florida who was accidentally shocked by the battery while working on his car.

The experience was so profound that he took it as a sign from God.

So he invented a new ritual, not baptism but "zaptism."

He hooks people up to car batteries and "zaptizes" them into the kingdom.

Come to think of it, I know a few people who could use a jolt for Jesus.

But the idea of God as an electric experience is not a new one.

The writer Dan Wakefield wrote a spiritual biography called Returning, which talked about what happened one night when he was a young boy.


He had the sensation that his whole body was filled with electric light.


"It was a white light of such brightness and intensity that it seemed almost silver. It was neither hot nor cold, neither burning nor soothing, it was simply there, filling every part of [his] body from [his] head to [his] feet." (Dan Wakefield, Returning, 40)


He believed that the light was Christ.

Years later, when Wakefield went to college and became an atheist, he didn't know what to do with his experience of being zapped; it was the kind of thing you could not deny, but it also did not fit with being an atheist.

He stumbled across a book by William James, called The Varieties of Religious Experience.


James talked about experiences called "photisms."


It turns out that lots of religious people -- mystics, saints, preachers, even ordinary people -- have this experience of blinding light.


"Was blind but now I see."

Ironically, learning about photisms gave Wakefield a way out.


He could explain his zaptism psychologically -- just a hallucination, happens all the time.


You could see the light without necessarily seeing God.

The Book of Acts is not going to let us off the hook so easily.

Saul on the road to Damascus has the quintessential photism.

There is the blinding light, flashing from heaven, so intense that no one can see anything.

It's so bright that Saul himself was blinded for three days afterward. He has to be led around by the hand.

But it's not just light, there's also a voice, "Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?"

Saul does not seem to understand whom or what he is dealing with.


The words we translate, "Who are you, Lord?" could simply be a polite form of address, "Who are you, sir?" Saul only unwittingly confesses the truth.

The answer comes from above, "I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting."

At these words, Saul goes into serious reevaluation of his life, neither eating or drinking, just praying, for three days.

Let's be clear about what's at stake here.

This is the same Saul that held coats while the mob stoned Stephen, the first Christian to die for his faith.

The Book of Acts tells us that Saul was "breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord."


This guy was a terrorist. "Breathing threats and murder" -- he exhaled death, his life's breath was spent in hatred.


The letters of extradition he gathered were probably not even legal.


But he was determined that "if he found any who belonged to the Way, men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem."

Is it any wonder that Ananias, the disciple and prophet from Damascus, objects?

I'd object; I'd be hiding in the basement.

"Go to the street called Straight, look in the house of Judas for Saul?"

Are you kidding? Do I look like a fool? Are my pants on backward? "I have heard about this man," Ananias says to the risen Jesus, "the evil he has done, how he's here to do more."

But Jesus answers, "He is my chosen instrument. He will bring my name to Gentiles and kings and all the people. And I myself will show him how much he must suffer for my name."

It is a little rhetorical trick the Book of Acts plays here, using the conversation between Ananias and Jesus as a preview of coming attractions.


It's a summary of the story from here on out, how Saul will carry forth the mission to Gentiles and kings and the ends of the earth, with no little suffering along the way.


He's been zapped, but the point is not the zapping, the point is what comes next.


If you read William James closely enough, you'll find that the experience of blinding light usually brings with it a divine demand. It is not the opiate of the people; Saul gets blindness, not bliss. What's important is what's next.


Ananias lays hands on Saul and something like scales fall from his eyes, and you don't need me to explain that symbolism.


This man named Saul we know better by his Greek name, Paul; he is the same Paul who wrote a third of the New Testament.

I do not for one minute believe that everyone is going to get zapped by God. There's a good reason that William James called his book The Varieties of Religious Experience. We're not all the same. We're not all going to have the same experience. Not everyone is struck by blinding light.

But I do believe that we are all called to follow the path set for Saul after he saw the light.

It is the same path Ananias followed into the terrorist cell armed with nothing but the Word of the Lord and the water of baptism.

