The Road to Damascus (4/10/16)

Acts 9:1-6; John 21:1-19

Benjamin West, The Conversion of St. Paul

Last Sunday we examined two different types of conversion stories: Paul's conversion on the road to Damascus and Jesus' appearance to the disciples after a long night of fishing. In each case, Jesus call is clear: "Follow me!"

The Road to Damascus (4/10/16)

Acts 9:1-6; John 21:1-19

Sermon

          Good morning! I want to thank you for extending such a gracious welcome to the folks from Communities Moving Forward. Their message can be difficult to hear. Over the last few months I have told you, from this pulpit, that if the church, the institutional church, is to survive, then we, as members of the church, must be willing to go into uncomfortable places. Hearing that message about addiction and recovery is uncomfortable. So I’m glad you were willing to step into that place of uncomfortable knowledge. I believe that’s one of the first steps that we need to take as we seek to live into Christ’s call to be the church.

          For those of you who weren’t with us last Sunday, we heard a message from a woman named Sue, a recovering heroin addict. She spoke of her struggles with addiction, how long it took her to get clean, and the ongoing road to recovery. It was a rocky road, filled with relapses. Sue found something to hold on to. She had her faith. And clearly, she was surrounded by lots of people who wanted to help her on the journey—family and friends, drug treatment professionals, and other addicts who were trying to get clean, too.

          This is a common story for people in recovery. Most addicts who stop using and begin the journey toward recovery can describe something that’s called a moment of clarity. In that moment of clarity, the addict realizes that he or she needs to change, and also, that his or her life is valuable and worth saving. This must be something like Paul’s conversion on the road to Damascus.

          Saul was a faithful Jew and a persecutor of those disciples who followed Jesus. He was going to the synagogue in Damascus to find more followers of Christ. But something happened on the road to Damascus. A light from heaven flashed around Saul, and then he fell to the ground. Saul heard the voice of the Lord, who said: “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” Saul was blinded by the light; Jesus told him to go to Damascus and await instructions.

          The story continues in Damascus. There Saul met a disciple named Ananias. Jesus also visited Ananias in a dream and told Ananias to go visit Saul and to heal him of his blindness. At first, Ananias is surprised—Saul had persecuted Christ’s disciples. But Jesus tells Ananias that Jesus will use even Saul as an instrument to bring the name of the Lord, “before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel.” Instead of punishing Saul, the Lord saw fit to use him. Ananias heals Saul, who then becomes the Apostle Paul and spreads the story of Christ across the Roman Empire. Saul was given a chance to repent and he took it.

          Saul was not alone on the journey. He had a moment of clarity and heard the voice of the Lord. He was helped by other disciples, like Ananias. Saul lost his sight, but it was restored to him and he participated in a new creation. Of course, the stories of addicts who are in recovery are seldom this neat. The road for addicts is seldom as clear, but those who succeed do it through faith and with the help of loved ones, friends, and professionals.

          The story of Saul and his conversion on the road to Damascus is very familiar. Perhaps we’ve heard it so many times that we don’t fully hear it anymore. Or maybe we hear it, but we don’t really hear the call to repent. I mean, how many of us really think of ourselves as persecutors of Christ or other Christians? I think most of us believe we’re reasonably righteous—nothing crazy, mind you. We’re all good, modest Presbyterians. We do things decently and in order. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think there’s anything in my life that is so wrong that I need to have a Road-to-Damascus conversion. The problem or temptation that underlies that kind of thinking is that we don’t really need to change.

          This morning’s reading from the Gospel of John tells a similar story. Peter and the other disciples are out in a boat and they haven’t caught any fish. They’re about to pack it in and go home—in fact, they’re on their way back to shore when a voice tells them to try one more time. Jesus tells them, “Cast the net on the right side of the boat,” and sure enough, they catch a lot of fish. Peter and the other disciples didn’t recognize that it was Jesus until after they caught the fish.

          The disciples were about to give up. They were tired and they wanted to go home, but then they heard Jesus calling them. They didn’t even know it was Jesus, but for some reason, they responded to the call. In this story, Jesus didn’t come with a blinding flash of light. He just showed up, on the shore, and told them where to cast their nets.

          Later, as they’re eating some of the fish they caught, Jesus asks Peter, “Do you love me?” Jesus asks this three times. Peter replies, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Again, three times. And always, Jesus tells Peter to tend His flock. Finally, he tells Peter, “Follow me.” This is the very same Peter who denied Jesus three times before the rooster crowed.

