Always lots of room
Commentary
Do we have room for people?
I'm sure most of us know somebody who is the perfect host or hostess. We've all probably been to a house where everything seems perfect. There is always plenty, even if you drop by unexpectedly. They can always squeeze just one more person in at the dinner table. There is always an extra baked potato. There is always another pork chop. There's always an empty bed if you're staying late. There are houses in which, no matter what it is you ask for, it always seems to be available. And it never puts them out when you ask for it. In fact, in those houses, no matter how many people there are, there is always room for more.
That's the assurance that Jesus gives his disciples as he prepares to leave them. "In my father's house there are many dwelling places ..." he says. He has told them that he will be leaving. He has told them that they can't follow him immediately. But "don't worry," he says, "because there is room enough for all."
Room enough for all. Jesus had a sense of what people really needed. He knew that the disciples, in following him, had given up the ways of the world. He knew that they would no longer fit in with the world as they had before.
And he knew they needed a place, a new home, a place where they would be welcomed, and where they would find space, room to be who they were and to believe what they believed and to worship the one they worshiped. And so Jesus said to them, "In my father's house there are many rooms ... there is room for you."
Acts 7:55-60
Background is essential with this reading. Stephen was one of the seven people selected and ordained to serve members of the early church. Tradition holds that they were the first deacons. But Stephen took on a great deal more than simply serving food. He became an apostle in his own right and, ultimately, a martyr.
This passage is the culmination of the story of Stephen, which began in 6:1. Such an awful fate, to be stoned, murdered, executed, by thrown rocks. What brought things to this point? What could this man have done?
It began when he did "great wonders and signs among the people." What Stephen spoke about was simply too much for the elders and the scribes; "... they could not withstand the wisdom and the Spirit with which he spoke" (Acts 6:10). So they framed him for blasphemy. In his own defense before the council, Stephen embarks on a long (by New Testament standards) and passionate sermon.
The sermon is a recitation of the history of the Israelites, from Abraham to Moses to David and Solomon. It didn't help matters when Stephen came out critical of Solomon for building the temple, when God wanted no dwelling built with human hands. Saying that to Jews in Jerusalem, who worshiped at the temple, is certainly not the way to endear oneself to them. But then his attacks became direct. They oppose the Holy Spirit. Their ancestors persecuted the prophets and killed those who foretold the coming of the Righteous one. And now they have followed the same path and killed the Righteous one. It is at that point that his listeners became enraged and killed him.
There are several observations to be made about this passage. First, it serves an introduction to Paul (born Saul), who witnessed the killing and, according to 8:1, approved of it. In fact, Luke has Paul refer to this later in the book, in 22:20. Indeed, Paul's history as a zealous persecutor of early Christians played an important role in the development of his thought and writings.
But more, Stephen is here shown as the quintessential martyr, who died having proclaimed his faith in the face of hostility. The clear parallel between Jesus' death and Stephen's is surely no coincidence. Both died for challenging the religious establishment, both prayed for their killers, and both surrendered their spirits to God. In making the parallel, Luke puts Stephen in the line of succession to Jesus, showing Jesus as the model for others, and presumably, making Stephen the model for us, the model of faithfulness in adversity.
1 Peter 2:2-10
With this passage, the lectionary keeps to its course of the continuous reading of 1 Peter. It is generally agreed that 1 Peter has a catechetical purpose to it, directed at new Christians, and this passage continues the subject begun a couple of weeks ago: holiness.
But there is only one portion of this reading that speaks about holiness, verses 2-3, which addresses the issue of where to receive the proper nourishment in life. And for Christians, that must always be God, the real nourishment for our souls.
The remainder of the lection is encouragement to the new Christians. And the encouragement is marked by quotations from the Old Testament, and by multiple images, or metaphors, for what they, as the newest members of a new church, really are.
The first image is the stone, and it refers initially to Jesus, the living stone, chosen by God but rejected by human beings. The image expands to encompass the church, who should let themselves be built into a spiritual house. Peter explores the stone metaphor even further with quotations from Isaiah and Psalms: Christ is the precious cornerstone in Zion, he is the stone rejected by the builders, and he is the stone that causes people to stumble. The last two -- the rejected stone and the stone that trips people up -- refer to the Jews, the non-believers, within whose midst the church finds itself.
The images flow. "You are a chosen race," says Peter, building on the special place that Israel has had as the chosen people of God. Now the church is chosen as well. It goes further, "You are a royal priesthood; you are a holy nation." Aren't these young Christians going to get swelled heads? Surely they aren't that good, are they?
