Hearts afire
Commentary
The best way to learn about modern culture is to have a teenager; you learn quickly what is valued highly. One of those things that a teenager can teach you is the extreme value of being cool. Now "cool" means different things in different contexts. In general, it means desirable. In talking about clothes, it means fashionable. For 14-year-old boys talking about girls, cool means attractive. But at its root, cool means ... the opposite of hot. It means the opposite of passion. It means looking like nothing will get you stirred up. Like nothing bothers you. Like nothing can affect you. All of the other meanings come from this one meaning.
Cool is of great value in our culture. To call somebody cool is one of the highest compliments you can pay. Somewhere we got the idea that it is a good thing to be dispassionate, to be above getting angry and feeling deeply. We have wanted to go through life without being touched, without being mad or sad or angry or depressed or happy. We want to be cool; we want to feel nothing.
At times that's good. The phenomenon of "road rage," along with its newer version, "airline rage," points out how important it is to keep your cool. But there are problems with it. Many of us -- men in particular -- don't express our feelings. And it is well known in the mental health field that feelings not expressed can come back to haunt you.
Being cool has become one of the great problems of the 21st century, because being cool is about holding your passion in check, not letting your deep feelings come out. It's about hiding your true feelings, to appear unflappable, untouchable. Being cool says, "I have no passion."
But the scriptures testify that it is the passionate people, the burning hearts, the people who feel deeply, who have wrought profound change and became the early church. Perhaps the modern church needs their passion.
Acts 2:14a, 36-41
It's odd that a few weeks before Pentecost Sunday we hear the conclusion of Peter's sermon on the Day of Pentecost following the dramatic events in Jerusalem. The lectionary preserves the introduction to the sermon, verse 2:14, and jumps to the end. On the other hand, it may not be so odd. Acts is essentially the story of the testimony of the early church and the preaching of the first evangelists about the events of Easter, so it is fitting that we hear this sermon during the season of Eastertide.
Recall what has brought us to this point. It is after the Ascension. Jesus' followers are gathered in "one place." Suddenly there was the sound of a wind, and they saw tongues of flame resting on each other. And they began to speak in other languages "as the Spirit gave them ability." It was a distinctly public phenomenon, in which foreign visitors to Jerusalem heard their own language being spoken, and it demanded an explanation. That was Peter's job.
He stood up and told them that what they were seeing had been prophesied by the prophets, and then he proceeded to tell them about Jesus of Nazareth, about his life and his death and his resurrection. Peter quoted the Old Testament prophecies about the Messiah, setting the stage for one of the more powerful and persuasive endings to a sermon, verse 36: "Therefore let the entire house of Israel know with certainty that God has made him both Lord and Messiah, this Jesus whom you crucified."
But it wasn't an easy thing to hear. There was a very clear accusation in what Peter preached that day, "This Jesus whom you crucified." And indeed, the accusation worked, producing a deep effect in the listeners. They were cut to the heart.
And it was that cut, that stab, that moved them to look for a way to ... do penance? Seek absolution? Undo it?
What would the proper response be to "this Jesus whom you crucified"? There is only one response: They asked, "What should we do?" It's the cry from your wounded heart, when you are suddenly shown the error of your ways. It's the cry comparable to David's cry when Nathan confronted him with Uriah's murder, "You are the man."
And then we hear Peter's answer. Repent, be baptized, be forgiven for your sins (a clear reference to their part in the Crucifixion) and receive the Holy Spirit. But there is more than accusation in Peter's answer to the crowd. There is also hope. In verse 39 we hear that the promise is for all -- for the listeners, their children, and everybody else who hears the call.
But as with all good and powerful sermons, the most important piece is at the end, which here is verse 36. And it isn't "this Jesus whom you crucified." Instead it is "... let the entire house of Israel know with certainty that God has made him both Lord and Messiah...."
1 Peter 1:17-23
This reading from 1 Peter is the second in this year's continuous series of readings from the book during the Easter season.
The subject is holiness, and specifically the life of holiness that followers of Jesus Christ ought to have since they have already received the gift of salvation. The passage really should include verses 13-16, since that sets the stage for verses 17-23.
There is in this passage a movement, a relationship, reiterated several times: God acts for us, and we respond to that. So if we can go back a bit to verse 15 we hear the pattern for it: "... as he who called you is holy, be holy yourselves in all your conduct; for it is written, 'You shall be holy, for I am holy.' " We don't act in a certain way to secure God's good will and grace; instead, we have been given the grace, and that is what prompts and motivates certain behavior -- holiness -- in us.
That's what's behind the whole concept of our ransom, referred to in verse 18. It is paid out of the free will, the good grace, of the ransomer. In our case, says 1 Peter, that ransomer was God, and the payment not made in gold or silver, but in the blood of Jesus Christ.
