Acts 11: 1-18; John 13: 31-35
Good morning again, and grace and peace to you on this Fifth Easter
Sunday and as we will at the end of this service be invited to move downstairs to
Barley Hall for the 179th Annual Meeting of St. Andrew’s
Church. That is a big number, for
sure! When I arrived at St. Andrew’s in
the summer of 1994 there was still a good deal of conversation and recent
memory of the weekend a few years before, in 1987, when St. Andrew’s had
celebrated a “sesquicentennial” with all kinds of worship and music and
celebration. Still some of us here who
took part in those festivities, 29 years ago.
Many told me about the long walk and procession beginning down at the
corner of Ninth Street and Fort Duquesne Boulevard, all the way out here to
Highland Park, retracing the footsteps of our spiritual mothers and fathers from
the first home of St. Andrew’s all the way here--and reminding ourselves as we
picture that parade of our deep and meaningful connection to those who have
come before us in their Christian lives in this particular community of
faith—and perhaps a reminder as well that we are ourselves links in a chain,
connected inextricably to those who came before us, but also links for those
who will come after, in days and years to come.
There is in that an image of Christian stewardship. What we do with
our lives not just about living for the moment—whether in our families or here
in the church. Each generation and each one of us in turn
with a time of care and responsibility, adding our own unique contribution and
then passing the precious gift along. Mom
and dad at home look at their children and know that the decisions they make
and the kind of lives they live will be dedicated in large part to what will
come after. So our identity and
resources and values and good work as the people of St. Andrew’s, but of course
in a deeper and more important way as stewards of the life of Christian
faith. Building for the future. Confessing Christ as Lord with boldness and
with clear voices—and not only with our lips, but also in our lives, talking
the talk and walking the walk. It’s a
great story. 179 years of life at St.
Andrew’s. And two thousand years since
Easter and Pentecost and the first bright light of the Good News of Christ
risen from the dead, with the promise of forgiveness of our sins and true
salvation and everlasting life. A great
story.
Last Sunday I paused over the reading from the Revelation to St. John
where the great visionary was able to catch this glimpse into the great heaven
of God, the eternal reality beyond time and space, where the multitudes live in
joy and peace and love and a spirit of everlasting worship before the Throne
and before the Lamb. To say that the
character of Christian life is that because we know that Christ is risen, so we
know that we are risen with him. From
our perspective, at the last day, at the end, in the true future of Christ’s
appearing. But from God’s perspective,
it is already and forever true, eternal, beyond time and space. From our perspective we are here, Hampton
Street, Highland Park, and fully engaged in all the joys and storms of this
life, our families and friends, our work, our little victories and our
challenging defeats.
But from God’s perspective and in him the victory is already
complete. I used those two words to talk
about what St. John’s Revelation has to teach us about Christian life—that it
is “eschatological” and “doxological.”
That we live in the realities of this world, but always are clear about
the “eschaton,” the goal, the final station.
We live confidently, and carefully, and courageously, and sacrificially,
and in obedience, because we know the final word of the story has already been
written, the final battle of the war has been won, and won decisively. We are “eschatological,” and so we are
“doxological.” We hear the multitudes of
the choir of heaven, and even here, even now, we join our voices.
And this is about singing, and praising God, but it isn’t just about
singing. We remember the little story about Tabitha in the reading from Acts
last Sunday. Good works and acts of
kindness and charity were her “devotion,” her prayer. It’s
about understanding that everything we do, everything we think, everything we
desire, everything, is lifted up as music to the ears of the
Father.
What is it about these Christians?
In Acts 11 Peter’s dream. In the
great Holy Story that we know in Scripture God has dedicated Israel, set her
apart, as a vessel for his holiness, to prepare the way, as a sign and a
promise to the world and all creation.
And now in Easter and the outpouring of the Holy Spirit the Israel of
God is renewed and refreshed, now no longer constrained by the old boundaries,
but expanded by the power of the Holy Spirit. The old sign gives way to the new. “The
nations will stream to your light,” as the Prophet had sung, “and Kings the
brightness of your dawning.” If Israel
was set apart as one kind of a sign of God’s promised action, now the Church is
lifted up in its eschatological and doxological character as a proof and
demonstration that God’s promise has been fulfilled. It’s a
little intimidating, but if we realize that we are works in process it can be encouraging
and inspiring. To imagine for a moment
that God has said to you, to me, to each one of us as individuals, and the
Church, the wide church, and to this church of St. Andrew’s Highland Park, “I
am giving you as a sign to the nations.
As I am holy, you will be holy.
As I am generous, you will be generous.
As I am forgiving, you will be forgiving. People will see you, and the more they see of
you, the better they know you, the more they will want to know me.
I give you a new commandment, Jesus tells his disciples. Just as I have loved you, you also, love one
another.
It’s kind of a crazy place, this St. Andrew’s. Has been for a long time, maybe 179
years. An odd bunch, called here by
God—and sometimes for reasons that God only knows, and that we have a hard time
figuring out. But the one thing that we
can say for sure is that God knows what he is doing, even when we have a hard
time seeing the bigger picture for ourselves--and that he is building something
beautiful and perfect and holy with his church and in his church. With each one of us. Not
that any of us are finished yet, and not that this St. Andrew’s Church is a
finished work. Lots of rough edges and
false starts. Lots of room left for
improvement. But the Holy Spirit moving
along, in us and among us. And with that
every once in a while what I find myself doing is just stepping back for a
moment and taking a breath and to say, it really is a gift and a blessing and a
privilege to be here. I hope you share
that as well.
Walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself for us, an offering
and a sacrifice to God.
Bruce
M. Robison
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