Caesarea: "The Lord's Will Be Done": Sermon on Acts 21:1-16

Cos, Rhodes, Patara, Phoenicia, Cyprus, Tyre, Ptolemais, Caesarea...  Again with all the names of this island and that island, this town and that town! Doesn't Luke have anything better to talk about? It's easy to wonder that sometimes. Now, I know all these lists of obscure places seem like a bit of a drag to us. It's just more names to stumble over and mispronounce. But to Luke's audience, these parts were fascinating. The ancient Greeks and Romans loved reading travel books that described or even just mentioned far-off places. 

So let's try to get in that mindset. Close your eyes if you have to, but picture yourself as one of Paul's traveling companions, on this ancient wooden ship, sailing the briny blue of the Mediterranean. Take a deep breath; smell the sea. Feel the wind in your hair. Imagine shoving off from the coast of Asia Minor – modern Turkey – into a thick net of islands. If we were just a bit further west, we'd run into Patmos, where John will someday be stranded and receive the Revelation. 

Imagine hugging close to the coast, sailing south along the jagged edges – it's not a smooth ride. We might glimpse the towering columns of the Temple of Apollo at Didyma – the second most popular oracle after Delphi. The pagan crew jabbers amongst themselves, imagining what questions they'd like to ask their god if they got the chance.

Imagine docking at the island of Cos – a famous resort, with spas and the best medical care money can buy. Hippocrates was from here, you know – yeah, the Hippocratic Oath guy. Imagine the sands of the beach, the crisp light blue of the water, the palm trees jutting up unevenly amidst the shrubbery. 

Imagine shoving off again the next morning, curving past Knidos on a long Asian peninsula; sailing past little Dodecanese islands with their stout volcanoes – Gyali with its lava domes, Nisyros with its cauldron-shaped crater – don't worry, they mostly go for steam and ash and earthquakes, not the whole fire-and-brimstone bit. The Greek in the cabin next to yours is just excited to see all these little places mentioned in the Iliad. You pass by Tilos, a wealthy island famous for clothing and perfume – but all these islands are starting to blur together.

Curving east, the ship makes its way to the northern tip of the larger island of Rhodes. Now everyone's excited – you rush to the side of the boat, craning your neck to be the first to see it. There, on the horizon, you can catch the sun glinting and gleaming off the bronze of the fractured knees! It's the Colossus! In its heyday, it was a hundred-foot-tall bronze statue of Helios, a Greek sun god. But in an earthquake a couple centuries back, it snapped at the knees and toppled onto the land. 

It's still there – as the ship pulls into port, you get a perfect glimpse of one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. Now if only they'd invented the camera by now, you'd be all set. Still, during a moment of shore leave, you join the mob of tourists – you can't help it – and go over and try to wrap your arms around the big bronze thumb. You can't – almost nobody can – it's just too thick.

No matter – back onto the ship, they're setting off again. It's just a short trip over to the coast to Patara, a Lycian city. You can see the lighthouse before you reach the natural harbor. This ship is reaching its stop, as far as you're concerned; you, Paul, Luke, the whole rest of the gang, have to go ashore. It's time to book passage on a bigger ship, one that doesn't have to weave in and out of islands. Still, it's nice to walk the streets of Patara for an hour or two – nicer still if you somehow knew that, in a few hundred years, a baby born in one of these houses would grow up to be Jolly Ol' St. Nick (Acts 21:1).

You've spotted a ship heading to Phoenicia, and Paul says it's time to go – no time to waste (Acts 21:2). He's determined you'll reach Jerusalem right at Pentecost, and not a day later, not if he can help it. This voyage is a bit less exciting, heading out across the Mediterranean. No hugging the coast anymore; the only land you glimpse is the southwestern coast of Cyprus on the left, and for most of the days of the journey, there's nothing but blue in all directions. It's a bit disorienting, isn't it, to have no landmarks, no sense of direction, other than to watch the clouds by day and stars by night? Paul's eyes aren't so good these days, so he asks you to let him know when somebody sees land again. Paul's feeling a bit restless – understandable.

But the 350-mile journey doesn't take as long as you thought. And sure enough, there it is! The old city of Tyre, jutting out on what used to be an island 'til Alexander the Great built a huge bridge so he could conquer it. Paul knows a couple believers here – it isn't his first rodeo in this neck of the woods, though you've never seen it before. You're amazed as you walk the broad street beside the aqueduct, carrying fresh spring-water into town. The apartment buildings loom taller than they do back home – real estate's at a premium on a tiny island city, you figure. And that hippodrome – you've never seen one so big! You're sorely tempted to go catch a chariot race, but the look Paul gives you says all you need to know about the options for entertainment you've got during the week-long layover you have in the city (Acts 21:3-4).

And that's another thing! One of your companions mentions to Paul that your next stop is only a two-day hike, isn't it? So why wait here a whole week until the ship's unloaded all its cargo? Why not just... go? But Paul reminds you there are people to see. Not just people. Disciples, fellow believers. (Man, Paul sure is in a more easygoing mood now that you've got a few extra days to unwind!) We have to look around to find those disciples – they've moved since Paul was last in the area – but once we find one, we meet the whole church. And what a time – everyone's so happy to see you, everyone's so pleased to meet you! It's like a family reunion with long-lost brothers and sisters and uncles and aunts and cousins... Paul was right; this is worth the stay.

And you know, that's Luke's point in later going into extra depth on this stop. The gospel is no obscure message. The church is no shrimpy sect, tiny tribe, or quaint cult. The gospel has gone forth in many lands by now, from Judea and Samaria all the way to Macedonia and Achaia, and plenty of places besides. The church is a global family, and Paul the missionary is welcome everywhere. So when Luke's readers hear the words of these stories, they'll remember: no matter how tough times get, no matter how much your neighbors tease you about your faith, no matter how they hassle you or harm you, you're not alone. The church is a global family; the gospel is a global message. It tears down the dividing walls between races and nations and builds a new humanity, all one in the Spirit, no matter our differences of skin color and place and culture. And everywhere in this global family, Paul is welcome. He's no sectarian figure, no petty cult leader, no outcast, no innovator, no rebel.

Well, the week goes by. The ship is ready. It's hard to say goodbye to all the new friends you've made! And they feel the same way. The families venture out on the beach. It's not like Miletus, a group of distinguished men with their close-cropped hair and gray beards. These are young and old, men and women and even little kids. They all walk with you to the beach near where the ship's anchored. You furiously wipe a tear from your eye – a grain of sand must've gotten in there. Yeah, that's it. 

And there, with seagulls cawing over the morning waves, with a fresh breeze bringing a pleasant salty aroma to your nose, you kneel down in the glistening white sand, maybe next to a little child, and you pray for one another – the disciples in Tyre pray for you and your group, and you pray for their church, nestled in this little corner of the earth. The look in Luke's eyes tells you he won't forget this scene. Wherever the church is, there is prayer. And not just trite words tossed into the air for mild effect, but deep spiritual communion with the Lord and with each other. A church without prayer is as big an oxymoron as picturing the Mediterranean dry as dust (Acts 21:5-6).

Sailing a short distance down the Syrian coast, you disembark at Ptolemais. Paul tells you it used to be called Akko – it was a Canaanite city, one that Israel never really conquered. As you step off the ship, Paul points south across Haifa Bay to a mountain peak on the other side. He calls it Mount Carmel and regales you, as you rest for the evening, with stories about Elijah and the priests of Baal, with fire from heaven and the chanting crowd and rain and a race.... But when daylight wanes and dies, Paul decides you could all use some sleep. It's up with the sun the next morning. Then you say goodbye to the Jewish-Christian family that gave you a bed to sleep in (Acts 21:7). Before you're out the door, Paul gives them a solemn warning to take care in the coming years. You'll remember that in a decade when you hear news of the massacre.

One last boat ride, forty miles down the coast to the huge harbor of beautiful Caesarea, the Roman headquarters for Judea. Built by Herod almost eighty years ago. As you walk through the busy streets, Paul points out the governor's palace and tells you about a former resident named Pontius Pilate. But he's been dead for twenty years; now a man named Felix lives there. Paul knows his way around – he's been here a couple times before. Things in the city are a bit tense – Jews, Greeks, Samaritans, Romans all live here, and just like Ptolemais, it'll turn bloody as the years roll on.

