stirred up

One of the scariest thing about reading Acts is realizing how much damage the original worshipers of Yahweh did.

Here’s one example, from Acts 21:27-28: “When the seven days were nearly over, some Jews from the province of Asia saw Paul at the temple. They stirred up the whole crowd and seized him, shouting, ‘Fellow Israelites, help us! This is the man who teaches everyone everywhere against our people and our law and this place. And besides, he has brought Greeks into the temple and defiled this holy place.’”

Some of these Jews acted out of economic self-interest, but many were outraged at what they saw as violation of the laws of God. To them, the Christian evangelists were spreading heresy. They were those good people who had enough zeal to travel and fight in defense of their religion.

And their religion was the original faith, the one begun in the Garden of Eden and formalized in the covenant with Moses. These were often genuine God-followers. Yet somewhere along the line they drifted far enough from God’s revelation and prophecy that they missed the Messiah.

These Jews were enraged at the thought that Paul may have brought a Greek into the temple. They had no idea that Jesus died for exactly that purpose. Ancient Jewish law made that a capital offense. Jesus’ new rule of grace said, “There is no more Jew or Greek, just Christians.” Now, we all belong.

The riot that was stirred up in Acts 21 would be the beginning of the end for Paul. Roman soldiers would arrest him and he would never be free again. He would be transported from governor to king to, eventually, Rome. He would write some of his best work in prison, but he was finished church planting.

All of this, of course, was God’s plan. Even so, these Jews, believing they acted in defense of God, put themselves in opposition to his purpose. That God used their intransigence to his own purposes doesn’t change that fact, or exonerate them.

Like I said, it’s a scary realization.

give it to God

What do you do when you don’t know what to do?

Sometimes situations are beyond my control. Someone I care about gets cancer. A marriage is falling apart. A friend turns his back on God. I have to send some of my troops to war. In all these cases, things I’ve had in my life and continue to have, I feel helpless. What do you do when there’s nothing you can do?

Paul answered that question this morning in Acts 20. These words are ones he spoke to the leaders of the Ephesian church while he was on his way to Jerusalem. Paul knew because God told him that he would end up in prison. He would never visit the Ephesians again, and he knew that false teachers would go to them instead; he warned they would be “savaged by wolves.” His flock was in danger, and he, the head shepherd, had to leave them in the care of new leaders. He was worried.

But here’s his conclusion, from verse 32: “‘Now I commit you to God and to the word of his grace, which can build you up and give you an inheritance among all those who are sanctified.’”

That’s it. That’s the answer always, that we have a God who is capable of taking care of all the things we can’t. Our God, who enabled us, will enable others. Our God, who made us, can heal us. Our God, who loves us, loves everyone in a way we can’t imagine.

My loved ones are far more secure in God’s hands than in mine. That’s why I pray for his blessings on them.

walk away

Based on the example of the apostle Paul, I may have gotten the wrong idea on how to handle opposition to God.

Here’s what I read this morning, from Acts 19:8-10: “Paul entered the synagogue and spoke boldly there for three months, arguing persuasively about the kingdom of God. But some of them became obstinate; they refused to believe and publicly maligned the Way. So Paul left them. He took the disciples with him and had discussions daily in the lecture hall of Tyrannus. This went on for two years, so that all the Jews and Greeks who lived in the province of Asia heard the word of the Lord.”

When people try to oppose me or to counter the good news about Jesus, my tendency is to fight back. It’s easy to buy into the current idea that the louder you are, the more right you become. Sometimes, I think I have to bludgeon people who disagree with me into submission with the sheer quantity of my words.

But Paul simply left. He presented the word, and then when people refused to buy it and pushed back, he went somewhere else.

It’s a reminder to me that it’s not my job to change minds and hearts. God does that, and his words are sufficient. When I introduce people to Jesus and they receive him, that’s from God. When they don’t, then that’s in God’s hands too. He calls me to bring the word, not force it down peoples’ throats.

In some ways, that doesn’t seem right. But in the end, I’m glad it doesn’t depend on me.

boldness

What made Apollos so bold?

