Ac 10

Genesis says that we humans are created in the image of God. Throughout the ages, people have wondered exactly what that means. Many have said it’s our ability to reason; others have said it’s our self-awareness. My personal favorite is one I think I’ve shared with you before. It is…a sense of humor.

God certainly displayed a sense of humor in the way I was brought to the Christian faith. As I’ve said before, I became part of the church universal…I was converted to Christ…I got saved…and started attending an Assemblies of God church, a Pentecostal church. This August marks the 20th anniversary of my baptism.

Why do I say God displayed a sense of humor in all that? You probably would’ve never guessed this, but my personality type tends to focus more on head knowledge than on heart knowledge. And if there’s anyone who needed to get plunged into some of that Holy Ghost stuff, it’s me! Hanging out with the Pentecostals loosened me up a bit. And I freely acknowledge—I need God to loosen me up a whole lot more!

What I value most about my time in the Assemblies of God was the focus on experiencing God. That’s a very different thing from hearing about God or reading about God.

I also noticed how similar the Pentecostal experience is to the mystical, or contemplative, experience. I had immersed myself in the writings of the mystics, those who reach deep levels of prayer and meditation. To greatly oversimplify it, Pentecostals emphasize stuff like speaking in tongues and prophesying, while the mystics talk about visions and maybe even the stigmata. (The stigmata are the wounds of Christ which miraculously appear on someone; St. Francis is probably the best-known stigmatic.) What Pentecostals and mystics have in common is direct experience of God.

I’ve read stuff written by such people from many times and places. A 20th century figure is Dag Hammarskjöld, who was Secretary General of the UN from 1953 until his death by plane crash in 1961. There are a couple of quotes by him on page 10 of your worship bulletin. They’re taken from Markings, a book that I consider to be a real treasure.

Someone else from the last century I really admire is Thomas Merton, who for the last twenty years of his life, lived at a monastery in Kentucky. There’s a passage in his book, The Ascent to Truth, that made a real impact on me when I first read it. It seemed like God used the following words to turn on a light in my soul:

“Our ordinary waking life is a bare existence in which, most of the time, we seem to be absent from ourselves and from reality, because we are involved in the vain preoccupations which dog the steps of [everyone alive]. But there are times when we seem suddenly to awake and discover the full meaning of our own present reality.

Such discoveries are not capable of being contained in formulas or definitions. They are a matter of personal experience, of [inexpressible] intuition. In the light of such an experience, it is easy to see the futility of all the trifles that occupy our minds. We recapture something of the calm and balance that ought always to be ours, and we understand that life is far too great a gift to be squandered on anything less than perfection.”[1]

I learned in the Assemblies of God that what’s called the “initial physical evidence”—or the first outward sign—of baptism in the Holy Spirit is speaking in tongues. I can’t say that I disagree with that belief, but I am uncomfortable with it. In some way, it seems to limit God. The quote from Thomas Merton seems to get at something similar.

He speaks about “discoveries” “of our own present reality,” that they’re “not capable of being contained in formulas or definitions.” Our reality is found in God. As Easter people, it’s found in Jesus Christ. When, and if, we have an intimate encounter with Christ, it’s hard to put that into words. We use images; we describe feelings.

I think the same thing is true with baptism in the Holy Spirit. I don’t for a moment reject speaking in tongues. I’ve experienced it; I’ve been a witness. But it seems that baptism in the Spirit happens in other ways, too.

I suppose I can understand the confusion of Peter’s friends in today’s reading from Acts. They’re visiting Cornelius, a Roman centurion—a Gentile—when the Holy Spirit descends upon the entire household, and they are all baptized in the Holy Spirit. That is not supposed to happen! God is breaking the rules! Has God forgotten that Jews aren’t supposed to hang out with Gentiles? Why bless the whole thing by sending the Spirit?

Let me set the stage for what’s going on. Peter’s staying with his friend, Simon the tanner. Peter’s up on the roof, praying. And he’s hungry; he’s waiting for lunch to be fixed. Just about that time, he has a vision from God. He sees lowered down from heaven all kinds of animals, and while the dinner bell is ringing, he hears the command, “Come and get it!”

Peter is horrified. Along with the animals that are kosher, there are all kinds of creepy crawly things. He protests that ritually impure food will never pass his lips. But the divine voice replies, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane” (10:15). This happens three more times, and Peter snaps out of it.

In the meantime, men sent by Cornelius, who himself has had a vision, arrive at the house. Introductions are made, and the next day, they all take off to go see the God-fearing centurion. Peter tells them about Jesus, and we arrive at today’s scripture text.

