Click the arrow above to hear the scripture read. Acts 11:1-18
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Toddlers often do not understand boundaries. They don’t understand that plastic bags and kabob skewers are not good toys, do not know why climbing into the dishwasher is not a recommended activity. They are not capable of understanding that rules and boundaries are for their own protection. Such comprehension takes time to develop.
As children get older, they learn to understand why Dad said not to touch the stove, but they don’t understand why Mom won’t let them date as soon as they want. Tweens and teens are capable of understanding that boundaries are for protection; they just don’t think they need protection.
As adults we know that boundaries are necessary for life. Boundaries allow us to drive with many other people on the same road at the same time. Property boundaries protect us from disputes with our neighbors. Laws are boundaries that draw lines between acceptable and unacceptable behavior. We may not like where the lines are drawn, but we recognize them. Boundaries keep us safe.
Our text for today is about boundaries. It is also about, arguably, the greatest conflict in the church ever. Forget the Protestant Reformation, when Martin Luther and others changed the course of Christianity. Forget the Great Schism, when there were two popes fighting for power. Those were playground scuffles compared to our story. This battle preceded them all and overshadows them all, for if there had been a different outcome, there would be no Christian church.
Remember that in the early days of the church, the followers of Jesus were still Jews. They believed Jesus was the long-awaited Messiah, and that following him was the fulfillment of their faith. Then Peter—one of the original disciples and a key leader in the faith—went and did the unthinkable. He started converting gentiles.
Of course, the Jewish people of that time had strict boundaries in order to protect them and set them apart as God’s people. Everything was divided into what was holy or clean, and what was unholy or unclean. These commandments were intended to instruct the people, to give them boundaries, and to give them ways of becoming clean again after being unclean so that they might enter back into holy relationship. Because Gentiles, or non-Jewish people, did not follow the same holiness code, they were by definition unclean.
These boundaries are difficult for us to understand. They sound exclusionary to modern ears—insulting and perhaps even xenophobic. But that was never the intent. These boundaries were simply how the people believed they had to live in order to please God. Anything else was abhorrent to God, and so breaking these laws was abhorrent to them as good, faithful Jews. These rules were particularly strict in the area of food. Of course certain foods were forbidden, but also the way food was prepared was crucial. So when the Jews in Jerusalem, who were new followers of Christ themselves, heard that Peter stayed with Gentiles, they were appalled—because he could not have stayed with them without eating with them, and he could not have eaten with them without breaking kosher laws.
Peter responded to their concerns, not with a theological explanation, but with a story. He had a vision of God presenting unclean animals to him, telling him to eat. Three times he refused. Of course he refused—what was presented to him was unthinkable. “Peter’s protest, ‘By no means, Lord!’ was not the protest of rebellion, but the protest of honest and sincere piety that did not want to let go of something that had shaped who he was as a devout Jew. It is the cry of one who understands what is at stake in moving from where he is, and does not want to abandon too easily what he sees as an anchor of his faith.”[1] But then came that response from heaven: “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.” When three men arrived, bringing news of an angel who told them to go to Peter, he suddenly “got” the metaphor. The application was obvious. Do not call these people unclean.
The last time I preached this scripture, the application was equally obvious. My church at that time was three months into the process of becoming an Open and Affirming congregation. It’s not a difficult or long leap to go from “Do not call Gentiles unclean” to “Do not call gay people unclean.” That sermon pretty much wrote itself.
But we are beyond that. This congregation became Open & Affirming in the year 2000. We already know that being gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender is not a sin.
We already declare that everyone is welcome. We already live into the commitment we made sixteen years ago. That doesn’t mean we do it perfectly. We still have areas of growth as times change, especially around transgender issues. We are living into our promise, just as we attempt to live into all the promises we make to God, to the church, and to one another. But that’s not the end. In fact, this process never ends.
The people in our story were in the middle of a huge discernment process, trying to determine who they were, trying to define themselves as followers of Jesus. If Gentiles are going to become followers of Jesus, doesn’t that mean they have to become Jews, like us? The church was faced with a question of identity: Who will we be? And “who we will be” is often determined by who we let in. Every choice we make does the same thing—it defines who we are and who we will be.
As I studied this scripture this week, a chorus kept running through my mind. It’s a song we will sing in a few minutes, at the close of our service. Draw the circle wide. Draw it wider still. Let this be our song: no one stands alone walking side by side. Draw the circle wide.
Peter wanted to draw the circle wide. The people were afraid. They didn’t mean to be exclusive; they just didn’t understand that following Jesus meant widening the circle.
