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.