Our group reaches a large house where the church meets. Maybe the owner is a bit surprised to see Paul. And as Luke fills you in on what's going on, the irony of the whole situation isn't lost on you. The only reason this man ever left Jerusalem was to escape Paul's killing spree, back when he was still “breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord” (Acts 9:1). This man, Philip, lost his best friend Stephen in the first Christian martyrdom – and Paul had plenty to do with that. But times have changed. And now Philip welcomes his home to Paul – and all the companions – in hospitality (Acts 21:8).

That's what the gospel does. It bridges the gap. It turns enemies into family, rivals into friends. If you read this month's church newsletter, maybe you remember a quote from Trevin Wax: “Christians are former enemies pulled together by the cross of Jesus Christ. That is our foundation.” And that's what makes a united church so powerful – when people like Philip and Paul can embrace, reconcile, pray together, work together, love each other as brothers in the Lord. That's what the gospel did. And that's what the gospel does. It's why the gospel is the only hope for a divided America – and a divided church. 

And friends, our nation and the church of God are otherwise hopelessly divided. Right now, an Orthodox church council scheduled to start this week in Crete is falling apart because the various patriarchates are jockeying for power and control. Right now, countless denominations in America have lapsed into outright rejection of the Bible as an authority for the church's life and doctrine. Right now, our country is more politically and culturally polarized than we've seen it in decades; our friends and neighbors are filled with anger and resignation at the mess we have on our hands, and the world looks on in dismay at the prospects set before us. We live in a divided nation, and we have a divided church – and the only hope is the gospel Paul and Philip shared in common, the message that overcame their past and made them family.

But back to Caesarea. Since you've made such great time, you can afford to spend plenty of time with Philip, as he and Paul swap stories – Paul shares about the gospel's advance in Asia and Greece, and Philip fills you in on the early church and his continued ministry to the Samaritans. (Luke's taking plenty of notes, of course. He hints he may want to write a book someday.) 

And suddenly, there's a knock at the door and a voice you don't know. Philip sends someone to let him in. The room falls into a hushed buzz of whispers, and one name crops up again and again: 'Agabus.' Philip mentioned Agabus – how this aging man is a prophet of God, like Jeremiah and Ezekiel from centuries ago. He's come from Jerusalem with a message for the church here (Acts 21:10). 

Wordlessly, with single-minded purpose, he strides across the room toward Paul. Reaches out and grabs Paul's sash, unwinds it from his body. Not a word is spoken while Agabus sits on the ground and wraps it firmly around his ankles, then his wrists, and ties it tight with his teeth. Suspense hangs heavy in the air until the prophet finally speaks. “Thus saith the Holy Spirit: 'This is how the Jews at Jerusalem will bind the man who owns this belt and deliver him into the hands of the Gentiles'” (Acts 21:11). 

Color drains out of your face. All the laughter and celebration has ceased. The somber silence is pierced, perhaps, when a little child starts crying. One of Philip's daughters speaks: “I heard the same thing. Paul, please don't go!” (Acts 21:9). The whole room starts begging, pleading, weeping for Paul. This can't be the end! He can't go, he dare not go! And yet he will go anyway.

Now, I have to admit, this is pretty confusing. Isn't it? I mean, in the Bible, when the text tells us that somebody does something “through the Spirit” – you'd better listen! When a prophet pipes up, you've got to pipe down! And here we have Agabus delivering a direct message from the Holy Spirit about what's going to happen in Jerusalem. We have a whole group of Christians in Caesarea – Luke writes 'we,' so he admits he's in on this, and probably so are Philip's four daughters, who all bear the gift of prophecy – and they're all begging Paul, “Don't go! Don't go!” (Acts 21:12). And remember, the disciples in Tyre had been telling Paul not to go – and they did it “through the Spirit” (Acts 21:4).

I've always been uncomfortable with this passage. It really makes it sound like Paul gets himself in all that trouble because he's too stubborn to listen to God – just too bone-headed to get with the Spirit's program. It sounds like Paul could have avoided a lot of grief if he hadn't disobeyed the prophecies. So is that what's going on here? Does Paul lose a prophet-versus-apostle showdown, or what?

Well, the more I read it, the more I study it, the more I think the answer is no. That just doesn't fit what Luke is doing. Agabus doesn't prophesy a thing about whether Paul should go to Jerusalem; he just has news about what will happen in Jerusalem. That's what the Spirit says to him, and it's probably what the Spirit says to Philip's girls, and it's probably what the Spirit said to the disciples in Tyre. That's the whole message: “In Jerusalem, Paul will be bound and delivered into the hands of the Gentiles.” All the stuff about not going – that's a human application of the divine message. And it's an understandable one! I mean, who here, if God personally gave you a message that your best friend was in danger if they went to a certain city, wouldn't try to talk them out of going?

And yet Paul goes anyway. And it's not an act of disobedience. Over these last chapters, we've seen Paul grow and grow and grow – he's become so much more spiritually attuned and well-trained than he was during his first years as an apostle. Paul has matured the way the church needs to mature. And so it's no surprise that Luke paints a picture of Paul as being increasingly like Jesus. The deeper Paul gets into his mission, the more he becomes like Jesus, and the more he discerns God's will for his life. And God has a plan for him: that the former persecutor of the Jerusalem church must now face persecution in Jerusalem from people just like his old self.

Paul is being raised up as an imitator of the Suffering Servant, to walk the same path – to be “taken away by oppression and judgment” (Isaiah 53:8), purified from his old life of violence, and yet “it was the will of the LORD to crush him” (Isaiah 53:10). And Paul, like Jesus before him, refuses to let any heartbreak hold him back from bowing to God's will. In the Gospels, the Twelve try to stand in Jesus' way – they try to talk him out of it, they resort to violence to intervene, and in the end they abandon the path of Jesus and scatter like sheep without a shepherd. But the church has come a long way since that fateful night. The disciples in Caesarea stopped their outcries and entreaties; they held back from holding Paul back; and not only didn't they scatter, but they walked with Paul toward the city (Acts 21:13-16). That's a mark of the maturing church: they didn't scatter; they walked together.

But notice this scene, when Paul insists he's ready to die for the name of the Lord Jesus (Acts 21:13). The disciples could have chalked it up to Paul being stubborn – heaven knows he'd earned a reputation over the years! The disciples could have said that Paul was being unreasonable. They could have cut him loose to his own devices. They could have begrudgingly accepted his autonomy, respected his choices – or at least gone through the motions. And if they had, what would they have said? “Let the will of Paul be done.” In other words, “Let Paul get his own way, if he insists. Let him go rushing off into danger. His choice, his problem; we did our best.”

But that isn't what the disciples say. What do the disciples say instead? Do you remember? They say, “Let the will of the Lord be done” (Acts 21:14). Not Paul's will. Not their own will. God's will. They may not like the way the Lord's will is turning out. They may not find it easy. They may not find it pleasant. They may not find it natural. They may not find it sensible. They may be full of objections and counter-proposals. But after they've had their chance to speak, after they've had their chance to beg and plead, in the end, they say, “Let the will of the Lord be done.” 

They've adopted the same mindset that Paul has. Paul and the disciples are now of one mind: that the Lord's will comes first. And in that, they can say – like Paul wrote in a letter – that they've become “of the same mind, having the same love, being of full accord and of one mind” (Philippians 2:2). For they “have the mind of Christ” (1 Corinthians 2:16). And the humble mindset of Jesus Christ leads them to think the way Jesus thought when he came face-to-face with the thorniest step in God's will: “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done” (Luke 22:42).

In an ideal world, that wouldn't have been the Father's will, to watch his beloved Son chug the goblet of divine wrath. In an ideal world, it wouldn't be the Lord's will to summon Paul to face grave danger in Jerusalem – to watch him someday be beheaded as a martyr, or see Peter crucified upside-down, or watch John dipped in boiling oil. In an ideal world, we wouldn't face disease, death, pain, tragedy, poverty, starvation, shame. In an ideal world, we'd still call Eden home; we'd pursue our mission from there, beautifying the whole earth as a holy garden; and God would dwell with us, even now, face to face. And that would be the Lord's will in an ideal world.

But this isn't an ideal world. It's a rich world – a world with a story; a world of contrasts, of black and white and gray; a world with loss and rediscovery, with tragedy and redemption, with demise and martyrdom and, dare I say, resurrection. In this world, the Lord pursues his will through pain and shame and defeat and death to bring about delight and honor and victory and life. God's plan is a messy, roundabout thing to our sin-speckled eyes. We know, within our own church body, we have members who are gravely sick. We have members who have returned to the earth whence they came. We have members who face serious financial or personal trials. And our church isn't unique in that; we have neighbors, believers and non-believers, who can say the same thing.