It is the path Jesus himself followed.

Dan Wakefield wrote about this path near the end of his book, Returning --

You didn't think I was going to leave him back there an atheist, did you?

No, Wakefield came back, and told the story of being at a retreat with his pastor, a man named Carl.

Carl seems to be a man who renews himself by giving himself, Wakefield said.


He watched Carl talk to a troubled man at the retreat. This man was going through a nasty divorce; he had moped through the weekend.


Carl said how great it was to have the man with them.


Are you kidding? thought Wakefield. What a loser.


Carl told the man he'd like to have lunch someday back in the city, if the man could spare the time.


You liar, Carl. No one would like to have lunch with that guy.


But then Wakefield looked at the man's face.


Scales fell.

To follow Jesus means more than seeing the light.


To follow Jesus is to act like him, to give yourself away daily.

The last time I saw a photism was at the movies.

Phenomenon. John Travolta looks up and sees a blinding light streaking toward him.

The movie plays out various explanations for his experience.

But we don't find out the truth until the end, when he looks into his girlfriend's eyes and says, "Will you love me for the rest of my life?"

"No," she says. "I'm going to love you for the rest of my life."

When we look at Jesus and ask if there are any limits, the answer showers scales from our eyes.



Voices Of Hate, Voice Of Love

Easter 3, Year C -- Acts 9:1-19a
April 30, 1995


Here is another take on the story of the conversion/call of Paul, this time in a very different historical context.

On April 19, 1995 a car bomb exploded at the Murrow Federal Building in Oklahoma City, killing 187 people. America's rage was palpable: "We will find those who did this, and we will bomb their country back to the stone age," was the cry on talk radio. Drastic measures to protect our borders and limit our freedoms were under consideration. Rage turned to shock days later when an American citizen, Timothy McVeigh, a military veteran who claimed to be a patriot, was arrested and proved linked to the bombing. The President promised to seek the death penalty. America applauded.

McVeigh is now dead by lethal injection, but his death did not bring closure, safety, or comfort. America still reels under the threat of hatred, and still threatens and demands retaliation, even when the object of our retaliation would have to move up to get into the stone age. The cycle of violence spirals downward.

Current circumstances do influence how people hear sermons; people sometimes referred to this sermon as the "anti-death-penalty sermon," even though it was not particularly that, and more than that. I suppose it will be heard quite differently today, in the aftermath of even more devastating terrorist attacks.

This sermon was preached at Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Quakertown, Pennsylvania.


Here is a man who is angry.

He puts on camouflage, he trains in weapons and self-defense.

He calls together his troops.

Here is a man who kicks in doors, dragging men and women out of their homes, throwing them in jail to await the predictable verdict of a kangaroo court.

No, this man is not a member of the Michigan Militia, or the Aryan Nation, or even the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms.

The name of the man is Saul. He lived in Jerusalem about 2,000 years ago.

We don't know why he was so angry.

Why does anyone burn so fiercely inside that he takes to guns and bombs and paramilitary training?

But angry he was -- enraged at an obscure little group of Jews who called themselves "The Way." This little group claimed to have found the Messiah in a crucified Galilean peasant who (they said) was still alive.

We know that Saul was in his own words a Hebrew of Hebrews and a Pharisee of Pharisees. He was impeccably religious, extremely zealous for the traditions of his ancestors. Everyone knew that those traditions said nothing about a Messiah from Galilee, and pronounced a curse on one who hung from a cross.

Wherever his anger came from, however religious he may have been, Saul's actions were those of a terrorist. "Saul, breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest and asked him for letters to the synagogues at Damascus, so that if he found any who belonged to the Way, men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem."

This was his last act as a terrorist.

What did it take to get him to stop?

Did the early Christians rise up in arms against him? Did they recruit the National Guard to block the road? Did they unleash the FBI, vote to repeal the Bill of Rights, legislate against everyone remotely connected to Saul and his friends?

No. You see, their Galilean carpenter had told them to love their enemies, to pray for those who persecuted them.

