July 20, 2003
Readings: Acts 18: 5-17
From the time you were children, you knew that Jesus was in trouble with the Jews. Every child from church knows that this hostility finally led to his death on the cross. When we read in Acts that fights broke out in the synagogues as Paul traveled around Greece, it seems only natural that things continued to go badly between Jews and the followers of Jesus.
But that’s a child’s reading. You have long since put away childish things. The gospel stories about Jesus were written two to three generations after his death. By that time, an unhappy separation between Jewish and Christian communities had hardened into bitter rivalry. So the bitterness of the gospels toward the Jews comes from the experience of the gospel writers in their generation. But it wasn’t like that at the beginning of the church. Jesus had had no complaint against Judaism. He was Jewish! And many were the Jews to whom he said, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.” No fight there, and no Christian religion required either. When Paul became a follower of Christ, he did not stop being a Jew. On the contrary, he experienced the way of Christ as the very heart of Judaism. Only in Corinth–the story told here in Acts–did the separation form in earnest, when, as Luke says, they “opposed and reviled him” and he moved his work and worship out of the synagogue into the home of a sympathetic worshiper.
Why did they split? The proconsul Gallio says that their dispute was over “words and names”–nothing to concern him and his duty to secure public safety. (Here was an advocate of separation of church and state!) But how do disagreements over words and names lead to violence? Sticks and stones will break our bones, but names will ever hurt me? A simple answer is that Paul proclaimed that the Messiah of the Jews had come in Jesus, and the Jews were sure this was false and an affront to God, so they were angry. But this is far too simplistic. Gallio refused to judge between them, but let us suppose he had wanted to offer an objective point of view. He would first have asked them to define their terms. What does it mean to you to say, “The Messiah has come”?
The Jews would say to Gallio: We know the Messiah has not come because we’re here talking to you! Rome is still in control everywhere, ruling by force of arms. People worship not the Lord God, but idols. When the Messiah comes, he shall be peace, and the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea. But there is no peace. Where is the lion who lies down with the lamb? Show me shalom and I will say the Christ has come. To which Gallio would say, “This is clearly stated, though too idealistic for my taste. But now to you, Mr. Paul, what do you mean when you say “the messiah has come”? Obviously no lion has lain down with a lamb?”
Paul would say, But yes, he has! He does! The lion is the Lord God, the power above and within every earthly power, who is come to dwell with me, a lamb, and to make peace. Why, last night I had a vision from the Lord showing me there is nothing to fear, that I should speak of this peace, which is not like the peace the world is after; that I should not be silent. “I am with you,” the Lord says to me. He is here, present, right in this room. The powers of death cannot hold him. The Roman government cannot kill him. Shalom is shown! The Lion lies down with the Lamb, and the power of Rome to rule is past. I am not afraid. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in the Messiah, Jesus, who is our Lord–not Caesar.”
To which Gallio might reply, “Well, that’s clear too, though much too radical for my taste. I advise you to follow the Lord Caesar while in my court. But as for the dispute between you two factions, you see you have completely different ideas of what your Messiah is supposed to do. One says the Messiah will bring peace on earth and no hostility between all creatures; no Messiah unless you see that. The other says the Messiah comes alive inside a man or a woman, free as freedom for the fear and power of death, sending him out in peace on earth, with no hostility toward any creature. The sign of the Messiah is that you’re made alive like that. You’re nuts, all of you. Now get out of my court.”
Gallio got it right, of course. The big split was about shalom–radical peace–and the power to bring it about. One faction thought of themselves as lambs with no power, waiting on the future goodness of God to work a mighty act of reversal on a hostile, walled world. The other experienced themselves as lambs with power, sent out among wolves, assured of the present goodness of God already at work inside them to break down the walls of hostility. Future-minded, externally working Messiah. Or present-inspired, internally, eternally working Messiah. That was the heart of the struggle. And here’s the tragic note. It still is a struggle–not between Jews and Christians, mind you, but within the church, just as, long ago, it was a struggle within the synagogue.
The other day I introduced myself to a man who lives in this neighborhood. “You’re a minister?” he said, signaling some curiosity or surprise. “What do you think of the church?” I asked him to narrow the aim of that immense question. “Well, is it doing what it should?” My answer followed something like this: “I think the church is very weak and undisciplined, not at all the church of Jesus. Many church people, both lay and clergy, seem to accept their own salvation as a private affair having no bearing on how they themselves can change or bring peace to their city or the world. So nothing much happens.” The man expressed some admiration for this unvarnished critique. He rejoined, “And they could be working so much good– together–to heal this sorry world. Why don’t they?” You have heard before how I think about that question. Fear is my hypothesis. “Whenever people do not behave as they know they ought, look for fear as the fundamental cause,” I told him. “Pastors are afraid?” he asked, incredulous. “Pastors, who are supposed to be leading the people through faith out of fear, are afraid? Now I’ve learned something new. Where are you a minister? I might come to your church.”
Our conversation was interrupted about then. But I couldn’t help thinking about Paul’s vision in the night. “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.” Feeling fear is not a bad thing in itself. But this matters: how you act on your fears reveals which kind of faith you have. Either the kind that dreams of a better future, expecting God or Jesus to do good things for you and those you care about, especially after you die. Or the kind that expects to experience the presence and the power of Christ as Holy Spirit, now inside you, a lamb with whom the Lion is pleased to dwell–you, a lion, unafraid; the kind that reads the fear inside as an occasion for God to come down and roar to life.
Which kind of faith have you? Which kind draws you forward? Where is the line of risk drawn in your life, the line you haven’t crossed, but which you know God is calling you over?
If you have no answer… perhaps the fact of having no answer to your God is itself the line of risk.. that you might desire of God to become secure in the knowledge of Christ within you.
If you have an answer, may you see that the answer is God’s own word to you. That you stand up unafraid. That you speak out–“Do not be silent!” That you go forth to meet the many who are God’s people–not because they are of the Christian tribe, nor of the Jews or the Muslims or the Buddhists or the… They are God’s people who are ready to leave some fear behind that the Lion of God might rise in their heart to dwell with the Lamb. Indeed, there are many in this city who are my people. All ready. My people. Thus says the Lord.
©Stephen H. Phelps, July 2003
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