Acts 18:24-26: “Meanwhile a Jew named Apollos, a native of Alexandria, came to Ephesus. He was a learned man, with a thorough knowledge of the Scriptures. He had been instructed in the way of the Lord, and he spoke with great fervor and taught about Jesus accurately, though he knew only the baptism of John. He began to speak boldly in the synagogue. When Priscilla and Aquila heard him, they invited him to their home and explained to him the way of God more adequately.”

Evidently, although he was a learned man with a thorough knowledge of the Lord, and although he spoke accurately about Jesus, he didn’t know enough. Priscilla and Aquilla knew more than he did; his knowledge was adequate, but they made him more adequate.

So if he was only adequate, and not great, why was he so bold? Could it be that Apollos was bold because he knew he went with Jesus? Was he relying on Jesus to make him more than adequate, to make his words sufficient?

That’s what we’re supposed to do. When God shows us something he wants us to do, we’re supposed to step out faithfully, trusting that he’ll make it possible. Is that what Apollos was doing?

It could be that Apollos was confident in himself, trusting in his own learning and thorough knowledge. That doesn’t sound right to me, because that doesn’t seem like the kind of man God would call, or the kind who would end up doing so much good. In some churches, he was considered equal to or even superior to Paul.

No, I like to think that Apollos was a faithful servant who didn’t wait until he felt ready to do what God asked him to do. I picture him as that soldier who sees the odds, gulps down his fear, and moves out to do his best.

It’s what I should do. Sometimes, I do it. Sometimes, though, my fears speak louder than my trust. 

repent

Is it possible that we Christians, even life-long ones like me, have forgotten one of the most basic parts of our calling?

When Paul was teaching the Athenians about the unknown god to whom they’d already built an idol, this was part of his explanation, from Acts 17:29-32: “‘Therefore since we are God’s offspring, we should not think that the divine being is like gold or silver or stone—an image made by human design and skill. In the past God overlooked such ignorance, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent. For he has set a day when he will judge the world with justice by the man he has appointed. He has given proof of this to everyone by raising him from the dead.’”

That’s the first part of the call we all received, to repent of putting other things before God. Of seeking our comfort other places than God. Of finding happiness in other persons than God and other activities than holy ones. Of putting our hope for the future in securities that aren’t nearly as secure as God.

Because what God really calls us to is a relationship with him, this call to repentance is one of the first messages all new believers receive. It was John the Baptist’s means of preparing the people for the coming of the Messiah, and it was a key message of the apostles and the early church. So Paul calls for it here, as part of his evangelistic message. But I think it takes a lot of attention to keep from sliding away from that initial repentance as we settle into a comfortable faith.

I’m convicted this morning to consider all the ways I’ve slipped from repentance. Although I’m daily in the word and weekly in church (how’s that for some mature Christian jargon?) I can’t claim that God is my only, or even in some cases my primary, source of comfort, happiness and security. When I think of the things I turn to after a hard day, or to celebrate, I wonder. When I consider my careful planning for retirement, I wonder again. There isn’t very much sinful activity in my life anymore, but I think I need to repent of some sinful attitudes and ideas.

Today I’m starting a list, and I’m going to mark each time I forget that all of my joy and hope comes from God. I’m going to jot myself a little note for each time I thought something else was the answer. I’m really curious to see what the list looks like at the end of the day.

rules and choices

What’s the deal with Timothy being circumcised? It’s related here, in Acts 16:1-3: “Paul came to Derbe and then to Lystra, where a disciple named Timothy lived, whose mother was Jewish and a believer but whose father was a Greek. The believers at Lystra and Iconium spoke well of him. Paul wanted to take him along on the journey, so he circumcised him because of the Jews who lived in that area, for they all knew that his father was a Greek.”

Yesterday I read in Acts 15 about the decision of the apostles that the church shouldn’t require circumcision. They were reacting to the Judaizers who want Jewish Christians to still behave like Jews. James and the other apostles wrote a letter back to the churches letting them know that rule doesn’t apply to new Gentile believers or even Jewish ones anymore.