They believed that violence was not the answer. "Shoot straight for the head" was not an option. They knew that violence solves nothing.

But, oh, you say, didn't the Bible say, "An eye for an eye...?"

Well, just look at how well that's worked for the modern state of Israel.

Or maybe you'd rather live where car bombs are everyday dangers, where school teachers carry Uzis on routine field trips, where the hate smoulders overhead like the noxious fumes above a burning garbage dump.

Violence solves nothing. All violence does is breed more violence.

But maybe you'd rather live in a land where the only certainty is that your neighbors hate you, and your neighbors' children hate your children, and their children's children your children's children.

The early Christians refused the way of violence. Saul breathing threats and murder did not prompt them to arms. They did not answer rage with rage.

Instead they followed the advice of their Lord. They prayed for their enemies.

Jesus answers the prayer in person.

He appears to Saul on the road to Damascus in blinding light.

He turns Saul with one question, and one answer. "Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?"

"Who are you, Lord?"

"I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting."

Saul finds himself completely blind. Bright light can do that to you. In this case, the bright light exposed Saul to the bone, the physical blindness being symbolic of the state of his heart. Saul has been so blind -- blind to his rage, his hatred, his self-righteousness.

Like so many people, he had chosen to live by his worst instincts and yet call them his best instincts. It doesn't take much to go blind -- to fool yourself, to think that the hate in your heart is justified, and that anything you do out of that hate is good for you, God, and country.

In that moment of blindness -- the minute you fool yourself into thinking that you can solve the problem by force -- in that moment is born a terrorist.

I suspect that most of us, in our most honest moments, know how tempting it is to turn to rage, and how hard it is once we've turned to rage to stop ourselves from turning to fists, knives, and guns.

There are in our hearts and along the road many voices calling to us. Only one is the voice of Jesus. And the voice of Jesus does not say, "Shoot for the head."

Saul the terrorist had listened for oh so long to the wrong voice. But even after years of mistaken, misguided, hurtful living, he was changed the minute he heard the voice of Jesus -- so powerful is the voice of Truth over the many voices of evil.

There remains for Saul one last step in this conversion.

Repentance requires restitution and reconciliation. To say "I forgive but I won't forget" is never to forgive at all.

So Saul must become a part of the community he has up to this point terrorized. That's the way God works.

There was in Damascus a disciple named Ananias. The Lord appeared to Ananias and said, "Get up and go to the street called Straight, and at the house of Judas look for a man of Tarsus named Saul."

But Ananias said, "Lord, are you kidding? I have heard about this man, how much evil he has done to your saints in Jerusalem; and here he has authority to bind all who invoke your name."

Ananias is the sensible Christian -- Lord, let's not get too idealistic here. People don't change overnight. How do we know we can trust this guy? And don't we need to make him pay, and pay good, for his crimes? God, are you sure you know what you're doing when you bring this terrorist scum into our pews?

But Jesus said, "Go, for he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel; I myself will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name."

You see, Jesus turns the tables entirely. Yes, Saul is a terrorist. Yes, he has caused much suffering. He will suffer for it. But he will suffer in my name.

God will do what God always does: turn evil to good, change those who do harm into those who bring good news to the people.

Ananias went to the street called Straight and laid his hands on Saul. The scales fell from Saul's eyes, and he went on to become the man we now call Saint Paul.

These are difficult days to be followers of Jesus.

The voices raised in hate are loud and raucous.

It's a very small quiet voice that calls us to put aside hate as a way of life, to disassemble our guns and turn them in to be melted down and fashioned into plowshares, to wield those plows for the good of all people, and to use fertilizer for nothing more than to refresh our fields.

Those who refuse to yield to the voice of hate may not be popular. Society tends to rally around the like-minded, and our society does not seem to understand that violence is the problem, not the solution. The voice we follow tells us, as it told Saul, that we will suffer in his name.

Living in Truth has its price.

But what does it cost us to live in hate? What is the price of hate?

Jesus calls us to live in love.

How can we afford anything less?



