The Mayberry Preacher

EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED

Jeremiah 29: 1, 4-7, 11-14
Steve Lindsley
June 12, 2011

You’ve heard the expression before:  Expect the Unexpected.  Life isn’t always what it seems.  Things don’t always happen the way we think they will.  Think of the young couple that plans in excitement for their first baby, only to welcome quintuplets into the world.  Or the guy who spends a few dollars on a lottery ticket and ends up getting a return in their investment a few million times over.  It seems that the second you plan out something, from how the course of your day will go to what career path you take, something happens that changes everything.

This is no less true in our walk of faith, is it?  Just ask the people Jeremiah was writing to in our scripture today.  He wrote them at one of the more pivotal moments in their history – their exile to Babylon.  God’s people, a strong and proud nation, had harbored great kings like David and Solomon and enjoyed a prosperous existence.  Their temple was one of the finest architectural works of its time.  They were respected and feared by other nations.  All of that changed in 597 BC, when the great Babylonian empire descended on Jerusalem and destroyed it.  And they destroyed much more than bricks and mortar.  They destroyed the pride and religious identity that God’s people had possessed for centuries.  Most of them were carted off to live in Babylon as captives.  Living in a foreign land, they were people without both a physical and spiritual home.

This disaster was not entirely unexpected, at least according to the prophet Jeremiah.  For years, Jeremiah had spoken harsh words of judgement against Judah, predicting its unfaithfulness would lead to future disaster.  They thought they were invincible, the people did; they thought there was no chance that any foreign power could ever breach their walls and destroy their city and their spirit.  They were wrong.

And you would thing a man in Jeremiah’s position, given all his previous warnings that had fallen on deaf ears, you’d think he’d respond to the fall of Jerusalem with a resounding, “I told you so!”  Vindication, right?  Not really.  See, that’s the rub of being a prophet: you don’t get to say what you want to say, or what the people want you to say.  You have to say what God wants you to say. 

And what God wanted him to say in this time of exile, well, it wasn’t at all what the people were expecting.  Not even close!  In a land they did not know, as they ached and longed to return to Jerusalem, Jeremiah told the people of God to “build houses…plant gardens…take wives for your sons and multiply…”  In other words: make this strange and foreign land their permanent home, because they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. 

It would behoove us to ask the same question that those Hebrews undoubtedly asked: why would Jeremiah say such a thing??   Why in the world would God want God’s people to live among those Babylonians in a foreign land?  Doesn’t their existence as a nation and as God’s people depend on living freely in their own place?  Apparently not - and this must have been a bitter pill for the Hebrews to swallow.  For some reason - obviously beyond their understanding - this was now the place for God’s people.  And that’s not what they expected in the least.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the real beauty in all of this – something they certainly couldn’t have understood at the moment, but something they would come to understand much later.  That Jeremiah’s words, in spite of it’s radical message, was still a testament to the ongoing, never-ending reality of God’s love for God’s people – and of  God’s commitment to their long-term viability despite what they were going through.  Just like that well-known verse says:

For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord,
plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.

I remember years ago, reading this verse for the first time and how it resonated with me in a way few verses do.  I think it was because of some things that were going on in my life at the time; and how comforting it was knowing that even as things around me were spinning out of control, even when I couldn’t see a rhyme or reason to anything, even then – especially then – God had plans.  And it wasn’t my job to necessarily know what those plans were.  It was my job to trust in the God who made them.

You know, it’s kind of interesting, this word Jeremiah uses here; a word that’s usually translated as “welfare” or “prosper.”  The actual Hebrew is shalom, typically rendered elsewhere in the Bible as “peace.”  God has plans for our peace.  That changes things a little bit, doesn’t it?  It’s not that God was assuring the people of great success or wealth or anything like that.  God was simply promising them a calm and reassurance that comes when we stop making plans while God is trying to make them for us.  Even as those Hebrews resided in Babylon, thousands of miles away from home, they were learning new ways to expect the unexpected when it came to their relationship with God.

