Don't Say It [Easter 3C]
The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson
Acts 9:1-20
Don’t Say It
If you want a lesson, a takeaway from today’s sermon, I
suppose it is this: If the Lord calls your name, do not, under any
circumstance, respond, “Here I am, Lord.”
Just don’t do it.
Now you might be surprised to hear me say that. Priests are supposed to encourage their
members to listen for the voice of Jesus, to follow the great call of God. But here’s the thing, I’ve read some Bible,
quite a bit actually, and so I know how this goes down. And, generally speaking, it’s not good.
For example: Back in the book of Genesis, old father Abraham
responds, “Here I am, Lord.” And God
tells him to kill his son. Not good. In the book of Exodus, the second book of the
Bible, Moses responds, “Here I am, Lord.”
You might remember that story, the story of the burning bush. And God tells him to go back into Egypt, the
land he had just fled, and confront the most powerful man in that world, a man
known for slaughtering babies and enslaving adults. Not good.
And in 1 Samuel, the young prophet of the same name, just a wee boy, hears
God calling and he responds, “Here I am, Lord.”
And God tells him to prophesy the destruction of the man providing his
room and board – to that man’s face. And
Samuel is commanded to prophesy not just that man’s destruction but also the
destruction of his entire family including his children. Now that man, Eli, he admittedly takes it
like a champ, but still: not good.
And now this: in the ninth chapter of Acts, the lesson we
heard just this morning, God comes calling again. And if Ananias has learned anything from his
study of the Holy Scriptures it should be this, the very thing I told you at
the beginning of the sermon: do not respond, “Here I am, Lord.” And yet, that is exactly what he says.
This story from Acts is often called the Conversion of St.
Paul. And it is. It is the story of Paul’s conversion. You likely know the story. Paul is keeping busy, breathing threats and
murder against the followers of Jesus. He
is on the road to Damascus, where he intends to breathe even more threats and more
murder, and he is stopped in his tracks by a bright light, a sudden flashing
light from heaven. So intense is that
light that he falls right to the ground.
He hears the voice of Jesus.
Realizes he can no longer see. And
stands up helpless, blind, and ready for a new life. It is a dramatic scene, a bold move by God, but
it does the trick. In that moment, Paul
is a changed man.
But as dramatic as the event was, it still took place in the
1st century. And so the news
doesn’t travel very quickly. Ananias,
mid-vision in Damascus, does not know about the light or the voice. But he does, however, know about Saul. And what he knows is not good.
Ananias, in this circumstance, reminds me of the prophet
Jonah – just without the big fish and the boat and the beloved plant. Jonah was sent to the people of Nineveh, to
convince them to repent and turn to the Lord.
That sounds like good thing to do: tell people about God’s love. Only he decided to pass. To understand why, it is helpful to
understand the who. Ninevah was the
capital of the Assyrian empire, an empire that was, for the people of Israel, not
just a much more powerful political adversary, although it was that, but the very
symbol of violence and cruelty.
It is said that, “If enemies resisted surrender during a siege
of their city [by the Assyrians], once defeated, the population would be
horribly mutilated and slaughtered.
Their houses and towns would be torn down and burned, and… their corpses
prominently displayed on stakes: a strong warning to others who might think of
resisting. Public amusement was provided
by leading survivors by a leash attached to a ring inserted through their
lip. Vanquished nobles were paraded
through the city of Nineveh with the…head of their princes hanging around their
necks while merry tunes were played to entertain the public. Is it any wonder that the Hebrews despised
the people of the empire?”[1] Is it any wonder that the prophet Jonah boarded
a ship headed in the opposite direction?
Jonah’s was a difficult call.
Not only was it dangerous to walk into the heart of Ninevah as an
outsider, he was to make a public display of himself – a street corner
evangelist in a blood-thirsty town. And
that was bad enough; what was worse, in Jonah’s eyes, was the possibility, even
if it was small, that the people of Ninevah might actually repent and God might
actually spare them, show them mercy.
That, for the prophet, was the worst-case scenario; mercy was the
worst-case scenario.
Ananias, in Acts, is being called by God into the heart of
his own personal Ninevah. Maybe news
didn’t travel so fast in that ancient world, but it did travel. And Ananias knows about Saul. Ananias’ response to his mission is, “Lord, I
have heard from many about this man, how much evil he has done to your saints.” And, by the way, he might add, I know that he
is coming for us; we’re next.
Ananias is being sent to share the love of God with the same
man who has been rounding up his brothers and sisters, his fellow followers of
Jesus, for crucifixion. Ananias is being
asked by God to go to the man who was coming for him, coming for his family,
coming for his friends, coming with murder on his mind and in his heart. Ananias must feel like Jonah, must feel like
God has got it all wrong. Ananias has
his concerns and they are more than justified.
And he could have avoided this terrible situation, Ananias, if
only he would have answered differently.
God sends Ananias to a killer, to a person who is notorious for the evil
he has done to saints, to good and holy people.
That is the kind of person Saul was; that is the kind of person to whom Ananias
is called to minister, with whom Ananias is called to share the love of Jesus –
a killer, a doer of evil deeds, an enemy.
That is what happens when a person responds, “Here I am, Lord.” Not good.
Why would God do this to Ananias? Surely, the same God who put the scales on
Saul’s eyes could remove them without a human intermediary. It seems unnecessarily cruel. Ananias was a target, a potential
victim. And now he is asked to carry the
light of Jesus into the presence of this enemy of the Cross, to love the person
who terrorized him. And Ananias has to
muster up some incredible faith because God gives him no assurance of
safety. For all he knows, Saul could
arrest him the moment Saul’s sight is restored.
In fact, given the history, and what he knows of Saul, that is still the
most likely scenario.
If you take the biblical witness seriously your “Here I am,
Lord,” is interpreted by God as an invitation to send you where you do not wish
to go, to call you to do the something you do not wish to do. And also, perhaps, to discover something about
God you wish you did not know.
Ananias did not want to meet the man, who, just hours before,
was planning his murder. That was not
his idea. And now that that man was neutralized
by a lack of sight, forced into retirement, Ananias certainly did not want to
be the one who restored him to health.
But perhaps more than anything, Ananias did not care to learn just how
ridiculous, how offensive, how transgressive is the mercy of God. It’s too much. And once Ananias saw it, with his own eyes,
he could never unseen it.
By the end of the story, Saul’s eyes are open and he can
see. And so too can Ananias.
If you want a lesson, a takeaway from today’s sermon, I
suppose it is this: If the Lord calls your name, do not, under any
circumstance, respond, “Here I am, Lord.”
Because if you do, God might just take you seriously.
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