Numbered among the Twelve: Numbered with St. Matthias: Acts 1:10-26

 Ordinary Time

10 While he was going away and as they were staring toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood next to them. 11 They said, “Galileans, why are you standing here, looking toward heaven? This Jesus, who was taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way that you saw him go into heaven.”

12 Then they returned to Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives, which is near Jerusalem—a sabbath day’s journey away. 13 When they entered the city, they went to the upstairs room where they were staying. Peter, John, James, and Andrew; Philip and Thomas; Bartholomew and Matthew; James, Alphaeus’ son; Simon the zealot; and Judas, James’ son— 14 all were united in their devotion to prayer, along with some women, including Mary the mother of Jesus, and his brothers.

15 During this time, the family of believers was a company of about one hundred twenty persons. Peter stood among them and said, 16 “Brothers and sisters, the scripture that the Holy Spirit announced beforehand through David had to be fulfilled. This was the scripture concerning Judas, who became a guide for those who arrested Jesus. 17 This happened even though he was one of us and received a share of this ministry.” (18 In fact, he bought a field with the payment he received for his injustice. Falling headfirst, he burst open in the middle and all his intestines spilled out. 19 This became known to everyone living in Jerusalem, so they called that field in their own language Hakeldama, or “Field of Blood.”) 20 “It is written in the Psalms scroll,

Let his home become deserted and let there be no one living in it;

and

Give his position of leadership to another.

21 “Therefore, we must select one of those who have accompanied us during the whole time the Lord Jesus lived among us, 22 beginning from the baptism of John until the day when Jesus was taken from us. This person must become along with us a witness to his resurrection.” 23 So they nominated two: Joseph called Barsabbas, who was also known as Justus, and Matthias.

24 They prayed, “Lord, you know everyone’s deepest thoughts and desires. Show us clearly which one you have chosen from among these two 25 to take the place of this ministry and apostleship, from which Judas turned away to go to his own place.” 26 When they cast lots, the lot fell on Matthias. He was added to the eleven apostles.  (CEB)

 

          I’ve been reading a series called “Green Creek” by TJ Klune; beautiful series, very long but worth it.  It’s about werewolves. 

          It’s also about family, and pack, and what it means to belong, and how much belonging matters, and how the magic in the earth thrums underneath us and binds us together, and how we are our best selves when we realize we were not made to live this life alone.  Good series.

          In the first book, we meet a werewolf who’s supposed to be part of the framework that protects the main characters from the villain.  He’s allowed into their offices, into their homes, into their lives.  He betrays them, and a couple of pretty significant characters die as a result.

          Another character comes and takes up that same job, a character who has lost his parents and his pack and only wants to belong somewhere, and the pack does not trust him.  They keep him out of their offices, of their homes, of their lives.  This second character who wants nothing more than to be part of something hears, instead, how much his predecessor twisted that possibility.  Are you like him? the pack asks in suspicion and grief.  Will you betray us, too?

          Court Street is spending the summer in a series on the apostles as represented in the beautiful stained glass windows that surround you here in the building.  Today, we’re talking about Matthias—last chosen, rarely remembered.

          Matthias does not have the many stories of Peter or the emotional punch of John.  In fact, the only place Matthias is ever mentioned is in this chapter of Acts.  The Wikipedia article for him starts with the disclaimer that “[a]ll information concerning the ministry and death of Matthias is vague and contradictory.”[1]  Matthias’ window here at Court Street is filled not with things he did but with things that may have killed him—a spear, a double-headed ax, a cross.  There’s great debate on how he died; Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, published in 1563, says of Matthias: “Of whom less is known than of most of the other disciples, [he] was elected to fill the vacant place of Judas.  He was stoned at Jerusalem and then beheaded.”[2]  Matthias, it seems, existed to be chosen and then to die.  But where was his place in this experiment called Church?

          “Brothers and sisters, the scripture that the Holy Spirit announced beforehand through David had to be fulfilled. This was the scripture concerning Judas, who became a guide for those who arrested Jesus.”

          Matthias, who seems to have been interchangeable with Joseph-called-Barsabbas-called-Justus in the eyes of the disciples; Matthias, who had followed faithfully from Jesus’ own baptism through all the ministry, through the crucifixion, through the glory of the Resurrection, and now even through the Ascension; Matthias, whose only verse of acknowledgement lives heavily in the shadow of Judas.