But Peter keeps going. Not only that, he says to these new believers, you are God's own people. And he offers a quotation from Hosea (2:23), that once they were no people at all, but now they are God's people. For people coming into the church this was good news. And for people who are a part of a church that is always living on the edge of extinction, this is also good news. Even in the midst of a hostile world, you are God's own people, you are chosen, you belong. It's a word for those who feel, and are, on the outside. The Easter word is this: in Jesus Christ, you are really on the inside, with God.
John 14:1-14
One of the things that we moderns want to do with certain scriptures, and this writer puts himself in that category, is to universalize them, to make them apply to the entire world, when they were intended only for the church. Particularly in the Gospel of John there is the desire, certainly understandable, to extend the benefits of what Jesus says of his ministry, to all people.
The problem with that, however, is that the Gospel of John emerged from, and was written for, the Johannine community, an early denomination, or sect, of Christianity, and it was intended for them. Such is the case with this lection.
This is the first part of Jesus' farewell discourse in John, which extends for four chapters and includes his High Priestly Prayer of chapter 17. It takes place after the last supper and before his arrest. There is no parallel to this in any of the synoptic Gospels.
The first movement of the discourse is Jesus' words of comfort to his disciples. He has made it clear to them that he was going to be betrayed and would die, and in the verses immediately preceding this passage, Peter asks why he can't follow him. So it stands to reason that Jesus would begin saying goodbye with a moment of comfort and reassurance. The essence of the comfort is that there is a place for the disciples. The word which the NRSV renders "dwelling places" has been translated variously "rooms" and "mansions," even "houses." The notion is one of an "abode," or perhaps "residence." There is more to it than simply physical space; relationship is a part of it, in this case, a relationship with the Father.
What does Jesus mean by "my Father's house" and "a place"? And when will we have that place? Does he mean heaven, where we'll go after we die? Does he mean, as implied in verse 3, that he will return at some point in the future to bring his followers with him? Does he mean here and now in the world? That's not entirely clear. The danger of literalism rears its head here; it would probably be best in interpreting these verses not to see them in spatial or temporal terms. But in that case, how should we view it? The word that best conveys the sense here is belonging, belonging in Christ.
The second movement in the discourse begins at verse 4, with the question, raised by Thomas, of how to get where Jesus is going. This brings the famous verse, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me." That has been the subject of intense scrutiny and argument. How exclusive is the statement? Does it mean that to get to the Father requires being a professing Christian? Can a Muslim get to the Father? The arguments bounce back and forth with no resolution in sight. And in my denomination (Presbyterian) there is, as of this writing, enormous controversy over it.
The third movement of the lection comes after Philip's question about seeing the Father. Jesus answers that if they have seen him, then they have seen the Father. And we hear, in that uniquely Johannine way of speaking, that the Father is in Jesus and Jesus is in the Father.
This passage is full of preaching possibilities, but as with much in the Gospel of John, it is hazy, never completely revealing, always uncertain and perhaps full of controversy. In all of that, we need to bear in mind the purpose of these words, which is stated in verse 1: "let not your hearts be troubled...." This was comfort, not controversy, and to be true to the text means finding comfort in these words.
Application
It's a particular human need we're talking about. Human beings need to have a sense of place, we need to feel that there is plenty of room, a place for us we can call our own.
It seems to be in some ways a uniquely American need. Listen to the songs: "Give me land, lots of land, under starry skies above, don't fence me in." "O give me a home where the buffalo roam." Look at the American dream: for years, making it in the United States has meant having a place of your own, a house with a yard, a piece of turf that is yours.
Room is important between people. Have you ever been talking to somebody, and you suddenly realize that they are standing just a little too close? You try to back away, but they stick with you. They have intruded on your personal space. People who study human behavior have determined that each of us has two or three feet around us that is ours, a place, a room, that we carry with us. And woe betide anyone who ventures inside that little region, because then we feel intruded upon, violated. A place of our own gives us elbow room, breathing space, security.
Beyond that, human beings need to know that they belong somewhere, that they are wanted there, that there is a someplace in this world where they fit in. Robert Frost said, "Home is the place that when you go there, they have to take you in." That's because home is where we belong, and belonging includes people, a sense of family. It isn't just about place, it's about the people in that place.
But there is more. There is a human need to be welcomed, to know that not only is there a place for us, not only do we belong, but we are wanted there. We need to know that we aren't intruding where we aren't wanted. To be welcomed means that we're a part of things, that it is right that we're there.
Basic human needs. Unfortunately, so often in this world, those needs go unmet.
Look at the homeless. They have no place they can call their own, no place that is "theirs."
Look at the transience in the United States and the world. With some exceptions, most of us don't live anywhere near where we grew up. People move across the country at the drop of a hat. Immigrant families go home for a visit to, say, Nigeria, as quickly as we go home to Des Moines to see Mom and Dad. Most of us will move an average of 5.3 times, or some such figure, over our lifetime. Where is home these days? Where do we belong?
