When God Disturbs: Acts 19:23-27

 Second Sunday of Ordinary Time

23 At that time a great disturbance erupted about the Way. 24 There was a silversmith named Demetrius. He made silver models of Artemis’ temple, and his business generated a lot of profit for the craftspeople. 25 He called a meeting with these craftspeople and others working in related trades and said, “Friends, you know that we make an easy living from this business. 26 And you can see and hear that this Paul has convinced and misled a lot of people, not only in Ephesus but also throughout most of the province of Asia. He says that gods made by human hands aren’t really gods. 27 This poses a danger not only by discrediting our trade but also by completely dishonoring the great goddess Artemis. The whole province of Asia—indeed, the entire civilized world—worships her, but her splendor will soon be extinguished.” (CEB)

 

“To me,” said a West Texas florist who was part of the violent destruction at the Capitol building a week and a half ago, “God and country are tied — to me they’re one and the same.  We were founded as a Christian country. And we see how far we have come from that. … We are a godly country, and we are founded on godly principles. And if we do not have our country, nothing else matters.”[1]

“Christian nationalism really tends to draw on kind of an Old Testament narrative, a kind of blood purity and violence where the Christian nation needs to be defended against the outsiders,” said Andrew Whitehead, co-director of the Association of Religion Data Archives. “It really is identity-based and tribal, where there’s an us-versus-them.”[2]

It has been yet another week in which historical events come faster than our textbooks can hold them with a second impeachment of the American president, a warning from the outgoing CDC director that we are about to have yet another record-breaking COVID surge,[3] an encouragement from the FBI for high alert in all 50 state capitols after threats of violence on the days surrounding the upcoming presidential inauguration,[4] a formal apology prepared by the Irish government to the women and children harmed by Catholic policies toward unmarried pregnant women who were shunted into group homes in the 20th century,[5] and what may be the world’s largest vaccination drive begun in India.[6]

As a friend of mine said to me, I am quite ready to stop living in interesting times.

“These are the times that try men’s souls,” wrote Thomas Paine in his 18th century pamphlet series “The American Crisis.”  He was talking about the American Revolution, but the sentence has stuck around for its applicability to far more than that.  I am not in possession of a man’s soul, per se, but after weeks—months, years—like this, it is true that my soul is tried, that our souls are tried by the unrelenting waves of more revelations, battles, worries.  These are the times that are trying for human souls and yet so many of the habits we have developed to comfort those souls have had to be reinvented so that we protect these bodies, too.  We have had to allow ourselves to be open to finding comfort and strength in new places and new ways, we who are about to hit the one-year anniversary of the first confirmed case of coronavirus here in the United States.

As we continue to live into these interesting times, these trying times; as we live into the space between Epiphany’s realization that the gospel is for everyone and Lent’s awareness that we so often fall short of that open welcome, I’m going to be going off lectionary and staying for a while in the book of Acts.  Last week, we read about Paul’s expansion of what baptism included, not because he was smarter about the sacrament but because he had newer information to share about the life of faith.  This week we listen in on a conversation between merchants about how this Way, this fledgling Christianity, was messing with the order of things.

“Paul has convinced and misled a lot of people,” says the silversmith Demetrius, and we in the 21st century who cannot encounter the news without hearing at least one person disparage another as a liar and a false prophet nod knowingly.  We hear the silversmiths of our time telling us that we must take care not to listen to the ones who would lead us astray.

But Demetrius’ objection to this wandering preacher is not grounded in concern for the spiritual welfare of his fellow merchants, for the souls that are tried in these interesting times.  Professor Joel B. Green of Fuller Theological Seminary writes that, “The concern with prosperity and business sounded in [verse] 27 should not be reduced to simple greed.  Rather, Demetrius speaks truthfully of how fully the temple and its worship are integrated into the whole of the city’s life, so that Paul’s message against idolatry (that is, against gods made with human hands) is a genuine threat to a way of life…Luke thus demonstrates the inherently and inextricably social-political-economics-religious character of the good news, and thus the degree to which its opponents will go to keep the gospel from upsetting conventional life.”[7]

“To me, God and country are tied” said the woman who had been part of a symbolic attack on the country, and we who claim the identity of both American and Christian must take a hard look at what these things mean in relationship to each other.  The silversmith Demetrius stirred up resentment against this interloper Paul not because Paul was preaching something harmful to the spiritual health of the followers of Artemis but because he was preaching something against the whole structure of that faith system.  Followers of the Way could not also be followers of Artemis, purchasers of sacrifices for her temple or silver models for later worship.  The Way set up a separate and opposing religion in a time when one’s religion was the guiding rule of one’s life—how time was spent, how money was spent, what held paramount importance in daily lists of being.  In fact, Demetrius’ speech of how this preacher Paul is sullying the honor of the great goddess Artemis uses the Greek word “kathaireo,” translated in the Common English Bible as “extinguished” but meaning also “to put down by force, to dethrone, to destroy, to overpower.”[8]

The lectionary gospel text for today is John 1:43–51, when Jesus calls Philip and Nathanael.  “Follow Me,” Jesus says, and it is not a light request.  Jesus does not say “follow when convenient” or “if you have a moment next Tuesday, I have this really neat idea about the Kingdom I’d like to bounce off you.”  Rather, Jesus says follow and He means now, in this moment, knowing that life will never be the same.  Paul is preaching that kind of Jesus and that kind of faith life that follows, which is decidedly awkward for anyone who has been making a decent living making silver models for a goddess that is not going the same direction.