These may not be easy times. But these are the times that make one thing very clear. Which of us are 'my-will' people, and which of us are 'the-Lord's-will' people? Which of us face the circumstances and shrink back, protest, denounce... and which of us trust the Father to and through the end? 

Being a 'Lord's-will' man or woman doesn't mean that we don't pray about it. It doesn't mean we don't propose solutions. It doesn't mean we renounce our brains. It doesn't mean we don't request a reprieve from God. It doesn't mean that the Lord's will is a monologue. It isn't. If you think it is, look at Abraham and Moses reasoning with the God they called their friend; look at Jesus, sweating blood in the Garden. The Lord's will embraces our dialogue. And yet the Lord is wiser than we. 

And being a 'Lord's-will' person, being a 'Lord's-will' church, means that we submit and move forward as one – not divided, but united – and it means that we prepare ourselves to “give thanks in all circumstances, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you” (1 Thessalonians 5:18).

But just the same, our church is facing a crux, a critical juncture, in our life. I've had some great discussions with other members of church leadership recently, and it's become clear to us that God has been active to bless us as a church. Take the tornado we suffered nearly four months ago. (Has it really been so long already?) Not only did God protect us from having damage that would impede our worship in this sanctuary, but it's like the tornado targeted exactly those things we were needing to replace anyway – and now insurance will cover it all fully, even the stained-glass window, as we recently learned. That's a blessing! 

And that's a message – a sign from God, I believe, that he is not done with this church. We are not a placeholder on this hill. Nor does God want us perpetually wrapped up in a mindset of maintenance, when we were made for a mission. But the choice is ours. Will we seek to discern God's vision for this church, and follow through? Or will we go about our lives and treat church as a building and a weekly event, and watch our members ail and age and drift away, until our doors close and our membership book and all our papers get filed on a shelf in Myerstown, in an archive room nobody visits but nuts like me?

The Lord's will for us is for us to be holy – like Paul writes, “This is the will of God: your sanctification” (1 Thessalonians 4:3). The Lord's will for us is to bless our neighbors – like Peter writes, “This is the will of God, that by doing good you should put to silence the ignorance of foolish people” (1 Peter 2:15). And the Lord's will for us is to catch God's vision and live out God's mission, with which Jesus commissioned his disciples before he ascended into heaven (Matthew 28:18-20). The worst prospect we could face is for God to be at work in the world and for us to miss out – all because we chose to be a 'my-will' church and not a 'Lord's-will' church.

But like Agabus, I feel God pressing a message on my heart. And it's this: Seek God. Soak this church in prayer. Ask God for a glimpse into his vision for Pequea EC. Share with each other. Talk about it. And as we find God's vision together and unite around it, go out and serve God's mission. It can just be a little thing – a neighborly gesture in Jesus' name; calling up a friend and inviting them to come and see; sharing with somebody the light the Bible shines on a pickle they're in; telling somebody the story of how Jesus has changed and is changing your life and your heart. 

Commit to being a 'Lord's-will' man or woman. I can't promise it will always be easy. Neither was it easy for Paul, though we have it easier than he did. But I can promise you that pursuing the Lord's will is the right call – and our calling. “May the Lord's will be done” – to us, and through us. Amen.

Miletus: "If Only I May Finish My Course": Sermon on Acts 20:13-38

Over these past two months, we've been following Paul through his second and third missionary journeys. When he started, he answered the Macedonian call. We learned that Jesus is still the Head of the Church, and that he sometimes sends us into new ministry frontiers. Just the same, we might have to set aside our old familiar ways of 'doing church' in order to reach our “Macedonians” – the people in our community we'd never reach by doing things the way we've always done them. 

In Philippi, we learned that the beauty of the gospel isn't in a generic God we can tame or fit into our preconceived worldview; the beauty of the gospel is in the name of Jesus, and “if our faith is in Jesus, then our faithful prayers and faithful songs can show off the splendor of the King,” even if we're in dark places ourselves. We asked the question: “What would it take to make your faith a beautiful witness?”

In Thessalonica, we learned that “following Jesus is not life as usual,” because this King turns our sinful world upside-down: “He wants to flip your anger into peace, your despair into joy, your greed into generosity, your lust into love, your earthiness into heavenly freedom, your hurt into healing.” That's the power of the gospel; that's the spiritual and political truth of the gospel. “And I'd rather displease Caesar, rather lose out on Mammon, rather walk out of step with the American way, than displease King Jesus, the Anointed Son of God.” 

In Berea, we learned the importance of listening with an open mind but verifying every claim against what the Bible says – making it the authority, the yardstick, by which we measure any preaching or any teaching, and especially any behavior or attitude we find in our own lives.

In Athens, we saw Paul set an example for how to build bridges for evangelism – how to start with what his audience knows and believes, and bring the gospel into contact with it. And we heard Paul's encouragement: you never needed idols, because God always stayed within reach, but now he's sent his Son, and it's time to repent and believe in him. Paul called us out on trying to limit our faith to the church walls, at failing to see the image of God in our every neighbor, at being intimidated by threats limited to the times and places God himself has set. 

In Corinth, we heard Paul receive a message from Jesus to “speak and not be silent.” “The church is a sent people, a missionary movement, the one holy worldwide and apostolic church; and if we're sent, then we're sent to speak the good news,” like Priscilla and Paul and Jeremiah – and even like Apollos, a man who wasn't just educated; he was “boiling in the Spirit.” And we started praying – may we never stop! – for God to turn up the heat in this church until we're all boiling in the Spirit too.

In Ephesus, we learned the difference between the gospel and magic – between really trusting Jesus as a person, and trying to use his name as a magic trick to get what we want, when we want it. We learned that Jesus won't settle for 95% of a person; he wants all of you or none of you; we don't get to keep a little pagan corner in one or two areas of our lives. And we learned how the word of the Lord can prevail in our lives, and how it can prevail in our world through the mission of the church to disciple our neighbors and neighborhoods. 

And then, finally, in Troas, we learned that even when everything seems like it's drawing to an end, even when death is inevitable, death doesn't have the last word for a Christian soldier who marches onward in faith and discipleship under Jesus Christ, the Recruiter and Commander.

And that brings us to this week. Here we meet Paul again on his goodbye tour. He spent the most time with the believers in Ephesus, where he lived for more than two years and had the most fruitful ministry of his career. But stopping in Ephesus would take ages to visit everybody, and besides, he's not exactly welcome back in the city anyway. So he sends word ahead to the Ephesian church elders – probably the leaders of each house church in the whole region, whose title in their churches was 'Overseer' or 'Bishop,' but who when gathered together were called 'elders.' And they're ready to meet Paul when he reaches the port city of Miletus – ready to listen to one of Paul's longest and best recorded speeches, as Luke summarizes the main points for us. At this stage in the game, we'd be foolish not to listen to what the mature Paul has to say.

Paul opens by reminding the elders about his ministry. They saw him the whole time he was in Asia – they know how Paul does things. They know the opposition he faced, and did it stop him? No – “I did not shrink from declaring to you anything that was profitable, and teaching you in public and from house to house, testifying both to Jews and to Greeks of repentance toward God and of faith in our Lord Jesus Christ” (Acts 20:20-21). Through it all, Paul never backed down – not once. When the going got tough, Paul kept going. He kept teaching, he kept preaching, he kept bearing witness. And that wasn't going to stop: “And now, behold, I am going to Jerusalem, constrained by the Spirit...” (Acts 20:22). Paul isn't sure if he'll survive Jerusalem or not – might get beaten, might get arrested, might even get lynched.

“The Holy Spirit testifies to me in every city that imprisonment and afflictions await me” (Acts 20:23). That's not exactly the kind of message I'd want to get from the Holy Spirit! If I were in Paul's shoes, it'd be awfully tempting to take a vacation. Wouldn't you? If you knew that everywhere you went, jail time and mob riots and punches and kicks were around the corner if you kept saying the things you were saying... wouldn't you take a break? Wouldn't you consider an early retirement – let somebody else take over, consider your time served?

I mean, think about your health, think about your life! “But I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself, if only I may finish my course and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus...” (Acts 20:24). Paul refuses to think about his life that way. Paul's planned persistence matches his past persistence. Paul will persevere. He won't back down. He won't chicken out. He refuses to let attachment to his own live be a distraction or an obstacle that keeps him from crossing that finish line. And his ministry is “to testify to the gospel of the grace of God,” a grace made available through repentance toward God and faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, just like he said.

