(Homily for Second Baptist Church's Worship on May 26, 2019, Easter VI)
Not Because of Our Best-Laid Plans, but in Spite of Them
I would wager that many of our
best memories are of moments unplanned and unexpected.
When I was in ninth grade, my
family planned a trip to San Francisco.
We planned to visit Alcatraz, ride the legendary cable cars up and down the
city’s steep streets, and take a hike among the towering redwoods in nearby
Muir Woods. My mom’s birthday is
in July when we would be visiting, so there was no question that we would also
tour the headquarters of the Ghirardelli Chocolate Company. (Not that we needed any extra
motivation—I think we would have done that even if it hadn’t been her birthday!)
The trip was everything we
planned for and more. The sights
were as spectacular as we imagined, the history as engaging as you would expect,
the tastes as rich as we had hoped.
But when I think about San Francisco today, my first memory is none of
these things. My first memory is
my brother discovering that the Golden Gate Bridge was over a mile long and
spontaneously suggesting that we take a detour from our plans in the city and
go for a run. I remember the slow,
steady vibration of the enormous suspended bridge under our feet and the cars
rushing past and the bay wind whipping in our faces and the gentle ripple of
green-blue water beneath us. We still
run together to this day, and have run countless trails all over the country,
but no run of ours can compare to that one. Another distinctive memory from the trip is my family
walking up a steep sidewalk in the dusk after a full day. Originally the plan had been to eat back
at where we were staying, but hunger was beginning to strike now. So we dropped our plans and stopped at
the first café and sandwich shop we saw, which is where for the first time in
my life I had a taste of sourdough bread.
It would not be the last time.
Maybe you can recall similar
moments from your own life—moments when you took a spontaneous detour from the
path or got lost but ended up discovering something new, moments when an
unexpected interruption to your day made a lasting and life-giving
difference. I have a hunch that if
we listen deeply to our lives we will discover that such moments are the rule
and not the exception—moments where a wonderful memory is made not because our
own best-laid plans but in spite of them.
We call these moments by
different names. Some call them
“serendipity.” Bob Ross called
them “happy accidents.” Some folks
just call them “chance.”
I think Luke, who wrote our
scripture today, would look upon these moments with a suspicious eye and a
suspecting grin. I think he would
see in these moments the trace of the divine. I think he would detect in these moments a ripple left by
the Spirit. Because as Luke suggests
in today’s scripture, it is precisely when we are not in control that the
Spirit has the space to act.
“What’s Going to Happen Next?”
Right before Jesus ascended into
heaven, his disciples asked him what is essentially a question that we are
always asking, “What’s going to happen next?” We ask this question not simply out of curiosity. We ask it because we want to plan
ahead. Which is really to say, we
want to be in control. “What’s
going to happen next?” is a question that has designs on the future. We want to be in control.
Jesus responds with what is
essentially the answer God always gives us, “It is not for you to know what is
going to happen next.” But Jesus
doesn’t stop there. What he says
next is basically what he says at the end of the four gospels. According to these five books, his last
word to his disciples is: “Go.”
Share the good news. Feed
my sheep. Make learners of all
nations. Or as Jesus says in this
particular passage, “You will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and
Samaria, and to the ends of the earth” (1:8).
To paraphrase Jesus’ words, then:
“It’s not for you to know what’s
going to happen next. Now go. And show. Show the world the good news of God’s
love; show them this new way of life; show them the kingdom that is coming.”
Power or Possibility?
To help the disciples in their
adventure of not knowing and going and showing, Jesus promises “power” from the incoming Holy Spirit
(1:8). I have to confess, I have a
problem with this word. When I
hear the word “power,” I generally think of force: that is, the power to get
your way, to enforce your will, to achieve your desire. In other words, I think of power as
being in control.
But I don’t see that kind of
power in Jesus, who forgives instead of flexing his retributive muscles, who does
not lord it over others but seeks instead to serve them, who does good with no
ulterior motive, no manipulative intent.
Paul went even further and called a spade a spade: he said Jesus looks like
“weakness” to the world. His is
not the power we know.
