Ordinary People [Easter 7B]
The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson
Acts 1:15-17, 21-26
Ordinary People
It might have ended before it even
started. Because there was this massive
hole; perhaps more accurately, there was a gaping wound. And it wasn't a numbers thing. Sure twelve is a nice number; it is
divisible; it has biblical significance; and it is the number of disciples
Jesus chose to support his earthly ministry.
But the hole wasn't a numbers thing.
It wasn't as if the by-laws
required twelve apostles. It was more
complicated than simply filling an unexpired vestry term, for example. It is not as if Judas had to move for work or
had to leave to be with a dying parent.
He did not abandon the twelve because he and Peter disagreed on the
organizational mission statement. In the
verses that are omitted from today's reading from the first chapter of Acts,
the text tells us that Judas left the group because he died; he died in the field he purchased with his reward; he
was rewarded for the significant role he played in the execution of Jesus – his Master, their Master, their Savior.
Judas was one of them – he was numbered among them and allotted a share in
their ministry. Jesus chose him. There were only twelve; it was a select
few. Together they formed Jesus' inner
circle. They shared his ministry before
the crucifixion; they were the ones who would carry it on after Jesus'
death. Together they would usher in
God's Kingdom. That is why it hurt so
bad.
But Judas went off script; he chose
betrayal. He chose some coins, a field,
stuff; he valued stuff more highly than the Messiah's life, more highly than
the coming Kingdom of God.
Judas betrayed Jesus, but he
betrayed them too. The other eleven had
left everything to follow Jesus – job,
family, future. And in a moment
everything they believed in, everything they lived for, seemed to fall to pieces. One of their friends turned. Judas betrayed their trust; he broke their
hearts; he left a gaping wound in the beautiful body Jesus created of them. Their leader was killed. And the sky turned black. And they locked themselves in a room – eleven men, scared and falling apart.
And embarrassed. How does a movement recover from this? The founder is killed by one of his closest
friends, one of his most intimate companions.
What does that say about Jesus – the one
who called him, the one who chose him?
What does it say about the other eleven – those who
followed such a foolish Messiah? It
certainly doesn't look good. That the
remaining eleven decided to continue in the name of their dead Messiah must
have seemed crazy to pretty much everyone one outside of that little
circle. The only sane move, given the
circumstances, was to dissolve and run as far away from this debacle as
possible. It is a miracle that the
Church did not end before it even started.
But rather than call it quits, the
remaining disciples decided to fill the hole, to stop the bleeding. Rather than choose death, they chose life – a first step into a better future, an Easter
future. In Judas' place, they chose
another, a new twelfth: Matthias.
I have long been fascinated by
Matthias. His is, to me, one of the most
interesting stories in the Bible – mostly
because the story is just an introduction without a story, or an ending. After joining the twelve, he just
disappears. There is an entire passage
in the Bible dedicated to his selection and then he is never mentioned again – lost in the Pentecostal fervor that follows. It's weird.
Sam Portaro summarizes Matthias' unique role in the Church well: “We can only conjecture what became of Matthias. I
fancy he was a plain man, and shy, not given to outward show. I cannot imagine
him as other than perplexed and a little pained at his election. It was a
dubious honor at best, being selected to fill the space of Judas, who had so ignobly failed; being selected not by desire
but by the draw of the lot, and for no other function or merit save the
fulfillment of [Peter's] notion of propriety, procedure, and institutional
symmetry. That Matthias disappeared I
find not the least surprising.”[1]
I can only imagine how strange it
must have felt to hear, “Congratulations! You are the new
Judas.”
Or how potentially awkward the day was for Barsabbas, the guy they
nominated with Matthias; he was the only other nominee and lost and then had to
spend the rest of the day assuring people that he was really OK with the
results of the lots. It is an odd story.
But also kind of a great story
because it is such a Church story. After
the amazing Ascension Day event and before the holy chaos of Pentecost, the
Church does the ordinary stuff of life.
They pray and fellowship and they hold meetings; they take care of the
business of living. Most of Church life
is like that; most of it is pretty ordinary – ordinary
people doing ordinary stuff with ordinary things witnessing the ordinary
miracles of a God so ordinary as to fill each ordinary space of our world.
And that is why I love
Matthias. He is one of us. All we know about him is that he was a
witness to the resurrection. That is to
say, he told people about Jesus – the kind
of thing any ordinary Christian does. He
was faithful to the ministry to which he was called. He is not Peter – famously preaching to huge crowds. He is not Paul –
establishing churches all over the known world, writing a huge chunk of the
Bible. Those two guys are the stars of
the book of Acts. Matthias is not. He's just an ordinary guy – an ordinary guy through whom God chose to do the work
of the salvation.
There are some pretty famous saints
out there – for whom churches are named and
through whom prayers are prayed. But
most of the saints have lived in the shadows – ordinary
people simply living the lives to which God has called them. They say their prayers. They worship with their brothers and sisters
on Sunday. They sin and they
repent. They do ordinary things like
care for their families, and support their friends, and love their
enemies. They change the world in small
ways – doing those little things that
usher in God's Kingdom. They spend their
lives witnessing to the resurrection – telling
the story of Jesus in word and deed.
They show up – even when no one else notices,
because they love Jesus and they love his Church. Most of the saints are ordinary.
But it is through ordinary things
that God saves the world. God uses
ordinary stuff like water and bread and wine.
God visits ordinary places like mangers and upper rooms and small
churches in cities like Toledo, Ohio.
And God works through ordinary people like Matthias and Barsabbas and me
and you.
After the death of Jesus, it could
have all ended. After the betrayal and
death of Judas, no one would have blamed the remaining eleven if they chose to
call it quits. It was a rocky start. It is a miracle that the Church did not end
before it even started.
But it didn't. The Church would not be defined by the
extraordinary failure of Judas. That
wound would heal. We have our scars but
we are a resurrection people. We are the
Church, the body of Christ. The ministry
of Jesus continues – through us. The lots have been cast and we are the
ones. We are the called – the successors of our ancestor Matthias – ordinary people through whom God is saving the world.
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