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Sermon at The Church of
the Holy Apostles, New York City,
April 10, 2005,
The Third Sunday of Easter, Year A
by The Reverend
Barry
M. Signorelli
Acts 2:14a, 36-47
Psalm 116:10-17
1 Peter 1:17-23
Luke 24:13-35
“…at table with them, he took bread,
blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were
opened, and they recognized him.”
In the Name of the Risen Christ. Amen.
Words can
be powerful tools, indeed. Ever since humans developed the
capacity for speech, we have used words to convince, cajole,
persuade, and coax each other into accepting a desired viewpoint.
We talk with each other to explain our perspectives, to warn about
immanent danger, to share the joys and sorrows of our own
experience. Some have a very facile command of rhetoric, painting
with words the way an artist mixes colors on a canvas; others have
a more simple and direct way of expressing their ideas, compelling
in its homeliness. But whatever the style or level of skill, we
all endeavor to have our words further our agenda within our
communities.
This often
works to great effect, as we see today in the reading from the
Acts of the Apostles. The scene is just after the descent of the
Holy Spirit upon the disciples on the Day of Pentecost, and the
apostles are full of words, indeed – in a variety of languages,
too! Peter launches into a detailed exposition of the Jesus’
place in God’s salvation history (most of which we skipped over
this morning), finally ending with the declaration that “God has
made him both Lord and Messiah….” He advises them to repent,
saying that God intends redemption for all who seek it. He then,
we learn, launched into yet “many other arguments” and
exhortations – lots and lots and lots of words – all to the effect
that some three thousand of those who welcomed his message were
saved that day. Not bad at all – even Billy Graham would be
impressed.
There is a
hint of something else at work, though, for we hear mentioned that
many feared the apostles for the “wonders and signs” that they
wrought, presumably things like healing the sick and the like.
Could it be that some were more convinced by the deeds done,
rather than the words alone? Or did the two somehow work in
tandem to produce the results they did? And of course, we can’t
forget those who were unmoved at all by Peter’s homily – those who
shook their heads and declared that these folks were drunk on new
wine.
In our own
day, we have seen how words could change the world. Pope John
Paul II, laid to rest last week, is widely credited with the
downfall of the Communist regime in Poland. His fearless words of
encouragement, of hope, of the ultimate victory of God’s freedom
over human tyranny, gave courage to the democracy movement in his
native country, and helped to set the stage for the remarkable
transformation of Poland’s people and their government. But his
words – compelling as they were – would have had little effect if
his actions or character belied what he was saying. It was
because his words and actions were of a piece with one another
that he demonstrated such power of persuasion. He not only talked
about hope, love, and encouragement, he showed it in the way he
interacted with people, whether one-on-one, or addressing the
world. Now, there were many, many of his words that many people
did not agree with, and one could take argument with him over any
number of theological or pastoral questions – but no one ever
doubted the sincerity of his positions, or saw him act in ways
that were inconsistent with his speech. John Paul II believed
earnestly in what he said, he spoke what he believed, and he based
his actions upon that. For him words and actions were
intertwined, one giving integrity to the other, and both together
making him a man of compelling charisma and character.
Of course,
we have had such an example right here among us, in our own parish
community. Esther Miller, our beloved Head Usher and Greeter
Extrordinaire, was also laid to rest recently. Esther talked a
really good game about being welcoming and inclusive: one day when
she was at her post at the front doors of the church during the
service, a disturbed young man came up into the vestibule, scowled
at her and said, “I’m the Devil.” Esther, unflappable as always,
looked at him and replied, “well, young man, even the Devil is
welcome in God’s house.” What was remarkable about Esther was how
she lived the game she talked – she was deadly serious about
welcoming all who came to us, even those who didn’t know they were
coming to us. For Esther, the highways and byways were the
sidewalk going up Ninth Avenue, a field ripe for harvesting; slow
down a bit while passing the church, show the slightest bit of
interest in the building or the goings-on within, and Esther was
right there to offer an invitation to join in. Her words and her
actions were one and the same, both expressing the infinite and
all-embracing love of God. She may not have converted three
thousand at one sitting, or brought down a tyrannical government,
but what she did was just as important, one welcomed soul at a
time.
Ideally,
our talk and our deeds spring from the same source; we speak about
what we believe to be true, and we act upon our words, if we are
creatures of integrity. Now, we may not always be
creatures of integrity: we can frequently say one thing and then
act in ways totally at odds with our words; or we may speak what
we know to be false so that we can justify behavior that we want
to engage in. We see that happen in places of power, as well as
in our own personal lives, and even though we might be able to
keep up the façade for a while, eventually its inherent flaws will
be revealed. But when our words and actions are congruent and
derive from an honest and discerning place, then they take on an
aura of authority, an authenticity that is compelling, convincing,
and lasting.
But it
takes both: words and
actions, consistent with each other and consistent with God’s
will. In today’s Gospel we see an example of how words alone
sometimes aren’t enough. The two disciples are journeying to
Emmaus, their hearts heavy with sorrow after the Crucifixion of
Jesus. And who should show up to join them on their journey?
None other than Jesus, although they don’t yet know that’s who it
is. All along the way, he talks and talks, and talks, explaining
to them in words what really has happened, putting it in the
historical and theological context, fascinating them, engaging
them, but not quite opening their eyes. They reach their
stopping-place for the night, and Jesus seems like he’s moving on;
but the two, apparently quite taken with all they have heard, urge
Jesus to stay and share their hospitality – a significant choice,
for it shows that they are eager to seek and understand. And so
he does, and he breaks bread with them – the quintessential act of
hospitality, of welcome, of inclusion – and in that moment they
know him for who he is. All the words in the world could not
equal one action of genuine love; no arguments could convince as
much as one gesture of welcome; no sermon could bring them in as
much as one exercise of inclusion. Sometimes talk alone doesn’t
do it.
Mary
Magdalene ran back to the disciples on Easter morning to tell them
she had seen the Risen Lord, but it wasn’t until they’d seen him
themselves that they believed. Sometimes talk alone doesn’t do
it.
Thomas
wasn’t there when Jesus first appeared to the twelve, and refused
to accept what his companions told him had occurred, until he
experienced it for himself. Sometimes talk alone doesn’t do it.
Talking can
lay the foundation for our understanding, can give us the
intellectual underpinning that we need to fully integrate our
knowledge of God’s will into our being, but talking alone just
won’t do it. We are not fully followers of Jesus until we walk
the walk as well as talk the talk; we must be doers of the word,
and not hearers (or speakers) only. We need to use our words to
convey the truth that is in us, to be sure, but those words will
only have currency and authority if they are reflected in our
lives, in our deeds and actions, our gestures to others, large and
small.
For we are
called by God to become more Christ-like, acting as the hands and
feet of Jesus in the world. We may also at times reflect the
voice of Jesus, using our words to tell the story of how we have
been changed; but unless our actions match our words,
demonstrating God’s love and inclusion to the world, then we will
be merely a banging gong or a clashing cymbal. For we may find
ourselves walking the road to Emmaus, accompanying those who are
hurting and sad and confused; we may offer them the benefit of our
experience, sharing our stories of how we understand God works in
the world, and telling of God’s boundless love. But it is only
when we take the next step and break bread with our companions
that they will see in us the reflection of the Master whom we
serve – and in that moment, we may look at them and see the face
of Christ in them.
Words can
be powerful – but they are not enough. Love always is.
Amen.
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