Look at the hostility and suspicion in the world and in our cities. It seems like there are very few places where we are really welcomed.
Look at the various liberation movements in the world and in this country in the last 40 years: women's liberation, the civil rights movement, the gay rights movement. All of them have to do with the basic human need for a sense of belonging.
Our need for place and belonging and welcome are rarely met in our world. But God is a better host, welcoming more and showing more hospitality than we can ever offer.
The disciples didn't belong; they didn't have a place. But they did have a promise from Jesus. It was the promise of ultimate hospitality. "In my father's house are many rooms ... and I go there to prepare a place for you."
Peter speaks of it to a young church that was too often on the receiving end of persecution and martyrdom. "You are a chosen race," he says, "a royal priesthood, a holy nation ... you are God's own people." You belong.
The promise of the Gospel is that there is a place, even if we don't feel like we fit in, even if we feel lost and homeless, even if we feel forsaken, like a house with many rooms. It is ready for us, and there is somebody who will take us there.
We don't talk very much about heaven these days, nor do we hear heaven preached about much anymore.
Is heaven a place? A state of mind? An idea? Some other plane of existence? We don't know, either what it is or what it will be like. The most we can say about heaven is precisely what Jesus told his disciples -- there is room for us and we will be received warmly.
Room enough for everybody? And it doesn't matter who you are or what you do -- there is always room for you; and you are always welcome. Even somebody like Paul who was there when Stephen was stoned to death, and approved of it. Who knows, he may even have thrown the first stone. But there is still room for Paul in God's kingdom, in God's house.
There are no limits to God's grace, no limits to the number of people to whom God can offer his grace, whom God can bring into the fold.
And all of this leads us to the church. How about us? Do we offer space to whoever may come? Are we as welcoming and as inviting as God is? Jesus said, "In my father's house are many rooms." Are there lots of rooms in our churches?
Can the church offer a place to people who don't look like us, or talk like us? Or aren't used to worshiping like we worship? Do we extend a welcome to those out there who may not dress as nicely as we would like? Would the homeless find a home in our churches? God welcomes people into the house of God. Do we keep people out of our house?
We need to affirm, to reaffirm, basic Christian hospitality. In Jesus Christ, God offers us a place, and therefore we ought to offer a place to others.
May we invite people, and may we offer people a place to belong. May we spread the word that in God's house, this place, there is always lots of room.
An Alternative Application
1 Peter: Human Stones. What is the church? Is it a building? Well, the answer to that one has always been no, but think again. Maybe it is indeed a building, but one in which the building materials -- the lumber and the concrete, the stones and the glass -- are human lives and human love and human aspirations. Peter tells the new Christians: "Let yourselves be built into a spiritual house." Can we do that? What would it look like? And who would live in our spiritual house built with our lives? Perhaps the head of the household would be the very God who made us.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
Acts 7:55-60
Quite obviously, this text concerning the martyrdom of the disciple Stephen, the first martyr of the New Testament church, serves as an introduction to the story of Saul, who, in Acts 9, is converted by the risen Christ to be the Apostle Paul. It also introduces the ominous note of the persecution of the early church by some of the Jews in Jerusalem, Judea, and Samaria (8:1-3), a notice that is quite true to history. And yet such persecution also serves the purposes of God, according to Acts, for it scatters the followers of Jesus, with the exception of the 12 apostles, throughout all the regions of Palestine. And in that scattering, the Gospel is spread, in accordance with the commission of the risen Christ, given to the disciples in Acts 1:8. God can use even the evil acts of human beings to further his purpose in the world, the prime example of that, of course, being the crucifixion of Jesus.
Perhaps one of the most important things to notice about this text, however, is its illustration of how the telling of the story of salvation can fail to have any effect on some of its hearers. Preceding this specific passage, the disciple Stephen has been brought before the Jewish council or Sanhedrin by groups of diaspora Jews who live in Jerusalem and whose loyalty is to the Mosaic law and to the Jerusalem temple. They have been unable to counter the Spirit-filled wonders and preaching of Stephen, and so they have incited false witnesses against him, charging him with blasphemy against the law of Moses and linking him with Jesus' words concerning the destruction of the temple (Luke 21:5-6; Acts 6:8-14).
In his defense, Stephen gives a long account of God's dealings with Israel, beginning with Abraham and continuing up through the time of Solomon (7:1-50). Stephen recites the mighty acts of God in great detail, telling the stories of Israel that are found in the Old Testament and that surely must have been known to the Jews who were gathered to hear him speak. But at the end of his long account, Stephen assails his listeners with their resistance to the Spirit of God throughout Israel's history. They persecuted the prophets, who foretold the coming of the righteous Messiah, they murdered Christ, and they have not kept the law that they say they value so highly.