The Lord Of All Choices

Easter 7, Year B -- Acts 1:15-26
May 11, 1997


One way to sustain anticipation in a sermon is to promise something at the beginning, but make them wait for it. This I do in the opening sentences. The tactic is risky, because you really have to come through on the promise, and you have to keep them interested enough along the way so that they will still be with you at the conclusion. The reader can judge how well I did that.

This sermon is an attempt to deal with the complex issue of Christian discernment in the short space of a sermon. Acts 1 provides the perfect opportunity to do that, because it portrays the early Christian community in the process of making a decision. It is disarming in a way, because the decision seems fairly inconsequential on the face of it -- the choosing of an apostle that no one ever heard from again. The text is surprisingly deep; on the surface it seems to involve no more than a roll of the dice, but the underlying process involves much more. It is also a forbidding text, because it bristles with strange and foreign elements; it is not clear to modern folk why the choice of Matthias was worth so much ink, nor do most people resonate with Peter's method of scriptural interpretation, and as for the process of choosing by lots, that's usually reserved for deciding who gets the ball first in a football game.

But it is precisely because of its obscurity and seeming irrelevance that the text is such a convenient jumping-off point. It presents us with a community making a decision not our own; we can be perfectly objective here, because there is nothing of our own at stake (try, for example, to do a sermon on discernment using the example of whether to abort a deformed fetus, and see how far you get). It also presents us with a God who thinks and acts on a plane different from our own; there is no danger of confusing our will with the deity's. This is an instance where the historical conditioning of the biblical text offers us an opportunity to hear a word from outside our own historical and social context, and thus gives us a token of that Word which comes from outside history altogether.

This sermon was preached at St. Luke's Episcopal Church, Katonah, New York.


Preview of what is to come:

Before the morning is over, I will explain to you the will of the Lord.

But first, let's set the scene.

Jesus is gone, but there is no reverential silence.

You have to expect a little noise when you have people jammed in like commuters on a train at rush hour.

Imagine 120 people crammed into your living room, the clatter of plates and coffee cups, the children playing in a corner, the din of dozens of little conversations going on at once, every cushion and chair filled, every nook and cranny pulsing with protoplasm.

Finally Peter rises and quiets the crowd. He speaks.

Seems there needs to be an election.

One of the apostles is missing -- that symbolic twelfth apostle that fills out the number to match the ancient sons of Israel.


You couldn't start this new movement in Judaism with fewer than twelve tribes, anymore than you could leave the flag with 48 stars once Alaska and Hawaii joined the union.


We've got to have a new apostle to replace Judas, according to Peter.

So let's try the Lotto approach.


They cast lots to choose the winner.


They cleared out some floor space against the wall and shot craps.

But of course, there's more to it than that.

Peter begins by appealing to scripture, in the conviction that God has already spoken to the issue in the words of the Old Testament.

"The Holy Spirit spoke through David," he says, and he quotes from the Psalms.

For that matter, even the idea of casting lots probably came from the Bible.


The ancient high priests determined the will of the Lord by using something called Urim and Thummin --


Nobody knows exactly what the Urim and Thummin were, but some people think they were just a set of dice.

Now it may seem odd to us today that Peter could at will pull out a Bible verse that fits.


But you have to remember that he had extensive knowledge of the scriptures.


These people ate, drank, and slept Bible.

This is not, by the way, that practice of treating the Bible like an oracle -- where you let it fall open to a page and point.


Like the guy who was wondering what God wanted him to do, and he let his Bible fall open to Matthew's story about what happened to the traitor: O God, what do you want me to do? Plunk: "Judas went out and hung himself."


Well, that can't be right; try again: "Jesus said, Go and do likewise."


How about another: "What you do, do quickly."

It's beyond me how anyone can believe they can know what God wants them to do by remaining ignorant.

And yet, they come to me and say, "These people come to my door with all these Bible verses and I don't know what to tell them...."


Well, why don't you know the Bible at least as well as they?


If Episcopalians spent half as much time ...