That's Paul's gospel, right there. He won't let the Ephesian elders forget it. Paul isn't the bearer of bad news; he comes with good news, he comes with great news! God is giving out gifts! God is looking on us – his sinful, wayward people, and even on Gentiles who never were his people – with favor. And all we have to do is first repent, change our minds, turn away from ourselves and fix our eyes on God; and then, trust and depend on Jesus, the rabbi put to death like a godless criminal, to be living again as the Promised Redeemer, the 'Christ,' and the true King of the Universe, the 'Lord.' If we can do that, then we can be saved, we can be rescued, we can be gifted and graced with God's very presence in our lives, we can be raised from the clutches of our corruption to the power of God's Spirit, and everlasting life is ours. It's just that radical, but it's just that simple, too.

Paul won't let anything stop him from spreading that good news all over creation. If it gets him beaten, well, so be it. If it gets him arrested, well, so be it. If it gets him killed... well, he's ready. All that takes a back seat to finishing the race, finishing his testimony up to the end. And so he has to say goodbye to the elders. Paul won't be around Ephesus any more; and so they'll need to be ready to take care of things without him. “And now, behold, I know that none of you among whom I have gone about proclaiming the kingdom will see my face again. Therefore I testify to you this day that I am innocent of the blood of all, for I did not shrink from declaring to you the whole counsel of God” (Acts 20:25-27).

Isn't that a weird phrase – 'innocent of the blood of all'? I mean, is Paul worried that the elders will think he killed somebody in the woods? Well, actually, Paul's goodbye sermon seems to mostly be based on a couple chapters in the Book of Ezekiel. And here he's looking back at Ezekiel 33, and we need to understand what it's saying. For the second time, God calls Ezekiel to be “a watchman for the house of Israel” (Ezekiel 33:7). But this time, God explains: If trouble's coming on the land, and the people have a watchman, and the watchman sees trouble on the way, sees judgment coming, well, a watchman has two choices: sound the alarm, or keep it quiet. 

If he sounds the alarm, and somebody ignores it and keeps on doing the same dumb things and dies because of it, “his blood shall be on his own head. He heard the sound of the trumpet and didn't take warning; his blood shall be on himself. But if he had taken warning, he would have saved his life.” On the other hand, if the watchman gets scared or lazy and doesn't do his job, and the guy down in the field keeps on doing the same dumb things and dies in judgment, then “that person is taken away in his iniquity, but his blood I will require at the watchman's hand” (Ezekiel 33:2-6). That's just a general principle, but God applies it to Ezekiel: if God warns an evil person and Ezekiel doesn't convey the message, then even if that evil person gets their just desserts, Ezekiel's on the hook: “His blood I will require at your hand” (Ezekiel 33:8).

Paul's saying to the elders, “Hey, listen, I'm Ezekiel, I'm the watchman. And I'm telling you that I've warned everybody. Nobody slipped through the cracks. Not once did I fail to pick up the trumpet when I saw trouble coming. Not once did I fall asleep on my watch. So maybe not everybody listened, but I did my part faithfully. And when I see God, he isn't going to say, 'But now what about so-and-so? Why didn't you warn them? Isn't their blood on your hands?' Nope – no blood on my hands – I'm 100% innocent. And now it's your turn, elders. You're watchmen for the church, just like the church is a watchman for the world. Don't get bloody. Don't hold back a part of God's message.”

That's what Paul's telling them – that's what Paul is telling us. It'd be easy to run with this in the wrong direction. If there's one hobby we cherish in the church, it's complaining about the world – whining that the good old days aren't the good new days, whining that it's ugly and rough out there, that evil forces have somehow “taken God out of schools” – as if anybody can block God from somewhere – or that we just don't get the respect we used to. 

The church's hobby is complaining about the world. The church's hobby is fretting over America. And that is not what Paul is asking us to do. Remember, Paul says that his job isn't to judge the world; his job is to judge the church (1 Corinthians 5:12-13). That doesn't mean he thinks the world is sinless – no, the sinful ways of the world are a given, to him. But he calls out sin among those who claim to be God's people.

That's how the elders are to be watchmen – how people like me, and like Carl, and like the other leaders of the church, are watchmen. As pastor and board, we challenge and encourage the church. But the church has a watchman role too, and it isn't to whine and complain and play mournful little notes on the trumpet like a dirge. No – the trumpet isn't about the faults of 21st-century American culture; the trumpet is about the gospel. It's as simple as that! It's the same message that we needed to hear in the 1950s, and in the 1850s, as in the original 50s when Paul's telling it. “Repent” – some of the sins may be different, plenty are the same, but they were and are and will be sins – “and have faith in the Lord Jesus Christ” – and there's salvation in the kingdom of God, if you'll be a disciple and citizen.

This is serious business, the gospel. It means life or death to every soul. The gospel is not a hobby. The gospel is not a pet theory. The gospel is not a little box in our life that we open up in church and then close at the edge of the parking lot. Lately, I've been reading a lot of online tips from Europeans about travel to Europe – hey, go figure – and one of the common refrains is, “Keep religion to yourself – that's not something people show in public here.” 

We're hearing that in America these days too: the idea that 'religion' or 'faith' is something necessarily private, to the point that it'd be inappropriate to bring into public view, let alone to touch somebody else with it. But not only is that a weird quirk of modern Western culture, foreign to the whole experience of the human species from before recorded history; it's also a recipe for death. Because the gospel is not private. It's not just an opinion that you might or might not hold. It's a public truth about a public Lord and a public Savior, and it means life or death for everyone, whether they want to hear or not.

Friends, here's the key point. Our neighbors are dying. Some are dying fast; others are dying slow. As soon as a baby's born, she's starting to die. That's Adam's world. But worse, our neighbors are dying spiritually. They are passing away under God's sword of judgment, because our neighbors are clinging to their sinful flesh and to all the sinful ways we try to cope with our fragile existence. Our neighbors are refusing the wisdom of God for living, and are instead running around on foolish roads that lead to death – if not the big death of their souls, then the little death of their potential as disciples. And it happens to the churched and the unchurched. Your neighbors, our neighbors, are dying, are just wasting away. And there is a trumpet in your hand. Will we silently watch our neighbors bleed out, quietly sit there and stare at them as they expire? Then we can't say, like Paul, that we're “innocent of the blood of all.” This gospel is serious business.

Paul goes on to talk about wolves and shepherds and caring for the flock, and it's all a little bit befuddling, to be honest. But there are two main passages of Scripture shaping this part of the speech. The first is the next chapter of Ezekiel, about the shepherds of Israel who feed themselves but not the sheep (Ezekiel 34:2-3). And the other one is Luke's story about Jesus commissioning the Seventy. It's the only other time in his writings that Luke mentions wolves, because Jesus tells the Seventy that he will “send you out as lambs in the midst of wolves” (Luke 10:3). 

The church is always a church under threat. We've forgotten that too easily in America. We have this long legacy of the church as some kind of respectable institution, safe and secure from all alarm. But the church is always a church under threat – from wolves. Some wolves are persecutors of the church. But Jesus most uses the image of wolves to talk about false prophets, false teachers – those who bring twisted, corrupted ideas into the church and try to revise her faith (Matthew 7:15). And Paul warns that, after he leaves, “fierce wolves will come in among you, not sparing the flock” (Acts 20:29). Sadly, that's true. We could stand here and name plenty of false teachings that, like the fangs of a wolf, tear apart the gospel, dividing the seamless fabric of the church's faith.

But just as dangerous as those wolves are the bad shepherds. A shepherd's job is threefold: a shepherd feeds the sheep; a shepherd protects the sheep; and a shepherd shows care for the sheep. But a bad shepherd steals from the sheep, leaves the sheep defenseless, even abuses the sheep. We see that in Ezekiel 34: “You eat the fat, you clothe yourselves with wool, you slaughter the fat ones, but you don't feed the sheep. The weak you haven't strengthened, the sick you haven't healed, the injured you haven't bound up, the strayed you haven't brought back, the lost you haven't sought, and with force and harshness you have ruled them. So they were scattered, because there was no shepherd, and they became food for all the wild beasts” (Ezekiel 34:3-5). And that's what Paul warns about, why he tells the elders to “pay careful attention to [themselves] and all the flock,” because not only will there be wolves, but “from among your own selves will arise men speaking twisted things, to draw away the disciples after them” (Acts 20:28, 30).

