Acts 11:1-18
Presented May 20th, 2007, by J.D. Kline
The Seventh Sunday of Easter
Wayne Muller, founder of Bread for the Journey, a nationwide organization serving families in need, begins his book Learning to Pray by describing the frequent morning fog in Northern California where he lives. Often when Muller rises, he cannot see the mountains and the trees, the grasses and the sky, yet he can somehow feel their presence. Muller trusts that the fog will once again lift on those foggy mornings, and as it does, the outlines, colors, and textures of the familiar environment will again become clear. Prayer, suggests Muller, is much like that; it is a “deep, faithful listening, waiting for what is hidden to be revealed. Prayer is not words; prayer is what happens when you listen and wait, beneath the words, for the outlines of heaven to emerge.”
In this morning’s Scripture lesson from the book of Acts, chapter eleven, Peter relates the story of a vision he experiences when praying on the rooftop of Simon the tanner’s home in Joppa. Peter’s vision leads to a pivotal moment in the life of the early church, a time when the outlines of heaven emerge in ways that were shocking to the early church. In the first century, you will recall, lines of separation between Jew and Gentile were unmistakably clear, but this vision suggests that something markedly new is in the works, that the first Christians are being called to move in radically new directions.
Recall with me the story. While praying, Peter enters into a trance, seeing before him the heavens opening and something like a huge sheet being lowered before him. The sheet is filled with a host of creatures—all manner of four-footed animals and reptiles, as well as birds of the air. As a Jew long steeped in laws and regulations concerning cleanliness, Peter immediately recognizes that these are unclean creatures. Imagine his shock, then, upon hearing God’s voice command, “Get up, Peter; kill and eat.” Even while in a trance Peter remains true to his convictions, protesting, “By no means, Lord; for I have never eaten anything that is profane or unclean.” Three times Peter sees this same vision, with the voice from above contradicting Peter’s protest, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.”
Just as Peter is seeking to make sense of this puzzling vision, three servants of Cornelius arrive from Caesarea. Cornelius is a centurion in the Roman army, a Gentile who finds himself attracted to the Jewish faith. During a time of prayer Cornelius has his own vision, with an angel appearing to him, telling him to send to Joppa for Simon Peter. When the servants of Cornelius arrive, Peter, beginning to grasp the message that God’s love dare not be limited to one group of people, invites the Gentile servants into the tanner’s home. The following day, along with six fellow believers, Peter accompanies the servants to the home of Cornelius, who immediately tells Peter of the angel’s assurance that Peter will “give you a message by which you and your entire household will be saved.”
Peter begins to share the story of Jesus, and while he is speaking, the Holy Spirit falls upon Cornelius and upon all who hear Peter’s message. In spite of the fact that Peter and the other disciples on numerous occasions had witnessed and heard Jesus offering words of life to Gentiles, they seemed to view those encounters as exceptions to the rule. But Peter’s three-fold vision, coupled with the vision of Cornelius, convinces Peter that he himself needs to change his perspective markedly. And so Peter testifies, “In solemn truth I can see now that God does not discriminate between people, but that in every nation the [one] who reverences God and does what is right is acceptable to God” (Acts 10:34, Phillips).
In this morning’s lesson from Acts, chapter eleven, word of these shocking events quickly make their way back to the mother church in Jerusalem. When Peter returns to report about the events, his opponents are on the attack. He is immediately grilled by those who remain certain that God’s love—and the message of Jesus—centers upon those of Jewish heritage. Can you not hear the attack in their question, “Why did you go to the uncircumcised and eat with them?” Rather than responding defensively, Peter simply tells the story of what he had seen and experienced—the story of his vision, and the story of Cornelius. And after retelling the surprising events, concluding with an account of the Holy Spirit touching and empowering the Gentiles, Peter asks simply, “If then God gave them the same gift that God gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?” (11:17, NRSV). In The Message Peterson paraphrases the question this way: If God gave the same exact gift to them [the Gentiles] as to us when we believed in the Master Jesus Christ, how could I object to God?” Other translations put it, “”Who was I to argue?” “Who was I that I could withstand God?” “Who was I to try to hinder the working of God?” “Who was I to think that I could oppose God?” “How could I possibly stand in God’s way?” (LB, RSV, Phillips, NIV, NEB).
