Fourth Sunday of Easter 2021 (Vocations Sunday)

 

Fourth Sunday of Easter 2021

‘The next day their rulers, elders, and scribes assembled in Jerusalem, with Annas the high priest, Caiaphas, John, and Alexander, and all who were of the high-priestly family. When they had made the prisoners stand in their midst, they inquired, ‘By what power or by what name did you do this?’ Then Peter, filled with the Holy Spirit, said to them, ‘Rulers of the people and elders, 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. This Jesus is

“the stone that was rejected by you, the builders;

it has become the cornerstone.”

There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among mortals by which we must be saved.’

Acts 4:5-12

‘I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. The hired hand, who is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away—and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd. For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again. I have received this command from my Father.’

John 10:11-18

‘There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among mortals by which we must be saved.’

 

In the ancient world, a name was more than a label by which to identify one person from another, though it did do that, often rooted in lineage or place of origin. To declare someone’s name before others was to speak of their reputation, to reveal their character. To invoke a name was understood as the manifestation of that person’s character, as if it were that person themselves who was speaking or acting through another. Our reading from Acts chapter 4 begins with several names: Annas the high priest, Caiaphas, John, and Alexander. We will return to them; but first, some other names.

Aided by powerful Roman allies, Herod the Great had deposed the Hasmonean dynasty and established himself as Rome’s client king in Jerusalem. On his death, in AD 4, his will provided for his kingdom to be divided between his sister Salome I (the west), and three of his sons: Archelaus (the south), Herod Antipas (the north, and the east), and Philip (the far north-east). Although this was not in Herod’s gift to give, the emperor Augustus chose to respect the will. However, Augustus quickly judged Archelaus—whose portion had been disputed by his brothers from the outset—to be incompetent, removing him and imposing direct Roman rule on Jerusalem only two years later.

In AD 6 Quirinius, the Roman governor of Syria, appointed an ambitious twenty-six-year-old named Annas the first High Priest of the newly created Province of Judea. A decade later, in AD 15, a newly arrived Roman prefect, Valerius Gratus, seeking to establish himself, removed Annas from office, and appointed someone else. Historically, the role of high priest had been a position for life; hence, Annas would always bear that title if no longer officially the role. Having lost none of his ambition, he would become Jerusalem’s eminence grise, despised by the populace for the greed and violence of his household.

A year after removing Annas, Gratus removed the successor, and appointed Annas’ son Eleazar high priest. One year later, he removed Eleazar. Eleazar’s successor held the post for less than a year, before Gratus removed him, appointing Annas’ son-in-law Caiaphas high priest in AD 18. Caiaphas was, apparently, a particularly adroit ally to Rome, retaining his position when Gratus was replaced by Pontius Pilate and remaining high priest until Pilate’s departure in AD 36. Over the following thirty years, four more of Annas’ sons would serve as high priest: Jonathan (AD 36-37, and 44) (this might possibly be the John mentioned in Acts 4; of Alexander, there is no other record), Theophilus (AD 37-41), Matthias (AD 43), and Annas the Younger (AD 63-66) who was assassinated for calling for peace with Rome, in the early stages of the First Jewish-Roman War, a war which would eventually see the destruction of the temple in AD 70.

For sixty years, from AD 6-66, the household of Annas exercised their influence over Jerusalem, trusting in the power of their name to bounce back every time their rivals succeeded, temporarily, in displacing them. And at the very mid-point, they make the prisoners stand in their midst (Greek: mid-point), and Peter declares to them the name of Jesus.

These were the same men who, just weeks before, had made Jesus stand in their midst and had named him ‘blasphemer’ on account of assuming the title Son of God. Of course, this was not blasphemy at all, but the title claimed (Psalm 2) for David, and the Davidic line of kings, many of whom proved to be unfaithful sons, the dynasty abruptly ending at the deportation to Babylon (it is interesting to note that Peter quotes Psalm 2 on their release, see Acts 4:23-31). The clear message of the title Son of God is that Jesus’ followers saw him, not as a Rome-appointed Herodian king, nor even a previously Roman-recognised Hasmonean king, but as a God-appointed Davidic king. Jerusalem was swollen by tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands of pilgrims looking for just such a restoration, to overthrow Roman rule. In such an uprising, the entire, widely despised household of Annas would surely be put to death as collaborators: they had no choice but to act decisively to ensure their interests.