Verse 21 continues with the "God acts, we respond" theme. Even our belief itself, our faith and our trust, come through Jesus. Verse 23 persists in the same theme: we have been born anew, not by any action of our own or any merit of our own, but by God's living and lasting word.
This passage is a call, it is presumed, to Gentile converts in the early church. It is a call to a kind of life, a life not lived seeking approval, from God or from anybody else, but a life lived basking in the approval that God has already granted us. And the name of that basking, that style of living which depends on God, is holiness.
Luke 24:13-35
The encounter on the road to Emmaus is a self-contained post-resurrection appearance that is unique to the Gospel of Luke, although Mark 16:12 refers to an appearance by Jesus "... to two of them, as they were walking into the country." There are a number of smaller units within the story that the preacher might wish to explore for preaching, but the episode as a whole is extraordinarily compelling.
It was Easter evening. Two disciples were heading for Emmaus, not far from Jerusalem, and they were talking about the events of the day. The two who were walking along are newcomers to us; this passage contains the only reference in the Bible to Cleopas. It points out to those of us who are used to thinking only of the Twelve, that Jesus had more followers than the just familiar ones who have come to be known as apostles. There were others, and he appeared to them as well as to the Twelve.
A stranger approached them, joining in the conversation. They told him about Jesus, and all that had happened in the last few days: the arrest and crucifixion. "We had hoped," they said with disappointment and longing, "that he was the one to redeem Israel." And they report what they had heard from the women, that he had risen. But it almost sounds like they were hesitant to believe the reports that they have received, afraid to invest themselves in hope. After all, their hopes had been so recently dashed on Friday afternoon.
Surprisingly, the stranger took over the discussion. He began to interpret for them the things in scripture, the prophecies that were about Jesus the Messiah. For the Gospel writers, the key to faith is that Jesus of Nazareth fulfilled the prophecies from the Old Testament. The sense here is that the stranger was showing the continuity of the life of Jesus with the Old Testament. Jesus refers to it later in another appearance in verse 44.
The disciples asked the stranger to stay the night with them and continue teaching them. That night at dinner, the stranger took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. The language used here makes it a clear reference to the Eucharist, besides which, the stranger, invited there as a guest, was acting as the host. At the breaking of the bread, in a passage that has found its way into the Eucharist of many churches, the two recognized that the stranger was Jesus himself. And at that instant he vanished. Immediately, they left and returned to Jerusalem to tell the others that they had seen Jesus.
How to explain their blindness to the risen Jesus? The same question could be asked of Mary Magdalene, who in John's account thought the man she saw was the gardener, when it turned out to be Jesus. How do we explain the blindness of our eyes to seeing the Lord? Perhaps it is seeing him out of context, where he shouldn't be. Well, obviously it's a mistake to think there's a particular place for Jesus to be. Or maybe they weren't blind to Jesus at all. They agree later that their hearts had burned within them at his words. Maybe they indeed saw him, only they saw him not with their eyes, but with their hearts.
Application
Nowhere has "being cool" been more highly valued than in mainline American Protestantism. There is an old line about Presbyterianism, that it is so cold, you could skate down the aisles. For many in the West, Christianity has been diametrically opposite of passionate. It has come from of the head instead of the heart. It has been a thinking religion, rather than a feeling religion.
And for much of our history that has served us well. But it may not serve us well anymore. The message of the Gospel is that our passion, our deep religious feelings, need to come out. Passion expresses caring. Passion shows what's important. Passion shows, above all else, what we need.
Consider the readings from Acts and Luke. When Peter ended his a sermon in Jerusalem saying, "Let the entire house of Israel know with certainty that God has made him both Lord and Messiah, this Jesus whom you crucified," the response was immediate and powerful. The people were cut to the heart. On the road to Emmaus on the evening of the first Easter, two disciples encountered Jesus in a stranger who walked with them and spoke to them about the scriptures. It wasn't until later that evening, when the stranger broke a loaf of bread, that they knew him to be Jesus. And then they remembered how on the road their hearts burned within them as he spoke.
Two stories after Easter. Two stories about deep, profound emotion. They were "cut to the heart." "Their hearts burned within them." Really, we all know how they felt. When you suddenly become aware of something awful you have done, or something important you haven't done, you feel wounded to your heart. When you feel a deep pride about something, your heart swells up as if it were about to burst. When you are sad, there is a lump in your throat and tears in your eyes and a knot in your heart.
For thousands of years, the heart has been seen as the center of our emotions. Even the people of ancient times knew that in a very real sense the heart is the source of life for all creatures. The heart brings life, lifeblood, to all the parts of the body.
Of course, we know the biological or anatomical explanation -- with a threat or with fear, the body produces adrenaline, epinephrine. That speeds up the heart, but it also constricts the blood vessels. That obviously will raise your blood pressure. It all guarantees that the extremities of the body will have plenty of blood so they can function under stress. Other strong emotions produce the same physical reaction.
