The text for this sermon is the Acts passage from the lectionary readings for the sixth Sunday of Easter. You can read the full selection here.
After the first dozen or so chapters of the book of Acts, where Peter is the main focus of the stories, Luke turns his attention from Peter to Paul.
While we call this book ‘the acts of the apostles’, it’s probably more accurate to describe it as ‘the acts of the Holy Spirit’.
And it is Paul’s story of a renewed and Spirit led life that fills the pages of this book.
Paul, the one time enemy of the Jesus followers, now transformed by the power of the Spirit, is on fire with a passion to show and tell the power of love- so that other lives may be changed, burdens lifted, wounds healed and gifts realised.
Guided by the Spirit, Paul sets off on several journeys, following the same format that Jesus gave to the disciples when he sent them out into the surrounding towns and villages.
Go and preach and heal, he told them, stay where you are welcomed, move on where you are not, live simply and let your word of peace guide you.
The book of Acts tells of those journeys and the connections made, the communities who responded enthusiastically to the good news of forgiveness and liberation, as well as those who were enraged or afraid.
Some of Paul’s sermons touched a place of deep longing and there were people who on the spot received the grace of God and re-oriented their lives towards peace and love. Love poured out on them and through them to others. Many lives changed by the good for good.
But some of Paul’s sermons landed him in jail or earned him a beating.
I guess he never knew ahead of time how it would go – the Holy Spirit didn’t spare him from rejection and violence. And it would seem that, even not knowing, Paul didn’t shrink from that as a possible outcome.
When he preached, he gave it everything.
This story of Paul preaching in Athens is really interesting for several reasons.
I am sure, if you have heard anyone preach on this text before, or done a bible study on it, you’ll have heard someone note that Paul cleverly meets the people where they are.
He has walked through the city noticing what is there, and when he begins to speak, he acknowledges what he’s seen.
You are extremely religious, he says. You have gods for everything.
This is a great place to start. The Athenians clearly see that they need guidance in life beyond their own capacity to understand, and support beyond what they can manage in their own strength.
So Paul says, yes, we need God, I can see you get that. But you are all over the map – I believe I can show you where you need to focus your attention. I can show you the one true God.
Paul continues to build on the connection with the idols, and then adds a couple of quotes from Greek poetry. He’s familiar with it. It’s like he’s saying ‘I understand something of your culture and I appreciate it – your art and your poetry also speaks to me.’
We could say, it has been said, that this is a perfect model for evangelism. And I’d agree. It’s sensitive, interested, respectful, appreciative, insightful, clear and honest. He does not try to dominate with his ideas. He takes care not to be offensive even though, as a good Jewish man all of those idols must have been baffling at best, and at worst quite disturbing to him.
And even though this is such a thoughtful, grace-full sermon, the response to Paul’s message is really quite mixed. Some scoffed at him, and some said that they’d like to hear more. But we have no letters from Paul to the church in Athens. The evidence seems to suggest that Paul didn’t find enough energy and interest in Athens to form a Christian community.
The failure to plant a church doesn’t mean it’s not a perfect example of evangelism, however. This story tells us we can speak of God without the pressure of needing to convince people. We can speak for their good, not ours. We can share what has moved us, what we have found meaningful and comforting. We can appreciate and recognise the good in others and we share the good we know without any ulterior motive. We want people to know they are loved.
No strings.
I know that sounds really simple. But it’s hard to do that. It’s especially hard when across the western world our churches are emptying. When we want people to come and join our church because there are fewer and fewer people here to keep the lights on and the food bank stocked and the cups of tea flowing.
And reflecting on this story makes me wonder if, like the people of Athens, we’ve got a lot going on in the God arena, but our focus is not where it needs to be.
A couple of weeks ago I heard a story that has stayed with me.
It was from a church leader who was in a new role in a new congregation and had encountered a tricky situation in worship.
Some years ago, a member of the congregation (with some health issues) had taken on a particular job and didn’t do it reliably well. They quite bluntly refused to let anyone else do it, however, and to avoid confrontation, no one was willing to push past the initial resistance to change.
The church leader was in a quandry. They wanted the service to run smoothly. They wanted to present well. And they didn’t want to upset the member of the congregation, given that this job was clearly very important to them.
But whose needs were more important?
What about the impact on the congregation as a whole when the job was done poorly, and the service flow was interrupted? What about the impact on the reputation of the church as a place where there’s good worship? What would visitors think? How could you attract new members and glorify God when your worship was sloppy/choppy/unprofessional?
Doesn’t God’s sovereignty demand our best efforts?
The story came out among a group of ministers and there was a lot of discussion. This isn’t an isolated situation.
In the conversation that followed it became clear to me that many ministers feel responsible for the quality of the worship service, and as the leader, they want their values to be reflected in the gathered community.
But the community has been gathering since before the minister arrived and they have their own values, their own stories of how we do things and what’s most important and why.
They want the minister to lead, but they don’t always want to follow.
And there was something about the conversation that I found disturbing. Because I think in it, what I was hearing is that we have lost sight of who worship is for, and how God is glorified.
The babe in the manger is God’s glory – the simple, humble, vulnerable embodiment of Life in all its fullness.
The open table is God’s glory – the banquet set for those who are left out and written off, to come and sit as equals.
The broken body on the cross is God’s glory – the love pouring out in blood and tears and forgiveness.
The whole earth with all the beauty and mystery, the whole of creation with the cycle of birth, death and new life – this is God’s glory.
So, despite our Presbyterian fondness for decently and in order, I don’t think smoothly led liturgy, and rousing music, a slick slide show and an inspirational message is glorifying to Jesus.
I think Jesus is glorified by our love. Jesus is glorified when our love takes precedence over our fear and our faking it, and when our love is made real in our kindness and our generosity.
Our church is people. Our people are just people. None of us are professional at being human. We’re messy. We’re inconsistent, we make mistakes, we forget, we get sick, and at times we are incompetent. We’re real people with wonderful gifts and grievous wounds.
And this is ok.
It’s really important to hear that.
I don’t believe that Jesus, who ate with sinners and tax collectors, who told stories of fields and flowers, of love that is shamelessly faithful to us and eternally pursuing us not to judge or condemn or shame us, but to woo us, and hold us and heal us… I don’t believe he expects us to be proper, polished and smart.
Your story is where God meets you. If you are telling it honestly, your story is probably gloriously messy.
But I say, tell it. Tell it, and let the glory shine through.
The Spirit will do the rest.
Saint Peters Presbyterian Church 