I cannot fault Demetrius for wanting his life to stay the same, for wanting his business to stay the same, because God knows I have had my fair share of frustration when this God we hail as Christ comes knocking about my well-laid plans and my comfortable patterns, inviting me into something that requires I find new business, new patterns, new plans.  And I cannot fault the West Texas florist or all the other white Christian nationalists who want the convenience of being able to roll their flags into one so that they don’t have to buy a second flagpole to show that they fight for the Church and the country alike.  That kind of simplification is easy.  It’s familiar.  It doesn’t require me to change the ideas and actions that support my world as I know it.  It doesn’t have this exhausting level of historical epochs every three days.

However, I can and absolutely must, as a person of faith, fault Demetrius and the West Texan and the people denouncing this week’s impeachment for their actions intended to ensure that such easiness and familiarity remain undisturbed.  There is nothing faithful about enacting violence to protect the status quo simply because change is hard.  Today’s text continues, “The city was thrown into turmoil.  They rushed as one into the theater.  They seized Gaius and Aristarchus, Paul’s traveling companions from the province of Macedonia.  Paul wanted to appear before the assembly, but the disciples wouldn’t allow him.  Even some officials of the province of Asia, who were Paul’s friends, sent word to him, urging him not to risk going into the theater.  Meanwhile the assembly was in a state of confusion.  Some shouted one thing, others shouted something else, and most of the crowd didn’t know why they had gathered.”[9]

Sound familiar?  Demetrius and his compatriots decided that they did not like the threat of this religion centered around a God you couldn’t buy in the marketplace, a God Who advocated not for giving more money to the temple but for giving it to the poor, a God Who showed by example that faithfulness was not building an ostentatious home shrine but by listening to the marginalized, refusing to ignore the orphaned and downtrodden, and living into the reality that every single human being has value as a beloved creation.  This was and is a God Who can never be reduced to the patriotism of a single nation; Who blesses all who love in the name of a Christ executed by the State and raised by the Spirit; Who abhors violence enacted in the name of power; Who, as journalist Finley Peter Dunne said, “comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable.”

Do you hear that call, Church?  Do you hear the way we are invited to follow not because our jobs and our parades and our beliefs will thus be protected but precisely because there is more to the story than we yet know?  Do you have space in your life where you can say, “Hello, my name is Christian and I do not equate God with any of my creations because God is infinitely more and is disturbing the calm waters of what I understand every single day”?

Tomorrow is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day here in the United States.  Normally it is a day of service, a day to take off from our everyday jobs and volunteer to help the communities in which we live with our time and our labor.  This year will be different because of the distancing requirements; I encourage you to turn to donations as you can, whether it be financial or food-based or clothing or whatever.  St. Luke’s will have some suggestions of places asking for specific kinds of donations on our Facebook page later today, as well as listings of virtual events to commemorate the legacy of this man who dreamed of equity.

In one of his most famous writings, “A Letter from Birmingham Jail,” King wrote to the white religious leaders of the South who had spoken out about King’s protests being uncomfortable, too confrontational, as pushing too far away from familiar bases, completely dishonoring the great god of the socially polite.  “I must make two honest confessions to you, my Christian and Jewish brothers,” pens King.  “First, I must confess that over the last few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in the stride toward freedom is not the White Citizens Councillor or the Ku Klux Klanner but the white moderate who is more devoted to order than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says, ‘I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I can’t agree with your methods of direct action’; who paternalistically feels that he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by the myth of time; and who constantly advises the Negro to wait until a ‘more convenient season.’ Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.”[10]

I who am a white religious leader must read this and read it again and read it again because it is so, so easy for me to say that the request for me to speak against white Christian nationalism is disturbing my easy living, that the demand for me to push for actual inclusion beyond printed banners over locked doors poses a danger by discrediting my trade, that this God Who does not care about my propriety is threatening to dethrone the much more manageable god I have created that does.  But I call to you, fellow Christians, to hear this call with me:  there is a great disturbance erupting about the Way.  We have no temple of Artemis in silver miniature to protect, but have we not built our steeple-topped churches into Hallmark models we fight hard to keep while the homeless fall to the wayside?  There is a battle amidst our faith right now of whether God and country are truly the same, whether we are going to start a riot because our business is threatened, whether we are going to humble ourselves before the Holy I Am and say that we choose this day whom we will serve,[11] fully and completely, even if it wrecks our plans and pushes us into very interesting times that try our souls indeed.

If we do not have our country, God’s call to love still matters.  If we do not have our silversmithing, God’s call to love still matters.  If we do not have comfortable distance between us and the injustices on the news, God’s call to love still matters.  If we do not have any room to say that we are not implicated by the racism, violence, and fear of this country, God’s call to love still matters because above all else, God’s call to love still matters.  The Spirit has tapped the waters and the ripples are trying our souls but the good news, the good news is that our souls are in very good hands.  All you who are weary of these interesting times, come to Christ and He will give you rest.

And then, renewed, we shall be set loose once more to speak of the God Who is disturbing the comfortable and refusing the box of human limitation.  May the Spirit’s strength infuse us to take up this call and claim a Christianity that has no use for national boundaries or economic limitations, here in the days after Epiphany where all are welcome, welcome to this faith.  Amen.

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