From Acts 5:12-42
Though
there has been a lot of stop and start, we have been working our way
through the story of Acts—the story of the early Church and how
they became the Church in the wake of Jesus’ life and death and
resurrection.
Certainly,
they struggled to find their way. They struggled with how to be the
Church—and who to welcome—and what to believe—and how to
profess it and share it and live it. They struggled with who they
were called to be in the world and who they were called to
become—with what held them together—connected them on the deepest
levels—and the kinds of responsibility their faith required. They
struggled to live into the bold, life-giving welcome they had
experienced with Jesus.
Do you
remember early in the book of Acts—when the disciples are gathered
in Jerusalem with people from all parts of the Roman Empire—and
they experience the rush of the Pentecostal wind—the Holy Spirit
that touches their tongues and gives them each voice to express the
beauty and possibility of God’s good news?
Do you remember
how—in that moment—they know they are called to go out into the
world to bear witness
to the amazing things they have seen and experienced? They know they
are called to go out into the world to offer healing in the midst of
great brokenness.
Shortly after,
Peter and John meet a lame man who asks them for alms. But Peter
says to him: “I have no silver or gold, but
what I have I give you; in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth,
stand up and walk.” And he jumps up, walking and leaping and
praising God. Then, inside the temple, in
response to the astounded crowd, Peter recounts some of the story of
Jesus’ death and resurrection. To this we
are witnesses, he says. We are witnesses to
the cruelty and injustice. We are witnesses to the behavior of the
political leadership that would allow something like this to happen.
And we are also witnesses to the power and possibilities of God. We
are witnesses and advocates for healing in a great sea of hurt and
brokenness. We are witnesses. None of us—not one of you—is
alone. We are surrounded, and we embody, the presence of the Holy
Spirit. The Holy Spirit—the advocate—lives in us. We are
witnesses.
The Temple Council, though, as
you might imagine, was not having it. The
priests, the elders, the Sadducees, the scribes assembled in
Jerusalem, with Annas the high priest, Caiaphas, John, and Alexander,
and all who were of the high-priestly family.
They felt their power and authority questioned and undermined. They
arrest Peter and John and question them: By
what power or by what name did you do this?
With boldness, they answer: “If
we are questioned today because of a good deed done to someone who
was sick and are asked how this man has been healed, let it be known
to all of you, and to all the people of Israel, that this man is
standing before you in good health by the name of Jesus Christ of
Nazareth, whom you crucified, whom God raised from the dead.”
The Temple authorities
reluctantly let them go—warning them not to speak or teach anymore
about this name. . . . But—as you and I know—the disciples and
members of the early Church are undeterred.
So, here again they are arrested,
questioned, warned: “We gave you strict
orders not to teach in this name, yet here you have filled Jerusalem
with your teaching and you are determined to bring this man’s blood
on us.”
To which Peter and the apostles
answer: “We must obey God rather than any
human authority.” Sometimes
to be a good Christian, you had to be a bad Roman.
The Council is enraged. They
want to kill them. But it’s interesting at this point. A
respected Pharisee in the Council named Gamaliel, stands up and says:
“Fellow-Israelites, consider carefully what
you propose to do to these men. For some time ago Theudas rose up,
claiming to be somebody,
and a number of men, about four hundred, joined him; but he was
killed, and all who followed him were dispersed and disappeared.
After him Judas the Galilean rose up at the time of the census and
got people to follow him; he also perished, and all who followed him
were scattered. So in the present case, I tell you, keep away from
these men and let them alone; because if this plan or this
undertaking is of human origin, it will fail; but if
it is of God, you will not be able to
overthrow them—in that case you may even be found fighting against
God!”
If it is of God. . . . If it is
of God. . . . How do we know if it is of God?
In the days following the death
of my brother, my Dad and several others commented to me: “Stan
sure didn’t deserve this.” And I know we
are all trying to make some sense of this terrible reality. And
there sure is a lot of bad theology out there about death and loss.
But the thing is, this situation has nothing to do with justice—what
Stan may or may not have “deserved.” If life and death were
about justice, I can think of a lot of people who would be dead—and
a lot of other people who would be alive—right now. You probably
can too.
This situation is not about
justice. This is a tragedy. And in this
tragedy—however we struggle to make sense of it—I know that our
God weeps with us—just as surely as I know God’s loving embrace
surrounds my brother Stan right now. He
is not alone. And neither are we. And in this togetherness—even
in the wake of tragedy—I trust that God’s grace holds us, guides
us, and will not let us go.
No, Stan did not deserve this.
But neither did Nia Wilson.
And immigrant children separated
from their families at the Border do not deserve this.
And victims of the Carr Fire do
not deserve this.
No, tragedies are not about
justice. They have nothing to do with God’s will.
But how do we know if it is of
God? Gamaliel says: “If this plan or this
undertaking is of human origin, it will fail; but if
it is of God, you will not be able to
overthrow [it]—in that case you may even be found fighting against
God!”
God, quite
simply, expands love and justice and grace and welcome in the world.
God celebrates our differences and vulnerabilities. God encourages
us to reach beyond our own comfort zones and to offer love and help
and healing to all we can, in all the ways we can. God empowers us
to make space for everyone.
If it is of God—it will do
these things. But God may not come when—or in the ways—we would
like. While I was thinking about this, I was reminded of the
quotation: “The arc of the moral
universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”
…
I always thought these words
originated with Martin Luther King, Jr. And he certainly used them
quite often. But as I researched it, I found out that the phrase
actually comes from Theodore Parker, a Unitarian minister and
abolitionist, who published a collection of sermons in 1853, shortly
before the Civil War. One of those sermons, titled “Of Justice and
Conscience,” states “I do not pretend to understand the moral
universe, the arc is a long one, my eye reaches but little ways. I
cannot calculate the curve and complete the figure by the experience
of sight; I can [only] divine it by conscience. But from what I see I
am sure it bends towards justice. Things refuse to be mismanaged
long. Jefferson trembled when he thought of slavery and remembered
that God is just. Ere long all America will tremble.”
In other words, it may take a
while, but if it is of God and God’s justice, it will eventually
prevail. I’m sure Peter and John and the early Church knew that and
trusted that. And I suppose Gamaliel intuited that. . . .
But this does not mean that there
will not be setbacks. It does
mean that the overall arc of history bends toward what is good and
right and just. And ultimately, that justice will not fail—even
though pain and evil and injustice many appear strong—even though
they may have the armies and thrones of power on their side—may
boast the riches and glory of the world—may cause the weak and
vulnerable ones to cower in despair. We may not understand the moral
universe—because its arc is so long and our eyes only reach a short
ways. But regardless, I truly believe that justice will not fail.
And neither will all that is contrary to God’s law of justice
endure.
MLK said it this way: “Evil
may so shape events that Caesar will occupy a palace and Christ a
cross, but that same Christ arose and split history into A.D. and
B.C., so that even the life of Caesar must be dated by his name.
Yes, ‘the arc of the moral universe
is long, but it bends toward justice.’”
And if it is of God, it will
increase that justice; it will bend that arc a little deeper. May we
be a part of that effort.
Amen.