          In each of these stories, Jesus calls for someone to change: Peter, the other disciples, and Saul. The circumstances surrounding the change were different in each story, but the call to follow Jesus remains constant—and the opportunities to change are always there. We are all called to care for the flock.

          I want to tell you a personal story about opening up and changing. As many of you know, I spent many years outside of the church. I went at least twelve years without seeing the inside of a church—except for a wedding or a funeral. It was March, 2005. I was in Philadelphia visiting my Aunt Laurie in the hospital. She had cancer, but we didn’t know the point of origin for her cancer. After she died, we learned that it was pancreatic cancer; she never had a chance.

          Of course, on that afternoon in 2005, we didn’t know Laurie had pancreatic cancer. We just knew she was very sick. She had beaten cancer before, so we were optimistic. Laurie’s pastor, Blake, was there, too. Blake is a mountain of a man. He’s easily 6’3” and somewhere north of 300 pounds.

          On that afternoon, Laurie was in a very small room. The four or five visitors could barely fit by her bedside. Blake’s physical presence was magnified by the cramped space, so some of us would take turns standing outside the room. He invited us all into the room to pray with Laurie. I was more than a little uncomfortable about praying—I hadn’t been to church in years and I felt claustrophobic in the room. That was almost a good enough excuse to stay out in the hallway, but Blake was a hard man to resist. I swallowed my pride and my fear and went back into the hospital room to pray with everyone. I hadn’t been open to prayer in many years. That was a major turning point in my spiritual life, though I certainly didn’t recognize it at the time.

           Blake offered a simple prayer: “God, we know you’re here watching over Laurie. If it is your will, God, we ask that Laurie be healed. If that is not your plan, we ask that your will be done, in this and in all things. Amen.” That wasn’t what I expected. I was afraid he might say, “Jesus, we know you can take this cancer away if only we pray hard enough and believe hard enough.” That sort of absolute certainty had always frightened me. Blake didn’t frighten me.

          A few months later, my aunt died. She was 46. I lost both of my grandmothers around that time, too. They were elderly and they were ready to go, but losing all three of them in such a short space of time was heartbreaking. My world had turned upside down. A few months after they passed, I started going to church again. I went to Blake’s church, Newtown Presbyterian. It didn’t seem like a very big step at the time, yet here I am.

          Now I am NOT saying that God took these people away from me so that I would come back to church. No. No. No. That is terrible theology. Aunt Laurie died from cancer. Period. Her cancer wasn’t punishment for her or me. It wasn’t punishment for anything. It was cancer. Laurie was a woman of deep faith. So is my mother. Where was God in that hospital room? At her bedside—in the presence of her family and friends, and also in the pastor who was there tending his flock. The Holy Spirit was there drawing me back into that room to pray.

          I’m sure I had many opportunities to turn back to God before that day in the hospital. I didn’t live into all those chances that God gave me before. On that day, I did. On that day, I changed. I didn’t want to change. I liked my life the way it was. I was happy enough living outside of the church. I literally didn’t know what I was missing—including all of the previous chances to turn back!

          Here’s the thing: we all need to change. Even if you have been a faithful disciple for years, you need to be aware of the changes in the world and the changes in the church. Jesus calls all of us to tend His flock. If they aren’t in here then we have to go outside and tend them. If they aren’t responding to the old ways that we used to care for them, then we have to get busy finding new ways.

          God didn’t give up on me when I stopped going to church. Christ didn’t give up on Peter and the disciples when they were tired of fishing and wanted to go home. Jesus didn’t give up on Saul, even though Saul had persecuted Christ’s disciples. Instead, God provided an opportunity to change. So go out and change. Find a new way to be Christ’s church in the world. If you can’t go out and be the church in a new way, then find ways to equip those who are changing. You can do this; God will provide an opportunity! Thanks be to God. Amen.

Benediction

          Now, beloved, as you depart from this place, remember that we are an Easter people. We are called to be Christ’s church in the world, the world today. We are called to live in the light of Easter morning! We are called to change. So go forth and be instruments of God’s peace and reconciliation. Do not return evil for evil to any person, but know that we are all loved by God, and that we are called to reflect that love to everyone we meet. In the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord, let all God’s children say, Amen!