Now, I want to make this clear: Paul is not against a paid ministry. You might think that, from all the times he says in this speech about how he didn't covet anybody's gold or silver, how he refused to accept compensation for his service, all that (Acts 20:33-34). But actually, he says it would be a shepherd's right to drink some milk while guarding the flock (1 Corinthians 9:7). Paul insists that he has the right to “refrain from working for a living,” in the way he does as a tent-maker (1 Corinthians 9:6). “If we have sown spiritual things among you, is it too much if we reap material things from you?” (1 Corinthians 9:11). Just like all Israel supported the landless Levites, so the church provides for those who lead. After all, “the Lord commanded that those who proclaim the gospel should get their living by the gospel” (1 Corinthians 9:14). And those in the church who preach and teach, he suggests, are worthy of “double honor” (1 Timothy 5:17). Jesus himself told the Seventy to “remain in the same house, eating and drinking what they provide, for the laborer deserves his wages” (Luke 10:7). So if you hear anyone say that pastors or missionaries shouldn't be paid, know that Jesus, Paul, and all the apostles disagree. Paul may have had practical reasons to not use that right, but it was still his right (1 Corinthians 9:15).

Yet at the same time, it's one thing to drink milk from the flock and another thing to butcher the sheep for meat. And the sad truth is that Paul was right: throughout the history of the church, plenty of shepherds have put themselves before the flock. Think of pastors who introduced false teachings into the church – Arius, one of the worst heretics ever, was a priest in Alexandria. Think of televangelists, urging the poor to exercise faith by sending donations – funny how you never hear Creflo Dollar or Benny Hinn proving their own faith by giving away their fortune to all the people who watch their antics on the screen. Think of the Mormon prophets, demanding tithing from the poor so that they can make more business investments, buy more stately houses and finer suits.

And I'm led to remember a conversation I had last week. You might remember I hadn't been feeling well, and I didn't stay for Sunday School. But on the way home, I stopped at the bed and breakfast down the street, to drop off some copies of the church newsletter. There were plenty of guests and neighbors on the porch, eager for some conversation, and one man told me a story about the church he used to attend in Virginia. I won't name names, but a new pastor took the reins, dismissed the board, and set about turning the church into a cult – he directed them to shun any dissenters, even divorce their spouses if they weren't on board with what he was teaching. He's still there – that's the sad part of the story. 

Now, that's extreme, but I'm sure more than a few of you have someone who comes to mind when you think of a truly bad shepherd – one who didn't feed you, one who didn't protect you, one who didn't care for you, one who tried making disciples for himself – his theology, his vision, his gain, his benefit – rather than for Jesus or for the kingdom of God. But the church doesn't belong to any shepherd, good or bad; it's “the church of God, which he bought with his own blood” (Acts 20:28).

The truth is, there are a lot of people out there who used to 'go to church' until they had a run-in with a bad shepherd; and they dropped out and swear they'll never come back, never again have public fellowship with God's people, all because there was one bad shepherd. That's one of the greatest tragedies I can imagine. It can't be easy to get over that kind of trauma – and yet you have to. You can't let one, or two, or even ten bad shepherds keep you away from the Good Shepherd when he's calling you back to the flock. But there are more than just a few names on our church's membership rolls who've spent years doing exactly that – staying away from the Good Shepherd's flock because of how a bad shepherd they met here or elsewhere failed them. Their blood will be on that bad shepherd's hands – but they themselves are starving, whether they realize it or not.

So “pay careful attention” – “be alert” – don't fall asleep on the job, like Eutychus did last week in Troas. Watch out for wolves. And pray for your shepherds – your pastor and your church board. But also, whatever area of stewardship God has given you – maybe your work, maybe your area of ministry, maybe your family – be a good watchman and a good shepherd. And in the end, it's between you and God. The same is true for these elders: it isn't between them and Paul; it's between them and God – and us and God. “And now I commend you to God and to the word of his grace, which is able to build you up and to give you an inheritance among all those who are sanctified” (Acts 20:32). 

Isn't that an amazing thought? Grace isn't cheap, and grace isn't an excuse. We use it that way too much. Grace cost God his own blood, and grace is meant not to excuse us but to change us – not through our power, but his. Trust in his word of grace – it will meet you where you are, but it won't leave you where you are. And when God is through with you, you'll see clear as day that “it's more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35).

Paul doesn't deny the times will get tough. They already are tough! And they'll get tougher without him. But the solution isn't to find another apostle; the solution isn't to toss up our hands; the solution isn't to fret; the solution isn't to build our own little kingdoms. The solution is the grace of God, and faithfulness to what Paul passed on. 

And there's hope beyond the wolves, hope beyond the bad shepherds. Because Ezekiel's prophecy continues from there – God himself will rescue his sheep, God will appoint good shepherds, and God says at the end, “I will make with them a covenant of peace and banish wild beasts from the land. … And the trees of the field shall yield their fruit, and the earth shall yield its increase, and they shall be secure in their land, and they shall know that I am the LORD … They shall no more be a prey to the nations, nor shall the beasts of the land devour them. They shall dwell securely, and none shall make them afraid. … And you are my sheep, human sheep of my pasture, and I am your God” (Ezekiel 34:25, 27-28, 31).

That's what we're counting on! That's what we're trusting in! That's the inheritance for the sanctified – what we have promised to us through the word of his grace! So even though it's hard, even though bad shepherds leave a foul taste in your mouth, even though the wolves snarl or even sneak around in borrowed wool, don't give up. Don't shrink back. Don't stop short of the finish line! 

Count all those things as nothing, if only you might finish your course and the ministry Jesus gave you, to testify to the good news about the grace of God – to announce the word of his grace that brings the only safety we could ever have or ever need. Keep warning the dying; keep dodging the wolves; keep caring for the church of God; keep trusting in his word of grace. Amen and amen.

Troas: One Last Bread-Break: Sermon on Acts 20:1-16

Good morning, brothers and sisters! When we last left our hero Paul, we saw him in the prime of his life (Acts 19:1-20). His ministry had never been flourishing more – through his very sweat rags, the sick were healed; through him, Ephesians renounced their magic tricks, their devotion to profitable silver, their reliance on Artemis or Caesar to save them, and they turned entirely to Jesus; and, as the word of the Lord prevailed within them, so it prevailed all across the province of Asia. 

Like we've said before: Acts isn't so much a history of the church as a story about the mission – but to the extent the church is healthy, that's just about the same thing! Because the church is a missionary movement, and if we're committed to being a healthy church, then we'll follow the Spirit out past the stained glass windows and watch the word of the Lord prevail.

But Paul couldn't stay in Ephesus. A riot stirred up by the pagan silversmith Demetrius made it impractical for him to stick around (Acts 19:21—20:1). Paul was honor-bound to leave – but he left a thriving church behind him, and that's what matters. 

And now Luke traces Paul's journey onward. He traveled through Greece and Macedonia and picked up a number of new companions: folks from Thessalonica, Berea, Derbe, Asia (Acts 20:2-4). Luke doesn't mention it, but this is the season when Paul wrote some letters and is now gathering a big offering from his churches to bring to the Jerusalem church. It's not a big theme in Acts, but Paul was really passionate about it. He saw it as the final fruit of his ministry: just as the spiritual blessings of Israel had spilled over onto the nations through his apostleship, now the churches in the Gentile nations would return material blessings back to the heart of Israel – a vivid symbol of the nations coming obediently to Zion, just like the prophets said. And Paul would be the chosen priest to present this pure and holy Gentile offering to God and to share it with the holy ministers of the gospel in Jerusalem.

Paul's companions listed here are probably representatives chosen by the churches to carry offerings on those churches' behalf, with Luke likely representing Philippi himself. And so Paul embarks on this last journey – one of his great goals is within reach. But the first place he has to stop after Philippi is, naturally, Alexandria Troas, on the Turkish coast, the site where Alexander the Great invaded the world. Paul's been through here before, and there's already a small church set up. He and his team can only spare seven days, so he doesn't want to waste a moment of it (Acts 20:5-6).

They didn't have big church buildings in those days – couldn't meet in a place like this – so Paul and his friends have to all cram into a third-floor tenement apartment. Paul's holding conversation with them, knowing he won't see them again – so any last instruction, any last comfort they need, he has to give now. So it's no surprise that he makes his message a long one – lasting until midnight and beyond (Acts 20:7). Wow! I sure am glad this church doesn't know anything about having a long-winded preacher. (That's your cue to laugh!)

