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Acts 12:1-19
Sorrow AND Joy
Rev. Kenneth M. Locke
The Downtown Presbyterian Church
July 20, 2008
Acts 12:1-19
About that time King Herod laid violent hands upon some who belonged to the church. 2He had James, the brother of John, killed with the sword. 3After he saw that it pleased the Jews, he proceeded to arrest Peter also. (This was during the festival of Unleavened Bread.) 4When he had seized him, he put him in prison and handed him over to four squads of soldiers to guard him, intending to bring him out to the people after the Passover. 5While Peter was kept in prison, the church prayed fervently to God for him.
6 The very night before Herod was going to bring him out, Peter, bound with two chains, was sleeping between two soldiers, while guards in front of the door were keeping watch over the prison. 7Suddenly an angel of the Lord appeared and a light shone in the cell. He tapped Peter on the side and woke him, saying, ‘Get up quickly.' And the chains fell off his wrists. 8The angel said to him, ‘Fasten your belt and put on your sandals.' He did so. Then he said to him, ‘Wrap your cloak around you and follow me.' 9Peter went out and followed him; he did not realize that what was happening with the angel's help was real; he thought he was seeing a vision. 10After they had passed the first and the second guard, they came before the iron gate leading into the city. It opened for them of its own accord, and they went outside and walked along a lane, when suddenly the angel left him. 11Then Peter came to himself and said, ‘Now I am sure that the Lord has sent his angel and rescued me from the hands of Herod and from all that the Jewish people were expecting.'
12 As soon as he realized this, he went to the house of Mary, the mother of John whose other name was Mark, where many had gathered and were praying. 13When he knocked at the outer gate, a maid named Rhoda came to answer. 14On recognizing Peter's voice, she was so overjoyed that, instead of opening the gate, she ran in and announced that Peter was standing at the gate. 15They said to her, ‘You are out of your mind!' But she insisted that it was so. They said, ‘It is his angel.' 16Meanwhile, Peter continued knocking; and when they opened the gate, they saw him and were amazed. 17He motioned to them with his hand to be silent, and described for them how the Lord had brought him out of the prison. And he added, ‘Tell this to James and to the believers.' Then he left and went to another place.
18 When morning came, there was no small commotion among the soldiers over what had become of Peter. 19When Herod had searched for him and could not find him, he examined the guards and ordered them to be put to death. Then he went down from Judea to Caesarea and stayed there.
Today our text brings us another story. If you haven't figured it out, I think stories are important. Stories shape us and our expectations and views of the world. The stories told around our dinner table - are they mostly happy or mostly sad? Do they recount the positive events of the day or the negative events of the day? When your family tells stories about when you were young is it always the story about your tenth birthday and how much you enjoyed it? Or is it the story about the time you poked the wasp nest and got stung so bad you had to lie in bed for three days?
When you tell your life's stories what gets told? Is it the bad times when people hurt you? Is it the good times when you enjoyed yourself? Is it a mix?
I want to tell a story. I've told many of you parts of it from time to time but I don't think I've ever laid out the whole story before. Try and listen for any similarities between my story and our text.
In the summer of 1994 I quit a paying job, rented a truck and moved my wife, my dog and myself to New Jersey to start seminary. I had no desire to be a church pastor. I had been working in a church for two years doing their campus ministry and if that's what church ministry was I didn't want it. My desire was to get a PhD and teach.
In due course I applied to the seminary's PhD program. I had the grades. I had the references. I thought it was a done deal. But the admissions committee disagreed. They said, "No deal." I was turned down.
So there I was, second semester of my senior year, utterly devastated. I was emotional road kill. I was in a fog for a week. When I came out of the fog I was in a panic. I wasn't going to be in the program. My time in student housing was up so I had to move. The only way out I saw was being a church pastor. I was devastated.