So now Timothy is circumcised because that would make him more acceptable to the Jews in the region. What gives?

This has me thinking about the different impact of rules and choices as we try to follow Jesus. Rules apply always and to everyone, and they enforce behavior; that’s why in general Jesus was mostly about fulfilling the laws himself so that he could give us the grace not to have to. Rules tend affect actions but not necessarily hearts.

Choices, since they are things we decided ourselves to do, tend to very much involve what’s on our hearts. And I think that’s why the choice to circumcise Timothy was a good one. It wasn’t required, so it was a way for Timothy to demonstrate his sincerity to people who might question it. It was a hard thing that better enabled him for ministry.

It’s OK and often good for us to make choices even when there aren’t rules. We can choose to fast. We can choose to kneel for prayer in a Catholic or Lutheran church. We can choose to serve foods that are compliant with Muslim and Jewish restrictions and eat them ourselves. Any of these things in the right circumstances can make us more effective witnesses.

Sometimes, though, we make choices that compromise our witness. In those cases, other Christians want to go back to rules. Rules are a natural way to limit the damage undisciplined people can do to your cause. But rules are still restrictive, and changing hearts will always do more good than enforcing behaviors.

I’m grateful this morning that I serve a Lord who leads by grace. I’m grateful that rather than holding me to a bunch of rules he encourages me to act out of the love and gratitude I have for that grace. Sure, in practice that can make things a little messy, but it’s better than being a bunch of Pharisees. And it gives us freedom to do many things to build more natural relationships with people who don’t yet believe the things we live by.

making it difficult

James the Apostle said something striking during deliberations on the post-resurrection place of the rite of circumcision. Here it is, from Acts 15:19: ““It is my judgment, therefore, that we should not make it difficult for the Gentiles who are turning to God.”

That sounds like good judgment to me, and you’d think it would be more like common sense. But making it difficult seems to be a trait of too many Christians and too many churches.

New believers have a challenging gauntlet of behaviors to run, things they’re expected to do but no one ever tells them until they’ve done it wrong. Women who wear tank tops and shorts to worship, or men who bring beer to the church picnic, or children who run in the hallways are soon set straight. The church is the place where everyone is welcome, so long as they behave they we want them to.

To make the challenge even more fun, we sometimes make our faith almost incomprehensible. The church has more jargon even than the Army (although fewer acronyms), so that we can sometimes sound like we’re talking in code. On top of that, we long-time Christians want to be fed meat, not milk (see, there’s some jargon for you), so our sermons dive deeper and deeper into ever finer points of doctrine.

To paraphrase James above, what if we intentionally didn’t make it difficult for new believers, or even just new members in our church? What if we focused on being inclusive and welcoming, and removed all the barriers to participation in our various groups? What if we planned worship to be accessible to new believers as well as satisfying to long-term Christians?

To the extent we do that, we’re a faithful picture of what God’s kingdom is meant to be. If the Jews could let go of circumcision, there’s a lot we can give up too.

mistaken identity

There’s a lot of talk lately about identity as part of faith. Of course our core identity is as redeemed image-bearers of God, but as we try to live that out we wrestle increasingly with the labels we’ve worn for years, labels of denomination and race, things like evangelical and Dutch Calvinist.

This morning I read in Acts 14 of the struggles Paul had in Lystra with his own identity. All he wanted was to be seen as a true servant of God. But first, he was mistaken for a god; verse 13 says, “The priest of Zeus, whose temple was just outside the city, brought bulls and wreaths to the city gates because he and the crowd wanted to offer sacrifices to them.”

Paul was pretty upset about that and managed to convince them not to offer those sacrifices, but then an even worse mistake was made: traditional Jews identified him as a heretic and rabble-rouser. That’s in verse 19: “Then some Jews came from Antioch and Iconium and won the crowd over. They stoned Paul and dragged him outside the city, thinking he was dead.”

Non-Christians, it seems, can’t accept the true identity we have in Christ, probably because it would involve accepting Christ. So just as they did with Paul, they try to explain what they see us do in the context of what they believe about the world. Sometimes when they do this, they come to some pretty wild conclusions.

