Birth of the Church: Being Radical

Last week, we heard about a conflict in the church in Antioch - a division between Jewish and Gentile Christians - that was resolved through listening and compromise at the first ecumenical council in Jerusalem.

As we near the end of the Narrative Lectionary year, we will be spending this last three weeks in Galatians - Paul’s letter to the churches in Galatia, including the church in Antioch. This letter provides us with a view of Paul’s perspective of the disagreement we first heard about last week. This letter is also central to our Christian faith and our understanding of the doctrine of justification. It is also a letter that is often called the Magna Carta on Christian freedom. 

So, this morning, we read in Galatians, chapters 1 and 2.

You have heard, no doubt, of my earlier life in Judaism. I was violently persecuting the church of God and was trying to destroy it. I advanced in Judaism beyond many among my people of the same age, for I was far more zealous for the traditions of my ancestors. But when God, who had set me apart before I was born and called me through his grace, was pleased to reveal his Son to me, so that I might proclaim him among the Gentiles, I did not confer with any human being, nor did I go up to Jerusalem to those who were already apostles before me, but I went away at once into Arabia, and afterwards I returned to Damascus.

But when Cephas came to Antioch, I opposed him to his face, because he stood self-condemned; for until certain people came from James, he used to eat with the Gentiles. But after they came, he drew back and kept himself separate for fear of the circumcision faction. And the other Jews joined him in this hypocrisy, so that even Barnabas was led astray by their hypocrisy. But when I saw that they were not acting consistently with the truth of the gospel, I said to Cephas before them all, “If you, though a Jew, live like a Gentile and not like a Jew, how can you compel the Gentiles to live like Jews?”

We ourselves are Jews by birth and not Gentile sinners; yet we know that a person is justified not by the works of the law but through faith in Jesus Christ. And we have come to believe in Christ Jesus, so that we might be justified by faith in Christ, and not by doing the works of the law, because no one will be justified by the works of the law. But if, in our effort to be justified in Christ, we ourselves have been found to be sinners, is Christ then a servant of sin? Certainly not! But if I build up again the very things that I once tore down, then I demonstrate that I am a transgressor. For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God. I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I do not nullify the grace of God; for if justification comes through the law, then Christ died for nothing. --Galatians 1:13-17; 2:11-21 (NRSV)

Have you ever struggled with playing it safe instead of being radical? 

A few years ago in my former church in Pasadena, we experienced this. For several years, we had professed and believed that we were a hospitable congregation, welcoming all people. And, for the most part, we were.

Yet, we had a problem with the homeless population in our neighborhood. They liked to camp out overnight on the church property. Usually, though, if we gave them a little cash or let them use the phone or internet, or allowed them to stay overnight, well, eventually, they would move on. 

But, then, Monica and Vern arrived. (I’ve changed their names.) They lived in a beat up, broken-down van - a van they parked at the edge of our parking lot. Figuring they would move on as so many others had, we were polite. And helpful. And hopeful that they would eventually leave.

But, they didn’t leave. In fact, they started to push themselves into our congregation. When we opened up on Sunday morning, Vern was right there to help set up tables for morning fellowship. Both of them began coming to Sunday morning Bible study. Monica asked if she could sing in the choir. And on and on. They just continued to push their way in the
congregation.

Now mind you, most congregations would be thrilled with newcomers like this. How often do we proclaim our openness to visitors and our desire for them to become a part of us? How thrilled we would be if newcomers wanted to immediately become so involved!

To be truthful, we weren’t really all that thrilled. We weren’t thrilled because Monica and Vern were so different from us. For one thing, they were homeless. For another, well, they didn’t have regular access to showers. And so, sometimes, they smelled a little. Sometimes, they smelled a lot. They didn’t always say or do the “right” things. They didn’t fit into our norm. Into our small-minded, closed-hearted norm of what our church should look like.

And so, we struggled with being radical people. With being followers of a radical Gospel that teaches us that each one of us is enough and is good enough. That God has done it all for us and for every person. That there is nothing - nothing - we need do to be made righteous. That all of us, whether Jew or Gentile, whether white or black, whether gay or straight, whether binary or non-binary, all of us are made righteous before God through Christ Jesus. That is radical.