But there’s something interesting
about this word “power.” In the
Greek, the word for “powerful” is the same as the word for “possible.” Could it be that the power of Jesus,
and likewise the power of the Holy Spirit, has less to do with control and more
to do with possibility? How
different the same scripture sounds with that slight tweak in translation. “But you will receive possibility when the Holy Spirit has come
upon you” (1:8).
Possibility in the Going, Not the Knowing
I wonder if it’s more than
coincidence that Jesus mentions this possibility of the Holy Spirit in the same
breath that he says, “It’s not for you to know” and “Go!” For is it not precisely in those
moments when we “go,” when we leave behind the security of our best-laid plans,
when we enter into the unknown, that we enter into the realm of
possibility—which is to say, the realm of the Holy Spirit?
That certainly was the case for
the early church. In today’s
scripture, we find them huddled together in Jerusalem. The story really takes off, however,
about eight chapters later, when persecution drives the church beyond the
comfort of home base into new and unknown territory in Judea and Samaria and
the ends of the earth. Only then
do we see a series of healings, resurrections, and perhaps most surprising of
all the church, which was Jewish until then, welcoming gentiles. That
was a possibility that no one could
have seen coming. That could only be the work of the Holy
Spirit.
In an era where thousands of
churches are closing every year, it is tempting for the church to circle the
wagons and try to plan out every last detail in a bid to control its own destiny
and prosper its own institution. That
may be good business, but it’s not church. If the early church in Acts is any indication, church is not
about knowing but about going. Only when the church goes, does it encounter the possibility
of the Holy Spirit, which is a possibility that hides on every road, in every
stranger, in every conversation, in every difficulty and trial. It was in those places that the early church
came to life. That is where the
Holy Spirit did more than the church could ever have anticipated.
The Gospel Is Full of the Unknown
On the day that Jesus left them,
the disciples looked out onto the great unknown. It’s an experience we all know. We knew it as children when our parents dropped us off at
school for the first time. We know
it as a church when the pastor leaves and we are without a leader. Naturally we want resolution. I imagine that when the disciples asked
Jesus about the restoration of the kingdom, they were already flipping ahead in
their calendars, looking to mark the date of Jesus’ return—as though one day
there would be no more of this unknown.
But in truth, even with Jesus they
had been looking out onto the unknown.
Or I should say “especially with Jesus”—because the gospel of Jesus Christ
is full of the unknown. To forgive
someone is to step into the unknown of their response: maybe there will be
repentance and reconciliation, maybe not.
It’s a possibility. To show
a stranger hospitality is to open your doors to the unknown: maybe you will see
God in them and they in you, maybe not.
It’s a possibility. To love
the enemy is to expose yourself to the unknown: maybe they will become a
friend, maybe not. It’s a
possibility. It’s space enough for
the Holy Spirit to enter, to do more than we could imagine.
Perhaps, then, the challenge for
us followers of Christ is to retain a sense of this unknown even when
equilibrium has been reestablished, even when things have returned to normal,
even when a leader is in place and new plans are being drawn up and everyone
feels a bit more secure. Because
the truth of the gospel remains the same: the Holy Spirit is not only within
our calculations, but even more so outside them in the happy accidents, the
serendipities, the chance moments that only come about—that only “grace”
us—when we move beyond the limits of our knowledge. When we go and show.
When people wonder about the
strange flukes or coincidences that grace their lives, such as those that I
encountered long ago in my family’s trip to San Francisco, I have to smile a
little bit. The Spirit of God is
wonderfully alive in our world.
What else is the possibility of the unknown but the Holy Spirit’s
playground? And where else will we
find that possibility but out there—beyond the limits of our plans and our
control, among strangers and enemies and only God knows what else?
Prayer
God of possibility,
Whose power is not
Knowledge or control
But rather leaving these things behind
For the sake of others:
Grant us eyes to see
Your Spirit
In risk and vulnerability.
Draw us ever out of ourselves
And into your love.
In Christ, whose weakness is our strength: Amen.
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