Jesus, for his part, named the house of Annas ‘hired hands.’ They were supposed to be the shepherds of Israel, but, instead, these Rome-appointed hired hands—in league with the wolf—looked to their own good. Before them, Jesus would lay down his life in order to take it up again.

The writer of the New Testament Letter to the Hebrews tells us (that is, those for whom the New Testament forms part of our community library) that Jesus is our high priest, and that we are his household. There is, therefore, a direct parallel between Caiaphas, operating in the name of Annas, and Peter, operating in the name of Jesus. Peter, who would end his days, at around the same time the dynasty of Annas came to an end, as bishop of Rome. Each holds up a mirror to the other.

Like Caiaphas, Peter belonged to a family of privilege, enjoying the patronage of Rome. Dried fish from the inland Sea of Galilee was a delicacy on the most refined of Roman tables. Jonah and Zebedee were partners in a fish export business successful enough to employ workers beyond the extended family: hired hands. Between the two families, four sons—Andrew and Peter, James and John—were disciples of a rabbi, an honour reserved for those students with the greatest aptitude, and economic freedom to study. These were not uneducated men, even if the ruling elite of the nation’s capital saw them as such. But Peter embraces what Caiaphas rejects. Note that even as a re-directed fisher-of-people, Peter continues to oversee workers and export the new family business as far as Rome; whereas Caiaphas, the hired hand who does not care, is left behind as the story of salvation unfolds.

Peter, however, is not only an historical figure, like the rest, but also the representative figure for the Church. And the Church designates today, the Fourth Sunday of Easter, as Vocations Sunday. Vocation is often understood narrowly, to describe a call to ordained ministry, as deacons, priests, and bishops, or a life set apart, as a monk or a nun. But vocation refers to the call of God on our lives, and everybody has one. Vocation catches up our background, our family history and place of origin, along with our gifts and skills, our opportunities, and our constraints, and calls us to put all this into loving the Lord our God with all our heart and mind and soul and strength, and loving our neighbour as ourselves.

Your vocation may be as a teacher, or an ambulance driver; a hairdresser, furniture-maker, shopkeeper, pint-puller; working in a lab developing vaccines, or being a foster parent; leading the gathered congregation in our prayers of intercession, or decorating the church to the glory of God; serving as treasurer on the Parochial Church Council, or creating space for teenagers to discover themselves. Your vocation will overlap, and engage with, various spheres of life and influence: paid and unpaid roles, in domestic, ecclesial, and societal settings. Not simply what we do, but how we inhabit that. At times set aside for others, and taken up again, for others. Often, we try to hold on too tightly, too long—like Annas—disempowering others, instead of laying our lives down in order that they might be raised up.

To step into our vocation is to learn to know and respond to the voice of the good shepherd, who knows us more intimately than we know ourselves, and seeks us out and draws us close. It is to find our place, as a living stone, in the rebuilt temple, space and form held together by Jesus, the cornerstone. It is to be set free, not only from that which holds us captive but for the good we were created to do, as God works to make the world new in and through and with Jesus Christ his Son our Saviour. It is to renounce the way of Annas, and to proclaim, instead, in thought and word and deed, the name of Jesus.

It is to be and do, in and with our lives, what Jesus would be and do, if he were me, or you.

As we emerge from the profound dismantling of the past year, Vocations Sunday takes on a fresh significance. It may be that this Eastertide the Holy Spirit is prompting your spirit, to respond to the call of God on your life: to step into a new season; or to lay down some role that has been undertaken for so long that it has become mistaken for your identity; or to take up your laid-down life once again. If so, I would love to talk with you about that.