Makes us wonder how unexpected it was on that day long ago when Jesus’ disciples gathered together without him.  Jesus had told them everything would be okay, but they had no idea what he meant by that.  And how could they?  It’s doubtful any of them had a clue that God’s spirit would come to them as tongues of fire on their heads, and in the ability to suddenly speak foreign languages.  They had no clue how Jesus would sustain them in his absence.  But God had a plan.

Which is why we, the church, can come to this table and take part in what we know as the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.  Because if there’s ever an example of expecting the unexpected when it comes to matters of faith, it is this.  We may never know what it’s like to be held captive in a foreign land, but we do know what it means to be in a strange land spiritually; to live and work in a world that is fundamentally different from who we are and what we believe as people of God.  We may never have to know what’s it’s like to rely on God while the world around us literally crumbles and burns at our feet, but we do know what it’s like to put our trust and faith in God, even when we don’t know exactly where that trust and faith will lead us.  Even when we don’t have a plan.

And that’s why the Lord’s Supper is such a foundational part of our lives.  Here, we encounter a glimpse, just a peek, of the reconciliation that is present in this simple but profound meal.  Today, thousands of years later, we too participate in this meal and are renewed in our life, both individually and as the collective people of God.  And it is here, at this place, where we truly understand what it means to expect the unexpected.

Let me give you an example.  My most memorable communion experience happened when I was in the 9th grade, with 35 other high schoolers from my church at a Montreat youth conference one summer.  For the first part of the week, though, we acted like anything but a church youth group.  I can’t even remember what started it, but almost from the moment we pulled out of the church parking lot, our group was divided into two distinct factions.  You were either on one side or the other; there was no middle ground.  The anger and tension ran deep, and we spent the next few days on pins and needles as it seemed just a matter of time before everything would blow up into a huge nasty mess.

Luckily it never came to that.  Our youth pastor, thank goodness, saw what was happening, saw how it was tearing us apart.  And so at our Wednesday night devotions, our pastor did something quite unexpected.  With great sensitivity and a lot of love, he told us what he has witnessed that week - a youth group split down the middle, warring with each other, many hurt feelings on both sides.   He went on to say that, as the body of Christ, we were letting our anger and hostility get in the way of God’s healing presence.  With our heads hung low, every one of us knew that he was exactly right.
And that’s when he reached behind him and brought out a small tray with a plate of Wonder Bread, a gallon of grape juice and some small plastic cups.  He recounted the story of the first Last Supper, and all the turmoil that was going on there, all the division that was present, just like it was with us.  And he told us how, through all of that, Jesus and his disciples found something most unexpected – the transforming presence of God.  As the bread and juice were passed around our group, it was as if a wave of emotion rushed the Holy Spirit into our room.  We weren’t speaking in tongues, and there weren’t flickers of flame over our heads.  But there were tears of healing streaming down our cheeks; there were words of apology shared; there were hugs given out quite generously.  Our own little Pentecost! 

Let me tell you what I believe about the Lord’s Supper.  I believe that in some wonderful way, in a way we won’t ever be able to fully understand, God’s presence is made known to us in this simple meal.  I believe that, in the spirit of the Lord’s Supper, there is always the possibility for reconciliation between people – even people reconciling things within themselves.  I believe that, like those Hebrew people long ago, you and I can still live and exist in a “strange and foreign land;” a land which is our temporary home.  And we can live there, always aware of the fact that one day we will be united with God and experience the full meaning of “shalom.”  And we are reminded of that future hope, as well as what God can do in the present, every time we eat the bread and drink from the cup.

And I believe that every time we come to the table, we should be prepared to expect the unexpected.  That’s the thing about God’s plans, y’all.  Rarely are they what you think they are.  And you know, there’s something incredibly liberating and thrilling about that!  Thanks be to God!  AMEN.

THE REAL CONVERSION STORY

Acts 10: 1-6, 9-16, 23b-28, 44-48
Steve Lindsley
May 31, 2009

There it sat on the plate in front of me, staring at me as if it were some kind of cruel joke.  It always felt this way when Mom fixed liver for dinner.  I mean, really – what genius first looked at this and thought to themselves, “Hey, that looks good enough to eat!”  And don't get me wrong, now; my mom was a whale of a cook.  I was especially fond of her masterpiece – macaroni and cheese (homemade, mind you), black-eyed peas, collard greens, and corn bread.  Nothing better.  Mom also made excellent spaghetti, homemade mashed potatoes, green bean casserole; and Thanksgiving dinners at our house were second to none.

