Acts
10:34-43
34 Then Peter began to speak to them: "I truly understand that God
shows no partiality, 35 but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what
is right is acceptable to him. 36 You know the message he sent to the people of
Israel, preaching peace by Jesus Christ—he is Lord of all. 37 That message
spread throughout Judea, beginning in Galilee after the baptism that John
announced: 38 how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with
power; how he went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the
devil, for God was with him. 39 We are witnesses to all that he did both in
Judea and in Jerusalem. They put him to death by hanging him on a tree; 40 but
God raised him on the third day and allowed him to appear, 41 not to all the
people but to us who were chosen by God as witnesses, and who ate and drank
with him after he rose from the dead. 42 He commanded us to preach to the
people and to testify that he is the one ordained by God as judge of the living
and the dead. 43 All the prophets testify about him that everyone who believes
in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name."
It was the afternoon of the Sunday before Thanksgiving,
2010, and I was sitting in a chair facing the priest, directly behind a lectern,
in the sanctuary of St. Michael’s and All Angels in Anniston. It was the annual
Interfaith Thanksgiving Service, and I had been asked to deliver the sermon
that year. The order of worship followed very closely to the Episcopal
tradition, so the sermon was closer to the middle of the service than the end, and
I had to keep the bulletin in my hand to be sure I didn’t miss my turn. After
the lessons from the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament were read, and after a
prayer or two had been offered, it was my time to deliver the sermon. I rose
from the chair and walked behind the lectern that stood on the left side of the
chancel (praying that the antique floor boards wouldn’t creak too loudly under
the weight of this big Baptist). I swallowed real hard, opened the folder with
my notes, and then looked out on the congregation in that lovely room.
Truth be told, the chapel at St. Michael’s isn’t huge,
but it felt enormous that night, especially with folks standing
shoulder-to-shoulder in the back. As I looked out on that congregation, I
remember seeing all kinds of faces, all looking my direction, waiting to hear
if I was going to be worth their time or just another Baptist who rambles on,
always teasing an ending with the words “in conclusion…” There were the faces
of black men and women, white men and women, Hispanic men and women, the faces
of homeless folks, well-to-do rich folks, the faces of Jews, Muslims,
Methodists, Presbyterians, Episcopalians, Lutherans, Catholics, Pentecostals,
and yes, even a few not-so-bashful
Baptists. As I took it all in, the crowd of diverse faces and faiths, I began
to feel the real weight of the task set before me. It’s a little like what I
imagine Peter must have felt when he stood before Cornelius and his court in
Caesarea.
In the tenth chapter of Acts, we are introduced to a man
named Cornelius, a Roman military official (a centurion), who has a vision of
an angel from God telling him to find Peter (the disciple of Jesus).[1] Around the same time the
next day, Peter has his own vision from God, involving a sheet that comes down
from heaven (three times) with all kinds of animals, both clean and unclean
according the Jewish dietary laws, and a voice from heaven tells Peter to “Get
up…kill and eat…What God has made clean, you must not call profane.”[2]
Peter’s vision was a sort of foreshadowing of his encounter with Cornelius, one
whom the Jews of the day would have considered “unclean,” a Gentile. Peter was
found by Cornelius’s men, and he agreed to accompany them back to Caesarea,
where he found many people assembled—many Gentiles—and there Cornelius
explained to Peter the vision he had. Then, in verse 33, Cornelius says to Peter, “…now all of us are here in the
presence of God to listen to all that the Lord has commanded you to say.”
I imagine Peter swallowed real hard, then looked out at the assembly of folks
gathered there (mostly Gentiles), and realized the weight of what he was about
to say. And the first thing Peter says is “I truly understand that God shows no
partiality…”
Now come on. Really? Had Peter forgotten his Sunday School
lessons? Had he forgotten all of those stories from the Hebrew Scriptures about
God calling Israel his “chosen people?” Had Peter forgotten the words from
books like Ezra that spoke about the people of Israel bringing a curse on
themselves for marrying foreign
women?[3] Had Peter forgotten those
stories like the one where God commanded Saul to kill all of the Amalekites, including “the women, children
and infants, cattle and sheep, camels and donkeys"?[4] Seems to me, Peter hadn’t
been reading his Bible if he’s going to go around saying, “God shows no partiality,” because
God seemed to show a whole lot of partiality in those ancient stories.