But for each one of you, know this: you are known, you are loved, you are called, you are saved—not least, from yourself—you have been given a voice, and empowered to fulfil your vocation. Where the Church has sought to silence you, or been complicit in that silence, on behalf of the Church, I apologise; may God give us the grace to repent and believe anew, for the kingdom of heaven has drawn near. And may we all, together, filled with the Holy Spirit, press into our vocation—neither resisting nor running away—today and every day. Amen.

 

Third Sunday of Easter 2021

 

Third Sunday of Easter 2021

‘When Peter saw it [the crowd that was gathering, after he restored a man lame from birth to strength], he addressed the people, ‘You Israelites, why do you wonder at this, or why do you stare at us, as though by our own power or piety we had made him walk? The God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, the God of our ancestors has glorified his servant Jesus, whom you handed over and rejected in the presence of Pilate, though he had decided to release him. But you rejected the Holy and Righteous One and asked to have a murderer given to you, and you killed the Author of life, whom God raised from the dead. To this we are witnesses. And by faith in his name, his name itself has made this man strong, whom you see and know; and the faith that is through Jesus has given him this perfect health in the presence of all of you.

‘‘And now, friends, I know that you acted in ignorance, as did also your rulers. In this way God fulfilled what he had foretold through all the prophets, that his Messiah would suffer. Repent therefore, and turn to God so that your sins may be wiped out…’’

Acts 3:12-19

‘While they were talking about this [the claim of two disciples that Jesus had met them on the road to Emmaus], Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, ‘Peace be with you.’ They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. He said to them, ‘Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.’ And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, ‘Have you anything here to eat?’ They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate in their presence.

‘Then he said to them, ‘These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you—that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled.’ Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, and he said to them, ‘Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things.’

Luke 24:36b-48

I need to write a sermon. Indeed, I want to write a sermon. But I lack the imaginative energy to write a sermon. And there lies a fitting irony, for my text is Acts 3:12-19.

Acts chapters 3 and 4 tell the first real story of the Jesus community after they are filled with the life-giving presence of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, in chapter 2. Peter and John are heading to the temple to pray, which was for them a habitual behaviour and spiritual discipline. And as they enter the temple, their attention is drawn to a man who sits at the gate, dependent on the compassion of others. Unable to walk since birth some forty years since, he has been carried here day after day for more days than anyone can keep track, brought by a close community of family or friends, lifted up on a sea of humanity. Again, habitual behaviour and spiritual discipline. These things are good, but they only take us so far.

Who knows how many times Peter and John have passed by this man before, have perhaps even donated to his cause? But on this day, God is doing a new thing. Peter reaches out his hand, and draws the man up, to stand on his feet. The man skips and skitters about like a new-born colt, the foal of a donkey. Then, like Peter once walking on the Sea of Galilee, he has a wobble, and clings on to this rock-like disciple. Meanwhile, everyone else is rowing against the wind, struggling to make sense of what their eyes tell them is happening and their minds tell them does not happen. And Peter asks them, ‘Why do you stare at us, as though by our own power or piety we had made him walk?’

Our own power or piety. That is the framework for life that is being called into question here. That is how we are trained to operate. It is the preferred modus operandi at work in our church institutions, in our fraternal organisations, in our political parties, in our constructions of race and class and gender and national superiority: so ubiquitous, in fact, that we do not see it until it is called out—and then, we resist. And it is this dynamic that defined the lame man’s life. He was carried to the temple by the power of others to lift his weight, where he depended on the piety of the temple-goers to provide for his material welfare. Moreover, there was a piety to the powerful—they took him to the temple, to God’s house—and a power to the pious—they had financial capital to bring to bear to address the situation. But God is doing a new thing.

I want to tread lightly here. I believe that God heals people all the time, an everyday occurrence, through the skill of doctors and nurses, of physiotherapists and psychotherapists, and by miraculous means. But not everyone receives physical healing. Sometimes the way in which the Holy Spirit leads us is to care for the marginalised, is to address accessibility and justice, is to carry the lame and to give our silver and gold. But it makes all the difference in the world whether we do those things in our own power or piety, or in and with and through Jesus.