How could I possibly stand in God’s way? Could it be that there are times when our most faithful response is to stand back and allow God to act in new and fresh ways? I once had a spiritual director who prayed something to the effect, “Work in us and through us, O God, and when necessary, work in spite of us.” The words of that prayer recognize that there are times when we may well get in God’s way. Our intentions may be good. Our hearts may even be in the right place, but before long we are telling God how things ought to unfold, rather than first listening and waiting for God’s word. Recall Wayne Muller’s description of prayer—prayer is what happens when you listen and wait, beneath the words, for the outlines of heaven to emerge.
In South Africa, back in the days when the system of racial apartheid was in full swing, tensions were mounting. In July of 1985 fourteen people were killed during a time when political unrest boiled over. The funeral service for the fourteen was held in a sports stadium, with some thirty thousand people gathering, not simply to honor the dead, but even more, to raise their voices in protest against their nation’s oppressive racism. Archbishop Desmond Tutu entered to a fifteen minute cheering ovation. But when Tutu began to talk about how best to respond to the injustices and violence of life under apartheid, not all were pleased. Referring to a recent event in which a woman, suspected of betraying her fellow native people, was beaten, mutilated, and burned to death by an angry mob, Tutu expressed his horror. Said Tutu,
We have a cause that is just. We have a cause that is going to prevail. For goodness’ sake, let us not spoil it by the kind of methods that we use. And if we do this again, I must tell you that I am going to find it difficult to be able to speak up for our liberation. I will find it difficult—it is already difficult in this country to speak the truth—but if we use methods such as the one we saw in Duduza, then, my friends, I am going to collect my family and leave a country that I love very deeply, a country that I love passionately.
In response to Tutu’s plea for a nonviolent response, the crowd fell silent. A few booed Tutu, but most stood with bowed heads while the truth spoken by one of their most respected leaders resounded in their hearts. It was a truth that emerged, not in the noise and din of hatred and fury, but from the quiet center of Tutu’s faith in Jesus. As Tutu challenged the crowd with the alternative ways of the gospel, it was as if the outlines of heaven began to emerge. Outlines of heaven, celebrating the sanctity of all human life, embracing the promise that each of us is created in the image of God, that each of us is loved by God.
This conviction stands at the heart of Tutu’s life and ministry. On another occasion Tutu wrote,
If we could but recognize our common humanity, that we do belong together, that our destinies are bound up in one another’s, that we can be free only together, that we can survive only together, that we can be human only together, then a glorious world would come into being where all of us lived harmoniously together as members of one family, the human family.
The encounter between Peter and Cornelius plays such a critical role in the book of Acts precisely because it challenges the early Christians to move beyond narrow prejudices and fears, to get beyond their preoccupation with who’s in and who’s out. Instead of creating difficulties and barriers for those who thirst for genuine encounter with God, the church’s calling is to be an inviting community, a community that makes place for those who all too often have been held at arm’s length, those who have too often been pushed to the edges of life. Rather than standing in the way of persons encountering the love and light of God, our calling is to live in such a way that others are drawn to God’s gracious presence. Our calling is to be on the way, journeying towards life in God’s kingdom, seeking to embody the compassion and grace, the mercy and peace, the self-giving love of our God.
In the early days of the church, voices of opposition sought to silence the gospel message. Peter and John were arrested, ordered by temple authorities not to preach and teach in the name of Jesus. But the apostles will not be silenced; rather, they respond with courage, “Whether it is right in God’s sight to listen to you rather than to God, you must judge; for we cannot keep from speaking about what we have seen and heard” (Acts 4:19-20). And at the core of what the early apostles saw and heard was the holy affirmation that God’s love knows no limits. In moments of prayerful receptivity, Peter and the other early believers in Jesus began to discern the very outlines of heaven—this realm of God in which all creation is invited to experience love, light, and new life.
With Peter, are we not led to ask, “If then God shares God’s gracious gifts with all manner of people, who are we to hinder God? Who are we to object? Who are we to stand in God’s way?” Our calling—is it not?—is to live in such a way that we point to God’s unfolding new creation, to God’s promise of justice and peace, to God’s nature of compassion and grace beyond measure.