TURN THE WORLD AROUND
A sermon preached by
Rev. Dr. Randle R. (Rick) Mixon
First Baptist Church, Palo Alto, CA
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Texts: Acts 9:1-20; John 21:1-19
Last week we looked at the powerful post-Easter transformation in Peter’s life, displayed as he stood before the religious authorities and declared bravely, “We must obey God rather than any human authority” (Acts 5:29.) And we wondered, how did this all come about, this radical change in Peter from cowardice to courage? Remember we have been saying it is the personal encounter with the risen Christ that makes all the difference, and surely that is so for Peter. Today let’s take a couple of steps back to see if the closing chapter of the gospel of John gives us any insight into this question of transformation. We know in John’s gospel there have been encounters with the risen Christ in the garden and the upper room. But in the epilogue, we find Peter with a group of the disciples back home in Galilee.
There is an adage I learned as therapist that insists that in times of stress we human beings tend to revert to our most familiar patterns of behavior. We seems to find comfort and security there, even when we know those patterns are dysfunctional, unhealthy and don’t serve us well; even when we have worked hard to change those old habits. I believe this is part of the power of addiction in many lives. Well, you can imagine that in those first few weeks after the passion, crucifixion and resurrection, the disciples were stressed. How many strange and unexpected things had gone on in their lives? How had these events rocked them to the core? How had their world been turned around – and around and around? Surely they had known the joy of Easter and the thrill of their encounters with Jesus, but had they yet sorted it all out? I doubt it. Where to turn but the familiar territory of Galilee? What to do but go fishing? What better way to give Peter and the others a little time to think than a night on the lake in their boat?
It may not have made much difference to them that they were out all night and caught nothing. They had the soothing familiarity of the old boat rocking gently on the lake. It was good to have this time together in the peace and quiet of their native habitat. The night was warm; the work was hard and fulfilling; the muscle memory of casting out and hauling in their nets led to a rhythmic pattern that was healingly hypnotic. Have you ever had an experience like that? Coming off some strife or turmoil or trauma in your own life, some experience that has turned your world upside down – the loss of a loved one, the termination of a job, the end of a relationship, a fight with an old friend, a first-hand experience of a devastating storm or a personal view of poverty, of hunger, homelessness, a refugee camp, military combat – something that stressed you out, that rocked you to your core? Do you remember the disorientation, the numbness, the pain and distress as they emerged, the trauma of the moment? Then there was the longing for somewhere, someone, something that represented familiarity and comfort, that offered security and grounding? Maybe you found it at home or with an empathic friend or a skilled professional or at the fishing hole or maybe even in church. Maybe that’s a piece of why it is important for us to be a community that provides a home for heart, mind and soul.
So here are Peter and the others, centering themselves in what they know best, and here is this stranger on the shore. You see this is a case in which you really can’t go home again. After Easter, home itself has been changed forever. That’s part of what happens when you encounter the risen Christ, that is part of the meaning of the resurrection. Everything is changed, everything is new. There he is on the shore, waving, calling out to you. “How’s it going? Have you caught anything? No. Well, why don’t you try over there?” There he is on the shore, eternally attentive and compassionate, concerned for the success of our fishing expeditions of every sort, including those of the heart, mind and soul, and always, always, showing us the way. Sure enough there are more fish there than they can handle…and in that moment they recognize him, they know who he is and they know they’d rather be with him than anything. Peter can’t even wait for the boat. He is already swimming to shore.
After sharing a meal together, there is time for a walk on the beach. Now my guess is that Peter was not yet healed from the awful shame of his denial of Jesus. You know how it is, the higher the rise, the greater the fall. Peter had been so sure that he knew what Jesus was all about. He was going to follow him anywhere, take whatever hard knocks discipleship offered. He was Jesus’ man to the bitter end. That is, he was until he came face-to-face with the ugly reality of arrogant religious authority and the horrible cruelty of Roman power. What had they been thinking? How was a rag tag band of peasants from Galilee going to confront that kind of abusive authority and menacing power? He had cracked under pressure, failed in the face of the threat to his own life, and had even denied knowing Jesus. He had not been there for his teacher, for his friend, when he needed him most. Those wounds must have run deep in Peter. Can you imagine what it feels like to betray someone who has been there for you, offered you love and hope and called you out of all your old, self-defeating habits to be the best person you could be? Someone who just wanted you to see how you were nothing more and less than a child of God?