So we know what happens physically. But what it means is fervor; deep, strong feelings; it means passion. The reactions in both passages are passionate, profoundly passionate.
And in that we see a basic truth about passion. It is the people who are in need who are most passionate.
Peter's listeners in Acts -- the people of Jerusalem -- needed absolution, forgiveness for their role in the crucifixion. They needed hope. The fact is, they needed Jesus. And so it was that they were cut to the heart when they heard about Jesus.
How about the two disciples on the road to Emmaus? They needed a Messiah. They said, "We had hoped he was the one to redeem Israel." They needed God's presence. They needed God's word. They needed reassurance that Jesus really was alive again. The fact is, they too needed Jesus. And so their hearts burned inside them when they were in Jesus' presence.
The passionate people of history and of culture and in the church have been people who have needed the most.
Think of the liberation movements of history, both long ago and more recent. They have been filled with people of passion, whose passion came from their deep need for justice and fair treatment. Moses was a man driven by the passion to free his people from slavery in Egypt. The leaders of the American Revolution were passionate. Martin Luther King, Jr., let his passion come forth as he fought for the needs of his people.
Change in our world, whether for good or for ill, comes from passionate people, people who are cut to their heart and whose hearts burn within them.
The science fiction writer Ray Bradbury spoke about listening to your heart instead of your intellect: "If we listened to our intellect, we'd never fall in love. We'd never have a friendship. We'd never go into business because we'd be cynical." We could add countless things to his list: if we listened only to our intellect we'd never paint a picture. We'd never write a poem. Or we'd never believe in God.
The fact is, the faith our risen Lord asks of us is not a cold, logical, dispassionate faith. Instead, it is a hot, pulsing, alive faith that comes from our profound need. It is a hot, pulsing, alive faith that cuts us deeply and that burns our inner core and that moves us to great things and to even greater love.
The call to us is to feel the passion, and to speak our passion to the world.
Alternative Applications
1) 1 Peter: First Comes Love and Grace. We are so used to a quid pro quo form of life, so used to the idea that we get something in return for something. We pay our money and we get the Double Whopper with cheese at Burger King. Tit for tat. Or if we behave ourselves as children, then we will be rewarded. It is a commercial view of life, in which we pay for what we get. But that's not God's way. God is the giver, the one who takes the initiative. We respond with a life of holiness. The reading from 1 Peter makes that point several times: our holiness follows God's, our moral behavior is a response to God's grace. Having been saved by God's love, we are now free to lead lives of love.
2) John: Only the Heart Knows. The two travelers on the Road to Emmaus didn't recognize him when Jesus walked alongside them. Or did they? Later, after they found out it was Jesus, they remembered how their hearts had burned in his presence. Apparently something deep inside them felt his presence with them. Their eyes were closed to Jesus, but their hearts knew. Maybe we need to listen to the other ways of perceiving that we human beings have at our disposal, to the message and the feelings of our hearts.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
Acts 2:14a, 36-41
We continue this Sunday with Acts' account of Peter's sermon to the devout Jews from every nation who were gathered together in Jerusalem and who witnessed the event of Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit descended like tongues of fire upon the disciples of Jesus. You recall that in our Acts' reading last Sunday, the Apostle Peter testified to the resurrection of Jesus by interpreting Psalm 16:8-11 from the Old Testament. That Psalm, Peter said, was David's prophecy of God's defeat of death by the raising of his Son from the tomb. In addition, Peter testified that he and the other disciples had been eyewitnesses of the Resurrection.
Immediately preceding our text for today, Peter also applies another Old Testament Psalm to Jesus. He quotes Psalm 110:1, in which the Lord bids the Davidic king to sit at his right hand, in the seat of power. And that, too, proclaims Peter, is a future prophecy about Jesus Christ, the final Davidic king and Messiah. After his resurrection, Christ was exalted to the right hand of God as the Lord over all.
That is not an unfamiliar thought to us, of course, because we confess it every time we say the Apostles Creed. "The third day, he rose again from the dead; he ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father Almighty; from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead." So Jesus Christ is the Holy One, the Lord over all, the mighty Son ascended to the right hand of the Father, who at the last judgment will return to render his verdict about your lives and mine.
It is that announcement which leads to the question of verse 37 in our text. "Brethren, what shall we do?" If Jesus Christ is Lord, the Ruler and Judge over your life and mine, and if he will return to make his final assessment of how we have lived our lives on this earth, what should we do in order to be able to stand before him? In other words, what should we do to be saved?
That is a question that appears several times in Luke-Acts (cf. Luke 3:10, 12; Acts 16:30). Saul of Tarsus, who became the Apostle Paul, asked it when he was first confronted by the risen Lord (Acts 22:10). But is it a question that we ask in our time? Do we ask how we can stand in the Lord's final judgment of us? Or has the person of God or the lordship of Christ become so vague in our minds that we no longer worry about our eternal relation with our triune God? Is this world all that there is, and is the grave actually the end of it all? Or is there indeed an eternity for which you and I are destined? If there is, then perhaps the question in our text is one that we should ask also. "Peter, what shall we do? How can we be saved?"