We understand this, don’t we? We are a church that tries to draw the circle wide. Our denomination, the United Church of Christ, is well-known for its flexibility. For example, I’ll perform infant baptism; believer’s baptism; sprinkling or immersion. I once baptized the child of an interfaith couple, Christian and Buddhist. I once welcomed a new member without ever using the word “God” in the liturgy because God language had been hurtful to her in the past. I’m flexible, preferring to honor the beliefs of the individuals who come to me for care, rather than force my interpretations of scripture and tradition upon them. That doesn’t mean “anything goes,” and I do try to teach and challenge and expand our views. But if I’m going to err, I want to err on the side of drawing the circle wide. It’s a question of identity . . . who we are as circle-drawers. We draw the circle wide.
When Peter told the story of his vision, he said that he remembered Jesus’ words about baptizing with the Spirit. Peter remembered that Jesus had promised, “You will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.” However, he’d always assumed that the “you” was just the Jewish “we.” Peter and other Jews thought it, after all, entirely appropriate that the Spirit fill good, upstanding Jewish people like himself. In Cornelius’ home, however, Peter finally learns that when Jesus says, “you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit,” he isn’t just talking to Jews like him. Jesus is also, in a sense, looking over his disciples’ shoulder at a huge group of gentiles like Cornelius.[2]
Or to put it in Southern terms, it’s the difference between saying you will receive the Spirit, and y’all will receive the Spirit. Sometimes we make the same mistake. We hear “No matter who you are, or where you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here,” and we take it personally. We think that “you” means “me.” We forget that the message is, indeed, to you, but is also to the person over your shoulder who may be nothing like you; the person who snuck in the back and isn’t sure the roof won’t cave in because of his presence; the person who is walking her dog down Cottage Road this morning, thinking, “I might drop in there some day, but would I have to dress up? And cover up all my tattoos?” We can’t forget the people over our shoulder. We can’t forget the people who are nothing like us except they are human and God’s children and they long for community and connection and a place to belong, just like we do. We can’t forget the people over our shoulder.
And we can’t forget that every time we widen the circle, we are changed. From a family standpoint, I can certainly attest to that truth. When Jackie and I got married, I became an instant mom to a seven-year-old, a wonderful little girl who filled my tidy, quiet home with nonstop chatter and sparkly t-shirts that got glitter in my washing machine and on my black pants. Then we added this little boy with enough energy for an entire soccer team compressed into 38” of nonstop trouble. We widened the circle, and we are changed.
The same thing happens in the church. The young families bring lots of energy … and more noise. The new person on the committee brings new ideas … when we like the old ones better. Attracting different people might bring the desire for changes to our music program. It is tempting to close the circle—as a church, as a community, as a country, as an individual. It feels safer because every time we widen the circle, we are changed. And that’s a good thing, even if it doesn’t always feel like it … because if we don’t expand the circle, we are hindering God.
But that’s not the only way that we hinder God. You already know, of course, that we are called to welcome the outcasts, to feed the widow and orphan and immigrant, as the prophets proclaimed repeatedly. You already know that we should make no distinction between us and them. You already know that we cannot declare anyone unclean or profane. If you need to be reminded of that today, feel free to stick with that message. But too often the one we call “unclean” is our self.
I know some of your stories, and I can guess at others. I know some of you have made choices that you regret every day. I know some of you have done things, out of your own woundedness, that wounded others. I know some of you have done things, out of your own self-centeredness, that wounded others. I know these things, AND I know that God has already forgiven you. If you haven’t forgiven yourself, then I have to ask: Who are you, to hinder God?
Or maybe someone taught you that you are unclean, unworthy, or unlovable. Maybe you carry shame for things that were done to you or words spoken to you in anger. Maybe you are weighed down by blame. Maybe you can believe that everyone else is welcome in the circle, but not you—not if people really knew. And again I ask: Who are you, to hinder God? Who are you, to call “profane” what God has called holy and beloved?
How wide is your circle? Does it have room for you? Does it have room for those not like you? Does it have room for forgiveness? for mercy? for grace? Who are we, to hinder God? Jesus said, “You will be baptized with the Holy Spirit. You. Y’all. All y’all. This is good news. Thanks be to God.
[1] Bratcher, Dennis. The Voice, Year C, Easter 5.
[2] Hoezee, Scott. http://cep.calvinseminary.edu/sermon-starters/easter-5c/?type=old_testament_lectionary#sthash.GSkAcfEn.dpuf