Why? Because operating in our own power or piety kills life. Even if it cannot ultimately stop the life that flows from God, it resists it, to death.

Peter makes this clear in what he says to the gathered crowd. Operating in our own power—like Pilate, like Barabbas—kills life. Operating in our own piety—like the religious rulers—kills life. Regardless of how good our intentions are—let alone how muddied are our motives—when we, in our personal capacity or corporate identity, operate in our own power or piety, it results in death. (Notice the impulse writhing within you if I call out power and piety at play in the respectable institutions to which you belong.)

I cannot write the sermon I both need and want to write, in my own power or piety. Whichever way I try to lever these resources, my offering is dead.

Now, dead is not necessarily the final word, with God. Nonetheless, to act in such a way as to result in death—often metaphorical deaths, though actual homicide is surely included, as we only have to follow world news to be aware—to act in such a way is counted against us as sin, of which we are called to repent, and turn to God so that your sins may be wiped out. To die to self, and find ourselves raised up, caught up, in the glorious story being penned by the irrepressible Author of life, in flesh and bone, told in our scars and around our shared tables.

We are called to participate in the life of Jesus, who, having died once, now lives for ever. To participate in his transformative presence, his victory over death in the world; including in our institutions and associations, for, we are called not to withdraw from the world but to bear witness to what God has done in Jesus. By its very nature, such intimate relationship cannot be reduced to a formula, but, if you are looking for a recipe, for the right kind of ingredients, Jesus gives us some key principles in our gospel reading from Luke 24:36b-48

Be present. Fully present to others. As often as you are able (start small, start over).

Move towards, and not away from, those who have let you down. Make the first move in restoring peace, in returning to harmony. This takes time: like discord, peace produces ripples.

Recognise that those impressive-looking walls are put up by people who are afraid—and we are all afraid of something. Even the most defensive reaction hides within it a longing to be understood, to be embraced, for who we are.

Invited or uninvited, all the emotions turn up at the table together: fear and joy; trust and suspicion. Know that you cannot have one without the other, and commit anyway. Welcome the unwelcome, that it too may be transformed, finding its place in our healing-story.

When corona restrictions are lifted, invite appropriate (in most cases, non-sexual) touch. We are not digital ghosts, but embodied souls. Learn to be at home in the space your body occupies. Learn to respect, and honour, your body, and everyone else’s body. This is profoundly counter-cultural in so many ways, by which we objectify bodies, and seek to justify our objectifications. Save me, Jesus!

Be open, unguarded. Learn to be vulnerable, without being naïve.

Tell your story, show your scars. They are a reminder of the ways in which power and piety bring death, and of the ways in which God raises us to life in Christ.

Eat together, whatever is to hand. Not for favour or influence, but because simple food, received with gratitude in the presence of others, is fundamental to being fully human. ‘Give us today our daily bread.’ (Note also that food transforms our experience of place, breaking down walls and building bridges.)

Forgive, as generously as you are able. Ask for forgiveness, for yourself, if need be. And you will need to, often, many times a day.

These are the transformative practices of the resurrection body. In such ways we bear witness. They are startling in their simplicity, and terrifying, and take a lifetime to press into. Life in all its fullness. Given the choice between power and piety, or life, choose life. This Eastertide, choose life. Today, choose life. You will discover that the life that creates and sustains the universe, first chose you.

 

Easter Sunday 2021

 

Easter Day 2021

Lectionary readings: Acts 10:34-43 and John 20:1-18

Happy Easter! The great celebration of the Church, and chocolatiers. But what is it all about!? In our reading from John’s Gospel, we heard that Peter believed (pisteuó) but did not yet understand (eidó). That is, on the evidence he saw when he entered the tomb, he was persuaded that Jesus’ body had not been removed by grave-robbers but had, in fact, risen from the dead; but he did not yet appreciate the significance. Perhaps you can relate to that?

