Right where we belong--some thoughts on the act of reading Acts

 

“He spent the whole of the two years

in his own rented lodging. He welcomed

all who came to visit him…”

--Acts 28:30

 

This is describing how Paul was being held for trial in Rome.  It sounds kind of like he was under house arrest. I love the phrase: in his own rented lodging.  It sounds so cozy and cheerful. Something out of a British children’s book about a badger, a mole and a well-dressed bear off for a seaside vacation. But what caught my attention was the “two years.”  It is the second time within a few chapters that Paul has been held somewhere for 2 years  (stemming from the charges brought against him by the Scribes and Sadducee and his arrest in Jerusalem [cf. 21]). The implication is that Paul spends at least the last 4 years of his life in captivity: first in Caesarea (cf. 24:27) and then in Rome. 

 

Because the phrase was repeated, it caught my attention. At first, I wondered whether “two years” might be a symbolic length of time.  Something like the idea of Jonah being “three days” in the belly of the whale, or the Jews wandering in the desert for “40 years” or Jesus fasting in the desert for “40 days.”  Most scholars, theologians, preachers seem to treat those numbers as symbolic; possibly just meaning “a long time.”  But, as far as I can tell these “two years” in Caesarea and two more years in Rome have always been read in a literal sense.  Paul was in captivity for 4 years (in addition to travel from Jerusalem to Rome, plus getting shipwrecked and spending a few months in Malta).

 

Anyway, that is how I read scripture—some odd detail catches my attention, and off my little brain goes like a cat chasing a lizard (that was brought in with the potted plants from patio because of the freeze…just saying…).  BUT… this is how scripture reads me.

 

As I was sitting there cogitating over Paul and those two years, I found myself suddenly remembering a strange remark that Agrippa made to Festus (no—not the guy from Gunsmoke). At the end of chapter 26, Agrippa says:

            “That man could have been set free if he had not appealed to Caesar.”

Which sounds strangely like they are saying: If only Paul hadn’t made that rash appeal to Caesar, he could be free and on his way.  If only he hadn’t been so foolish, if only he hadn’t been so ridiculous, he could be a free man.  But, because he did, now he has to go to Rome and –well, you know what happens there...

 

And now I am suddenly thinking about how it all must have seemed so ridiculous and wasteful.  Two years doing nothing in Caesarea, followed by two more years “doing nothing” in Rome, and –in the eyes of the world—it was all due to Paul’s bad choice; his mistake. If only he hadn’t appealed to Rome.

 

Because of Paul’s rash choice he is forced to curtail his missionary travels and waste these valuable years in a holding pattern.  At least that is what it looks like in the eyes of the world. But, in God’s eyes, it is quite a different thing all together.  Paul is right where God wants him to be. He is doing exactly what God wants him to be doing. He is spreading God’s message of love and salvation to the world—even as he is held in custody. First, sharing it with the local officials and their households in Caesarea (Agrippa, Festus, Felix, et al), and then to the whole world through Rome, where he will be held and then finally (as tradition has it) put to death. Nothing glorious, nothing especially noteworthy, nothing particularly honorable about any of this; and yet, many would say, he changed the world.

 

How often do so many of us find ourselves contemplating those wasted years, those bad choices we made, haunted by a series of “if only” thoughts. If only I had studied harder in school. If only I had gone to law school. If only I had passed the bar. If only I had passed any bar… Sorry, Griffs! If only I had bought Apple when it was $2 a share.

 

If only Paul had not appealed to Rome…

 

But the lesson I learned from those two years with Paul in Caesarea and again in Rome is this:  being a beloved servant of God is not about being right.  It’s not about making “right choices.” It’s about being beloved. We are not defined by our mistakes, or by our successes—in the end, we are defined by the love of our Creator.   And we are called to live in that love, and to be a sign of that love for the world.  And that is exactly what we see in Paul, wherever he was, whatever situation he found himself in, even awaiting his own execution, he was being a beloved servant of God—and, like his master, he was welcoming all who came to him.

 

So, you see, this is how reading scripture works on me.  Even while I am busily distracted by some minor detail or some repeated phrase, foolishly chasing after some strange “two years,” the Lord is there in His love and planting seeds –casting them carelessly onto the soil of my soul.  Some falls on rocks, some among thorns, but other on rich soil where it will bloom, thirty, sixty, a hundred-fold. The trick is remembering He’s not only in charge of the seeds, He’s also in charge of the soil.  Like Paul, wherever you find yourself—in sunny Cancun, or without water and electricity in a frozen Houston suburb-- rest in that love and make welcome all who come.

 

 

Peter's mother-in-law: more than just a joke

“Then the fever left her and she waited on them…”

--Mark 1: 29-39

How often have I heard a homilist (or jokester after mass) comment with some sense of irony on this brief passage about Peter’s mother-in-law.  Countless times I have heard the wry note that this poor woman must get off her death bed to wait on the men. Isn’t that the way it always is! The poor woman can’t even take a sick day! Heck, the implication goes, Jesus only healed her because the men wanted her to fix them something to eat.

            And yes, there is humor to be had here, especially on Super Bowl Sunday.  Therefore, before I go to far, let me first say: men –get your own darned chips! And make your own queso. And when it’s time for the game to start, ask your wives (and mother-in-laws) if they’d like to come sit down and watch the game with you --while you wait on them. 

And maybe during the half-time break, instead of watching Justin Timberlake undress anyone, maybe you’ll take a break and ponder the day’s readings.  There is much to consider her, definitely much more than a simplistic little joke about gender stereotypes.