I suppose Peter didn’t look around himself a whole lot either,
because it sure seems like God shows at least a little partiality when it comes
to the way some folks have it made. Yes, there are those folks who live in the
big houses, up on the hillside, with servants and swimming pools, three-car
garages, and crystal chandeliers. Then there are those folks who wallow in the
gutter, scratching around for some discarded change or a scrap of something to
eat. Some folks might say it’s all a matter of work ethic, pulling yourself up
by your bootstraps, that sort of thing, but to others it sure seems like God favors
some folks over others.
Or what about when you turn on the news, and there are
stories about the millions of refugees fleeing from Syria into Europe, how they
have to sleep in camps and cook on open fires, all the while you sleep safe,
dry, and warm in your bed at night? Or what about those children born with
congenital deformities, who can’t walk, run, or play, those kids who can only
sit in their wheelchairs while the other kids kick the ball around the yard?
Seems like there’s some divine favoritism at work there doesn’t it? I suppose
Peter forgot about all of that.
I suppose he forgot about how so many people claim that
they are favored by God, that God is on their
side, and by “their side” they mean the white side, black side, the rich side,
the poor side, the American side, the Republican side, the Democrat side, the
conservative side, the liberal side, or any side on which they tend to find
themselves. While Peter may have preached that God doesn’t play favorites, it
surely seems that so many others are ready and willing to believe that God
actually does. There is something within us that makes us want to believe that
we are somehow valued by God over those who are different from us, especially
those who are different in ways we don’t like. There is something in us that
makes us want to choose sides, draw lines, put up fences, build walls, and
apply labels so we can separate “us” from “them,” the “favored” from the
“cursed,” the “better” form the “worse.” Even as people of faith, as
Christians, we do this, and it’s so engrained in us, we don’t even realize it.
I was at the Wal-Mart down in
Anniston one evening; I had to run in to pick up a gallon jug of Milo’s tea for
Sallie to take to school (or something). I parked on the right side of the
store, went through the automatic doors, and as I made my way towards the back
where they keep the eggs, milk, sour cream, and jugs of Milo’s tea, I had that
odd feeling, that feeling that someone was following me. It was a man in a
grey, hooded sweatshirt. He had a knit cap on his head, a long beard, and brown
skin. I’m not at all proud of this, but he honestly made me a bit nervous; I
was afraid he was going to ask me for something, some kind of a handout
possibly. I tried not to make eye contact with the man, even taking a stroll
through the baking aisle where they keep the butterscotch chips and candles
shaped like numbers for birthday cakes. I swear, he followed me down that
aisle. When I got to the cooler, I quickly reached down to grab a jug, hoping
to get it as quick as I could to begin my exit from that place, but then I
heard this stranger say, “Excuse me. Sir?”
At first I ignored him, hoping maybe
he was trying to get someone else’s attention, but he said it again, “Excuse
me. Sir?” When I turned around, he was almost standing directly behind me, and
he looked me in the eyes and asked, “Are you a pastor?” Now, I don’t wear a
collar, nor do I wear a name badge (most of the time), and I don’t go around
Wal-Mart in a suit and tie with a Bible tucked under my arm. I wish I could
tell you he knew I was a pastor because of the way I smiled and interacted with
the folks in Wal-Mart that evening, or how the flowers perked up and the sun
shone whenever I walked through the garden center, or that he knew because
there was a shining aura of holiness glittering off the halo that hovered a few
inches from my scalp….I wish I could tell you that. The truth is, though, he
knew me from my articles in The Anniston
Star, especially since my articles always run with Muhhamad Haq’s, the Imam
of the Anniston Islamic Center, of which this man was a member.
