Readings

I like a good story as much as anyone, so, perhaps predictably, we’ll spend most of our time in Acts, in one of Luke’s more open-ended stories. At the same time, our lectionary invites us to notice connections. On the one hand, this proud Roman colony of Philippi, on the other our Psalm’s celebration of the Lord’s kingship, Revelation’s repeated invitation to “come,” our Lord’s prayer that we all be one: what happens when these two hands meet?

So, to our first reading. We’re still in Philippi, where in last Sunday’s reading we met Lydia, that dealer in exclusive high-end purple cloth, who believed and was baptized. And what gets the story started is a slave girl with a “spirit of divination” who over “many days” follows Paul and Silas, crying out “These men are slaves of the Most High God, who proclaim to you a way of salvation.”

Luke tells us “But Paul, very much annoyed, turned and said to the spirit, ‘I order you in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her.’ And it came out that very hour.” What’s intriguing about the story is Luke’s decision to name Paul’s motivation, and it’s not flattering. Not “Paul, filled with compassion…” or “Paul, recognizing an evangelistic opportunity…” but “Paul, very much annoyed…” That could have been the end of the story, but the slave girl’s owners know how the city operates, and Paul and Silas end up beaten and jailed.

And here’s where Jesus’ prayer that his disciples all be “one,” comes in. In that prison it’s not hard to imagine Silas saying to Paul, “Well done, mate! What were you thinking?” It may have started there, but by about midnight we’re hearing echoes of Jesus’ prayer: Luke: “About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them.”

And whatever the Lord thought of Paul’s impromptu exorcism, the Lord at whose presence “the mountains melt like wax” (so today’s Psalm) is not above throwing in an earthquake. The effects of the earthquake are remarkably focused: it’s “so violent that the foundations of the prison were shaken; and immediately all the doors were opened and everyone’s chains were unfastened.” That pretty much invites Paul and Silas to segue into that bit from Isaiah that Jesus read in the Nazareth synagogue: “he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners.” But no.

As Luke tells us, “When the jailer woke up and saw the prison doors wide open, he drew his sword and was about to kill himself, since he supposed that the prisoners had escaped. But Paul shouted in a loud voice, ‘Do not harm yourself, for we are all here’.”

It looks like Paul has learned from Peter’s experience, and maybe even from the events of the day. A while back Herod had had Peter imprisoned. At night an angel had sprung him, but in the morning, Herod had the guards “examined” and executed (Acts 12:1-19). Thankfully, that’s not repeated; Paul takes the more difficult path: ”Do not harm yourself, for we are all here.” The jailer also enters into Paul’s calculus, for the jailer is also a recipient of Revelation’s invitation to come and drink.

(Parenthetically, Paul’s response is echoed repeatedly in Martin Luther King Jr’s practice of non-violence. From various speeches: “the attack is directed against forces of evil rather than against persons who are caught in those forces… the nonviolent resister does not seek to humiliate or defeat the opponent but to win his friendship and understanding” [A Testament of Hope pp. 8, 12].)

So the story ends, as did last Sunday’s story, with a baptism. Last week, the baptism of Lydia, the dealer in purple cloth, and her household; this Sunday, the baptism of the jailer and his household. Folk near the opposite ends of the social spectrum: Revelation’s invitation to come and drink: Luke’s celebrating that that really is for everyone.

Luke chose to name Paul’s motive in exorcising the slave girl (“very much annoyed”) and that slave girl is the loose end in the story. Exorcised, she’s of less value to her owners, and we would not expect her story to end well. But we don’t know.

Paul’s role in her story is part of that loose end. I wonder about that, what Paul did with that. So I wonder whether, some time later, when Paul encountered the slave Onesimus, he did not recognize the opportunity to do it differently this time. He spent time with Onesimus, discipled him, took the trouble to write to his owner, Philemon, arguing—between the lines—that Philemon’s proper response was to receive Onesimus as a brother, not as a runaway slave.

“The Spirit and the bride say, ‘Come’. And let everyone who hears say, ‘Come’. And let everyone who is thirsty come. Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.” That’s our message. Sometimes we do a decent job of sharing it; sometimes not so much. We, too, are quite capable of sharing our annoyance, quite capable of failing to distinguish between the forces of evil and those caught in those forces. So, in the words of the Eucharistic Prayer we’ve been using this Easter season, “Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal. Let the grace of this Holy Communion make us one body, one spirit in Christ, that we may worthily serve the world in his name.” Or, as the Revelation puts it, “And let everyone who is thirsty come. Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.”