Hearing these three readings together (Job, 1 Corinthians & Mark) I was left with a picture of our call to serve.  First there is that reading from Job 7:1-4; 6-7 that reminds us of the misery and emptiness one feels when suffering alone.  Job (perhaps like Peter’s mother-in-law) loses hope in his suffering. He even senses that he “shall not see happiness again.” Struggling with a long and seemingly meaningless illness one can lose hope (by golly, some of us lose hope after a couple of days with a cold or a sore throat! And some of wonder whether we will ever see happiness again when the guacamole runs out before the chips!!! Aargh! The horror—the horror…  Why is this happening to me? Why has the Lord turned against me? And why have the Patriots just called another time out???  Please Lord, don’t let Tom Brady have a wardrobe malfunction?

Then there is the reading from Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians (9:16-19; 22-23) in which he proclaims that he makes himself “…a slave to all… becoming all things to all, to save at least some…” and this he does “for the sake of the gospel…” that he too might have some share in it.  What does that tell us? Well, here’s what it says to me: It’s not about you [Herman Sutter]!  It’s not about whether you look good in the eyes of the world or whether you seems successful or even whether you get a fair share of the chips and queso!  It’s about the gospel of the Lord. It’s about spreading that gospel in whatever way and however best you can. And that may look different every time, and with every different person you meet (and serve).  Sometimes you will need to be weak, and sometimes you will even need to be a slave in order to serve the Lord’s gospel. But why? Because, as Jesus says near the end of Sunday’s Gospel reading, “For this reason have a I come…” This is the reason we are here. This is our mission. Our vocation. Our call from the Lord: to preach the gospel.

  And when the Lord touches us, when He takes our hand, we no longer want to lie in bed, we no longer want to bemoan our sufferings, when we feel His touch, our soul responds; and I think that is what Peter’s mother-in-law is an icon of. Wen Jesus touches her, she immediately gets up and serves. Like Paul, she becomes a servant for the Lord, that she too may have a part in His gospel, and in the spreading of His love.

So, when you hear someone make a joke out of this verse from Mark’s gospel, perhaps you will remember –it’s a lot more than that.

Third Sunday of Advent: Rejoice always...but...

“Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing.
In all circumstances give thanks, for this
is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus.”

--1 Thessalonians 5: 16-24

Working my way slowly through the Old Testament has offered me many little and wonderful benefits. For instance, standing in line for confession last night… I was standing there anxious as always. Even at 58 I worry over speaking my sin in the hearing of another. I was at one of those Advent Reconciliation events and so there were several priests to choose from and I simply got into what looked like a reasonably short line (there were two on this side of the church –one longer and one shorter… I chose the shorter) and stood there –waiting—wondering what I would say.  I got out a little pad of paper and started making a list of my sins. By the time I got to the second page, I realized that the person standing behind me could probably read everything I was writing. So, I closed the notebook and capped my pen and began looking around, watching for the people coming out of the confessional. I was wondering if the priest was giving out hard penance? I figured I might be able to tell by the look in the eyes. Was he a kind old experienced priest? Was he a gentle naïve young first timer?  Would he be sympathetic to my situation? my sins? or would he suddenly blurt out: At your age!!  Or would it be one of those wonderful out of town priests from Poland that can’t understand a word you say, so they just listen, forgive everything and tell you to pray three Hail Marys.  (I love going to confession to priests who don’t speak English!)

 A woman came out and smiled. The next person went in; the line moved and I saw the name of the priest. Not him!  And suddenly that other line didn’t look so bad. I could just change lines. Just go over there. Maybe I should act like I was going to the bathroom, and just slip away and find a different line on the other side of the church. Or maybe I should just give up. It was a sign! Literally –with a name on it! I should just go home. I didn’t belong here anyway.

But, instead of getting out of line I opened my Bible. I was going to just read a little as I waited. Hoping it would distract me from the sense that the lady behind me was standing a little further back from me now that she knew the state of my soul. I was going to read a psalm or something like that, but instead I opened it to where I had left off that morning: Deuteronomy 8:7, and I began to read and this is exactly what I read:

“But, the Lord your God is bringing you into a fine country, a land of streams and springs, of waters that well up from the deep in valleys and hills, a land of wheat and barley, of vines, of figs, of pomegranates, a land of olives, of oil, of honey, a land where you will eat bread without stint, where you will want nothing…”

And I felt my knees buckle and my chin tremble and my eyes fill with tears. It was truly the voice of God speaking to me, there, in that line, as I waited –fearful, anxious, self-conscious, wanting nothing more than to just turn and run away. And to those feelings, the Lord said:

“But…”

Do you see? That’s what happens when you give yourself a chance to listen to God.  He says to you: But…

I was ready to give up, and the Lord said, “But…” and that is actually what made all the difference (Thank you, Mr. Frost).  What I am trying to say here is this: I think if I had been reading a different translation of the Bible, if I had opened the Bible to a different spot, if I had started reading at a different verse even, I might have walked away from that line and gone home without going to confession. I probably would have been ashamed of myself, but sadly I would have probably gotten over that much sooner than I would like to admit.

And yet I was reading that particular Bible that night and opened it to that particular verse because the morning before I had been reading that particular page and because the first word I read was: But… I felt there was nothing random about it. The words on that page spoke to me. They felt as if they were actually responding to me in that moment.  They said: Yes. You can turn around and walk out of here and no one will stop you and no one will hold it against you; But… here is what I have planned for you, so please stay.

            This Sunday (the third Sunday of Advent) one of our readings encourages us to Rejoice always. Give thanks in every situation.  That is a hard, hard teaching for some of us.  We have very difficult situations in our lives and we struggle just to keep going, just to stay in the line.  How can we be grateful for an incurably ill child? For a car that won’t start –again? For a flood that takes away everything we owned, everything we loved, and leaves us feeling lost?  How do we rejoice in that situation? How do we feel grateful for that?

            I don’t have an answer. But… I think I know where to find one.