Peter's answer to that gathered Jewish crowd is clear-cut: "Repent." In other words, realize that you have not always followed the will and ways of your Lord. Turn your life around and vow to walk in the opposite direction that is pleasing to God. "Be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ," and I suppose most of us are already baptized. But Peter had to instruct those first-century Jews to undergo that rite for the first time.
In baptism, you see, when it is done in the name of Jesus Christ, we receive the forgiveness of our sins, of all of those times when we have ignored God, or been indifferent toward him, when we have done stupid and foolish things that we know we should not have done, or when we have not done the deeds we really should have performed -- in short, when we have been unfaithful to the will of our Lord Jesus Christ who is pure love and who has commanded us to love one another. Because of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, those things can be forgiven us, if we will bow ourselves in humility and repentance before the Father. The sinful past can be wiped out, good Christians! The guilt we bear can be lifted from us! The wrong we have done can no longer corrupt our relationship with our God!
In baptism, moreover, we are adopted by God as his sons and daughters, and from that time onward, we belong to God. No one else can finally claim us. As Paul would say, "Neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 8:38-39). When we are baptized, we belong to God in Christ, and nothing can take us from him.
Peter and Paul would therefore say to each one of us, "Live up to your baptisms!" You have been baptized in the name of Christ. Therefore live as "Christ's person," which is in fact the meaning of the term "Christian." You repent of your sins. Now live as one who has turned his or her life around. But of course, our question is: How can we do that? How, now, can you or I walk as persons who deserve the name of Christ? How can we live as those who have a second chance to appear blameless before our Lord? How can we possibly live up to what it is that God requires of us, so that at the end, we will indeed be able to stand before him?
Well, Peter promises that crowd -- and us -- something else in his sermon here in Acts. He says all baptized souls will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit, that Spirit of the risen and exalted Christ that descended so mightily upon the disciples at Pentecost. And that Spirit is given not only to us, but to our children and to all who are far away, who confess the name of Jesus Christ as Lord. So we are not alone, to try to live the Christian life all by ourselves. No, Christ lives with us. Christ lives in us. And by his power, who is the exalted Lord, we are able to do those deeds of love and service, of mercy and forgiveness, of patience and obedience and faithfulness that we are never able to do on our own.
The last verse in our text reports that after Peter's sermon, some 3,000 persons were added to Christ's company of disciples. God grant that our names also join the list.
PREACHING THE PSALM
Psalm 116:1-4, 12-19
Classed as a song of thanksgiving, Psalm 116 both celebrates God's answer to the psalmist's prayers for help (vv. 1-2) and declares the psalmist's intention to now go to the temple and "return to the Lord" those things the psalmist had promised while praying the prayers (vv. 12-14). Admittedly that does give a bit of a quid pro quo feel to psalm, but the psalmist can hardly be faulted for following through on what he had promised to do.
In the Greek and Latin Bibles, this psalm is divided into two, with verses 1-9 comprising Psalm 114 and 10-19 being Psalm 115, but the bargain plot suggested above does give a unity to the whole passage. The Revised Common Lectionary cut of the psalm to 1-4 and 12-19, at least relieves us of the necessity of dealing with verse 11, "I said in my consternation, 'Everyone is a liar.' "
Some sermonic directions:
1) These same verses, minus 3 and 4, make up the responsorial psalm for Maundy Thursday. Though that is not our focus here, the psalmist's intention to "lift up the cup of salvation" is certainly an appropriate starting point for any Communion sermon. It should be noted, of course that as an Old Testament text, the cup here may have referred to one of those used in the Passover observance. Still, appropriated for the Eucharist, does not the cup become emblematic for our salvation, for the blood, "shed for you"?
2) Verse 15, "Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his faithful ones," deserves some attention. Some read the Hebrew word behind "precious" as "peculiar," as if the death of a faithful one were a unique event, something out of the ordinary. This suggests perhaps that long life was the normal expectation for the righteous, which is a concept that does not wear well today. But others read the word as "costly," denoting that when a righteous person dies, God loses something. The deceased's praise is silenced and his or her witness to the living is no more. What indeed does it cost God when a faithful mortal passes from this world? Maybe it is a help for the grieving to know that their loved one's death hurts God too.
3) Vows (vv. 14, 18) provide a good opportunity to preach about promise-keeping, but the idea needs to be larger than those promises normally called "vows," as in the marriage or baptismal promises. The righteous life simply cannot exist on any level without an intentional effort to live by promises made.