This direct encounter with God reveals to Peter his prejudice against Gentiles. On another occasion, in Galatians 2, the apostle Paul gets on his case for the same thing. When visited by some people who are more conservative on Jewish law, Peter stops eating with the Gentile Christians.

Following his example, “the other Jews joined him in this hypocrisy,” as Paul puts it, “so that even Barnabas was led astray” (v. 13). (Even Barnabas—the very model of hospitality!) When Paul sees that they’re “not acting consistently with the truth of the gospel,” he lets them have it (v. 14)! He preaches them a sermon!

It’s not enough to simply read the Bible and think you can apply it to any situation. As Easter people, we must approach the scriptures by way of the risen Lord. I hesitate to say this, because it’s become so commercialized, but it’s still true. What would Jesus do? But better than that, we should ask, “What does Jesus do?”

Without a living, ongoing experience with Christ, the Bible can become a very scary and oppressive list of rules. We humans do all kinds of hateful stuff—and pointing to the scriptures, believe they justify us in doing it.

Peter has to learn that the principle of Jewish separation from the Gentiles, at one time, may have helped the work of God. But now, it only hinders it. A key component it lacks is the love and joy of Jesus Christ.

A few days ago, I caught the last part of a movie Banu was watching. (She referred to it as a “chick flick.”) It was the film Something New, starring Sanaa Lathan and Simon Baker. They’re a couple of thirty-something actors. Usually, I don’t like watching a movie if I haven’t seen the beginning. It kind of ruins it. But in this case, I really didn’t care.

Long story short: it’s about a black woman and a white man—and some of the difficulties they face as a couple. It seems to be reasonably well done. Towards the end, Sanaa Lathan says to Simon Baker, “With you, I feel like I can be anybody.” (Or words to that effect.) As soon as she said that, the verse from Philippians 4 popped into my head—the one in which Paul says, “I can do all things through him who strengthens me” (v. 13).

Obviously, there are better movies that could be used to illustrate that, but Something New was the one I happened to be watching. (Please remind Banu of that the next time she accuses me of simply dismissing all so-called “chick flicks”! You know: if you have ears to hear, God can speak to you through almost anything!)

My point is, in the movie, she loves him so much that it doesn’t matter what her friends say. With him, she feels like she can be anybody; he removes the limits. In a similar way, the apostle Paul loves Jesus so much that he feels like he can do anything. In fact, Paul knows that it’s more than a feeling. (And by the way, Paul is one of those guys who combines both Pentecostal and mystical experiences. He speaks in tongues and has visions!)

In our gospel reading from John 15, Jesus encourages his disciples to “abide in my love” (v. 9). “I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be made complete” (v. 11). That’s some strong stuff! Have you ever really thought about the sheer power that joy provides?

Friends, if we would open ourselves to the Spirit—if we would open ourselves to joy—we would move mountains. We wouldn’t be so horribly anxious about buildings and property and…stuff! Finding a place for us to worship is a small matter for God. But we don’t really believe that, do we?

Joy gives us strength. I’m not talking about emotion. Happiness is up here, floating around on the surface. Joy is down here, below the surface. Even when I’m upset about something…even when I’m bored and disgusted with myself…no matter my emotional state…I still have joy. That wasn’t always the case. I used to have anger inside, all the time. But God took it away and replaced it with peace.

It’s no accomplishment of mine. It’s God’s gift. But I do have to tend my joy; I have to watch over it. You know, it’s possible to neglect God’s gifts. In fact, we do it all the time. How can we avoid neglecting God’s gifts?

As I’ve said before, there isn’t one easy answer. Here’s something from Evelyn Underhill, an Anglican writing in the early 20th century:[2]

“All that matters in religion is giving ourselves without reserve to God, and keeping our wills tending towards Him. This we can always do; but to feel devout, fervent, aware of His presence, etc., is beyond our control. Everyone goes through ‘dry’ times…

All lies in how we take them—with patience, or with restlessness…Just be simple and natural with God, ask Him to do with you what He wills, avoid strain and fuss of all kinds, and be careful to keep in charity with all [people], and you will have done what is in your power.” (That’s “charity” as in “love.”)

I want to finish with a few lines that literally came to me while I was asleep, after I’d been pondering today’s reading from Acts:

[1] Thomas Merton, The Ascent to Truth (San Diego: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1979), 10.

[2] “Feeling: The Test of Religion,” The Evelyn Underhill Reader, ed. Thomas S. Kepler. (from one of my notebooks in college at MTSU)