Earlier this week, I was chatting with my lectionary group – a group of clergy who gather to talk through the weekly lectionary readings and foster some thoughts for preaching. One of my colleagues, the Rev. Elizabeth Grasham, emailed an old sermon of hers on this text to the group, in case it helped spark some sermon inspiration. I read through it, and my friends, it was so good, I asked her if I could adapt it for my own use. I believe in always giving credit where credit is due; some of the words I share with you today are hers.
It’s often said that no good deed goes unpunished. Paul and Silas had come to Phillipi to share the gospel. But trouble began when Paul did the good deed of exorcising a spirit from an enslaved woman. She was owned and used by merchants of Philippi, because she was possessed by a spirit of divination they believed was sent by Apollo. Philippi was a stronghold of the worship of Apollo, so the merchants were wealthy from her possession. When Paul exorcised the spirit from the girl, he cut off their source of money and hence power. So they dragged Paul and Silas to the city-square, riled up the crowd with anti-semitic lies about them, which eventually led to their brutal beating and imprisonment. Talk about punishment for a good deed.
The jailer entrusted with them threw them deep into the prison and locked their feet in stocks. But Paul & Silas sang psalms despite their torture and imprisonment, until an earthquake shook everyone loose. And what did the jailer do? “When the jailer awoke and saw the open doors of the prison, he thought the prisoners had escaped, so he drew his sword and was about to kill himself.” But Paul and Silas, who could have stayed hidden and silent while their jailer killed himself, who could have allowed the violence and death to continue because it might benefit them, interrupted. “Paul shouted loudly, “Don’t harm yourself! We’re all here!”
What makes this story remarkable is that there is much more liberation happening here than just the obvious. What makes this story about the transformative power of Jesus Christ is that the oppressors are liberated right along with the oppressed. The liberation begins with the enslaved woman, but Paul and Silas keep that momentum going until God’s earthquake comes and the jailer himself, the ultimate oppressor, says yes to the liberation of Jesus.
Because everything can change when we reject the powers and principalities of this world which profit from violence and death.
We’ve been journeying through the book of Acts since Easter, and one theme has resounded over and over and over again: The Kingdom of God, animated by the Spirit, and opened up by the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, is wholly unlike anything we’ve ever been a part of. It is not constituted by political structure or national border; it is not limited to people of particular genders, or languages, or even religious origin. This kingdom will experience violence against its members, but never retaliate. This kingdom will experience suffering, but never return suffering. This kingdom will be marked by radical sharing of resources, and power, and welcome, and by the radical nature of God in Christ himself. This kingdom will be known in healing, in shared meals, in worship, in liberation, and in self-giving love. And make no mistake – this kingdom is a THREAT. It threatens all other structures, all other Kingdoms which strive for power with violence, exclusion, alienation, division, lies, and death. So we also see in Acts, over and over and over again, a resistance to the early church, resistance to the joy and goodness of the gospel in the form of stonings and mob-violence and persecution and lies and the unjust rulings of both religious and political bodies. But when Paul’s enemy, this jailer who threw him in stocks, falls to his knees in front of him and begs for a path to salvation, Paul gives it. Because in the Kingdom of God? Enemies receive mercy, receive grace, and receive the reconciling love of God in Jesus. Belonging to Jesus means: A sword laid down never gets picked back up.
But the truth is: None of us, in our hearts, wholeheartedly embrace the reality of God’s kingdom. That seated at God’s table will be people you don’t think deserve to be there. And people who don’t think YOU deserve to be there. And while we may not be unjustly beaten and imprisoned like Paul and Silas were, we will all be faced with moments when our convictions and loyalty to God’s kingdom are tested. We might imagine that these tests will be heroic, or death-defying, or cinematic. But they’re likely to be more like our text this morning: quiet moments of showing up for our enemies when they are caught up in despair. Responding to the cries of a person who has wronged us with words of promise. Sharing a table of fellowship with those who previously would have done us harm. Holding onto grey area when so many people prefer the comfortable extremes of black and white. Because the suffering, violence, death, and power-struggles are only inevitable in the kingdoms of this world; they are *not* inevitable in the Kingdom of God.
And so, we have to decide which Kingdom we’re loyal to, which Kingdom ethics and ways we’re going to live by. Both Kingdoms laud freedom, but one means the freedom of the individual to do whatever they want and the Other understands freedom as the chance to submit our lives for the good of another. One kingdom speaks of enemies as needing to be jailed, punished, ostracized, or deported; and the other kingdom speaks of them deserving of love, mercy, and redemption. One kingdom encourages us to arm ourselves to protect its interests, but the other tells us to lay down our weapons and carry crosses of loving sacrifice instead. One kingdom says there’s not enough room, there’s not enough resources, there’s not enough for all of us; the other kingdom says that the table is so vast, the resources so abundant, that strangers and enemies and immigrants will eat alongside us. When we choose the Kingdom of God, we must be prepared for the same persecution, push back, and hostilities that Paul and Silas and the early church faced, for God’s kingdom is a threat to all other systems and powers which seek to dominate this world. But when we choose the Kingdom of God – we gain the power to sing in our prisons, to have compassion even for our jailers, to live so transformed that we help others reject the chains that keep them enthralled to systems of death. When we choose the Kingdom of God, good deeds are not punished; they’re the norm. When we choose the Kingdom of God, the way we live becomes a beacon that others can follow into redemption and transformation.
It feels right to close with the Franciscan blessing I shared in a sermon earlier this year:
May God bless you with discomfort at easy answers, half truths, and superficial relationships, so that you may live deep within your heart.
May God bless you with anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that you may work for justice, freedom and peace.
May God bless you with tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation and war, so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and to turn their pain into joy.
May God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in this world, so that you can do what others claim cannot be done. Your kingdom come, O Lord, your will be done.
+ Amen.