Now, Luke's audience wouldn't have judged Paul for this. Long speeches were actually very normal for preachers and teachers back then. Even a couple centuries ago, massive sermons lasting several hours were somewhat typical right here in America. But they usually didn't happen in such cramped rooms. Everybody's packed in there like sardines. What happens when you stuff a whole crowd of people into a little room with candles, and the ventilation isn't so great? It gets hot – hot and sweaty – and people are getting maybe a little bit dizzy.

Eutychus is sitting on the broad windowsill – it was big enough, this wasn't so unusual – and he's described as a young man, probably of military age. Luke's first readers would expect any student to be able to stay awake through even a long lecture. That's just the self-discipline you needed.

But Eutychus doesn't have it. He yawns. He feels his eyes drifting closed. He tries to keep them open, but they're so heavy! He yawns again, peers through his bleary eyes. The room seems like it's dancing, with all the candles flickering. It's bright, he should stay awake, but... yawn... just so sleepy... He can let himself nod off, just this once....

And then he drops. Tumbles out the window, onto the street or courtyard below. Can you imagine the dismay running through the crowd? I wonder – were Eutychus' mom and dad there? Aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters? His childhood best friend – was that guy here? And there goes Eutychus (Acts 20:9)! They rush to the window to look out over; some run down the stairs as fast as they can go, wanting to get to the body, wanting in their grief to say goodbye.

It's a familiar kind of scene: a youth, a kid, gone from the world in an unthinkable way at an untimely age. Elijah saw it. Elisha saw it. Jesus saw it. Peter saw it. And now Paul sees it. And if you've been paying attention, there are lots of clues what's going to happen. Why does Luke mention the Feast of Unleavened Bread (Acts 20:6)? Why does Luke describe the location of this scene as “the upper room” (Acts 20:8) – where else does that come up in the biblical story? Why does Luke specify that this scene here takes place “on the first day of the week” (Acts 20:7)? Can you guess what he's suggesting?

The Feast of Unleavened Bread – the days following Passover, when Jesus died on the cross. In the upper room, this band of disciples is breaking bread – just like the Last Supper. And now we've come to the first day of the week – the exact phrase Luke uses at the end of his Gospel when he opens the chapter about the resurrection (Luke 24:1). This is a new Last Supper story, a new account of death and resurrection! 

Luke wants you to hear those echoes, wants you to pick up on what he's doing. This story is not going to end with Eutychus staying dead. And he doesn't. Paul picks him up, tells the people not to worry (Acts 20:10). Paul's become a lot like Jesus during these last chapters. And now, like Jesus and like the wonder-working prophets Elijah and Elisha before him, Paul yanks this kid from the Grim Reaper's bony fist. There's hope for Eutychus. The breaking of bread isn't done, not even for him. And even death and restoration can't impede the witness of the gospel. That's why Paul keeps on talking, keeps on making use of every moment, doesn't let himself be diverted from his mission (Acts 20:11).

Why does all this matter? Why is it so timely for us to hear this week? Well, you know what tomorrow is. Memorial Day. And on Memorial Day, Americans show honor to those who lost their lives in the course of their military service toward this country – often on our behalf – those who boldly faced peril in “air and land and sea” – whether they were among “the host of those who love the vastness of the sky,” or “those who on the ocean ply.” 

I know that many of you can think of the name of someone close to you – the first person who pops into your mind when I ask you about someone you knew personally who died while in the service – maybe World War II, maybe Korea, maybe Vietnam, maybe Afghanistan or Iraq or deployed elsewhere? Would you please raise your hand and then say their name loudly when I point to you? Who comes to mind when I ask who died while in the service?

Friends, this story of Paul's departure – the last bread-break he gets with his friends in Troas – is very intentionally cast by Luke as a last meal. This scene points back to the Last Supper, and to the death of Jesus Christ. By this point in the story, Paul knows that he isn't going to make it back to Troas. He has a mission to accomplish – he intends to announce his gospel in Rome, the center of imperial power, to preach to the very emperor himself, if he can – and then, if he lives long enough, to bring the gospel to the utmost reaches of the west in Spain.

But there's no turning back, no more revisiting places he'd once been, no more seeing old friends. He's making a goodbye tour, knowing the risks of Jerusalem, as the prophet Agabus will tell him (Acts 21:10-11). Paul doesn't know exactly what waits for him there, but says – and we'll cover this speech next week – he says that “the Holy Spirit testifies to me in every city that imprisonment and afflictions await me. But I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself, if only I may finish my course and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the grace of God. And now, behold, I know that none of you among whom I have gone about proclaiming the kingdom will see my face again” (Acts 20:22-25). 

And he's right – Acts never records another trip to Corinth, another visit to Ephesus, another stay in Troas. Paul understands exactly the feelings of a soldier who says goodbye, unsure whether he'll make it back. Paul knows the pain, the wistfulness, the anxious separation that shrouds Memorial Day and all its memories.

And yet this scene reminds us that there's more to the story. At the moment when Luke is preparing his readers – preparing us – to watch Paul march out to battle one last time, to end up a prisoner of war in God's holy war against the dominion of darkness... well, at that moment, Luke does all he can to remind us that the death and resurrection of Jesus has consequences for the church. At that moment, Luke hearkens back to that central story by showing us that Eutychus does not have to stay dead. 

In the instant he fell from the window, the hearts of all those gathered sank – sank like the news hitting a father, a mother, a sister, a brother, a friend, a fiancée, that their beloved won't come back from that foreign land – whether the halls of Montezuma or the shores of Tripoli, whether far-off northern lands or sunny tropic scenes; whether Valley Forge or Custer's ranks, San Juan Hill or Patton's tanks – won't come back, save in a pinewood box.

The hope for an American soldier (or a soldier from any other nation) is the only hope for all of us, as well – and that's to be a Christian soldier... to be enlisted in Christ's holy war against the dominion of darkness. Because that's what a disciple is – someone under the discipline of Christ's service, someone exercising the self-control and watchfulness proper to his or her duty in that war, someone vigilant in the day of battle, equipped with God's own armor (1 Peter 5:8; 1 Corinthians 16:13; Ephesians 6:11). 

A disciple is a Christian soldier, whose fight as such is never against flesh and blood but against the dark powers that infect and infest the world... that dig their fierce talons and fiery darts into our own souls, our own lives and lifestyles (Ephesians 6:12). When and where the Son of God goes forth, a disciple follows in his train. A disciple belongs to the church militant here on earth and, when his or her tour of duty in this world is done, plans to return with all the church triumphant! 

Yes, a disciple is just such a Christian soldier. And for no other soldier is there this immense hope – a certainty that, like Eutychus, death is no defeat, because Jesus Christ has trampled down death by death, and on those in the tomb he's bestowing the victory of life! By that, you can be more than just a little comforted (Acts 20:12)!

My hope and prayer today is that, for all those servicemen whose names we shared out loud this morning, that they were also enlisted in Christ's army. Maybe they already were when you said your goodbyes with them. But if they weren't, I pray they joined up in those last weeks, days, hours, even seconds. The love of God is relentless, and there's no recruiter so tenacious as Jesus Christ, the commander of the armies of the LORD of Hosts (Joshua 5:14)! I've got my own speculations on how the relentless love of God pursues us as we surrender our last breath.

But more important and relevant to us today is whether we – each one of you, and myself, too – are enlisted in the armed forces of heaven – armed with the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God (Ephesians 6:17), to fight against sin's inward summons and the world's temptations, against principalities and powers and all thoughts and prideful schemes that set themselves up in opposition to the wisdom of our holy God (Ephesians 6:12; 2 Corinthians 10:4-5). Are you enlisted? Are you just such a Christian soldier? If you're not, don't leave this building, don't leave this gathering, without having a heart-to-heart with the Recruiter and Commander!

But if you are a Christian soldier, then hear this word: March onward! March onward, with the cross of Christ crucified being all the banner, all the flag, all the emblem you need. No matter whether the American kingdom should “rise or wane, / the Church of Jesus constant will remain.” March onward, sure in the promise that, whether you weaken on the field of battle like Eutychus or stay strong to the end like Paul, there's a resurrection promise that your last bread-break is only final for now. 

Death does not get the last word. Tombs are temporary. Because one day, we will break bread with Paul, and with Eutychus, and our fallen brothers and sisters and friends, and best of all, with the Lord Jesus himself – and in that day, there will be no need to decorate graves ever again. There won't be any more graves to decorate – all swords will be beaten into plowshares, and all spears into pruning hooks, and the nations won't learn war anymore (Isaiah 2:4) – and “the God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet” (Romans 16:20). Hallelujah for the gospel of resurrection and unending peace! Amen and amen.

