Easter 6, Year B
May 13, 2012
Acts 10:44-48
For
those of us who thought we knew Jesus’s disciple Peter based on what we read
about him in the Gospels, the stories we’ve been hearing during the Easter season
are turning him on his head. Before
Easter, I’m pretty sure Peter was someone I wouldn’t have enjoyed hanging out
with. He wanted to lead the pack. He was aggressive and self-important. He always wanted to be the first to speak and
always seemed certain about his answers.
And he wanted to control every aspect of his religion. When Jesus said his life would end in defeat
and death, Peter interrupted him to demand Jesus be the kind of Christ Peter
wanted him to be. When Peter saw Jesus
transfigured with Moses and Elijah he didn’t revel in the moment or sit in awed
silence or even ask questions about what it all meant. He wanted to erect tabernacles. At the Last Supper he smugly denied the
possibility of his forsaking Jesus and bristled at the idea of Jesus washing
his feet. When Jesus was arrested, Peter
drew his sword and cut off the ear of the servant of the high priest.
But
Peter’s ego and self-importance were absolutely undone on Good Friday when he
denied having known Jesus three times and then wept bitterly in
self-understanding as the cock crowed. When
we meet him again after Easter, he’s a new man entirely. All the things Peter thought he knew about how
religion ought to be have been blown
to bits by Jesus’ death and resurrection.
He now understands that as comfortable as it might feel, having control
over the way the Jesus story will spread (or even having control over his own life)
is not how it’s going to work. He now
knows that following Jesus does not equate with being able to predict life with
a ten year plan.
And
the post-Easter Peter is okay with that.
He seems pretty comfortable with having his expectations interrupted. When we see him this morning, he’s just had several
visions where God tells him to eat creatures that are considered unclean by
Jewish law. He’s just starting to get
his head around the idea of opening religious doctrine in this way when there’s
a knock on his door. A gentile centurion
named Cornelius has been having his own visions, and an angel of God has told
him to bring Peter to his house. Peter
throws aside caution and goes to Cornelius’ house, even though it is unlawful
for a Jew to visit a gentile’s house.
And so here he is, completely outside his comfort zone, surrounded by
all of Cornelius’ relatives and friends.
Peter is on a roll, preaching
about Jesus – Amen! Preach it, brother! And then here comes the Holy Spirit
interrupting him again. Peter looks
around at this crowd of gentiles and sees clearly that the gift of the Holy
Spirit has been poured out on them. Suddenly, Peter’s understanding of who is included
by God takes a seismic but graceful shift and he invites every person there to get
baptized. Suddenly, Peter is able to lay
aside his security-giving prejudices and open wide the fledgling church. When he later shares the story with the other
disciples, he explains: “As I began to speak, the Holy Spirit fell upon them
just as it had upon us at the beginning….
If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in
the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?”
Who,
indeed? Well, me for one. Not intentionally, as a general rule. But I definitely don’t always recognize the
Holy Spirit or appreciate interruptions to my carefully laid out plans, and I
certainly do not always gracefully change direction.
And
so it’s those God-given interruptions, and Peter’s new-found grace in accepting
those interruptions, that interest me most about this story about Peter. Because I’m still like the pre-Easter Peter
in that respect.
In
seminary, we read something by a theologian named Rosemary Radford Ruether arguing
that the church mainly exists to do two things: (1) to pass on the tradition
from one generation to another; and (2) to be open to the winds of the Holy
Spirit by which the tradition comes alive in each generation. To pass on what we’ve received and yet to
also be open to surprises. It seems true
for both the Church and for us individually.
Of course, at the time, I remember thinking that she needed to add a
third piece (borrowed from Acoholics Anonymous) - “the wisdom to know the
difference.” Because that seems to
generally be the stumbling block for both individuals and the Church.
For several days this past week John and Carolyn and I
went to Shrine Mont for the Diocese’s annual clergy and lay professionals
retreat. One morning they offered
workshops that we could go to based on our areas of interest. I ended up at a spiritual direction workshop
led by two spiritual directors – a man and a woman from Richmond Hill, a
retreat house and spiritual community in Richmond. I went to the workshop expecting to hear
ideas about how I might better help people seeking a deeper spirituality to
find God in their lives. But I ended up finding
some spiritual direction for myself instead.
It was funny, actually, because as we began I found
myself getting a little annoyed because they didn’t seem to have an agenda or
anything in particular they wanted to say.
But as it went on, I began to appreciate their style. It was so clearly rooted in their
intentionality about seeking God and being open to the Holy Spirit. They were definitely post-Easter Peters. They started in heartfelt, extemporaneous
prayer (which felt like such a breath of fresh air to me after all of the
extended morning/noon/evening/compline prayer book worship we’d been doing). They kept taking moments of silence to wait
for what needed saying. They listened deeply
to the people in the circle, reflecting us back to ourselves, only better and
more insightfully. They cared about our
spiritual well-being, noticed when someone seemed anxious or like they might
have something to say.
Someone
in the group talked about a particular decision she was having trouble making
and said she just couldn’t figure out what was best for the long term. And then one of the spiritual directors
shared her metaphor for the work we do in seeking God. It’s like a car with its headlights on, she
explained. The light only goes about 10
yards out in front of you. There’s so
much you can’t see in front, behind, all around. And yet those 10 yards are enough. Enough to make out if there’s a huge branch
in the road in front of you or a drop-off on the side. Enough to navigate where you are at that
moment. Then she got to talking about
how so often we get caught up in the way the world looks at things and the
expectations we feel from the world. But
that if we can step back and quiet ourselves sometimes we can get a glimpse of
the God’s eye view of our lives. Even if
it’s only ten yards’ worth.
I
can’t explain exactly why, but for some reason I felt this big surge of relief. It was like a weight was lifted from me. What I so often see and fixate on – my worries
and anxieties, my need to know and understand what is coming – is just a small
part of a much bigger picture. The idea
of being more open to seeing my life from God’s perspective, whatever might
result, felt so freeing, even if it didn’t come with any assurances, or even
any directions, really.
Archbishop
of Canterbury Rowan Williams writes that since we can’t conclusively know the
will of God, we are left with our free will and our power of discernment to
decide what in our life comports with the will of God, and then we have to
trust that God will pick us up and restore us if (when) we make mistakes. Openness, silence, discernment, trust.
It
isn’t always easy to know when something you’ve planned, or something you’ve
always done, or whatever is expected is the right thing and when it is just
bogging you down. But I feel like I got
a glimpse of how it might work – for me personally and for the church in
general – from those two spiritual directors at Shrine Mont who modeled that
openness and wisdom for me. In their willingness
to be changed, formed, led along the path.
In their willingness to live with uncertainty and even with
discomfort. In their willingness to
maybe only see ten yards ahead at any given moment. And in their strength and courage and
intentionality in seeking a God’s eye view of their lives every day.
I
think there’s hope for the pre-Easter Peter in all of us. Amen.
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