          “It seems clear that Judas’ betrayal of Jesus left a deep wound in early Christian communities,” writes Professor Frank L. Crouch.  “One act indelibly marks his name, his history, and the Church’s memory—Judas, the one who betrayed him…Judas was one of the most inside of the insiders…When Jesus sent out disciples to preach, teach, and heal, Judas was among them. Except for John’s allegation that Judas was both betrayer and embezzler, the gospels offer no mention that, prior to Gethsemane, Judas was any less gifted or effective than any other of the twelve.”[3]

          Are you like him?  Will you betray us, too?

          Acts, Luke’s sequel to his gospel, is less history and more marketing; Luke is telling the story of how the Church came to be and how the foundations were laid after Jesus’ earthy help was over.  Jesus Himself doesn’t even make it past chapter one before exiting stage…well, up, and then the disciples are left to figure out what next.  Jesus tells them—Jesus is always telling them—that what next isn’t going to be what they think it is and they need to wait for the Advocate to come before making any serious moves, but they’ve had an extraordinary couple of months and now watched their teacher and friend leave in an even more impressive manner than the stories of Elijah taken up on a fiery chariot.

          They can be forgiven, I think, for wanting to get some ducks in some rows.

          The group returns to an upper room—perhaps that Upper Room, we don’t know—and prays in unity before they gather 120 believers to talk about what’s next.  The Church is starting to take shape, and Peter stands to speak—because of course it’s Peter, of course it’s Peter, it’s always Peter, especially now that he’s been vindicated and reassured by the risen Christ Himself.  And Peter says, “Brothers and sisters, the scripture that the Holy Spirit announced beforehand through David had to be fulfilled.”

          He references a pair of Psalms, including, “Give his leadership to another.”[4]  It’s a brutal psalm of grief, detailing the words the psalmist heard from those who would undermine him, replace him, dishonor him.  It’s fascinating that Peter is using words of villains to set this meeting, but perhaps that’s a different sermon.  Here, maybe Peter was also thinking of the what’s next in terms of this group of Jewish believers shifting into something new and realizing they weren’t ready.  Jesus Himself referenced their structure at the Last Supper when He answered the disciples’ bickering about which of them is the greatest by saying, “You are those who have stood by me in my trials, and I confer on you, just as my Father has conferred on me, a kingdom, so that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom, and you will sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel.”[5]

          All twelve tribes have to be represented.  This faith, this Christianity will be laughed out of the Temple if it starts with such an obvious lack, a bleeding wound of betrayal overshadowing everything else in the message.  All twelve thrones must have someone in them.  “Give his leadership to another.”  The Church cannot move forward without it.

          Enter Matthias.

          “We must select one of those who have accompanied us during the whole time the Lord Jesus lived among us, beginning from the baptism of John until the day when Jesus was taken from us. This person must become along with us a witness to his resurrection.”  Matthias was no Johnny-come-lately; he was a tried-and-true follower, a man who had been there for the mystery, the miracles, the murder.  He had seen the dove settle above Jesus in the Jordan; who knows how many conversations he himself had had with Jesus as one of the outer circle of disciples.  He may not have been on the administrative board, but he was definitely more than a Christmas-and-Easter-only attendee.

          Yet his faithfulness seems to be no more than that of Joseph, called Barsabbas, called Justus.  The gathered disciples prayed, and threw lots, and the name of God if not an exciting appearance of God chooses Matthias—and he is never mentioned again.  And in the lists of the apostles like the one in Luke 6, he’s not there; it is Judas, the betrayer, the remembered.  Matthias is forever the disciple who is not—not Judas, not Joseph, not one of the originals, not called by Jesus Himself.

          Are you like him?  Will you betray us, too?

          I watched Pastor Jeremy’s devotional videos from the pandemic on the windows and he mentions about Matthias, “Sometimes I wonder if maybe Matthias felt like he had something to prove.”  Truly his apocryphal record is full of travel and danger; “According to Nicephorus (Historia eccl., 2, 40), Matthias first preached the Gospel in Judaea, then in Aethiopia (by the region of Colchis, now in modern-day Georgia) and was crucified.  An extant Coptic Acts of Andrew and Matthias places his activity similarly in ‘the city of the cannibals’ in Aethiopia.”[6]

          Did he have to introduce himself in every new space as Judas’ replacement?  Did he have to bear the stares, the questions, the uncertainty: Are you like him?  Will you betray us, too?  Did he have to explain that the prayer to a God Who knows “everyone’s deepest thoughts and desires” chose him, chose him, that he was a real, true, actual apostle, chosen for more than a martyr’s death?