Ephesus: "The Word of the Lord Prevailed": Sermon on Acts 19

Good morning, brothers and sisters! Sure has been a wet week out there at times – and still is! But through all the weather, we've come to the first Sunday after Pentecost. And if we remember last week, we met someone new in the story, a man named Apollos, who was incredibly gifted in mind and, most importantly, in the Spirit. 

Paul had stopped in Ephesus briefly before Apollos arrived, and when Paul did, the folks at this synagogue actually wanted Paul to stick around with them (Acts 18:19-20). He told them he'd come back “if God wills,” and God did will (Acts 18:21)! In the meantime, Apollos came to probably this very synagogue, speaking boldly and teaching about Jesus, so far as what he knew (Acts 18:25-26).

In Thessalonica, Paul got to dialogue at the synagogue for three whole weeks (Acts 17:2). In Berea, he would've gotten a lot longer, but his Thessalonian opponents chased him away (Acts 17:13-14). We don't hear how long he did this in Athens (Acts 17:17) or in Corinth (Acts 18:4), but his synagogue ministry in Corinth gets cut short by dirty, slanderous opposition that drives him to mainly focus on the Gentiles (Acts 18:6). 

And now in Ephesus, where Priscilla and Aquila and Apollos have been serving the gospel, this friendly synagogue gives Paul three whole months to teach there, “reasoning and persuading them about the kingdom of God” (Acts 19:8). Seems too good to be true, and when it all comes down, the opposition is just attributed to 'some' – as in, not everybody wants Paul gone, because a sizeable number are convinced or still open!

So when the synagogue as a whole has become a hostile environment, Paul leaves and takes a big band of new believers with him. And where does he go? To “the hall of Tyrannus” (Acts 19:9), and there he stays for two years, holding daily discussions there, so that both Jews and Greeks throughout the whole province hear about the word of the Lord (Acts 19:10). We often miss what an amazing thing is going on here. Paul hasn't stopped being a tent-maker or leather-worker, but he's found a new job on the side. Paul has become an official, approved professor of philosophy for the city of Ephesus. That's pretty amazing! What he dabbled with in Athens, he's matured to full measure here.

Probably he does his craftsmanship in the marketplace from sunrise until late morning, and then goes to the hall – used as a local school as well as for other advanced lectures – to teach for five hours – first the general crowds who wander in, then more dedicated students including the new believers. He has to rent the building, but once his popularity picks up, he gets financial sponsorship from local benefactors who've served in government – the Asiarchs (Acts 19:31). 

So there's Paul, teaching the Bible in a school, holding lectures in off-hours. Students wanting to hear different styles would go around listening to any lectures or discussions available, and the whole city was on siesta and might go looking for some entertainment, so plenty of both wandered in – especially because there weren't enough teachers to go around.

To me, this is absolutely amazing. I never really thought about this before, but Paul's new position is a major launching platform for his ministry. He's in the schools, he's teaching college, he's making friends and influencing people, and he's doing this for two years! And even though he faces some persecution during this time, he's still enjoying the privileges of official teaching. It's possible to have both: you can be a believer, you can follow the Way, you can minister the gospel, both while enjoying status and while being opposed and oppressed – and sometimes both at once! And this is what he's trained for. When the Spirit led Paul on a route of ministry he didn't expect, it was to make sure he was ready for this.

Paul didn't know what God had in store! If you'd asked Paul in Acts 14 if he thought he'd ever be a philosophy teacher in Ephesus, and that it'd be the most successful gospel ministry of his life up to then, I mean, is that what Paul's written down as his career goal? No! No, this is a move of God. Paul didn't plan it; God did. And all the uncomfortable situations, all the fish-out-of-water experiences in Athens, everything else – now Paul can look back on it and see what God was doing. 

But Paul couldn't have done that if he'd disobeyed Jesus last chapter to “speak and not be silent” (Acts 18:9). Without faithfulness, we won't find out what God is training us to do and be. But rest assured: God has a plan for your life. It may involve suffering – too often we gloss over that. It may involve discomfort, and awkwardness, and hardship, and deprivation, and a lot of seemingly wrong turns. But God is the Grand Weaver. He's taking those threads and making a tapestry. He's writing your story, and that confusing path you're on may prove to be just the plot that makes the most exciting chapter possible. Just trust God, and keep on trucking.

As for Paul, that's what he did. And so for two years, his ministry prospered and reached all of Asia and beyond – he trained mission teams and sent them out, and even word of mouth reached other towns about this popular new philosopher in Ephesus with an original message they ought to hear. In fact, it's during this time that all Seven Churches of Revelation get founded. The word of the Lord reaches not just a city, but the whole province – amazing! 

But Paul's ministry isn't just in teaching. God is doing miracles. He lays hands on people, they get healed (Acts 19:11). And soon, that's not enough. Jesus laid hands on people, and then suddenly a woman was healed by touching the fringes on his clothes (Luke 8:44). Peter laid hands on people, and then suddenly they got better when his shadow crossed their path (Acts 5:15). And now the same happens with Paul – the Spirit won't stay limited to touch.

What's happening here is that, as Paul's fame as a miracle man grows, people are sneaking into his workshop and taking things – his grimy aprons... the rags he uses to wipe sweat from his face when he gets overheated – and miracles follow them (Acts 19:12). It's not Paul's idea, just like Jesus didn't suggest touching his garment and Peter didn't ask people to gather in his shadow. But if last chapter we heard about Apollos “boiling in the Spirit” (Acts 18:25), now we have Paul sweating out Holy Spirit! 

And I can't help but think, “Isn't that what we need today? We need the church to be so saturated in the Spirit that God makes himself undeniably known here!” Too often, we try to make it through on our own power. But we are not made to be self-sufficient. We aren't! When Paul writes in his letters about 'the natural man,' he's literally talking about a soul-driven person – somebody whose own soul, whose own self, is the practical source of their actions. And most of the time, that's where we live. Think back over the last week. How much of what you did, how much of what you tried to do, how much of what you thought about, came mostly from inside yourself, within your soul?

But Paul tells us about another possibility. When he talks about somebody being 'spiritual,' he's not talking about somebody thinking about God a lot. (By the way, when somebody tells you that they're “spiritual but not religious,” it probably means they're neither.) Because when Paul talks about being 'spiritual,' he's talking about a Spirit-driven person – somebody whose attitudes and actions aren't led or decided or fueled by their own soul, their own self, but by the Spirit of God living within you. And when we become totally surrendered to the Spirit, to whatever fruit and gifts he wants to grow and give, to wherever he wants to lead us and whatever he wants to do with us – well, as we mature, who's to say whether we won't sweat out the Spirit's power too?

But back to Paul. Luke wants to make sure we don't get the wrong idea, because this whole healing-cloth thing sounds a bit like magic. And magic was a big deal in Ephesus. In fact, around the whole Roman world, if you had an amulet with some occult symbol etched on it, you might call it “Ephesian writing.” What Athens was to philosophers, Ephesus was to magicians. And it's no surprise that the next two stories make obvious the difference between magic and the gospel. 

A band of Jewish magicians, children or disciples of a renegade Jewish priest with the Latin name Scaeva, swing through town, trying to do magical exorcisms (Acts 19:13-14). In those days, there were two ways you might try to give a demon the boot – you could learn its name and subdue it, or you could manipulate a tougher spirit to do your dirty work for you. And that's what these magicians try – only the one they want to invoke is Jesus. 

Oh, the demon knows who Jesus is, and he's heard who Paul is. But these men have no connection to either. They aren't students of Paul, and they aren't followers of Jesus. They aren't trusting in Jesus; they're trying to use him, just one name among many. And as a result, they don't exorcise the demon; the demon asks their name and exorcises them (Acts 19:15-16)! Hilarious!

It's easy to laugh at the sons of Scaeva. But the truth is, we might be more like them than we think. Because we follow in their footsteps sometimes. They were trying to domesticate Jesus to their own agenda, rather than joining his. And there are days we do the same thing. We have goals, we have ideas, and implicitly we see Jesus as a tool to achieve them. We want to invoke Jesus, to pressure him to our will, to have him cast out our problems so that we can get back to 'life as usual.' That's exactly what the sons of Scaeva tried. And it didn't work. It doesn't work. Jesus is not here to be our butler, or our nanny, or our concierge, or our errand-boy. He isn't here to endorse our partisan politics, or take our side in our petty personal squabbles, or bail us out in times of trouble and then kindly go away. He is Lord always and Savior always.