And yet for Peter and the 120, there was more to it that just knowing the Bible.

There was also a value placed on the wisdom of experience.

They weren't going to put just anyone in Judas' place.


It wasn't a matter of taking volunteers or grabbing the first warm body.

Peter asks them to nominate someone who's been with them the whole time, from day one with John at the baptism in the Jordan River, to the day Jesus took off and left them for good.


What we need, says Peter, is someone who's seen it all: a witness to the resurrection.


Someone who's seen him alive, seen him dead, and seen him alive again.


We require someone who from the beginning has been one of us.

One of my fundamentalist friends once told me that I think too much --


That thinking was dangerous,


Experience was dangerous --


"You just have to believe the Bible."

I can reply only by describing a poster put out by the Episcopal Ad Campaign a few years back:


A man with duct tape over his mouth: "In some churches, there are no questions."

It wasn't that way for Peter and the 120 in that room.


There were questions, and the main question was, "Who was Jesus, really? Dead man? Or living Lord?"


They read their Bibles in light of their answer.


For them, the Bible was filtered through their experience of Jesus' resurrection.


So they needed a leader who shared this resurrection experience --



Someone who would understand.


There wasn't anything in the Old Testament that in and of itself anyone would have understood to be about Jesus unless and until they had met Jesus.


Everything they read was changed because of Jesus.


It was like looking through a magnifying glass and seeing the details you never noticed before.

You see, there is no unmediated Bible.


It is impossible to read anything without interpreting, including especially the Bible.


Anyone who tells you otherwise is either extremely naive, or a bald-faced liar.

With the duct tape ripped from your mouth, not only can you ask questions, you can also pray.

Prayer is the other thing these 120 disciples do.

They pray: "Lord, show us the one you have chosen."

They follow the example of their Master, in that last moment before his betrayal.


According to the Gospel of John, Jesus prayed for those very same disciples.


"Protect them," he says. "Guard them, help them do their jobs."

I know, it's hard to believe when all around us people treat prayer as a kind of spiritual grab bag, magic that provides all our wants, which we call "needs."


I hear people talk about how they were driving around, praying for a parking space, and Behold! God gave them a parking space.


Does it ever even occur to them just to park the car and get on with what God has called them to do?

The audacity of Jesus to pray that his disciples might be empowered to do God's will.

And here in Acts, God is answering that very prayer, providing a twelfth for apostleship.

So we come full circle, to the craps shoot, the casting of lots --

Which now looks more like a tie breaker, drawing straws.

Two candidates survive the tests of scripture, experience, and prayer.

So flip a coin.

Matthias is elected.

It's not a random choice.

How do you find out the will of God?

I will now explain it to you.

I can tell you, if the Book of Acts is any indication, you don't find it alone.


It took a whole room crammed full of people to discern the will of God.

And you don't find the will of God without education, without experience, without reason.


These early disciples valued scripture and accumulated wisdom.


They demanded someone who had been around.

And you aren't going to find the will of God without asking.


Prayer was at the heart of the early Christians' decision-making process.

And we are talking here about that very human process of choosing this one or that, the process of making a decision.


The will of God is not going to float down from the sky, any more than it did for Peter and the 120.


The disciples' decision is a reflection of who they are, their knowledge and experience, what they pray for, what was deep down inside.


They can recognize the will of God when they see it, because they've given their lives for it.

What is the will of God?


There is no easy answer.


There is only the ongoing process of giving ourselves to the Lord of all choices.



The Real Thing

Easter 6, Year A -- Acts 17:22-31
May 9, 1999


Sometimes the best resources for introducing unfamiliar material lie close at hand. In this case, novelist Tom Wolfe paints a vivid portrait of a modern person in a contemporary predicament who turns to the ancient Stoics for comfort. Wolfe's story provides a springboard for understanding Paul's sermon to the Athenians, since the two are connected by Stoic ideology.