But that liver dinner – man, I don't know.  I certainly didn't care for it and my brother didn't either.  Nevertheless I would eat it, even though it took every fiber in my being to force my hand to raise the fork and my mouth to open wide.

Okay, it wasn't that bad.  We kids like to exaggerate those “worst meal” stories of our youth.  I guess at the very least I could be thankful that I never found Peter's spread on my dinner plate.  I mean, what was that about??  Poor guy just went up on the roof to pray, for crying out loud!  And while he's in the midst of heartfelt prayer, according to today's scripture, this huge sheet full of all kinds of things is lowered down for him from the heavens: “four footed creatures, reptiles, and birds of every kind.” 

Now as far as I'm concerned, just the thought of eating reptile grosses me out.  I hear crocodile is a delicacy in some parts of the world, but not in mine.  And that whole nebulous thing about “four footed creatures of every kind” kind of reminds me of the time I went to China, where me and the group I was with were always leery of the “mystery meat” that appeared on our plate every meal.  So I can certainly understand a little of Peter's reaction to this vision, and I think you can too.

But there's a whole part to this that you and I don't get – because this isn't just about gross foods we wouldn't want to eat.  There's another dynamic at play here.  See, these were the very foods that Jewish dietary restrictions prohibited the faithful from associating with.  If they weren't prepared properly – which these weren't – it was considered to be unclean.  You couldn't even touch them, much less eat it.

So it must've seemed quite strange to Peter, immersed in prayer, suddenly having this stuff dropped in his lap – from the very God who prohibited it.  It probably knocked him for a loop when that same God told him to eat it anyway.  And when Peter protested, being the good Jew he was, it really must've blown his mind when he heard God's response: What God has made clean, you must not call profane.  Or as The Message translation puts it, “If God says it's ok, it's ok!”

You know, it's interesting: scripture never tells us whether Peter actually eats it – only that this exchange happens three times, as if God is trying to make a point.  Then again, maybe whether he eats it or not is not really the point anyway.  Maybe what really matters is what happens after this and a particular person Peter is introduced to. 

We meet Cornelius for the first and only time in the tenth chapter of Acts; and we're told he is a man of great faith who gave generously and prayed constantly.  All of which sounds great – except for one little thing that, in the minds of the faithful, trumped everything else.  We learn that Cornelius is not a Jew.  And that was a big deal in the early church, where there was a definitive line drawn between Jews and non-Jews.  Those not of Jewish origin were referred to as “Gentiles,” and rarely was that term used in a flattering way.  In the church's initial days all followers of Jesus were Jews, just as Jesus was.  But as the Good News began to expand and spread outside Palestine, it naturally encountered Gentile folk – and this created the church's first (but certainly not last) dilemma.  The traditional stance was that only Jews could be Christ-followers; and that Gentiles had to become Jewish first before being Christian  Which meant Cornelius, as good a guy as he was, was still on the outside looking in. 

Sounds preposterous, doesn't it – excluding people from the faith?  Well, before we get too roused up in our righteous indignation, it'd probably be good to remind ourselves that this sort of thing has always gone on.  The church, God bless it, has always had a history of drawing lines and making a point of determining who is “in” and who is “out.”  We've done it over race, over gender, over lifestyle.  We've drawn lines based on social status, nationality, marital status.  Despite what we would like to believe, Cornelius has always been at our doorstep in some form or fashion, knocking and knocking and asking to be let in.

And you have to figure, don't you, that the words started echoing in Peter's mind as this Gentile came seeking baptism; the words ricocheting inside his head with a vengeance:  What God has made clean you must not call profane.  If God says it's ok, it's ok. 

Cornelius' conversion is a great little story that is highlighted in Acts as a prime example of God's action in this exciting new movement we would later call the church.  It's pretty much a given that, had those early Christians not seen fit to welcome Gentiles into their fold, none of us would be sitting in this sanctuary right now.  Certainly the conversion of Cornelius serves as a cornerstone in the Christian faith.