That’s why we’re called superstitious rubes and intolerant bigots. It’s why we’re labeled anti-science. It’s why people believe we’re hateful and judgmental. They think all those things about us because they can’t accept the alternative. 

In order to see us as we are, as loving servants who only want salvation for everyone, they have to accept that Jesus is who he says he is and did what the Bible says he did. But if they accept that, they have to abandon whatever world view they’re living by now.

It seems likely that true disciples of Jesus will always be victims of mistaken identity. Fortunately, we’re not actually defined by what people think of us.

amazing teaching

There’s an amazing thing that happened when Paul and Barnabas were witnessing to the proconsul of Paphos that I never paid much attention to before.

You see, the proconsul had a Jewish sorcerer who advised him. Yeah, that’s amazing all by itself – a Jewish sorcerer? God abolished sorcery way back in the days of Saul, so you wouldn’t think most Jews would have a chance to become good at it. But there he was, countering everything the two evangelists said. Finally, as related in Acts 13:9-12, Paul had had enough: 

“Then Saul, who was also called Paul, filled with the Holy Spirit, looked straight at Elymas and said, ‘You are a child of the devil and an enemy of everything that is right! You are full of all kinds of deceit and trickery. Will you never stop perverting the right ways of the Lord? Now the hand of the Lord is against you. You are going to be blind for a time, not even able to see the light of the sun.’

“Immediately mist and darkness came over him, and he groped about, seeking someone to lead him by the hand. When the proconsul saw what had happened, he believed, for he was amazed at the teaching about the Lord.”

OK, it was also amazing that Paul was able, by the power of God, to instantly rebuke and punish this man. But, to me at least, that’s not the most amazing thing.

The amazing thing that struck me is that the proconsul, seeing all this, believed, not because of the miracle, but because he was amazed by the teaching about the Lord. He was won over by Paul’s words, not by the miraculous sign.

It’s a reminder to me that the Gospel truth has power all by itself; the words of scripture alone can accomplish all the God desires in this world. We might like signs and miracles and spectacle; we might think our witness is boring compared to the fleshly delights that Satan dangles. We often are tempted to add things to worship that will draw people in, and to add things to our witness that might win people over.

But all God asks us to do is faithfully bring his words to people. He does the rest. 

That’s good, because I doubt I’ll ever strike a man blind. But I can bring the Gospel.

angels

Acts 12 is one of my favorite parts of the whole book. To me, it’s the story of what happens when you think you can defy God, when you don’t give him the respect he deserves. That’s what Herod did, and in this chapter God thwarted him in a couple of ways. 

Herod started by murdering James and throwing Peter in prison. God responded by sending an angel, who walked into the prison and broke Peter’s chains. This is how it’s descried in verses 8-11:

“Then the angel said to him, ‘Put on your clothes and sandals.’ And Peter did so. ‘Wrap your cloak around you and follow me,’ the angel told him. Peter followed him out of the prison, but he had no idea that what the angel was doing was really happening; he thought he was seeing a vision. They passed the first and second guards and came to the iron gate leading to the city. It opened for them by itself, and they went through it. When they had walked the length of one street, suddenly the angel left him.

"Then Peter came to himself and said, ‘Now I know without a doubt that the Lord has sent his angel and rescued me from Herod’s clutches and from everything the Jewish people were hoping would happen.’”

A more attentive man than Herod might have wondered if Peter’s God had something to do with it, but Herod blamed his guards and had them executed. Then, at a state event, he made a speech, evidently an impressive one according to verses 21-24: 

“On the appointed day Herod, wearing his royal robes, sat on his throne and delivered a public address to the people. They shouted, ‘This is the voice of a god, not of a man.’ Immediately, because Herod did not give praise to God, an angel of the Lord struck him down, and he was eaten by worms and died.

"But the word of God continued to spread and flourish.”

For all of Herod’s power and oratorical skill, God’s angel swatted him like a fly, because Herod was willing to be put next to God rather than acknowledge God as the source of his gifts. Herod’s word proved worthless, while the word of God flourished.