As Wolfe makes Epictetus come alive by giving him a contemporary embodiment, so the preacher can give scripture a contemporary edge by using analogy and story. Literature, along with the media, and material drawn from conversations with friends (used delicately) can enlighten the Bible and enliven the sermon. In addition to Wolfe, I have drawn from novelist Amy Herrick, At the Sign of the Naked Waiter, for the image of life as a makeshift boat. Media, news reports, and popular culture figure prominently in my preaching; this sermon is peppered with references to current events, which have lost none of their punch. Finally, I am indebted to an anonymous friend for one personal story, and to a homiletics colleague for the concluding story.

This sermon was preached at Christ Episcopal Church, Avon, Connecticut.


In Tom Wolfe's novel, A Man in Full, there's a fellow called Conrad.

Conrad is a little guy who's been kicked around all his life.

He has to quit junior college when his girlfriend gets pregnant.

Instead of applying to U. C. Berkeley he goes to work in a frozen food warehouse, lifting eighty-pound blocks of cardboard and ice while stalactites droop from his mustache.

When he gets laid off from that job, he finds himself pushed into a fight over his car, and he ends up in prison for felonious assault.

Incarcerated in a dark, dirty prison cell in Northern California, he receives a tattered book called The Stoics.


Now this is not about people who are long-suffering and grim-faced.


The book contains the writings of the first-century Roman philosopher Epictetus.


Epictetus taught that one should live through reason and self-control.


We should be free and independent of the ins and outs of fortune, said Epictetus, our happiness not depending on that which we cannot control.


And the only thing we can control is our own self, our own will. "The body is a vessel of clay and a quart of blood," he said, "Life is just on loan."


The only thing we can ever really own is our character, and even character is a spark from Zeus.


Epictetus believed that Zeus controlled our fortune, and so we need not worry. Don't be driven by fear, necessity, and desire, he said. "Did you ever see an old beggar on the street?" he asked. "He must have found food and a place to sleep. Three-hundred sixty-five days a year. If he can find food, surely you can. What more do you need?"

Conrad in prison is dumbstruck by these words.

He comes out of jail a changed man. He calls himself a Stoic, a worshiper at the Church of Zeus. He becomes an evangelist, a messenger.

I can't tell you the whole story today, only to say that he ends up taking the words of the ancient Roman philosopher Epictetus across the country to the least likely place --

The richest part of Atlanta, Georgia --

Winding streets, rolling lawns, Scarlett O'Hara mansions complete with uniformed servants:

Epictetus in Buckhead.

On the other side of the world and a couple thousand years earlier, Paul stood in front of the Areopagus in Athens.

Epictetus was not yet in diapers, but his future teachers were out in force.

Luke tells us that the Stoics gathered to debate with Paul, along with the Epicureans, who denied divine judgment and said that what you could see here on earth was all that there was.

Still, these Greek and Roman philosophers loved to listen to Paul, the proclaimer of foreign divinities.

Luke tells us that all the Athenians and their friends would gladly spend their time "in nothing but telling or hearing something new."


But before Paul jumped into the debate, he did one very important thing.

He told them what he had done:

He said that he had "gone through the city and looked around very carefully."

That "looking around carefully" is crucial.

It's what we so often forget to do; what we overlook, especially when things seem so familiar.

If you looked carefully around your city, your town, your neighborhood, what would you see? What would you find out?

I read in Newsweek that the father of one of the shooters in Littleton, Colorado, had a collection of vintage BMWs.


Yet he didn't notice that his son was stockpiling weapons and building bombs.


I think that says a lot.

What would you see, if you looked around carefully?

Paul in Athens ran across an altar with the inscription, "To an unknown god."

That's what I think we're going to see nine times out of ten: the altar to the unknown god.

If we look carefully, we will find altars and objects of worship that are barely recognized as such.

Epictetus was right -- most people are driven by fear, necessity, and desire.

They don't realize what's important. They haven't figured it out yet.

One of my old friends was raised in Atlanta, not far from Buckhead.


She once told me why she got married right out of college --


Not because she really wanted to.


It was just what you did.


You graduated from college and married your boyfriend.


That's what everyone did.


