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.

 

 

On the Blessing of Vulnerability (Abram's call to go to a foreign land…)

“Now the LORD said to Abram:  Go forth from your country, and from your relatives and from your father’s house, to the land which I will show you; And I will make you a great nation, and I will bless you, And make your name great; And so you shall be a blessing; And I will bless those who bless you, And the one who curses you I will curse. And all clans on earth will bless themselves by you.”      --Genesis 12:1-3

     When the Lord sends Abram to a far country, away from his relatives and his father’s house, we might be tempted to simply accept it as part of the narrative –a plot device so to speak. We might not question it, or contemplate it because it feels like the introduction to a story; it feels like a “once upon a time” moment.  We are so familiar with the rest of this story, the covenant drama with the split animal bodies, the many conversations with God, the name changes (Abram to Abraham; Sarai to Sarah), the heavenly visitors who prophecy Sarah’s pregnancy, the bargaining with God and especially the sacrifice of Isaac, that this opening detail can easily get glossed over in our rush to get to the action. But reading this passage the other morning, especially after reading Romans, I was struck by the weirdness of it.  Am I crazy? Quite possibly.  But, bear with me as I chase this idea once more around the bend. 

     Here’s what I heard in my heart when I read this: God called Abram to leave the place he knew, his homeland, and leave the place where he felt secure, his father’s house, and to go to a place that God would show him –a place Abram didn’t know and where he would have no standing. Go there. Go to this foreign land where you will be vulnerable and quite literally out of your comfort zone, and by doing this you will become a blessing for all people.  What does that vision say to my life? What does it say to the world today? 

     The first thing that occurred to me was: I need to go where God calls regardless of how comfortable or safe it seems. Because where God calls us to go will often be somewhere unfamiliar and challenging, but it will most assuredly be a place of vulnerability.  Isn’t that confirmed in Jesus? To be a witness for God, is to be vulnerable, to place ourselves in the hands of others –that we might become a blessing for them.  Notice that God tells Abram that those who bless him will be blessed and that those who curse him will be cursed. That sure sounds like God telling him, telling US, that some people will accept us and bless us and others will curse us. And notice that God doesn’t give any directives as to how Abram should react to either. In light of recently reading Romans, I still had these words of Paul’s echoing in my head:

“None of us lives for himself and none of us dies for himself. While we are alive we live for the Lord, and when we die, we die for the Lord…” (cf. Romans 14:7-8)

And with that thought still in mind, I saw in God’s call to Abram a call to all Christians to leave their comfort and their security and to go forth to an unfamiliar place where you can become a blessing to those who bless you.  It isn’t our business to judge the people who curse or bless us, it is only our business to get off the couch and go out to the world where we will be vulnerable, where God will give us the opportunity to serve Him in the people we meet, the people who bless or curse us, the people who simply reach out to us in need of help, a friend, food, or a consoling hand.  And I think somehow in God's algebra of grace, being vulnerable is an essential part of the equation; it is essential to becoming a blessing. Eegads! Contemplate that the next time you feel insecure.

     If you turn off your TV or shut off your phone (or computer) for a while you may hear a voice calling you, a voice calling from deep inside of you, calling you to get up off the couch and go outside –out of your comfort zone, out of your familiar places—go somewhere and just be vulnerable. Go somewhere that you might not normally go. Is that to the hospital to volunteer? Perhaps. Or to a soup kitchen? Maybe. Quite possibly it starts with simply telling someone after mass how much you liked their singing. Ask yourself this: Does it make you feel uncomfortable? Vulnerable? Then quite probably that is where you are being called to go. 

NEXT—that other thing this reading brought to mind.