Two angels (or maybe just one, maybe even Michael the warrior angel, who often did such jobs for God) easily countered what Herod in all his might tried to do. It’s a reminder that God cannot be blocked, and he will not be mocked.

And he takes care of his own. These days, he’s more likely to send one of us than an angel, but he never leaves his followers helpless.

some men

Paul gets a lot of credit, and he deserves it. But today I’m struck by another group of anonymous people whose work Paul often gets credit for. I’m talking about the founders of the church at Antioch. Because Paul is so intimately associated with that church and labored there for more than a year at the start of his ministry, we often assume it was his church plant.

Here’s the story, from Acts 11:19-21: “Now those who had been scattered by the persecution that broke out when Stephen was killed traveled as far as Phoenicia, Cyprus and Antioch, spreading the word only among Jews. Some of them, however, men from Cyprus and Cyrene, went to Antioch and began to speak to Greeks also, telling them the good news about the Lord Jesus. The Lord’s hand was with them, and a great number of people believed and turned to the Lord.”

There were a lot of evangelists that were scattered – most commentators believe God used the persecution to accomplish exactly that – but most went only to the Jews. But before the word of Peter’s visit to Cornelius and the official recognition of the Gentiles as part of the promise, these unknown people from Cyprus and Cyrene were planting the church in Antioch. And this wasn’t an ordinary church: later in Acts 11 we read that this is where the disciples were first call Christians. Something about this group was so closely associated with Jesus that their religion was given his name.

This is a valuable reminder of something scripture teaches with regularity, that most of God’s faithful servants will never be recognized. They’re folks who respond to God’s grace the only way they know how: by sharing it with others as part of the daily routines of their ordinary lives. 

Just like me.

memorial offering

I can identify with Cornelius. I was a company commander once, just like he was. He seems to have been level-headed and not too impressed with himself; just a good man trying to do good in the world.

Here’s the part I especially like, from Acts 10:1-5: “At Caesarea there was a man named Cornelius, a centurion in what was known as the Italian Regiment. He and all his family were devout and God-fearing; he gave generously to those in need and prayed to God regularly. One day at about three in the afternoon he had a vision. He distinctly saw an angel of God, who came to him and said, “Cornelius!”

"Cornelius stared at him in fear. “What is it, Lord?” he asked.

"The angel answered, “Your prayers and gifts to the poor have come up as a memorial offering before God. Now send men to Joppa to bring back a man named Simon who is called Peter.”

Cornelius was just going about life doing what he thought he should do. He prayed, he gave his money and time to helping people, he led his family in Godliness. Like I said, a good man trying to do good. His actions, however, drew God’s attention, and God sent an angel.

All those prayers and good deeds were, Luke wrote, “a memorial offering” before God. In some way, they were a remembrance, a reminder of something good. God was pleased with the offering, and in this way the Gentile Pentecost would come. Peter would accept the invitation of Cornelius, and this centurion and his friends would receive the Holy Spirit.

Is that what Cornelius was praying for? Luke doesn’t say, but I don’t think so. It seems more likely Cornelius was worshiping the Yahweh he learned of from the Jews, not the crucified savior Jesus. I say that because Peter would teach him about Jesus. Even so, the faithful prayers and life of Cornelius led him to be saved.

There’s a lot to be said for a consistent, persistent life of prayer and good works. It’s not flashy, but the story of Cornelius shows us it’s an offering God loves.

chosen

Usually, being chosen is a good thing. In school, I always wanted to be picked for a team at recess; I often wasn’t. In the Guard, being selected for promotion was a key goal, and civilian life is pretty similar. “Pick me!” is still something we say inside, even though we don’t shout it out anymore.

Paul was chosen to be the greatest missionary of all time. Much as I’ve often longed to be like Paul, this morning I’m not so sure. Look at God’s explanation to Ananias when he sent that faithful man to heal the persecutor Saul’s blindness, in Acts 9:13-16:

“‘Lord,’ Ananias answered, ‘I have heard many reports about this man and all the harm he has done to your holy people in Jerusalem. And he has come here with authority from the chief priests to arrest all who call on your name.’