4) Verse 16, where the psalmist refers to himself as the child of "your serving girl," may have simply been a stock phrase meaning something like, "your trusted servant," but may also have reference to devoutness of the psalmist's mother. Here's a good chance to talk about the influence of upbringing on one's faith, but it should be pointed out that a simple claim to having a godly parent does not excuse one from the personal spiritual quest. God has children, it's said, but no grandchildren.
Cool is of great value in our culture. To call somebody cool is one of the highest compliments you can pay. Somewhere we got the idea that it is a good thing to be dispassionate, to be above getting angry and feeling deeply. We have wanted to go through life without being touched, without being mad or sad or angry or depressed or happy. We want to be cool; we want to feel nothing.
At times that's good. The phenomenon of "road rage," along with its newer version, "airline rage," points out how important it is to keep your cool. But there are problems with it. Many of us -- men in particular -- don't express our feelings. And it is well known in the mental health field that feelings not expressed can come back to haunt you.
Being cool has become one of the great problems of the 21st century, because being cool is about holding your passion in check, not letting your deep feelings come out. It's about hiding your true feelings, to appear unflappable, untouchable. Being cool says, "I have no passion."
But the scriptures testify that it is the passionate people, the burning hearts, the people who feel deeply, who have wrought profound change and became the early church. Perhaps the modern church needs their passion.
Acts 2:14a, 36-41
It's odd that a few weeks before Pentecost Sunday we hear the conclusion of Peter's sermon on the Day of Pentecost following the dramatic events in Jerusalem. The lectionary preserves the introduction to the sermon, verse 2:14, and jumps to the end. On the other hand, it may not be so odd. Acts is essentially the story of the testimony of the early church and the preaching of the first evangelists about the events of Easter, so it is fitting that we hear this sermon during the season of Eastertide.
Recall what has brought us to this point. It is after the Ascension. Jesus' followers are gathered in "one place." Suddenly there was the sound of a wind, and they saw tongues of flame resting on each other. And they began to speak in other languages "as the Spirit gave them ability." It was a distinctly public phenomenon, in which foreign visitors to Jerusalem heard their own language being spoken, and it demanded an explanation. That was Peter's job.
He stood up and told them that what they were seeing had been prophesied by the prophets, and then he proceeded to tell them about Jesus of Nazareth, about his life and his death and his resurrection. Peter quoted the Old Testament prophecies about the Messiah, setting the stage for one of the more powerful and persuasive endings to a sermon, verse 36: "Therefore let the entire house of Israel know with certainty that God has made him both Lord and Messiah, this Jesus whom you crucified."
But it wasn't an easy thing to hear. There was a very clear accusation in what Peter preached that day, "This Jesus whom you crucified." And indeed, the accusation worked, producing a deep effect in the listeners. They were cut to the heart.
And it was that cut, that stab, that moved them to look for a way to ... do penance? Seek absolution? Undo it?
What would the proper response be to "this Jesus whom you crucified"? There is only one response: They asked, "What should we do?" It's the cry from your wounded heart, when you are suddenly shown the error of your ways. It's the cry comparable to David's cry when Nathan confronted him with Uriah's murder, "You are the man."
And then we hear Peter's answer. Repent, be baptized, be forgiven for your sins (a clear reference to their part in the Crucifixion) and receive the Holy Spirit. But there is more than accusation in Peter's answer to the crowd. There is also hope. In verse 39 we hear that the promise is for all -- for the listeners, their children, and everybody else who hears the call.
But as with all good and powerful sermons, the most important piece is at the end, which here is verse 36. And it isn't "this Jesus whom you crucified." Instead it is "... let the entire house of Israel know with certainty that God has made him both Lord and Messiah...."
1 Peter 1:17-23
This reading from 1 Peter is the second in this year's continuous series of readings from the book during the Easter season.
The subject is holiness, and specifically the life of holiness that followers of Jesus Christ ought to have since they have already received the gift of salvation. The passage really should include verses 13-16, since that sets the stage for verses 17-23.
There is in this passage a movement, a relationship, reiterated several times: God acts for us, and we respond to that. So if we can go back a bit to verse 15 we hear the pattern for it: "... as he who called you is holy, be holy yourselves in all your conduct; for it is written, 'You shall be holy, for I am holy.' " We don't act in a certain way to secure God's good will and grace; instead, we have been given the grace, and that is what prompts and motivates certain behavior -- holiness -- in us.
That's what's behind the whole concept of our ransom, referred to in verse 18. It is paid out of the free will, the good grace, of the ransomer. In our case, says 1 Peter, that ransomer was God, and the payment not made in gold or silver, but in the blood of Jesus Christ.
Verse 21 continues with the "God acts, we respond" theme. Even our belief itself, our faith and our trust, come through Jesus. Verse 23 persists in the same theme: we have been born anew, not by any action of our own or any merit of our own, but by God's living and lasting word.