Given the fact that such an ending probably was not the ideal way for Stephen to win over his audience, one is nevertheless struck by the deaf ear that the audience turns to the sacred history.
How else are we to spread the Christian Gospel except by telling the story of God's works of salvation that are now contained for us in the scriptures? Those stories were probably "old stuff" to Stephen's listeners, but they are largely new to modern audiences in our time who are woefully ignorant of them. So we believe that persons are brought to faith by hearing the stories of Jesus and of God's mighty acts throughout the sacred history. Is that no longer true?
Yes, of course it is. There is no other way to spread the Christian Gospel than to tell what God has done. In all the other sermons in Acts, that story is repeatedly told, and thousands are brought into the church when they hear it. There is no substitute for proclaiming the biblical story, in sermon, in song, in teaching, in conversation. The Word must be spread. "Faith comes from what is heard, and what is heard comes by the preaching of Christ" (Romans 10:17), as Christ is anticipated in the Old Testament and revealed in the New.
Nevertheless, our text concerning Stephen's martyrdom should warn us of the fact that God's story is not always gladly received, especially if it brings judgment against those who hear it. After all, sin still abides in our world. Persons are still set in their faithless ways. Most in this country think they are getting along pretty well. And they do not want to be disturbed by hearing that their ways are displeasing to God or by being told that their lives need to be transformed by the Spirit of Christ. Rather, what they wish to be told is that they are okay, just the way they are. God accepts them without any hesitation. Oh sure, maybe they need a little psychological adjustment of their personalities. Maybe their disease needs some therapeutic adjustment to make them feel better about themselves. But on the whole, God is forgiving, loving, helpful, in his heaven, and all is right with their comfortable world.
But the Christian Gospel, proclaimed throughout the biblical story, is radical good news. Its aim is to make all things new through Jesus Christ. And as we see in our text about Stephen, the announcement of the Gospel can bring suffering and even death to those who witness to it.
Stephen's listeners are enraged by his words. And that rage turns deadly when Stephen, "full of the Holy Spirit," is prepared for his death by a vision of the glory of God and of the risen Christ at God's right hand in heaven. When Stephen says that he sees those things, the crowd stops their ears from hearing, roars out in enmity, rushes the disciple, drags him bodily out of Jerusalem, and pelts him with stones until he is dead. Before he dies, however, Stephen echoes the death of Jesus by praying that the Lord will receive his spirit, and on his knees, he voices the petition to the Lord that the sin of his executioners not be held against them (cf. Luke 23:34, 46). Witnessing the bloody and violent scene, writes the author of Acts, is the young man named Saul, who will shortly try to lay waste and destroy the infant church (8:3).
Over against the church of Jesus Christ and the powerful working of his Holy Spirit there stands the sin of human beings, manifested in ignorance, in indifference, in unbelief, and yes, rather often, in propaganda, in hatred and in active opposition. We do not have to look very far to see all of those manifestations in this country. But God, throughout the sacred history, faced them all, until finally they all were brought to a head on a bloody cross on Golgotha. Given the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ, good Christians, whom do you think is going to win? And knowing the joyful news of that victory, on whose side do you daily choose to be?
PREACHING THE PSALM
Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16
We have already visited this psalm in this issue of Emphasis (see March 24), where it was used for Passion Sunday. Here, it comes again, but with a different cut of verses, and we offer these additional preaching possibilities:
1) Verse 2 and 3 afford a good opportunity to talk about God's protection of those who trust him. For the psalmist, God is a "rock of refuge," a "fortress." Note how different that is from those who merely pray, in the words of Charles Wesley's hymn, "Hide me, O my Savior, hide, till all the storm of life are past." Those people are asking to be excused from life's problems, and thus they'll also miss its joys. (What a shame that Wesley didn't find another line for this hymn!) In Your God Is Too Small, J. B. Phillips writes eloquently about an inadequate view of God he calls the "Heavenly Bosom," the "God" of psychological escapism.
This psalmist is not asking to escape, however, but calling for God to be the place of secure footing, a bulwark from which to battle the problems of life. That's a significant difference. That's trusting Yahweh Sabaoth, who protects us not by hiding us, but by adequately equipping us to do battle.
2) Verse 5 was not included the way this psalm was cut for Passion Sunday, but it probably should have been. Clearly, the first phrase is the source of Jesus' cry from the cross, "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit" (Luke 23:46). But given that Jesus was quoting from this psalm, he would surely have known the phrase that followed immediately afterward: "You have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God." Here is the opening for speaking about the death of the righteous, and the hope in which they cross that barrier into the next life. That, of course, is a theme that can be used anytime, but is especially appropriate during this Easter season.