But, that’s not all. For too long we have used language that has rejected the validity of the covenant of God with the Jewish people. Parts of this letter, written by Paul, were used in the mid-20th century as a basis to extinguish the lives of millions of people. Even Luther, in his writings, used this part of Galatians to malign the Jews.  Because in large part, we have misconstrued what Paul is saying here. 

After decades of scholarship, it is now generally recognized that first-century Jews didn’t actually think that their “right status” with God came from keeping the Torah. Instead, like us, they believed they were saved solely by God’s grace. But, they also believed that their saved status was demonstrated by their obedience to the Torah, practices that marked them as God’s people, that set them apart. 

So, when Paul writes in chapter 2 that a person is justified not by the works of the law but through faith, this is not a diatribe against Judaism and the keeping of the Torah. Paul was a Jew, who kept the Torah religiously. Instead, if we look in the first chapter of Galatians, verse 16, we have a clue. Here Paul notes that Jesus was revealed to be God’s Son so that he might “proclaim him among the Gentiles.” Woven into the letter to the Galatians is a key idea - that the ancient promise of God - the covenant with Abraham to bless all the families of the world through his people - is now being fulfilled by the Messiah, Jesus. Christianity is not superior to Judaism. Rather, as one theologian puts it, “Christianity exists as the gracious fulfillment of the already gracious Judaism. It is the climax of the covenant, fulfilled in Jesus, through whom, as John writes, we have received grace upon grace upon grace. The holy Scripture tells this story - of how God’s past, present and future grace goes forth from Israel to the world through the faithfulness of Jesus Christ.

So, when Paul opposes Peter to his face, it’s not because Peter was a legalist, attempting to earn his way into heaven. Instead, Paul is saying Peter was acting hypocritically by leading others in a way that was out of step, even contrary, to the multi-ethnic, cross-cultural, radical nature of the gospel. By refusing to eat with Gentile Christians when a faction of Jewish Christians arrived in Antioch, Peter was essentially saying that there were two classes of Christians, divided by ethnic lines. And that to be a “real” Christian, one must live according to the markers of the Torah. But, Paul was having none of that. Because Paul’s idea of justification by faith in this letter is not an individual act of inclusion, but a communal act of inclusion - bringing the non-Jews into the sect of Jesus believers. It answers the question of who’s in and who’s not. For Paul, because of the radical faithfulness of Christ, nobody is out. Everybody is in. 

Monica and Vern eventually became a beloved part of our Pasadena church. Members. We learned to live into being the radical people of love that the Gospel called us to be. And, when they decided to move on, nearly two years later, we were heartbroken to see them go. 

This is what it means to be radical people of a radical Gospel, whether we are from Galatia or Pasadena, from Goshen or Louisville. To be people reaching out by grace to grab for dear life onto the perfect divine life of Jesus Christ, given for us. To be a new creation, given a new status. Included. Transformed by grace. To love. Deeply. According to the will of our God and Father. 

To God be the glory forever and ever. Amen.

Preached May 9, 2021, online with Grace & Glory Lutheran/Goshen, KY, and Third Lutheran/Louisville, KY.

Easter 6

Readings: Galatians 1:13-17, 2:11-21; Luke 18:9-14

Sent With Joy: Telling Your Story

Now in the church at Antioch there were prophets and teachers: Barnabas, Simeon who was called Niger, Lucius of Cyrene, Manaen a member of the court of Herod the ruler, and Saul. While they were worshiping the Lord and fasting, the Holy Spirit said, “Set apart for me Barnabas and Saul for the work to which I have called them.” Then after fasting and praying they laid their hands on them and sent them off.