I want to suggest that Easter is an invitation to us to enter more fully into the life, death, and resurrection-life of Jesus. That, whether this is your first Easter or your ninety-first, the invitation of this great celebration is to be drawn ever deeper into Jesus, our Lord and Saviour, into participation in the mystery of divine love. And I want to illustrate this from our reading from the Acts of the Apostles, the account of the growth and spread of the early Church.

In our reading, we met Peter, again, and Cornelius. Cornelius was from Italy, a centurion in the Roman army, based at the headquarters of the Roman province of Judea; and his household will become the first gentiles (that is, not Jews) to be baptised in the name of Jesus—to symbolically be joined with Jesus in his dying and rising to new life.

Cornelius had had a vision of an angel, a messenger from God, telling him to summon Peter, and listen to what he had to say. When Cornelius invites Peter to address his household, Peter presents a summary of Jesus, as one anointed by God with the Holy Spirit and with power, who came to the people of Israel preaching peace; and went about doing good, and healing all who were oppressed by the devil. This was, however, too much for the people to bear, and so they had him put to death. And yet, the story does not end there: for God raised him on the third day, ordaining him judge of the living and the dead, and appointing Peter to testify to this.

Now, here’s the thing: how did Peter testify to this? Not only by words, but by doing the things that Jesus had done. In these early chapters of Acts, we see Peter and the other disciples anointed with the Holy Spirit at Pentecost (Acts 2). We see Peter, as one of ‘the twelve,’ preaching (establishing) peace between the Hebrews and the Hellenists: that is, finding a solution that addressed the tension between members of the church from a Jewish background that kept themselves as distinct as possible from the Greco-Roman culture of their occupiers, and those from a contrasting Jewish background that embraced whatever of Greek culture was not explicitly opposed to their faith (Acts 6:1-7). We see Peter going about doing good, and healing all who were oppressed by the devil (Acts 3:1-10, 9:32-42).

Peter has been drawn into participation in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. He is about to be drawn even deeper. And, in the end, he too, like Jesus, will be put to death for this.

But there is more. Now, we are introduced to Cornelius. Cornelius is not yet a believer in Jesus, and yet he is already someone who is participating in Jesus, and who is about to be drawn deeper into that life. Cornelius is a Roman centurion, one who upholds the Pax Romana, the peace imposed with violence; and yet, despite who he is and the geo-political-economic structures he is complicit in, he is genuinely concerned for the welfare of the local people. Preaching peace, as not merely the absence of war but the presence of the necessary conditions for human flourishing. Moreover, he is one who goes about doing good, generously funding the needs of the Jewish community. He takes the initiative to set aside the divisions between gentile and Jew, us and them, oppressor and oppressed, seeking to establish a new humanity. And he has been chosen by God to receive the anointing of the Holy Spirit.

Though this is the event by which the Church is opened up to embrace gentiles as well as Jews, we do not hear anything else about Cornelius in the account recorded in Acts. But tradition passes down testimony that he left the Roman army, but chose not to return to Italy; that he was appointed by Peter as the second bishop of Caesarea—the very community where he had come to faith, succeeding Zacchaeus the former tax-collector in office—and served as a bishop there and later in the region of Troas until old age, when he, like Peter, was martyred.

Jesus, Peter, Cornelius. Peter believed before he understood. Cornelius understood, before he believed. And what of you, this Easter? Is God calling you, with Peter, to testify to the kingdom reign of God in the world, exercised through Jesus, in whom is found reconciliation with God and neighbour? Or is God calling you, with Cornelius, to covenant relationship, to find your place in God’s family, the Church?

Having focused on the reading from Acts, I want to close by returning to the Gospel reading, and to Mary Magdalene. Jesus appears to her, and is made known to her when he calls her by name, “Mary!” Easter is not about answers to all our questions, but Love’s response to the longing of our heart:

for a community, like Cornelius (‘my Father and your Father’)

or a cause, like Peter (‘my God and your God’)

or simply, with Mary, to be able to declare, “I have seen the Lord”.

This Easter, may you also see Jesus, the Lord. May you hear him call you by name. And may that experience be both reassuringly familiar, and transform everything, for the rest of your days. Amen.