I'm sure most of us know somebody who is the perfect host or hostess. We've all probably been to a house where everything seems perfect. There is always plenty, even if you drop by unexpectedly. They can always squeeze just one more person in at the dinner table. There is always an extra baked potato. There is always another pork chop. There's always an empty bed if you're staying late. There are houses in which, no matter what it is you ask for, it always seems to be available. And it never puts them out when you ask for it. In fact, in those houses, no matter how many people there are, there is always room for more.
That's the assurance that Jesus gives his disciples as he prepares to leave them. "In my father's house there are many dwelling places ..." he says. He has told them that he will be leaving. He has told them that they can't follow him immediately. But "don't worry," he says, "because there is room enough for all."
Room enough for all. Jesus had a sense of what people really needed. He knew that the disciples, in following him, had given up the ways of the world. He knew that they would no longer fit in with the world as they had before.
And he knew they needed a place, a new home, a place where they would be welcomed, and where they would find space, room to be who they were and to believe what they believed and to worship the one they worshiped. And so Jesus said to them, "In my father's house there are many rooms ... there is room for you."
Acts 7:55-60
Background is essential with this reading. Stephen was one of the seven people selected and ordained to serve members of the early church. Tradition holds that they were the first deacons. But Stephen took on a great deal more than simply serving food. He became an apostle in his own right and, ultimately, a martyr.
This passage is the culmination of the story of Stephen, which began in 6:1. Such an awful fate, to be stoned, murdered, executed, by thrown rocks. What brought things to this point? What could this man have done?
It began when he did "great wonders and signs among the people." What Stephen spoke about was simply too much for the elders and the scribes; "... they could not withstand the wisdom and the Spirit with which he spoke" (Acts 6:10). So they framed him for blasphemy. In his own defense before the council, Stephen embarks on a long (by New Testament standards) and passionate sermon.
The sermon is a recitation of the history of the Israelites, from Abraham to Moses to David and Solomon. It didn't help matters when Stephen came out critical of Solomon for building the temple, when God wanted no dwelling built with human hands. Saying that to Jews in Jerusalem, who worshiped at the temple, is certainly not the way to endear oneself to them. But then his attacks became direct. They oppose the Holy Spirit. Their ancestors persecuted the prophets and killed those who foretold the coming of the Righteous one. And now they have followed the same path and killed the Righteous one. It is at that point that his listeners became enraged and killed him.
There are several observations to be made about this passage. First, it serves an introduction to Paul (born Saul), who witnessed the killing and, according to 8:1, approved of it. In fact, Luke has Paul refer to this later in the book, in 22:20. Indeed, Paul's history as a zealous persecutor of early Christians played an important role in the development of his thought and writings.
But more, Stephen is here shown as the quintessential martyr, who died having proclaimed his faith in the face of hostility. The clear parallel between Jesus' death and Stephen's is surely no coincidence. Both died for challenging the religious establishment, both prayed for their killers, and both surrendered their spirits to God. In making the parallel, Luke puts Stephen in the line of succession to Jesus, showing Jesus as the model for others, and presumably, making Stephen the model for us, the model of faithfulness in adversity.
1 Peter 2:2-10
With this passage, the lectionary keeps to its course of the continuous reading of 1 Peter. It is generally agreed that 1 Peter has a catechetical purpose to it, directed at new Christians, and this passage continues the subject begun a couple of weeks ago: holiness.
But there is only one portion of this reading that speaks about holiness, verses 2-3, which addresses the issue of where to receive the proper nourishment in life. And for Christians, that must always be God, the real nourishment for our souls.
The remainder of the lection is encouragement to the new Christians. And the encouragement is marked by quotations from the Old Testament, and by multiple images, or metaphors, for what they, as the newest members of a new church, really are.
The first image is the stone, and it refers initially to Jesus, the living stone, chosen by God but rejected by human beings. The image expands to encompass the church, who should let themselves be built into a spiritual house. Peter explores the stone metaphor even further with quotations from Isaiah and Psalms: Christ is the precious cornerstone in Zion, he is the stone rejected by the builders, and he is the stone that causes people to stumble. The last two -- the rejected stone and the stone that trips people up -- refer to the Jews, the non-believers, within whose midst the church finds itself.
The images flow. "You are a chosen race," says Peter, building on the special place that Israel has had as the chosen people of God. Now the church is chosen as well. It goes further, "You are a royal priesthood; you are a holy nation." Aren't these young Christians going to get swelled heads? Surely they aren't that good, are they?