“But the Lord said to Ananias, ‘Go! This man is my chosen instrument to proclaim my name to the Gentiles and their kings and to the people of Israel. I will show him how much he must suffer for my name.’”

To be God’s chosen instrument is a huge privilege, to be sure. But Paul was picked for a hard job, evangelizing in the most difficult places. God separated him out knowing he would suffer.

Jesus said to rejoice when we face trials of many kinds because of him. Jesus also said that if we truly follow him, we will be persecuted. Paul followed zealously, and lived a lifetime of hardship and abuse.

Suffering in this world is one of the ways we follow our suffering Savior. It doesn’t help a disciple to be too in love with comfort.

transactions

I used to make the same mistake that Simon the Sorcerer made: I thought of my faith as transactional. Look at this from Acts 8:18-20: “When Simon saw that the Spirit was given at the laying on of the apostles’ hands, he offered them money and said, ‘Give me also this ability so that everyone on whom I lay my hands may receive the Holy Spirit.’

“Peter answered: ‘May your money perish with you, because you thought you could buy the gift of God with money!’”

Transactional faith is when I think I can get things from God by giving things to God, or doing things for him. Here are some ways I used to do that:

·       I thought my participation in worship, Bible Study and other church activities could offset some of my sins.

·       I thought, after sinning, that I had to do something good to prove to God that I was sorry before I dared to talk to him again.

·       I thought the amount of money I put in the plate could make me better than other church members.

·       I thought I could bind God by his own promises – you know, “Lord, you promised if I did X you bless that. Well, I did it. Where’s my blessing?”

·       I bargained with God in prayer. “Lord, if you just do this thing, I promise to do this other thing.”

It’s easy to make faith transactional because all of our other relationships are. All human relationships, even our closest ones, involve us doing certain things to win favor. But there isn’t a thing I can give God that he needs, or a thing I can do for him that will help him out. God is completely sufficient in and of himself.

But here’s the blessing: just like I can’t earn God’s love, or grace, or salvation, I can’t un-earn it either. None of that depends on my resume or record. It depends on God being true to his own character, and there isn’t a surer thing than that.

Transactional faith is attractive because I understand the rules of a transaction. But real faith is infinitely reassuring because its faith not in God’s greed, but in his love. And God is Love.

covered ears

I walked into my boss’s office the other day with bad news. He saw the expression on my face and said, “I don’t want to hear it.”

That’s how we often are about things we don’t want to deal with. When the doc says we should change our habits, or our accountant warns we’re not on a good path, sometimes we want to ignore what we hear.

But we don’t ever want to be like the church leaders in Acts 7:55-57: “ But Stephen, full of the Holy Spirit, looked up to heaven and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God. “Look,” he said, ‘I see heaven open and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God.’

“At this they covered their ears and, yelling at the top of their voices, they all rushed at him, dragged him out of the city and began to stone him.”

Honestly, those leaders sound like schoolchildren, covering their ears and yelling because they hear something they don’t like. It would be funny but for how serious it is. 

But imagine this. Imagine you’ve put on trial one of God’s servants, a man filled with the Holy Spirit. And imagine, as you accuse this man, he is granted a vision of Jesus himself. Wouldn’t that seem like affirmation of his mission? Wouldn’t you stop and think?

They didn’t. Instead, their rage and hatred at this suggestion they could be wrong was too much. Stephen had to die.

It’s a warning to me never to become so invested in my position that I can’t hear the truth, to never become so convinced of my own rightness that I let my pride kill me.

Because that’s what these leaders risked. They put themselves in opposition to God’s kingdom. Unless something changed before they died, their intransigence cost them everything.

opposition

There’s a telling story in Acts 6 that explains why a lot of people lose heart with ministry. Here it is, from verses 8-11: 

“Now Stephen, a man full of God’s grace and power, performed great wonders and signs among the people. Opposition arose, however, from members of the Synagogue of the Freedmen (as it was called)—Jews of Cyrene and Alexandria as well as the provinces of Cilicia and Asia —who began to argue with Stephen. But they could not stand up against the wisdom the Spirit gave him as he spoke.