This passage is a call, it is presumed, to Gentile converts in the early church. It is a call to a kind of life, a life not lived seeking approval, from God or from anybody else, but a life lived basking in the approval that God has already granted us. And the name of that basking, that style of living which depends on God, is holiness.
Luke 24:13-35
The encounter on the road to Emmaus is a self-contained post-resurrection appearance that is unique to the Gospel of Luke, although Mark 16:12 refers to an appearance by Jesus "... to two of them, as they were walking into the country." There are a number of smaller units within the story that the preacher might wish to explore for preaching, but the episode as a whole is extraordinarily compelling.
It was Easter evening. Two disciples were heading for Emmaus, not far from Jerusalem, and they were talking about the events of the day. The two who were walking along are newcomers to us; this passage contains the only reference in the Bible to Cleopas. It points out to those of us who are used to thinking only of the Twelve, that Jesus had more followers than the just familiar ones who have come to be known as apostles. There were others, and he appeared to them as well as to the Twelve.
A stranger approached them, joining in the conversation. They told him about Jesus, and all that had happened in the last few days: the arrest and crucifixion. "We had hoped," they said with disappointment and longing, "that he was the one to redeem Israel." And they report what they had heard from the women, that he had risen. But it almost sounds like they were hesitant to believe the reports that they have received, afraid to invest themselves in hope. After all, their hopes had been so recently dashed on Friday afternoon.
Surprisingly, the stranger took over the discussion. He began to interpret for them the things in scripture, the prophecies that were about Jesus the Messiah. For the Gospel writers, the key to faith is that Jesus of Nazareth fulfilled the prophecies from the Old Testament. The sense here is that the stranger was showing the continuity of the life of Jesus with the Old Testament. Jesus refers to it later in another appearance in verse 44.
The disciples asked the stranger to stay the night with them and continue teaching them. That night at dinner, the stranger took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. The language used here makes it a clear reference to the Eucharist, besides which, the stranger, invited there as a guest, was acting as the host. At the breaking of the bread, in a passage that has found its way into the Eucharist of many churches, the two recognized that the stranger was Jesus himself. And at that instant he vanished. Immediately, they left and returned to Jerusalem to tell the others that they had seen Jesus.
How to explain their blindness to the risen Jesus? The same question could be asked of Mary Magdalene, who in John's account thought the man she saw was the gardener, when it turned out to be Jesus. How do we explain the blindness of our eyes to seeing the Lord? Perhaps it is seeing him out of context, where he shouldn't be. Well, obviously it's a mistake to think there's a particular place for Jesus to be. Or maybe they weren't blind to Jesus at all. They agree later that their hearts had burned within them at his words. Maybe they indeed saw him, only they saw him not with their eyes, but with their hearts.
Application
Nowhere has "being cool" been more highly valued than in mainline American Protestantism. There is an old line about Presbyterianism, that it is so cold, you could skate down the aisles. For many in the West, Christianity has been diametrically opposite of passionate. It has come from of the head instead of the heart. It has been a thinking religion, rather than a feeling religion.
And for much of our history that has served us well. But it may not serve us well anymore. The message of the Gospel is that our passion, our deep religious feelings, need to come out. Passion expresses caring. Passion shows what's important. Passion shows, above all else, what we need.
Consider the readings from Acts and Luke. When Peter ended his a sermon in Jerusalem saying, "Let the entire house of Israel know with certainty that God has made him both Lord and Messiah, this Jesus whom you crucified," the response was immediate and powerful. The people were cut to the heart. On the road to Emmaus on the evening of the first Easter, two disciples encountered Jesus in a stranger who walked with them and spoke to them about the scriptures. It wasn't until later that evening, when the stranger broke a loaf of bread, that they knew him to be Jesus. And then they remembered how on the road their hearts burned within them as he spoke.
Two stories after Easter. Two stories about deep, profound emotion. They were "cut to the heart." "Their hearts burned within them." Really, we all know how they felt. When you suddenly become aware of something awful you have done, or something important you haven't done, you feel wounded to your heart. When you feel a deep pride about something, your heart swells up as if it were about to burst. When you are sad, there is a lump in your throat and tears in your eyes and a knot in your heart.
For thousands of years, the heart has been seen as the center of our emotions. Even the people of ancient times knew that in a very real sense the heart is the source of life for all creatures. The heart brings life, lifeblood, to all the parts of the body.
Of course, we know the biological or anatomical explanation -- with a threat or with fear, the body produces adrenaline, epinephrine. That speeds up the heart, but it also constricts the blood vessels. That obviously will raise your blood pressure. It all guarantees that the extremities of the body will have plenty of blood so they can function under stress. Other strong emotions produce the same physical reaction.
So we know what happens physically. But what it means is fervor; deep, strong feelings; it means passion. The reactions in both passages are passionate, profoundly passionate.
And in that we see a basic truth about passion. It is the people who are in need who are most passionate.