But Peter keeps going. Not only that, he says to these new believers, you are God's own people. And he offers a quotation from Hosea (2:23), that once they were no people at all, but now they are God's people. For people coming into the church this was good news. And for people who are a part of a church that is always living on the edge of extinction, this is also good news. Even in the midst of a hostile world, you are God's own people, you are chosen, you belong. It's a word for those who feel, and are, on the outside. The Easter word is this: in Jesus Christ, you are really on the inside, with God.
John 14:1-14
One of the things that we moderns want to do with certain scriptures, and this writer puts himself in that category, is to universalize them, to make them apply to the entire world, when they were intended only for the church. Particularly in the Gospel of John there is the desire, certainly understandable, to extend the benefits of what Jesus says of his ministry, to all people.
The problem with that, however, is that the Gospel of John emerged from, and was written for, the Johannine community, an early denomination, or sect, of Christianity, and it was intended for them. Such is the case with this lection.
This is the first part of Jesus' farewell discourse in John, which extends for four chapters and includes his High Priestly Prayer of chapter 17. It takes place after the last supper and before his arrest. There is no parallel to this in any of the synoptic Gospels.
The first movement of the discourse is Jesus' words of comfort to his disciples. He has made it clear to them that he was going to be betrayed and would die, and in the verses immediately preceding this passage, Peter asks why he can't follow him. So it stands to reason that Jesus would begin saying goodbye with a moment of comfort and reassurance. The essence of the comfort is that there is a place for the disciples. The word which the NRSV renders "dwelling places" has been translated variously "rooms" and "mansions," even "houses." The notion is one of an "abode," or perhaps "residence." There is more to it than simply physical space; relationship is a part of it, in this case, a relationship with the Father.
What does Jesus mean by "my Father's house" and "a place"? And when will we have that place? Does he mean heaven, where we'll go after we die? Does he mean, as implied in verse 3, that he will return at some point in the future to bring his followers with him? Does he mean here and now in the world? That's not entirely clear. The danger of literalism rears its head here; it would probably be best in interpreting these verses not to see them in spatial or temporal terms. But in that case, how should we view it? The word that best conveys the sense here is belonging, belonging in Christ.
The second movement in the discourse begins at verse 4, with the question, raised by Thomas, of how to get where Jesus is going. This brings the famous verse, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me." That has been the subject of intense scrutiny and argument. How exclusive is the statement? Does it mean that to get to the Father requires being a professing Christian? Can a Muslim get to the Father? The arguments bounce back and forth with no resolution in sight. And in my denomination (Presbyterian) there is, as of this writing, enormous controversy over it.
The third movement of the lection comes after Philip's question about seeing the Father. Jesus answers that if they have seen him, then they have seen the Father. And we hear, in that uniquely Johannine way of speaking, that the Father is in Jesus and Jesus is in the Father.
This passage is full of preaching possibilities, but as with much in the Gospel of John, it is hazy, never completely revealing, always uncertain and perhaps full of controversy. In all of that, we need to bear in mind the purpose of these words, which is stated in verse 1: "let not your hearts be troubled...." This was comfort, not controversy, and to be true to the text means finding comfort in these words.
Application
It's a particular human need we're talking about. Human beings need to have a sense of place, we need to feel that there is plenty of room, a place for us we can call our own.
It seems to be in some ways a uniquely American need. Listen to the songs: "Give me land, lots of land, under starry skies above, don't fence me in." "O give me a home where the buffalo roam." Look at the American dream: for years, making it in the United States has meant having a place of your own, a house with a yard, a piece of turf that is yours.
Room is important between people. Have you ever been talking to somebody, and you suddenly realize that they are standing just a little too close? You try to back away, but they stick with you. They have intruded on your personal space. People who study human behavior have determined that each of us has two or three feet around us that is ours, a place, a room, that we carry with us. And woe betide anyone who ventures inside that little region, because then we feel intruded upon, violated. A place of our own gives us elbow room, breathing space, security.
Beyond that, human beings need to know that they belong somewhere, that they are wanted there, that there is a someplace in this world where they fit in. Robert Frost said, "Home is the place that when you go there, they have to take you in." That's because home is where we belong, and belonging includes people, a sense of family. It isn't just about place, it's about the people in that place.
But there is more. There is a human need to be welcomed, to know that not only is there a place for us, not only do we belong, but we are wanted there. We need to know that we aren't intruding where we aren't wanted. To be welcomed means that we're a part of things, that it is right that we're there.
Basic human needs. Unfortunately, so often in this world, those needs go unmet.
Look at the homeless. They have no place they can call their own, no place that is "theirs."
Look at the transience in the United States and the world. With some exceptions, most of us don't live anywhere near where we grew up. People move across the country at the drop of a hat. Immigrant families go home for a visit to, say, Nigeria, as quickly as we go home to Des Moines to see Mom and Dad. Most of us will move an average of 5.3 times, or some such figure, over our lifetime. Where is home these days? Where do we belong?