In Lystra there was a man sitting who could not use his feet and had never walked, for he had been crippled from birth. He listened to Paul as he was speaking. And Paul, looking at him intently and seeing that he had faith to be healed, said in a loud voice, “Stand upright on your feet.” And the man sprang up and began to walk. When the crowds saw what Paul had done, they shouted in the Lycaonian language, “The gods have come down to us in human form!” Barnabas they called Zeus, and Paul they called Hermes, because he was the chief speaker. The priest of Zeus, whose temple was just outside the city, brought oxen and garlands to the gates; he and the crowds wanted to offer sacrifice. When the apostles Barnabas and Paul heard of it, they tore their clothes and rushed out into the crowd, shouting, “Friends, why are you doing this? We are mortals just like you, and we bring you good news, that you should turn from these worthless things to the living God, who made the heaven and the earth and the sea and all that is in them. In past generations he allowed all the nations to follow their own ways; yet he has not left himself without a witness in doing good—giving you rains from heaven and fruitful seasons, and filling you with food and your hearts with joy.” Even with these words, they scarcely restrained the crowds from offering sacrifice to them. Acts 13:1-3, 14:8-18 NRSV.

Grace and peace to you from God our Father, from Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord; and from the Holy Spirit, our Advocate, our Helper, and our Sustainer. Amen.

We continue this week in the Acts of the Apostles. Or, perhaps, it is better named the Acts of the Holy Spirit. Because, as we saw in last week’s story, it is the Holy Spirit that is the primary character of the Acts narrative - the primary character in forming and shaping the people of God into the church.

Last week, we heard the story of Peter and Cornelius in Caesarea, located some 78 miles northwest of Jerusalem, along the Mediterranean coast. Today’s story begins in Antioch, which is another 300 miles north of Caesarea, also along the Mediterranean coast. 

It’s important for us to understand that, after Jesus’ resurrection, the disciples initially remained in Judea, the province where Jerusalem was located. Continuing to share what they had witnessed with their own eyes. They did this mostly in the temple and the synagogues simply because they were Jewish. This was their community. However, it wasn’t before this became a problem for the religious leaders. Things escalated. And, eventually, one of the apostles - Stephen - was stoned to death.

It was Stephen’s stoning that scattered and drove the disciples out of Judea in fear. Yet, we know that even in the midst of fear and darkness, God is always at work. Bringing about new life. So, as the disciples were being driven to places further away, their mission continued. And churches were planted along the way. 

One of those churches was the church in Antioch. Antioch was a cosmopolitan city located in the Roman province of Syria. It was the capital city, a center of Greek culture, and a commercial hub. After Stephen’s stoning, many Greek followers fled to Antioch, introducing Christianity to the large population of the Jewish diaspora who lived there. It was in Antioch that Jesus’ followers were first named “Christians.” Because of this growing community, Barnabas was sent by the Jerusalem church to guide the believers in Antioch. 

The Antioch church was diverse. We see that in the opening verses of chapter 13. Names that reflect many different cultures: Barnabus, from Cyprus - a Greek island off the Mediterranean coast. Simeon, nicknamed Niger, of African descent. Lucius, from Cyrene, a North African. Manaen, a foster brother of Herod Antipas, killer John the Baptist and ruler at the time of Jesus’ death. And Saul, whom we also know as Paul, which is his Jewish name - Saul being his Roman name. He had been brought to the church in Antioch by Barnabas, from his hometown of Tarsus, which is where he, too, had escaped under his own threat of persecution.

Our story opens with the community worshiping and fasting. Then, present their midst, the Holy Spirit tells them, “Appoint Barnabas and Saul to do my work.” They continue their fast and worship and it is then, after they have finished, that they lay their hands on Barnabus and Saul and send them on their way into the unknown to share their own stories of faith - their own stories of meeting Jesus.

Over the past few weeks, we’ve been talking about being sent. We live in a time that is very different, yet very similar to that of the early church. The church, as we know it, is in a period of decline as the reality of Christendom - where the church was once central to society and culture - is no more. As Christendom disappears, the church is being pushed to the margins. We are no longer an accepted part of the culture. We are moving into a time and place that is very similar to that of the early church. This can feel challenging. We might wonder how, in the midst of this upheaval and change, we are to continue to do God’s mission? As fewer and fewer people walk in the front doors of our church, how are we to continue to do God’s mission?