You didn't stop to think about what you really wanted to do.

Paul told the Athenians that the first step is to recognize your place in the world:

Rather than worship what you do not know, meet the God who made the world and everything in it.

This God does not live in shrines made by human hands, be they altars, mansions, or BMWs.

God gives life and breath to all.

Not so different from the words that Conrad carried from prison to Buckhead.

Paul met the Athenians right where they lived -- he was even willing to quote their own poets: "In him we live and move and have our being," "We too are his offspring."

As far as it goes, according to Paul, the poets and philosophers spoke the truth: What we have, we have from God.

If we think otherwise, we are deluding ourselves.

How could anyone think otherwise, who saw the images this last week from Kansas and Oklahoma, the half-mile wide swath that looked like a war zone, every house reduced to rubble by Force Five twisters?


We cannot control this. No one can.


"Safe at home" is an illusion.


Sooner or later, we're going to have to deal with the truth.

The truth, Paul said in Athens, is that we cannot worship gold, silver, stone, image, or imagination.

Because we are God's offspring --

So God cannot be a thing -- an object -- anymore than we are.

The one true God has commanded all people to repent.

God has fixed a day to have the world judged by the appointed person.

And God has testified to all this by raising that person from the dead.

Needless to say, the philosophers were not happy to hear Paul talking about things like Judgment Day.

Some in the crowd scoffed, Luke tells us. Some wanted to hear more.

A few -- just a few -- became believers.

It is one thing to recognize that life is a little boat made of a twig, a leaf, and a wadded-up piece of gum.

It is quite another to acknowledge that it's not even your gum.

And yet God is nothing if not persistent.

God keeps pushing us to move from ignorance to faith --

To abandon the worship of the unknown god in order to come face to face with the real thing --

If only we could see.

Years ago there was a little girl named Jennifer.

She was in the store with her mother when she spotted a necklace of plastic pearls.

She became enchanted. She had never seen anything so beautiful. "Mommy, can we buy them?"

Mom looked at the price tag. A dollar ninety-five, plus tax. "That looks like something you'll have to save up for," she said. "Maybe you could do some extra chores, and Grandma always gives you a dollar for your birthday."

Jennifer went home and emptied out her piggy bank. She had seventeen cents.

But the necklace was gorgeous.

So she started doing extra chores. She went over to the neighbor's house to see if they had any chores for her. A quarter here, a dime there.

When her birthday came, and Grandma handed over the dollar bill, she was over the top.

She ran to the store and bought the plastic pearls.

She wore them everywhere -- to school, to church, she even slept with them on.

The only place she didn't wear them was the bathtub, because her mother told her they would make her neck turn green.

Over the weeks and months to follow she was never without her pearls, she was meticulously careful with them, and even though the plastic changed color and got dirty and chipped here and there, she thought they were the most beautiful thing she had ever owned.

One night her mother came to tuck her in her bed, looked thoughtfully at her, and said, "Jennifer, do you love me?"


"Yes, Mommy, I love you."


"Would you give me your pearls?"


"Oh, no, Mommy, anything but my pearls. You can have my Rainbow Pony. It's the nicest one in my collection."


"That's okay, Jennifer," said Mom.

The next night her mother came in and said, "Jennifer, do you love me?"


"Yes, Mommy, I love you."


"Would you give me your pearls?"


"Oh, no, Mommy, anything but my pearls. Why don't you take my dolly? She talks and eats and even wets."


"That's okay, Jennifer."

The next night when her mother came in, Jennifer was sitting cross-legged on her bed, nearly in tears. Her hands were clutched around the string of plastic pearls, which she held out toward her mother.


"If you really want them," she said, "you can have them."


Jennifer's mother took the pearls and put them in a pocket.


From another pocket, she took an ancient blue velvet box.


She opened the box, and inside was a gleaming string of genuine pearls.


"These pearls belonged to my mother," she said, "and now I want to give them to you."

How long are we going to clutch the beloved counterfeit --

When God is waiting, just dying, to give us the real thing?