Look at the hostility and suspicion in the world and in our cities. It seems like there are very few places where we are really welcomed.
Look at the various liberation movements in the world and in this country in the last 40 years: women's liberation, the civil rights movement, the gay rights movement. All of them have to do with the basic human need for a sense of belonging.
Our need for place and belonging and welcome are rarely met in our world. But God is a better host, welcoming more and showing more hospitality than we can ever offer.
The disciples didn't belong; they didn't have a place. But they did have a promise from Jesus. It was the promise of ultimate hospitality. "In my father's house are many rooms ... and I go there to prepare a place for you."
Peter speaks of it to a young church that was too often on the receiving end of persecution and martyrdom. "You are a chosen race," he says, "a royal priesthood, a holy nation ... you are God's own people." You belong.
The promise of the Gospel is that there is a place, even if we don't feel like we fit in, even if we feel lost and homeless, even if we feel forsaken, like a house with many rooms. It is ready for us, and there is somebody who will take us there.
We don't talk very much about heaven these days, nor do we hear heaven preached about much anymore.
Is heaven a place? A state of mind? An idea? Some other plane of existence? We don't know, either what it is or what it will be like. The most we can say about heaven is precisely what Jesus told his disciples -- there is room for us and we will be received warmly.
Room enough for everybody? And it doesn't matter who you are or what you do -- there is always room for you; and you are always welcome. Even somebody like Paul who was there when Stephen was stoned to death, and approved of it. Who knows, he may even have thrown the first stone. But there is still room for Paul in God's kingdom, in God's house.
There are no limits to God's grace, no limits to the number of people to whom God can offer his grace, whom God can bring into the fold.
And all of this leads us to the church. How about us? Do we offer space to whoever may come? Are we as welcoming and as inviting as God is? Jesus said, "In my father's house are many rooms." Are there lots of rooms in our churches?
Can the church offer a place to people who don't look like us, or talk like us? Or aren't used to worshiping like we worship? Do we extend a welcome to those out there who may not dress as nicely as we would like? Would the homeless find a home in our churches? God welcomes people into the house of God. Do we keep people out of our house?
We need to affirm, to reaffirm, basic Christian hospitality. In Jesus Christ, God offers us a place, and therefore we ought to offer a place to others.
May we invite people, and may we offer people a place to belong. May we spread the word that in God's house, this place, there is always lots of room.
An Alternative Application
1 Peter: Human Stones. What is the church? Is it a building? Well, the answer to that one has always been no, but think again. Maybe it is indeed a building, but one in which the building materials -- the lumber and the concrete, the stones and the glass -- are human lives and human love and human aspirations. Peter tells the new Christians: "Let yourselves be built into a spiritual house." Can we do that? What would it look like? And who would live in our spiritual house built with our lives? Perhaps the head of the household would be the very God who made us.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
Acts 7:55-60
Quite obviously, this text concerning the martyrdom of the disciple Stephen, the first martyr of the New Testament church, serves as an introduction to the story of Saul, who, in Acts 9, is converted by the risen Christ to be the Apostle Paul. It also introduces the ominous note of the persecution of the early church by some of the Jews in Jerusalem, Judea, and Samaria (8:1-3), a notice that is quite true to history. And yet such persecution also serves the purposes of God, according to Acts, for it scatters the followers of Jesus, with the exception of the 12 apostles, throughout all the regions of Palestine. And in that scattering, the Gospel is spread, in accordance with the commission of the risen Christ, given to the disciples in Acts 1:8. God can use even the evil acts of human beings to further his purpose in the world, the prime example of that, of course, being the crucifixion of Jesus.
Perhaps one of the most important things to notice about this text, however, is its illustration of how the telling of the story of salvation can fail to have any effect on some of its hearers. Preceding this specific passage, the disciple Stephen has been brought before the Jewish council or Sanhedrin by groups of diaspora Jews who live in Jerusalem and whose loyalty is to the Mosaic law and to the Jerusalem temple. They have been unable to counter the Spirit-filled wonders and preaching of Stephen, and so they have incited false witnesses against him, charging him with blasphemy against the law of Moses and linking him with Jesus' words concerning the destruction of the temple (Luke 21:5-6; Acts 6:8-14).
In his defense, Stephen gives a long account of God's dealings with Israel, beginning with Abraham and continuing up through the time of Solomon (7:1-50). Stephen recites the mighty acts of God in great detail, telling the stories of Israel that are found in the Old Testament and that surely must have been known to the Jews who were gathered to hear him speak. But at the end of his long account, Stephen assails his listeners with their resistance to the Spirit of God throughout Israel's history. They persecuted the prophets, who foretold the coming of the righteous Messiah, they murdered Christ, and they have not kept the law that they say they value so highly.