Last week, we talked about sharing our story - the story of this place. Grace & Glory. And how this community has, from its very beginning, like the Antioch church, been a place of inclusivity. Where difference and diversity are celebrated. Where those on the margins of society are welcomed and valued.

Today, our focus is on sharing your story. Yes, I said, sharing your story. Each one of us, like Paul and Barnabas, has a story to share. A story or stories of when we have met Jesus in our lives. Perhaps it was in a moment of utter darkness and, maybe, it wasn’t until years later that we recognized Jesus present. Beside us. Or perhaps it was in moments of light and Jesus’ presence was immediately clear to us. Whatever those moments, I, without hesitation, believe that each of us have stories to share of when we have met Jesus. Stories that, if they are shared, become life-giving stories in which God’s mission of sharing the good news is carried out. 

Yet, I think it only fair that, before I can ask you to share your stories, I must share one of mine.

It happened in the summer 2006. I was in my first year of seminary. With a group of students - none of whom I knew beforehand - I went to a small village in Italy for three weeks to study medieval theology, spirituality and worship.  One day, early in the trip, I met a fellow student - a young woman named Cari. She has given me permission to share this story. Now Cari had grown up in the Salvation Army. This is a church that does wonderful work in our world, but it is also a church with very fundamentalist beliefs.  Cari’s family had been in the Salvation Army for generations. Her grandparents were important leaders nationally in this church. Cari had been involved in it from early on and had been active as a youth leader and a summer camp director. She was on a trajectory to become an important leader in the Salvation Army.

But, there was one problem. Cari was gay. And, as much as she tried to fight and to deny it, eventually, to be her authentic self, she had to come out. And when she did, she was shunned by her church. By her own family. And by any community she had really ever known. This resulted in a deep depression, a suicide attempt, and a resulting 3 month hospitalization. By the time I met her in Italy, she had only been out of the hospital for a few weeks. And she was searching. Trying to make sense of everything. Trying especially to understand where or if, in the midst of this darkness, God existed.

Now, before I go further, there is a part of my own story that I need to share with you. A part that is immensely painful for me and that brings up a vast amount of shame and sadness. I’ve mentioned before to you that my father died when I was 14. What I have left out of the story is how how he died. Which was by suicide. Now, there is much to this story, but it’s important that you understand two things. First, he was dealing with mental health issues, which is often true with those attempting suicide. Second, at the time he died, suicide was not discussed. Unlike today, where we have finally began to speak about it more openly, it was a taboo subject at the time. And so, because of that, there was and still is for me a lot of shame connected to his death.

So, that day in Italy, when Cari shared her story with me, I felt as though the Holy Spirit was nudging me to share my story with her. To share my story of my own father’s suicide, so that she would know that she was not alone. And that, even though it might feel to her that God had abandoned her as her church and family had, God had not. I wanted to share with her that God had created her in her own uniqueness. That God loved her - a love reflected in Jesus' death on the cross. And that God would always be present with her, bringing new life for her out of this dark place. All these gifts of our Lutheran tradition that had taken me years to fully understand - I was being called to share this with her. 

But, I was afraid. Because I had never witnessed like this before. I had never evangelized like this before. It was terrifying, because it required me to be deeply vulnerable with her. To share my shame-filled story with her, not knowing how she might respond, or think of me. And I was uncertain of even what words to say. Yet, somehow, the Holy Spirit put words into my mouth and I shared my story and God’s story with her.

Each of us have stories to share. Stories of darkness where we have wondered where God is. Stories where, often in hindsight, we see that it was in the midst in those dark times where we truly met Jesus. Jesus, who knows our suffering. And our shame. Jesus, who brings us out of death to life.

What is your story? You - me - like Barnabas and Paul, we are called to share it. And, as we do, things may not happen exactly as we expect, as we heard in the second half of today’s story. Yet, somehow, even in the midst of our human messiness, the Spirit continues to work. Through us. Giving us the words so that others might meet Jesus, just as we have met him. 

May God give you the courage and the words to share your story. Amen.

Preached May 12, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Easter 4
Readings: Acts 13:1-3, 14:8-18; Matthew 10:40-42