But you know something interesting?  As wonderful as Cornelius' conversion is, I'm not convinced it's the main conversion story in this chapter.  I know it may sound weird, but I wonder if the real conversion in the tenth chapter of Acts is the one that took place in Peter's heart.  I mean, think about it.  What did it take for Peter to go against every preconceived notion he had about God and faith, pure and impure, right and wrong; and do something as radical as welcome the unwelcome?  It wasn't easy – in fact, in the very next chapter Peter has to defend himself to those who raked him over the coals for what he did.  Doing the right, radical thing is rarely easy.

Hmm.  You know what's also interesting?  How this same sort of struggle still happens today.  Just when we think we've got our faith figured out, just when we think we know what's wrong, God comes along and drops that very thing in our laps and says, “Here – take a bite out of this.”  Just when we feel comfortable with the lines that have been drawn, and perhaps had a part in drawing them ourselves, God comes to us through the voice of Peter: Can anyone really forbid water for baptizing these people who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have?

Ah, the Holy Spirit – that nebulous third wheel of the Trinity.  Kind of hard to get a grasp on, isn't it?  We get God – Creator of the world.  We get Jesus – God's son, our redeemer.  But this Holy Spirit is a mystery to us, one that too often we shove to the back burner for the tried and true.

And yet perhaps this story about Peter gives us the best idea of who and what the Holy Spirit is.  Do you see it?  When Peter realized that even a Gentile like Cornelius was worthy of being a brother in Christ, and when Peter acted on that and baptized him into the fold, that was the moment that the Holy Spirit came crashing in like a rushing wind – much the same way it did a few chapters back at that first Pentecost.  Throughout the New Testament the presence of the Holy Spirit is tied directly to the inclusive nature of God's love for all people.  And it takes the lines we draw, the categories we create, the hierarchies we manufacture in the faith, and causes them to disappear.

That's what the Holy Spirit does, time and time again.  It was there in Jerusalem just a few short years later when the church, following the lead of Peter and Paul, decided “not to trouble the Gentiles” and welcomed them as brothers and sisters in Christ.  It was there when a German monk and seminary professor posted 95 new ideas on the door of a church in Wittenburg; ideas that called for an end to exclusive church hierarchy and a beginning to the priesthood of all believers.  The Holy Spirit was there when the first African-American was welcomed into a predominately white congregation, and vice versa.  It was there when women were given the opportunity to be preachers and teachers.  For all the times in the past 2000 years where the church has shut its doors to certain people, the Holy Spirit has been present in full force when those doors were eventually opened.

The Holy Spirit continues to work on us, though, because there are still lines being drawn out there.  There are still things that God dangles before us that we continue to call “unclean.”  And that is why, like Peter, we all need to experience conversion of a different and more profound kind.  Because the real conversion does not take place when we first welcome Christ into our hearts, when we first make our profession of faith.  The real conversion takes place when the presence of God in our lives causes us to live as Jesus would have us live: loving all, welcoming the stranger, serving others, helping the poor. The real conversion takes place when we learn not to call "unclean" what God says is okay; when the lines we draw are not used to fashion walls that exclude but instead signs that point all people to an inclusive, grace-filled God.

That's why more and more I'm convinced of two things as your pastor.  The first is that our job as people of faith is to have faith, as the expression goes, to “let go and let God.”  It is so easy – so easy to latch onto our own agendas and preconceived notions and get so comfortable with them that we assume what we want is what God wants.  Real conversion moves us beyond that.

The second thing I'm convinced of is the radical and sometimes unsettling reality of the inclusive nature of the body of Christ – and how the pursuit of this needs to be at the heart of everything we do in the church.  Real conversion allows us to make this our primary focus and heal the wounds that have too often been inflicted in the name of a loving God.

Now I'm not saying either of these are easy or simple, because they're not.  I'm just saying on this Pentecost Sunday that God can indeed do marvelous things through us, if we are truly willing to let God do it; if we are truly willing to follow God's lead instead of determining it ourselves.  If we are willing to really, really listen to God when God tells us something's okay.

So come, Holy Spirit, come.  Renew and restore us.  Wash us clean.  Convert us.  Because if it's good enough for Peter, it's certainly good enough for us.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.