Given the fact that such an ending probably was not the ideal way for Stephen to win over his audience, one is nevertheless struck by the deaf ear that the audience turns to the sacred history.
How else are we to spread the Christian Gospel except by telling the story of God's works of salvation that are now contained for us in the scriptures? Those stories were probably "old stuff" to Stephen's listeners, but they are largely new to modern audiences in our time who are woefully ignorant of them. So we believe that persons are brought to faith by hearing the stories of Jesus and of God's mighty acts throughout the sacred history. Is that no longer true?
Yes, of course it is. There is no other way to spread the Christian Gospel than to tell what God has done. In all the other sermons in Acts, that story is repeatedly told, and thousands are brought into the church when they hear it. There is no substitute for proclaiming the biblical story, in sermon, in song, in teaching, in conversation. The Word must be spread. "Faith comes from what is heard, and what is heard comes by the preaching of Christ" (Romans 10:17), as Christ is anticipated in the Old Testament and revealed in the New.
Nevertheless, our text concerning Stephen's martyrdom should warn us of the fact that God's story is not always gladly received, especially if it brings judgment against those who hear it. After all, sin still abides in our world. Persons are still set in their faithless ways. Most in this country think they are getting along pretty well. And they do not want to be disturbed by hearing that their ways are displeasing to God or by being told that their lives need to be transformed by the Spirit of Christ. Rather, what they wish to be told is that they are okay, just the way they are. God accepts them without any hesitation. Oh sure, maybe they need a little psychological adjustment of their personalities. Maybe their disease needs some therapeutic adjustment to make them feel better about themselves. But on the whole, God is forgiving, loving, helpful, in his heaven, and all is right with their comfortable world.
But the Christian Gospel, proclaimed throughout the biblical story, is radical good news. Its aim is to make all things new through Jesus Christ. And as we see in our text about Stephen, the announcement of the Gospel can bring suffering and even death to those who witness to it.
Stephen's listeners are enraged by his words. And that rage turns deadly when Stephen, "full of the Holy Spirit," is prepared for his death by a vision of the glory of God and of the risen Christ at God's right hand in heaven. When Stephen says that he sees those things, the crowd stops their ears from hearing, roars out in enmity, rushes the disciple, drags him bodily out of Jerusalem, and pelts him with stones until he is dead. Before he dies, however, Stephen echoes the death of Jesus by praying that the Lord will receive his spirit, and on his knees, he voices the petition to the Lord that the sin of his executioners not be held against them (cf. Luke 23:34, 46). Witnessing the bloody and violent scene, writes the author of Acts, is the young man named Saul, who will shortly try to lay waste and destroy the infant church (8:3).
Over against the church of Jesus Christ and the powerful working of his Holy Spirit there stands the sin of human beings, manifested in ignorance, in indifference, in unbelief, and yes, rather often, in propaganda, in hatred and in active opposition. We do not have to look very far to see all of those manifestations in this country. But God, throughout the sacred history, faced them all, until finally they all were brought to a head on a bloody cross on Golgotha. Given the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ, good Christians, whom do you think is going to win? And knowing the joyful news of that victory, on whose side do you daily choose to be?
PREACHING THE PSALM
Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16
We have already visited this psalm in this issue of Emphasis (see March 24), where it was used for Passion Sunday. Here, it comes again, but with a different cut of verses, and we offer these additional preaching possibilities:
1) Verse 2 and 3 afford a good opportunity to talk about God's protection of those who trust him. For the psalmist, God is a "rock of refuge," a "fortress." Note how different that is from those who merely pray, in the words of Charles Wesley's hymn, "Hide me, O my Savior, hide, till all the storm of life are past." Those people are asking to be excused from life's problems, and thus they'll also miss its joys. (What a shame that Wesley didn't find another line for this hymn!) In Your God Is Too Small, J. B. Phillips writes eloquently about an inadequate view of God he calls the "Heavenly Bosom," the "God" of psychological escapism.
This psalmist is not asking to escape, however, but calling for God to be the place of secure footing, a bulwark from which to battle the problems of life. That's a significant difference. That's trusting Yahweh Sabaoth, who protects us not by hiding us, but by adequately equipping us to do battle.
2) Verse 5 was not included the way this psalm was cut for Passion Sunday, but it probably should have been. Clearly, the first phrase is the source of Jesus' cry from the cross, "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit" (Luke 23:46). But given that Jesus was quoting from this psalm, he would surely have known the phrase that followed immediately afterward: "You have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God." Here is the opening for speaking about the death of the righteous, and the hope in which they cross that barrier into the next life. That, of course, is a theme that can be used anytime, but is especially appropriate during this Easter season.