Peter's listeners in Acts -- the people of Jerusalem -- needed absolution, forgiveness for their role in the crucifixion. They needed hope. The fact is, they needed Jesus. And so it was that they were cut to the heart when they heard about Jesus.
How about the two disciples on the road to Emmaus? They needed a Messiah. They said, "We had hoped he was the one to redeem Israel." They needed God's presence. They needed God's word. They needed reassurance that Jesus really was alive again. The fact is, they too needed Jesus. And so their hearts burned inside them when they were in Jesus' presence.
The passionate people of history and of culture and in the church have been people who have needed the most.
Think of the liberation movements of history, both long ago and more recent. They have been filled with people of passion, whose passion came from their deep need for justice and fair treatment. Moses was a man driven by the passion to free his people from slavery in Egypt. The leaders of the American Revolution were passionate. Martin Luther King, Jr., let his passion come forth as he fought for the needs of his people.
Change in our world, whether for good or for ill, comes from passionate people, people who are cut to their heart and whose hearts burn within them.
The science fiction writer Ray Bradbury spoke about listening to your heart instead of your intellect: "If we listened to our intellect, we'd never fall in love. We'd never have a friendship. We'd never go into business because we'd be cynical." We could add countless things to his list: if we listened only to our intellect we'd never paint a picture. We'd never write a poem. Or we'd never believe in God.
The fact is, the faith our risen Lord asks of us is not a cold, logical, dispassionate faith. Instead, it is a hot, pulsing, alive faith that comes from our profound need. It is a hot, pulsing, alive faith that cuts us deeply and that burns our inner core and that moves us to great things and to even greater love.
The call to us is to feel the passion, and to speak our passion to the world.
Alternative Applications
1) 1 Peter: First Comes Love and Grace. We are so used to a quid pro quo form of life, so used to the idea that we get something in return for something. We pay our money and we get the Double Whopper with cheese at Burger King. Tit for tat. Or if we behave ourselves as children, then we will be rewarded. It is a commercial view of life, in which we pay for what we get. But that's not God's way. God is the giver, the one who takes the initiative. We respond with a life of holiness. The reading from 1 Peter makes that point several times: our holiness follows God's, our moral behavior is a response to God's grace. Having been saved by God's love, we are now free to lead lives of love.
2) John: Only the Heart Knows. The two travelers on the Road to Emmaus didn't recognize him when Jesus walked alongside them. Or did they? Later, after they found out it was Jesus, they remembered how their hearts had burned in his presence. Apparently something deep inside them felt his presence with them. Their eyes were closed to Jesus, but their hearts knew. Maybe we need to listen to the other ways of perceiving that we human beings have at our disposal, to the message and the feelings of our hearts.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
Acts 2:14a, 36-41
We continue this Sunday with Acts' account of Peter's sermon to the devout Jews from every nation who were gathered together in Jerusalem and who witnessed the event of Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit descended like tongues of fire upon the disciples of Jesus. You recall that in our Acts' reading last Sunday, the Apostle Peter testified to the resurrection of Jesus by interpreting Psalm 16:8-11 from the Old Testament. That Psalm, Peter said, was David's prophecy of God's defeat of death by the raising of his Son from the tomb. In addition, Peter testified that he and the other disciples had been eyewitnesses of the Resurrection.
Immediately preceding our text for today, Peter also applies another Old Testament Psalm to Jesus. He quotes Psalm 110:1, in which the Lord bids the Davidic king to sit at his right hand, in the seat of power. And that, too, proclaims Peter, is a future prophecy about Jesus Christ, the final Davidic king and Messiah. After his resurrection, Christ was exalted to the right hand of God as the Lord over all.
That is not an unfamiliar thought to us, of course, because we confess it every time we say the Apostles Creed. "The third day, he rose again from the dead; he ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father Almighty; from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead." So Jesus Christ is the Holy One, the Lord over all, the mighty Son ascended to the right hand of the Father, who at the last judgment will return to render his verdict about your lives and mine.
It is that announcement which leads to the question of verse 37 in our text. "Brethren, what shall we do?" If Jesus Christ is Lord, the Ruler and Judge over your life and mine, and if he will return to make his final assessment of how we have lived our lives on this earth, what should we do in order to be able to stand before him? In other words, what should we do to be saved?
That is a question that appears several times in Luke-Acts (cf. Luke 3:10, 12; Acts 16:30). Saul of Tarsus, who became the Apostle Paul, asked it when he was first confronted by the risen Lord (Acts 22:10). But is it a question that we ask in our time? Do we ask how we can stand in the Lord's final judgment of us? Or has the person of God or the lordship of Christ become so vague in our minds that we no longer worry about our eternal relation with our triune God? Is this world all that there is, and is the grave actually the end of it all? Or is there indeed an eternity for which you and I are destined? If there is, then perhaps the question in our text is one that we should ask also. "Peter, what shall we do? How can we be saved?"