Remember the scene in the Book of Joshua: as the Israelites were preparing for battle against Jericho, Joshua looked up, and there was a man with a sword in his hand. A threat! Or a helper? So Joshua asks, “Excuse me, sir, but whose side are you on? Is it our side, or Jericho's side? Are you for us or against us?” And the answer isn't, “Your side, of course, Joshua.” Nor is the answer, “Their side.” The answer is just, “No.” “Are you for us or against us?” “No... but I am the commander of the LORD's army” (Joshua 5:13-14). And so Joshua gives worship. 

If you ask Jesus, “Hey, are you on my side or theirs?”, that's the answer you'll get: “No.” What matters isn't getting Jesus on your side; what matters is joining his team. And that happens through faith. That's what the sons of Scaeva don't get. They think they can manipulate Jesus to take their side against the demon, and then discard Jesus until he proves useful again. 

Often, we do the same thing: we reach out when there's a problem in our path, and then we want to go back to 'life as usual.' We can enlist Jesus, we think, and then muster him out when the battle's done. But Jesus didn't come to be a soldier fighting the battles of Jonathan, or Joe, or Cindy, or Wilmer. Jesus came to enlist us. And since the sons of Scaeva aren't in the fight, the demon doesn't know them, and their magic is pointless and vain – and so is every goal we try to reach by using Jesus instead of trusting him as Lord of our lives.

When news gets out in Ephesus, it catches attention. You mean these magicians aren't worth diddly-squat? That Jesus is greater than angels and demons and our little gods and spells? And everyone begins celebrating, magnifying, exalting the name of Jesus – that's what we want to see (Acts 19:17)! Because the name of Jesus isn't a tool to be wielded, or an incantation to be pronounced. He doesn't make himself available to magic; he asks us to approach with just faith. No fancy spells, no secret tricks that'll blow your mind... just trust in him, to work for his kingdom, and to accept the answers he gives. 

And now the believers come, and they have an admission to make. They'd been trying to follow Jesus in a lot of things... but they wanted to hold on to magic too, as a back-up plan, or a side business, or a hobby. They figured that Jesus is plenty of heavenly good, and maybe Jesus rules the future... but this is the real world, this is earth, this is here and now, and we need practical magic to get by! Only, we don't. And now they realize that. Jesus isn't content to let this corner of their lives stay pagan. Jesus won't settle for 95% of a person. Jesus wants the entire Ephesian – and the entire you, and the entire me. No areas held back. Nothing left pagan, nothing running according to the old rules of the world.

And that's a challenge for us, because there are so many areas where, pressed with the clear commands of the gospel, we object, “Well, yeah, sure, in theory, but let's be practical here, that just won't work!” Maybe it's the gospel discouraging us from living by the sword. Maybe it's the repeated command to not fear, not worry, just trust in the Lord. Maybe it's the gospel's call to show hospitality 'til it hurts, or to bless those who curse us. Maybe it's the gospel's high standard for living out the gospel in our careers, or in our marriages, or with our wallets – and we want to say, “Slow down, let's be practical here!” 

We assume we can fairly hold that back, because Jesus has no business with it, Jesus can't handle it. But what the Ephesians realize here is, Yes he can! And he will. Break the power of those secret sins; burn those useless magic scrolls (Acts 19:18-19). Whatever the cost, turn yourselves over to Jesus entirely – confess your sins, break the ties that bind you to unbelieving worldly ways, and go all in for the kingdom! That's what the Ephesian believers do here. They would rather have Jesus than silver or gold, or houses or lands, or applause, or worldwide fame; rather led by Jesus than “to be the king of a vast domain / or be held in sin's dread sway.” We sang it. But is it true – would we rather have Jesus lead?

And then Luke says it: “The word of the Lord continued to increase and prevail mightily” (Acts 19:20). The word of the Lord prevailed! There were a lot of false messages floating around Ephesus in those days. There was the false gospel of magic – that you could be saved from your troubles with the right secret tricks. There was the false gospel of Caesar – Ephesus was a big center of the imperial cult, had temples where you could worship Rome itself, or Julius Caesar, or Augustus – and Rome offered salvation from your barbarian ways by making you civilized, bringing order to your world through noble politics and strong leaders. There was the false gospel of Artemis, whose temple there was one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. All that's left, though, is a single towering pillar. I've been there, I've seen it, and the birds make their nest at the top. And there was, of course, the false gospel of silver – that what matters most of all is profit, and in wealth is salvation from all your troubles, and that's what life is all about.

In the story, we meet a fellow named Demetrius, a leader in the silversmith's guild, who follows that message above all. Demetrius sees Paul's teaching as a threat to Artemis-worship, which is the livelihood of the city – after all, the Temple of Artemis served as an international bank and owned tens of thousands of acres of land – but, most important to Demetrius, his personal business. Demetrius is the prototype of so many companies today that adopt anti-Christian policies, agitate for anti-Christian change in society, because that kind of image is where the money is. They follow the false gospels of silver and Artemis – but may the word of the Lord prevail.

Yet where Demetrius stirs up a riot in the theater, agitating to protect his business in silver, the believers dismiss all the silver they could get from selling those magic scrolls – they've turned from the false gospels of magic, of Caesar, of Artemis, of silver, to follow Jesus in everything. The word of the Lord has prevailed in them – has prevailed over all the false gospels, has come out on top and won their allegiance. 

And the word of the Lord needs to prevail in us, and prevail mightily! Just like the Ephesian believers, we need to lay down our lives in surrender to the gospel. We need to submit to Jesus and let him reshape us, let him root out all the hidden pagan pockets in our souls. That's what the life of faith is: we lower our defenses, we present ourselves to Jesus, and with the scalpel of the Spirit, the Great Physician becomes our Great Surgeon, slicing and stitching and saving.

That's what it means for the word of the Lord to prevail in us, in our lives. It's not a one-time thing. In many churches, there's a great motto: “Ecclesia reformata, semper reformanda.” The church has been reformed, but it always needs to be reforming – and so do our lives. Jesus isn't done with us when we're born again. Paring away our hidden paganism is a lifelong process of the word of the Lord prevailing. As we gather here, we need to ask the question – in our own lives, and in our life together as a church – “Where do we need work next? What part of us is Jesus asking us to turn toward him, let our defenses down, surrender to him?” 

I can't promise it won't hurt. I'm sure it was painful for the Ephesians to watch 137 years' salary go up in smoke! I'm sure it wasn't easy to trust Jesus instead of those fancy incantations and spells. But it was worth it. Because in the big picture, those spells, those silver coins, pale next to the power of faith that enlists us on the Lord's side.

But the word of the Lord didn't just prevail in the believers' personal lives. The word of the Lord spread, the word of the Lord prevailed mightily in reaching the whole province. This is a missionary message! The word of the Lord prevailed over Jewish and Greek and Roman objections (cf. 1 Corinthians 1:22-24). The word of the Lord prevailed over the resistance that cities and villages put up. 

During this whole season, the word of the Lord was at work, changing pre-Christians into disciples. And even when the riot broke out, and Paul had to leave the city... well, Luke doesn't write that Paul prevailed, he says that “the word of the Lord prevailed.” It wasn't about Paul. He was an effective messenger, but the power's in the message. All because Paul's faith, Paul's reliance on the Spirit, made Ephesus the perfect base for sending out mission teams to all the cities of the province. That's when the word of the Lord prevailed, and kept on prevailing after Paul was gone.

And that's our calling as a church – for people to be sent out into the community, so that the best description of Lancaster and Chester Counties might be, “The word of the Lord increased and prevailed mightily!” But that won't happen if we aren't on the Lord's side. That won't happen if we're so focused on ourselves – on battling over Caesar, or collecting silver, or defending our petty interests, or navigating life with a few secret tricks we've worked out – that we neglect the kingdom of God. The word of the Lord won't prevail unto salvation for our neighbors and our neighborhoods if we don't follow the Spirit, who was and still is God's gift for God's people on God's mission. 

The church is a missionary movement. Don't look at me; look out the windows. May the word of the Lord prevail out there! Pray this week for Jesus to show you – to show us – where to start moving, because all authority and power in heaven and earth are his, and he is with us always, even to the end of the age. Glory be to the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, one God, world without end. Amen.