“Then they secretly persuaded some men to say, ‘We have heard Stephen speak blasphemous words against Moses and against God.’”

When ministry succeeds, Satan takes notice, and when he takes notice he sends in his people. And since Satan is the father of lies, his people will use lies to take a ministry down.

I have a couple of thoughts about this. The first one is no-one that I know of has ever attacked me over anything I’ve done for God. Does that mean I haven’t been effective enough for Satan to care?

The other is, I wish I had back all the snarky things I’ve ever said about another Christian. I’d hate to think Satan was using me to help hold them back.

I read a saying once that went something like this: “Be the kind of Christian that, when your feet hit the floor in the morning, Satan says, ‘Oh crap, he’s up.’” I dismissed it as too simple at the time, but I think now whoever came up that might have been onto something. I’d rather scare the naysayers than be used by them.

fighting God

Some scary advice this morning from Acts 5. Peter and John were arrested for evangelizing, broken out of jail by an angel, caught back in the temple, and on trial. A wise elder called for a recess and advised his fellow accusers this way, from verses 38-39: 

“Therefore, in the present case I advise you: Leave these men alone! Let them go! For if their purpose or activity is of human origin, it will fail. But if it is from God, you will not be able to stop these men; you will only find yourselves fighting against God.”

It’s good advice, and it makes me think of all the times I’ve pushed back on someone who was trying to serve the way I wouldn’t. You know what I’m talking about: those people who want to stretch us too far in worship, or risk too much in outreach. The ones who want to practice the most radical kind of spiritual ministries. The ones who just don’t seem to show much common sense, who just aren’t practical, who don’t seem to understand all the possible bad outcomes.

But here’s the thing: what if they’re right? What if that is really what God wants us to do?

As this man advised, misguided human efforts are doomed to collapse under their own weight. But God-directed activity will happen whether I oppose it or support it. 

There have been times when good people have left our church because they were frustrated by the slow pace of ministry. There have been times when good people at work have given up and gone along with the culture because they didn’t get the support they needed.

In any of those cases, was I in the position of opposing God? Did I fail a test? Did that Spirit-directed ministry plant and flourish somewhere else, to the detriment of my organizations?

I hope not. But it makes me want some do-overs.

This morning I wonder if there isn’t less risk in being bold with our ministries and willingly throwing our support to all of the things that good Christ-followers want to try. After all, the price of being wrong could be fighting God himself.

ordinary

There are a lot of reasons not to do things, but one of the most common is that we think we’re not the right person. We’re not highly educated. We’re not very experienced. We’re young, or at least younger than the people we perceive as leaders.

But Peter and John, a couple of fishermen away from the sea, healed a man and were put on trial for it. And all of those educated, experienced, older men couldn’t figure it out. In fact, it says this in Acts 4:13: “When they saw the courage of Peter and John and realized that they were unschooled, ordinary men, they were astonished and they took note that these men had been with Jesus.”

Unschooled, ordinary men and women have always been God’s choice as he goes about his work. Oh, he uses the other kind, too, people with doctorates and long resumes, but you don’t read about them much in the Bible.

No, God loves the world, mundus in Latin, the root of our English word mundane. God loves the ordinary. He loves the Joe and Jane Lunchbuckets who wake up early every morning to go to their shift-work jobs. He loves the farmer grandpas and inner city grandmas who worked for decades and are still working because they want so many things for their families. He loves the soccer moms with their frantic school-and-work schedules, and the ladder-climbing dads straining to get on the rung that means security. He loves the single men and women who bounce between inclusion and loneliness, and the childless couples who pour out their love on people who aren’t family. He loves this world in all of its day-to-day normality, and all of the men and women in it, with no regard to schooling or status.

It’s a huge encouragement, because it means I don’t have to be any more than what I am to serve him, and win his love. He already loves me, and has plenty of uses for me if I’ll just step up. No training necessary. No experience required. I can start amazing those so called “betters” immediately.