Three times Peter had denied Jesus, three times on that morning walk Jesus forgives him and blesses him by calling him out again to the great work God has for him. “Feed my sheep, Peter. Take care of my lambs. If you love me, look after my flock.” Can you imagine what must have been racing through Peter’s heart, mind, soul? Not fishing for sure, not comfort – except for the comfort of Jesus’ compassionate gaze, not security – except for the amazing security of God’s love. “I, Peter, I’m loved, forgiven, blessed.” “I, Rick, Kathy, Thelma, Mary, Dan, Jim, Marilyn, Chip, Joanne, Betsy, Charlie, add your name here. I am loved, forgiven, blessed. Once and for all he has turned my world around and set me on the way. Christ is risen! Christ is risen in my own life! I will never be the same. Alleluia!”
And then out there on that dusty Damascus road, another strong, passionate man, overly sure of himself like a pre-passion Peter is off on a mission of his own. What an image we have of him – “breathing threats and murder.” What an angry young man he must have been. It makes me think of certain political personalities, certain religious figures, certain ideologues, so damned sure they have all the answers that they are willing to destroy anyone who doesn’t agree with them. It makes me think of our current political scene in which civil discourse has given over to threats and attacks on people with whom one disagrees. Ours seems to be a cultural that increasingly embraces threats and murder, even those that are officially sanctioned by people with power and authority. These are seen as effective and legitimate means of dealing with difference and solving problems, whether it is Fred Phelps at Gunn High School, Gregory Lee Giusti threatening Nancy Pelosi, shots fired at legislators, gang violence on the streets, suicide bombers, torture of political prisoners, military action in the Middle East, war in Afghanistan and Iraq. It’s no different than what the fundamentalist Saul was up to. He was determined to keep the Jewish faith pure, in the way that he believed it should be. Don’t you imagine it was easy for some of the wily old leaders on the council to see in Saul someone who would do their dirty work for them? And Saul was only too willing to oblige. Initially he just held the henchmen’s coats as they stoned Stephen to death. But, it seems that taste of blood whetted his appetite for more.
As the followers of the Jesus movement came under increasing attack, they fled to outlying cities where they felt safer than in Jerusalem. Saul was off, with the blessing of the authorities, to round up the Christ followers in Damascus and bring them back to Jerusalem for punishment. Now who knows what happened on that road? Tradition says Saul was knocked off his horse by a blinding light. The text actually mentions no horse, but something happened that turned Saul’s world around. There’s a terrible old story that preacher’s used to love to tell that goes like this: “Perhaps you've heard the story of the farmer who bought a mule from his neighbor. He was told that this was a very compliant mule. All he needed to do was talk plainly, and the mule would willingly carry out its owner's wishes. However, when he got the mule out in the field, he found that that didn't work. The mule wouldn’t budge. So the farmer complained to his neighbor. Coming over to the field where the mule stood stubbornly, the neighbor looked over the situation. Then, picking up a near-by fence post, he whacked the mule between the eyes and the mule started to plow. The new owner was shocked, ‘You said all I needed to do was talk to the mule!’ ‘Right,’ said the neighbor. ‘But first you have to get his attention!’” OK, I said it was a terrible story, though it is one of the few I can remember my father telling.
Now, having personally encountered the risen Christ and thoroughly attentive to something new in his life, the fire-breathing Saul is led like a helpless infant to the very folks in Damascus whom he had set out to persecute. In many ways, Ananias is a character familiar to us. A good solid citizen, no one spectacular, perhaps the leader of the Christ-followers in Damascus, he’s the one God chooses to speak to Paul. We don’t know if Ananias was generally conflict-avoidant, but the text says he was not thrilled about being asked to talk to Saul, who, last he heard, was after his head. It is the function of God’s amazing grace, in ordinary saints, that helps bring about Saul’s transformation. As they stoned Stephen, he prayed for forgiveness for his killers. That forgiveness now takes root as Ananias risks his own well-being to witness to Saul. And hear the grace with which he enters the room, “Brother Saul,” he says. No trace of enmity, hostility, fear, condescension. Love again does it saving work, yes even love of the one who is out to get you. When God speaks, when we have encountered the risen Christ, that’s just how it is. Something hit Saul between the eyes. Someone called out to Saul on a dusty road through all the static of threats and murder. And then gentle, loving Ananias sat down with Saul and helped him find his way.
Sometimes our call is dramatic and sometimes transformation is traumatic. Sometimes the processes are simpler, calmer. There is a place and a role for Peter and Saul and Ananias and you and me. It is God who calls, are we listening? It is Christ who leads, are we following? It is the Spirit who empowers, are we open? If so, even we may yet turn the world around.