The Preacher’s Study
Second Sunday of Easter, Year C
D. Jay Koyle and Sarah Sanderson-Doughty
Acts 5.27-32;
Psalm 118.14-29 or Psalm 150;
Revelation 1.4-8;
John 20: 19-31
Four years ago, one of us (Sarah) earned a PhD from Vanderbilt.
Her stay in Nashville was a rich and cherished time. However, with a few chapters
of the dissertation still to complete, she left the area to pastor a
congregation in Indiana. Bursaries, scholarships, and loans only take you so
far, after all.
A couple years later, writing now complete, Sarah returned to Vanderbilt
for her dissertation defense. She sported a shorter hairstyle than when in
Nashville, had been working out and was in better shape, and, of course, was dressed
in a business suit and heels, quite different apparel than her typical grad
school attire.
People who know her well, people who love her, came into the
room and walked right past her as if they’d never met her before. She
called to each by name. Each one did a double take, a jaw drop, and then a “run
and embrace.”
She didn’t realize it, but in appearance at least, she had
undergone an extreme makeover in the nearly two years since departing
Nashville.
We recalled the incident as we once again took in scene five
of that blockbuster sequel to Luke’s Gospel, the Acts of the Apostles. Watching Peter, we felt something of what
Sarah’s student colleagues must have experienced on that defense day.
We are quite familiar with Peter. He features prominently in
any version of the Jesus Story, especially those scenes covering the week of Palms
to Passion.
Peter blusters with big, brash promises and then runs for
cover. He professes his willingness to die with Jesus until his Lord is a
thorn’s distance from death.
However, something is different by the time Acts 5 hits the screen. Peter stands up
boldly to the very authorities he claims played a part in Jesus’ death. He bravely
disobeys legislation about mixing politics and religion, swearing allegiance to
God and God alone.
This is Peter unafraid: extreme makeover, to say the least.
It’s not just Peter either. All the apostles with him fled, deserted,
crumbled when Jesus met his end. Now they’re standing firm together,
facing down those with great earthly power, laying claim to greater power, and preaching
even when commanded to be silent.
Extreme makeovers! Peter and the apostles are made over from
the inside. They are changed people. New hearts and lives! They have
encountered the risen presence of Christ. They have been given, as they make
quite plain, the Holy Spirit—God’s own being dwelling inside them. It’s this
makeover that has turned them into witnesses to the good news of Jesus Christ,
who though brutally killed, somehow lives and is exalted, and is on the loose changing
lives.
Extreme makeovers. Changed lives. These are the fruits of walking
the Lenten journey and venturing through the Passover waters with Christ. The
Great Fifty Days of Easter is prime time for preaching that names such
transformation as people today encounter the risen Christ and are gifted with
the Spirit.
Of course, preachers must acknowledge the reality that –
sometimes with good reason, sometimes not – the notion of lives changing in any
substantial way is something many people find hard to swallow. All of us have
been issued promises that things will be different from the spouse or parent or
child that keeps repeating the same bad behavior.
We perceive a steady stream of politicians that set out to change
Washington or Ottawa or City Hall only to end up looking like carbon copies of
their predecessors.
We struggle with congregations, perhaps even our own, that
want to be vital and grow, but are unwilling to undergo any personal change
that might let that happen, or can’t get past the inertia that stymies such
renewal.
If we are honest, we can become most cynical about the
possibility of change when we look at our own life, when certain habits of
heart and mind seem intractable, relentless, permanent.
That’s why preachers need to look around in these Great Fifty
Days and lift up the extreme makeovers in our midst – especially the newly
baptized – whose changed lives serve as icons of the Paschal Mystery for all of
us.
One of us (Jay)
remembers speaking of the young person for whom a Maundy Thursday liturgy
served as a catalyst for transformation. He was one of those seemingly rare
teens who kept “coming to church” on a weekly basis. Still, he felt something
was missing in his faith. He perched himself in the back pew and watched as one
by one people removed their shoes and made their way to the front to wash one
another's feet. Moved to tears, a new insight passed over his lips. “That's
it!” he said. “Faith becomes full only when you dare to serve.” He ended
inspiring and involving his congregation in his work with homeless individuals
in the inner city. Extreme makeovers. Changed lives.
Jay also has spoken of the time a seventeen-year-old
stood before the same congregation. It was a Sunday service, one brisk November
morning, during the gathering rite of the liturgy. As an inquirer for over a
year, the young man had leaned forward in his pew, Sunday after Sunday, marking
each sermon’s words with determined attention. As the weeks became months, a
growing number of parishioners established a supportive relationship with him,
among them some of the other teenagers who uncharacteristically hauled
themselves out of bed one Saturday morning a month to load boxes at the food
bank, and gathered every other week on Friday evenings for frivolous fun or
frank faith-sharing or both. Now, as Advent loomed on the horizon, he was
declaring publically his desire to chart a course toward the Font. He asked of
the church that he might share with us in hearing God’s word and serving people
in need. His request and subsequent passage to baptism yielded renewal not only
in him, but also in many others who confessed they did not really realize what
we share as church until they “heard that young man ask for it.” Extreme
makeovers. Changed lives.
Modern-day Catechumenate pioneer and APLM Council member
Robert Brooks tells of a woman he knew in his congregation in Texas. Judy was a
catechumen in her late twenties. As part of her catechumenal formation, she
joined with others reflecting on the scriptures served up by the lectionary
week by week. She also cultivated the practice of Christian service by
volunteering in local nursing homes. Quickly, she became so appalled by the
conditions she saw in these facilities that she became an advocate for the
rights of seniors, testifying before the State legislature and summoning her
congregation to take part in what proved to be the successful lobby for reform
in the nursing home industry of Texas. As a result, people who would have
otherwise been incapacitated or died received a much higher standard of care,
and a congregation was called back to the discipleship already theirs through
baptism. Extreme makeovers. Changed lives.
As God breathed into the dust of the earth and called forth
humanity, so the risen Christ breathes into the dry bones of an unsuspecting
church and calls forth a new humanity. Extreme makeovers. Changed lives.
Oh, when we go forth, it is likely people will hardly
recognize us at first. Once they do, though, they also will see the risen
Christ, the One that gives himself and us for the life of the world.
After many years’ experience as a pastor and
professor, Jay serves as Congregational Development Officer for the Diocese of
Algoma, and chair of Faith, Worship and Ministry for The Anglican Church of
Canada. He is past president of The Associated Parishes for Liturgy and
Mission, and is featured regularly as a conference speaker across North
America.
Sarah Sanderson-Doughty is Pastor and Head of Staff of
St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church, Portland, Oregon. She is the author of a
recently released book, Words
on Being: Sermons 2002-2018,
published by Parson’s Porch. Sarah, her
husband, Kevin, and their daughter, Caroline, love board games, exploring
nature, and sharing great food with people.
“Jesus Appears to Thomas,” by
Jacek Andrzej Rossakiewicz (1990)
“When the day of Pentecost came,” by
Mark A. Hewitt, pastel pen, 2012 larrypatten.com