          We still do this, the Church.  Any organization of any longevity does this.  “When she was the youth leader, we did…”  “When the old pastor was here, it was much better to do…”  “Oh, you didn’t hear about when the organist left?  Well, let me tell you…”  The shadows of the Body of Christ can grow long and even the best-intentioned of us reach backward to tell newcomers who they’re like, who held the position before, who used to be connected but isn’t.  It’s part of community, of pack, of church to tell the story of how we got here.

But when the shadows are filled with sharpness, the wounds go deep.  I worked with a colleague in a church that had split into two separate congregations over the firing of their music director.  I’ve worked in a church where the anger at a former pastor meant no one wanted to serve on committees just in case I asked of them what he’d asked, in case I led like he had.  Are you like him?  Will you betray us, too?  We can poison ourselves if we’re not prayer-filled and mindful as we look at each newcomer with suspicion, ignoring who they are and how they belong because we hurt so much from the one before.   

We don’t get Matthias’ reaction to being chosen.  We don’t get Matthias’ story, period; we don’t get how he felt when Jesus fed the five thousand or whether he wept, too, when Lazarus died.  We don’t get any stirring sermons in the fledgling Church or his amazed joy as a tongue of fire danced on his head.  We only get that someone needed to replace Judas—the betrayer, the wound, the remembered.  We only get that he wasn’t Joseph called Barsabbas, that prayer found him and then the Church forgot him.

But so much of Scripture is reading between the lines.  We also get that Matthias had staying power, had faithfulness, had a deep enough belief in this Jesus that Matthias, too, left whatever plow or boat or desk he had and followed without any flashy call story at all.  We get the shape of a man who said, “Yes,” and “yes,” and “yes” over and over again, serving from the long, long shadow, answering over and over that he would not betray them, faithful even unto death.

How many people have come to our wounded spaces and said “yes, I will serve” and we have asked are you like him, her, them?  Have we celebrated their gifts, allowed them to be something more, something entirely different than the person before them?  Perhaps it is you who stand in the shadow of someone else, faithfully following while the conversation all around you speaks another’s name.  Perhaps it is you who hears, Will you betray us, too?

Professor John C. Holbert writes of Jesus’ ascension, “Jesus then gives them, and us, our marching orders. ‘You will receive a power from the Holy Spirit, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria and to the end of the earth’ (Acts 1:8). And Luke follows that general geographical outline as he tells his series of dramatic tales, beginning with the Spirit's fall in Jerusalem (Acts 2) and ending with Paul's open preaching in Rome (Acts 28), the ‘end of the earth’ of the Roman world in which Luke lives.”[7] 

Matthias was part of that power, working from the background quietly, faithfully, fully.  He has four verses of screen time and it matters, it matters that we remember his name, that we put him in stained glass windows, that we count him as apostle because God builds the Kingdom with everyone who comes with a willing heart.  God sees each of us as we are without the weight of someone else’s name, without all of the layers we complicated humans ascribe.  Every single one of us belongs even when the Church forgets about us, when the stories are all about Judas and never Matthias.  God does not forget us.  God does not overwrite us. 

Are you like him? the wolves in my book series ask.  The character isn’t.  Matthias isn’t.  Quietly, unremarkably, he did the ministry God set for him, and the Church scarred over the betrayal of Judas, and Court Street put Matthias in a window.  We, too, must live our own stories and never anyone else’s; do not let the shadows of others cover the light of God in you, and do not try to cover the faithfulness of others with the heavy weight of the ones before.  Every new person is a new person, diverse and wonderful unto themselves, known and celebrated by the God Who calls them.  How marvelous.  How holy.

Would you pray with me?

God of all people, God of all stories, we thank You for the ways in which You remain at work with and without us.  We thank You for seeing faithfulness where we may not be ready or able to, and we thank You for helping us to heal from unfaithfulness in all its forms.  Teach us to be as true as Matthias, sticking close to You in all things, and keep us from the temptation of trying to make those around us into echoes of their predecessors.  In all things, Holy and Living Spirit, remind us that we are Yours, Yours, Yours, no matter what institutions or structures may say.  This we pray in the name of the risen Christ.  Amen.



[2] William Byron Forbush, ed.  Foxe’s Book of Martyrs: A History of the Lives, Sufferings and Triumphant Deaths of the Early Christian and the Protestant Martyrs (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1967), 3.

[4] This is Psalm 109:8; the other is Psalm 69:25, and some have said Peter had 41:9 on his mind as well.

[5] Luke 22:28–30, NRSVue

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