Third Sunday of Easter
Have
you ever seen the movie “Inception”?
Like a lot of movies I seem to be drawn to, it’s weird. It’s science-fiction, but I don’t know how
much “science” there is. It’s about a
group of people who figure out a way to dream their dreams into other peoples’
dreams, so they can make people dream that they are dreaming about someone
else’s dream who are dreaming about a dream.
I told you it was weird.
I
bring it up because the next couple of sermons are an “Inception” kind of
thing. I’ll be preaching sermons about a
couple of sermons that Peter preached that are about things that Jesus said and
did. It’s layered like that.
And
like most sermons, they are not going to be all-that deep. They won’t be about anything you probably
don’t already know; that’s not why we listen to sermons; that’s certainly not
why we preach them. Good sermons—the
ones we hear and the ones we preach—are meant to point the children of God back
to what’s important. No matter how far
we’ve wandered, no matter how wrong we’ve been, good sermons aim to bring us
back to what is True. There are
different kinds of preachers and there are different ways to proclaiming it,
but all good sermons point us back to the Truth that Jesus our Savior is the
one who makes us whole forever.
Again,
not terribly deep: we know this. What we
may not always remember is that this Truth calls us to something. God’s Truth calls us to more than just awe
and wonder. As Easter people—as people
who have received life eternal—we receive this Truth by our repentance. This Truth calls us to turn around, to
repent, to change our citizenship in this world, and to become a faithful part
of God’s Kingdom. The power of God calls
us to be different.
Our
Scripture lesson today begins with, “When Peter saw it, he addressed the people, ‘You Israelites, why do you wonder at
this, or why do you stare at us.’”
Obviously, there is something bigger than just his sermon going on
here. That “something” he refers to is a
miracle. Shortly after Pentecost, when
they received the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, Peter and John find themselves (as
I’m sure they often did) on their way to the temple to pray. At one of the gates leading into the temple,
they met a man who had been unable to walk since birth. Since he couldn’t work, he sat outside the
temple every day where the people of God could provide him with charity.
This
is where the story gets interesting.
Peter and John show up and tell the man, “We have no money, but in the
name of Jesus get up and walk.” Of course,
the man born unable to walk then gets up and walks. Not only does he walk, he leaps. He starts jumping around for joy, following
them into the temple praising God for what’s been done for him.
I
imagine, when you hear that part of the story, it sounds a bit familiar to
you. I don’t think we’ve ever seen
anything that spectacular happen at an entryway to our church, but we’ve heard
stories like this before. Jesus did this
kind of thing all the time, right?
That’s why great throngs of people followed him around; but it’s old
news to us. It’s funny: we may not be so
used to the miraculous, but stories about the miraculous are nothing new. We forget that, if we were there—if we were
witness to something incredible like this—it would be a big deal! If suddenly, that poor guy we gave money to
outside the church, came dancing and shouting into it, we would want to know
more; we would go check it out. And
check it out, they do. The people Peter
addresses—the people who are wondering and staring—have seen something amazing
and they come flocking to find out more about it.
In
her book The Temple Bombing, Melissa Fay Greene describes the events
surrounding the 1958 hate-crime bombing of the oldest synagogue in Atlanta. The
very next Friday evening, at the first Sabbath service after—the synagogue’s
windows still shattered and boarded up and its doors hanging off their
hinges—worship was filled to overflowing; almost as if it were the high holy
days. Their rabbi’s name was Jacob Rothschild—a powerful preacher and civic
leader—stood up for the sermon. He stood silently for a moment, looking out at
the full congregation with a penetrating gaze.
Finally he said, "So, this is what it takes to get you to temple!"
People
get interested in church for a lot of reasons.
Sometimes it’s a high holy day.
Sometimes it’s fear and grief.
Sometimes it’s because God is doing something powerful and people want
to check it out. People don’t flock to
church very often these days, but they certainly should. Miracles happen here; maybe not the
ex-beggars leaping for joy kind of miracles, but there is healing here. Do you know how miraculous it is to be in a
church that welcomes strangers? There is
no well-organized program like some churches take on, we’ll just say hi to you
and try to convince you to stick around for coffee. We are that rare church of wandering
pilgrims, on the lookout for other wandering pilgrims. If this town could get a glimpse of that
miracle, this place would be standing room only.
God
leads John and Peter into a miracle, and like a miracle should, it draws a
crowd. And just like any time that God
does something outstanding through us, Peter takes a minute to explain where it
comes from to the wondering crowd. He
explains that this is simply a God-thing.
That this miracle was done in the name and by the power of Jesus. “Oh, and by the way, that is the same Jesus
you all crucified not long ago.”
You
have to remember that Peter hasn’t been a preacher very long. What he has to say is True and God-breathed,
but I think he needs to work on his delivery a little bit. Telling your gathered congregation that they
“rejected the Holy and Righteous One” and they “killed the Author of Life” may
not always have the desired effect (and we’ll find out more about that next
week.) For today, what he has to say is
important to us all: the same Jesus that caused this miracle to happen was
raised to forgive our sins. Yes, in a manner
of speaking, we put Jesus to death; and yes, fortunately that’s not the end of
the story. But it is worth remembering
sometimes: if Jesus died to save us from our sins and that is good news, we
can’t exactly pretend we never had any.
But
Peter then goes on to proclaim something amazing. He doesn’t say our sin was okay. He doesn’t make light of the damage we have
done to our relationships with God and one another, but he does point out that
we didn’t know better. He says, “And
now, friends, I know that you acted in ignorance.” We were just dumb. It doesn’t make sin okay, we still need to be
forgiven, but Peter knows that we acte out of ignorance.
How
does Peter know we acted out of ignorance?
Because Peter acted out of ignorance!
This is beautiful, because we know Peter’s story. We know how he was always the boisterous,
impulsive disciple. Even better, we know
about that time he swore he would follow Jesus into battle and then pretended
he didn’t even know him when things got rough.
I’m
glad people don’t know my story that well.
I’m glad, but then again: it shows us where Peter’s compassion comes
from. Peter can point out our sin, while
at the same time understanding our ignorance, because he was once ignorant
too. I was out to dinner with my family
not long ago and there was a child a couple of tables over, just screaming; not
constantly, but noticeably. There was a
time that would have bothered me. That
time of course, was before I had children of my own. I’ve been to a restaurant with a colicky
infant. I’ve felt the glare of people
who are just trying to have a nice evening out.
I know it’s annoying, but I now also understand what the parents are
going through too. There is a level of
compassion that we find when we remember that we’ve been there; a compassion
that can, perhaps, help others move past it too.
In
the light of Easter morning—under the profound witness of the Empty Tomb—we are
called to remember where we’ve come from.
We are called to remember that we too were ignorant once, lost in our
own sin. We are called to proclaim our
salvation—in deed and word—to those who need to hear it, not with judgment, but
with compassion and understanding; because we’ve been there too. When those around us see this marvelous thing
at work in us, may they also hear God’s call to turn back to that same grace
and mercy. By the power of God, may we
who were once ignorant, bring the truth and life of our Risen Savior to this
darkened world.
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