This Muslim man, whom I had been hastily trying to avoid, went on to tell
me how much he appreciated my articles and my willingness to befriend the Imam.
He told me how so many people were afraid of him, simply because of his faith,
and then, something strange (maybe miraculous) happened. I told him I was glad
to have met him, and I stretched my hand out to shake his, but he wouldn’t
shake my hand. No, instead, he threw his arms around me and hugged me. Then, he
left me there, holding my jug of tea and my shattered sense of favoritism. I
remember thinking as I scanned the barcode on the plastic jug in the
self-check-out aisle, “Who acted more like Jesus this evening, the Muslim or
the Christian minister?”
You see, Peter’s very first words of this sermon in Acts 10 are in and of
themselves radical: “God shows no partiality.” God doesn’t play favorites.
Yes, the Bible speaks of God choosing people, of God electing others, of God
“showing favor” to still others, but what if that favoritism isn’t about
drawing boundaries or separating people based on manmade labels, ethnic
differences, or class? What if the whole reason God ever chooses anyone is so
they might be used by God to share the Good News of Christ’s love to others?
What if we’ve got the whole idea of “chosen-ness” wrong? What if in our drawing
of lines, in our labeling, in our setting of boundaries, all we’ve done is cut
our own tombs in the rock? What if, as Christians, our role in this world isn’t
to cloister together, to hide under steeples, behind our Bibles, but to show
the world—actually show
the world!—the love of Christ?
You see, when Peter (a Jew) declares to Cornelius and his audience
(Gentiles) that “God shows no
partiality,” he is testifying to the truth of Easter Sunday, that Christ is no longer
in the tomb, that death no longer has any power, that whatever ends we may
create, whatever divisions we may craft to keep us in our own, safe little
tombs, Christ has liberated us from even those! Because God doesn’t play
favorites! That means whatever you have, whatever you are, that makes you think
you are better than someone else—anyone else—those are only things that keep
you dead in your own tomb of self-righteousness! Christ is alive, and calling
you out from those graves! Christ is calling each of us to be his disciples,
not so we may lord it over the world, not so we may claim some special level of
favoritism, but so that we might show the love of Christ to this world, that we
might raise this world from death to new life with the resurrection power of
the Holy Spirit!
What does that
look like? It looks like someone giving of themselves to others, despite who
those others are. It looks like someone giving a cup of cold water to someone
who’s thirsty. It looks like people from different countries coming together to
help those seeking asylum and refuge from terror in a foreign land. It looks
like a Pope, on his hands and knees, washing and kissing the feet of eight men
and four women—Christian, Hindu, and Muslim refugees—in an act of service and
love. It looks like you and me not being satisfied with a faith that promises us eternal comfort and glory,
while guaranteeing eternal torment and punishment for others, but rather us striving to share this gospel, this
love of God with whomever we meet in such real ways that they can’t help but
believe it’s true. Because friends, we can preach the gospel, that Jesus is
alive, from the rooftops, we can shout it from street corners, we can televise
it worldwide and stream it over the internet 24/7, but if all we ever do is
talk about it, if all we ever do is speak it, if all we ever do is claim it for
ourselves and then hide it under a bushel basket, tuck it under our pews, draw
lines around it, label others as “unworthy unbelievers” and hold them at arm’s
length from it, then I’m afraid we don’t really believe the truth of Easter
Sunday and we don’t believe those words from Peter to Cornelius.
Let us be
faithful followers of the Risen Lord, extending the love of Jesus to everyone.
Let us be true disciples of a resurrected Christ and come out from the graves
we’ve made for ourselves in our sin, our selfishness, our self-righteousness. Let
us seek the Savior who is Lord of all, whose triumph over death has made a way
for all of us where there seemed to be no way for any of us. God doesn’t play
favorites, and that means you’re not better than anyone in the eyes of God, but
thanks be to God that means there’s no one better than you in God’s eyes either.
Jesus, the Resurrected Son of God, God in the flesh, is Lord of all;
he doesn’t play favorites. And if God doesn’t play favorites, what right do we
have to do that? Amen.