Peter's answer to that gathered Jewish crowd is clear-cut: "Repent." In other words, realize that you have not always followed the will and ways of your Lord. Turn your life around and vow to walk in the opposite direction that is pleasing to God. "Be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ," and I suppose most of us are already baptized. But Peter had to instruct those first-century Jews to undergo that rite for the first time.
In baptism, you see, when it is done in the name of Jesus Christ, we receive the forgiveness of our sins, of all of those times when we have ignored God, or been indifferent toward him, when we have done stupid and foolish things that we know we should not have done, or when we have not done the deeds we really should have performed -- in short, when we have been unfaithful to the will of our Lord Jesus Christ who is pure love and who has commanded us to love one another. Because of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, those things can be forgiven us, if we will bow ourselves in humility and repentance before the Father. The sinful past can be wiped out, good Christians! The guilt we bear can be lifted from us! The wrong we have done can no longer corrupt our relationship with our God!
In baptism, moreover, we are adopted by God as his sons and daughters, and from that time onward, we belong to God. No one else can finally claim us. As Paul would say, "Neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 8:38-39). When we are baptized, we belong to God in Christ, and nothing can take us from him.
Peter and Paul would therefore say to each one of us, "Live up to your baptisms!" You have been baptized in the name of Christ. Therefore live as "Christ's person," which is in fact the meaning of the term "Christian." You repent of your sins. Now live as one who has turned his or her life around. But of course, our question is: How can we do that? How, now, can you or I walk as persons who deserve the name of Christ? How can we live as those who have a second chance to appear blameless before our Lord? How can we possibly live up to what it is that God requires of us, so that at the end, we will indeed be able to stand before him?
Well, Peter promises that crowd -- and us -- something else in his sermon here in Acts. He says all baptized souls will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit, that Spirit of the risen and exalted Christ that descended so mightily upon the disciples at Pentecost. And that Spirit is given not only to us, but to our children and to all who are far away, who confess the name of Jesus Christ as Lord. So we are not alone, to try to live the Christian life all by ourselves. No, Christ lives with us. Christ lives in us. And by his power, who is the exalted Lord, we are able to do those deeds of love and service, of mercy and forgiveness, of patience and obedience and faithfulness that we are never able to do on our own.
The last verse in our text reports that after Peter's sermon, some 3,000 persons were added to Christ's company of disciples. God grant that our names also join the list.
PREACHING THE PSALM
Psalm 116:1-4, 12-19
Classed as a song of thanksgiving, Psalm 116 both celebrates God's answer to the psalmist's prayers for help (vv. 1-2) and declares the psalmist's intention to now go to the temple and "return to the Lord" those things the psalmist had promised while praying the prayers (vv. 12-14). Admittedly that does give a bit of a quid pro quo feel to psalm, but the psalmist can hardly be faulted for following through on what he had promised to do.
In the Greek and Latin Bibles, this psalm is divided into two, with verses 1-9 comprising Psalm 114 and 10-19 being Psalm 115, but the bargain plot suggested above does give a unity to the whole passage. The Revised Common Lectionary cut of the psalm to 1-4 and 12-19, at least relieves us of the necessity of dealing with verse 11, "I said in my consternation, 'Everyone is a liar.' "
Some sermonic directions:
1) These same verses, minus 3 and 4, make up the responsorial psalm for Maundy Thursday. Though that is not our focus here, the psalmist's intention to "lift up the cup of salvation" is certainly an appropriate starting point for any Communion sermon. It should be noted, of course that as an Old Testament text, the cup here may have referred to one of those used in the Passover observance. Still, appropriated for the Eucharist, does not the cup become emblematic for our salvation, for the blood, "shed for you"?
2) Verse 15, "Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his faithful ones," deserves some attention. Some read the Hebrew word behind "precious" as "peculiar," as if the death of a faithful one were a unique event, something out of the ordinary. This suggests perhaps that long life was the normal expectation for the righteous, which is a concept that does not wear well today. But others read the word as "costly," denoting that when a righteous person dies, God loses something. The deceased's praise is silenced and his or her witness to the living is no more. What indeed does it cost God when a faithful mortal passes from this world? Maybe it is a help for the grieving to know that their loved one's death hurts God too.
3) Vows (vv. 14, 18) provide a good opportunity to preach about promise-keeping, but the idea needs to be larger than those promises normally called "vows," as in the marriage or baptismal promises. The righteous life simply cannot exist on any level without an intentional effort to live by promises made.
4) Verse 16, where the psalmist refers to himself as the child of "your serving girl," may have simply been a stock phrase meaning something like, "your trusted servant," but may also have reference to devoutness of the psalmist's mother. Here's a good chance to talk about the influence of upbringing on one's faith, but it should be pointed out that a simple claim to having a godly parent does not excuse one from the personal spiritual quest. God has children, it's said, but no grandchildren.