But there was no way out. So again in due course I ended up at a hundred member, red-brick church, about 90 minutes southeast of Chicago. I started working at being their pastor. I preached every Sunday. Buried a lot of people, married a lot of people, baptized a bunch of babies.
I played games with the children and helped with Vacation Bible School and every year at the Turkey Supper I stood at the door and shook hands and smiled.
And over time I started looking forward to Sunday. I learned how to preach sermons that weren't academic research papers. I looked forward to meeting people for coffee and dropping in on the shut-ins. We expanded our worship services and started some really creative ministries. The value of just sitting under a tree and talking about life with my parishioners became clear to me. And so did the simple pleasure of sitting under a tree and talking about life with someone I liked. I even started enjoying session meetings.
Perhaps most surprisingly I found I really, really enjoyed hospital visits. I enjoyed just sitting and listening to people talk about their hip replacements. It was fascinating. I enjoyed praying with them when the news was good and when it was not good. In fact, I think some of my best ministry was done with the living standing by the bed of the one who had just died.
And in due course I found I was really good at funerals. Being with people in their grief is profoundly moving and may be the single most holy thing I do.
Somewhere along the line, during those five years at that church, I moved from being an Academic wannabe to being a church pastor. And I'm genuinely glad I made the switch. It's been difficult and I don't want to deny the pain of not getting that PhD. But I've made my peace with it. And in the day-in and day-out ministry of the church I've found a level of contentment I don't think I ever would have found in academia.
So that's my story. There are lots of ways I could have told that story. I could have gone into detail about trying to figure out why I hadn't gotten into the program. I could have talked about the difficulties it added to my marriage.
Or I could have skipped all that and gone straight into being surprised by joy. I could have listed more good times and more moments of growth and excitement as I learned how to be a minister.
But what I hope I did was give the pain its due while concentrating on the joy. Not hide the pain, but not give it center stage.
It seems to me this is Luke's model for telling the church's story. He doesn't hide the pain. James died. And it was sad. And I'm sure the church prayed fervently for his release and they were overwhelmed when he was killed. It must have been a crushing blow for that small band of believers.
But Luke doesn't stay there. He goes on, in tremendous detail, about what God did for Peter: the angel, the shaft of light, chains falling off and doors opening; the great comic moment of being left outside while Rhoda runs to tell the others.
When you tell your story, do you dwell on the pain? Do you skip the pain and dwell on the good stuff? Do you acknowledge the pain but still let God's blessings take center stage in your life? When you tell your story, what does it say about your relationship to God?
Our church has a story to tell. There's pain in it. There's also lots of joy. The split in the 1950s was hard. But people came together and worked like it all depended on them and prayed like it all depended on God and somehow or other raised the money to buy this property. There was pain, and a lot of joy.
And it wasn't just then. Every time a pastor leaves a church there is pain. There was pain when Bill Gray left, there was pain when Hogan Yancey left, when Betsy Panky left, when Pat McGehee left, when John Hilly left, when Amos Wilson left. I know there was, people have told me about it.
There was pain when Linda White's associate-pastor position was dissolved. The congregational meeting was heated and the motion passed by a slim margin. Some people felt angry and some decided to move on. It happened. It was real. It hurt.
But just because there is pain does not mean God has left. In every instance, every time, there was a ray of light and God tapped us on the shoulder. And maybe it didn't make sense, what God was asking us to do. Feed the homeless? Why? Invite artists in? How would that help? Give an interview to the paper? What's the point? But God has taken all those things and brought life and joy we could never have imagined. And God is doing it still.
The story of my life, your life, the life of the early church, the life of the universal church, the life of our particular church - the story of any life has pain. And like Luke we have to put it out there. It can't be secret.
But the life that blossoms, the church that grows, doesn't dwell on the pain. We acknowledge it and give it its due, and then we look around for the shaft of light, we look at who is tapping us on the shoulder and telling us to get up, get dressed, get going. And we go. Surprised by joy. Amen.