Because I have the same thing Peter and John had. I’ve been with Jesus.

expectations

I think sometimes I sell Jesus short. I'm like the crippled man Peter and John ran into on their way to afternoon prayers. Here's the nub of the story, from Acts 3:4-6: 

“Peter looked straight at him, as did John. Then Peter said, 'Look at us!' So the man gave them his attention, expecting to get something from them.

Then Peter said, 'Silver or gold I do not have, but what I do have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.'"

This beggar wanted coins. He wanted a little something to buy food with. He accepted his disability; all of his dreams were now constrained within what he saw as an unchangeable reality.

But then, grace. The power of Jesus, given to his disciples to change lives and touch hearts, gave this man so much more than he ever imagined. 

That's me. I ask for daily bread and healing from my sniffles. I pray for incremental changes, small steps. I don't ask Jesus to blow up my life, because I don't think it's possible. So I limit not only my own experience, but what I contribute to God's people and the world.

I want more. I want Jesus to snatch me up into the glorious whirlwind of his redeeming work. I want to know firsthand his march through time and history, conquering and freeing and blessing as he goes. I want to be in the front ranks, at the tip of the spear. I want to be there when lives and changed and souls are won and evil goes down.

It's so easy to be complacent, to want another day of routine punctuated by pleasant meals and easy fellowship. It's easy to accept what I have as a blessed life, because I don't expect more.

But I'm too young to start coasting. God may choose to take me soon, but I probably have decades left to live. It can mean something, even in the same house and at the same job. God's kingdom goes forward here in Orange City, where there are sad and lonely and confused and hurt people.

Like the crippled man, I expect a little something to meet today's need. I don't expect Jesus to strike off my chains, knock down all the fences, and set me free to run after him. 

I don't expect that, but he can do it. I think all he's waiting for is for me to ask.

corrupt

Why do we need the Holy Spirit? I found an unexpected answer in the familiar story of Pentecost this morning. That event is recounted for us in Acts 2, and most of the way through the chapter we find this, in verse 40:

“With many other words he warned them; and he pleaded with them, ‘Save yourselves from this corrupt generation.’”

This is a verse packed full of amazing stuff. First off, it says Peter used many other words. He’d already been speaking from verse 14 to 49, that famous Passover message that most of us only know bits of because we zone out while reading it. But that wasn’t enough - he used many other words.

And he used them for a specific purpose: to beg. Peter used many other words to warn and plead it the people. This was really important to him. And what was he so worked up about? He was worried about the danger they were in. He begged them to save themselves from this corrupt generation.

The first few verses of this chapter tell us that this is a huge crowd, made up of God-fearing Jews from every nation under heaven. Although they didn’t know Jesus yet, these were good people who tried to obey God’s commands. Yet Peter knew that wherever they were from, the culture was different than God’s perfect plan. So he warned them of the people around them.

What’s so bad about our national culture? Why as Christians can’t we jump into it as much as we’d like to? Because non-Christian culture does three things.

It diverts us from Jesus. Every minute we spend in a bar or coffee shop talking politics or in a movie theater watching Avengers, every minute with non-godly people on non-godly topics, we’re not paying attention to Jesus. In fact, we’re soaking in ideas from people who don’t get them from the Bible.

It also coarsens our spiritual sensitivity - our consciences grow calluses. We get so used to profanity and revealing clothing and drunkenness and every kind of relationship that we forget how appalling this all is to God.

Even worse, our culture makes sin look positive. In fact, it makes our faith look negative. We can no longer speak truth about gender and marriage and morality. If we want to fit in we support transgender ideology and accept all other religions as equal to our own. We think hats meant to evoke genitalia are cool. We don’t want to stand against Planned Parenthood anymore because that organization is the darling of our political party.

Peter knew our culture could kill us - the wages of sin, after all, are death. And he knew we couldn’t really save ourselves. The only thing we can do is make the choice about where to put our faith and hope.

Salvation doesn’t come on Air Force One, as Chuck Colson famously said, or from any other power or idea in our nation. It comes from the cross of Jesus Christ. And, in this culture, we’re never going to see the cross without the Holy Spirit.