I’d like to think that the sacred order of deacons,
into which I was ordained sixteen years ago this month,
had its beginning in some sublime and glorious moment,
perhaps in a vision of the heavenly liturgy
and those who serve at it.
I’d like to think that,
but our reading today from the Acts of the Apostles,
traditionally seen as the story of the appointing
of the first seven deacons,
suggests instead that the diaconate originated
amid squabbles among early Christians
about food and language:
a moment not sublime and glorious
but mundane and messy.
into which I was ordained sixteen years ago this month,
had its beginning in some sublime and glorious moment,
perhaps in a vision of the heavenly liturgy
and those who serve at it.
I’d like to think that,
but our reading today from the Acts of the Apostles,
traditionally seen as the story of the appointing
of the first seven deacons,
suggests instead that the diaconate originated
amid squabbles among early Christians
about food and language:
a moment not sublime and glorious
but mundane and messy.
The situation is this:
the Apostles continued the Jewish practice
of a daily food distribution (like a soup kitchen)
to those in their community
who were consistently in dire need:
orphans, landless immigrants, and widows.
A dispute arose between those disciples
who spoke the Hebrew dialect called Aramaic
and those who spoke Greek,
who had likely grown up
outside of the land of Israel.
The Greek-speakers felt
that the widows of their group
were being overlooked
because those in charge were Aramaic speakers.
Even though everyone involved was a Jew,
and, moreover, Jews who shared the belief
that Jesus was the Messiah,
they still found that differences
of language and custom
threatened to divide them.
So the Apostles appointed seven Greek-speakers
to help with the daily distribution.
Tensions eased,
“the word of God continued to spread,
and the number of the disciples in Jerusalem
increased greatly.”
the Apostles continued the Jewish practice
of a daily food distribution (like a soup kitchen)
to those in their community
who were consistently in dire need:
orphans, landless immigrants, and widows.
A dispute arose between those disciples
who spoke the Hebrew dialect called Aramaic
and those who spoke Greek,
who had likely grown up
outside of the land of Israel.
The Greek-speakers felt
that the widows of their group
were being overlooked
because those in charge were Aramaic speakers.
Even though everyone involved was a Jew,
and, moreover, Jews who shared the belief
that Jesus was the Messiah,
they still found that differences
of language and custom
threatened to divide them.
So the Apostles appointed seven Greek-speakers
to help with the daily distribution.
Tensions eased,
“the word of God continued to spread,
and the number of the disciples in Jerusalem
increased greatly.”
Anyone who has worked in the Church knows
that this sort of thing is not unusual.
We may all be brothers and sisters in Christ,
but our fallen natures
still tend to show themselves,
not least in our tendency to see
those who do not speak our language
or share our customs
or hold our political views
or belong to our social circles
as outsiders whose concerns
are not our concerns,
those whom we can overlook.
We who are the Church—
which is all of us—
spend a lot of our time dealing
with the fallout
of our fallen humanity.
The destiny of the Church
may be sublime and glorious,
but what it takes
for the word of God to spread
and the number of disciples to increase
is often mundane and messy.
that this sort of thing is not unusual.
We may all be brothers and sisters in Christ,
but our fallen natures
still tend to show themselves,
not least in our tendency to see
those who do not speak our language
or share our customs
or hold our political views
or belong to our social circles
as outsiders whose concerns
are not our concerns,
those whom we can overlook.
We who are the Church—
which is all of us—
spend a lot of our time dealing
with the fallout
of our fallen humanity.
The destiny of the Church
may be sublime and glorious,
but what it takes
for the word of God to spread
and the number of disciples to increase
is often mundane and messy.
The First Letter of Peter
seems to focus our attention
more on the sublime and the glorious,
speaking of the Christian community
as “a spiritual house” built of “living stones,”
with Christ Jesus as the cornerstone.
It speaks of how we have been called to be
“a chosen race, a royal priesthood,
a holy nation, a people of his own.”
The image of this spiritual house
and this royal priesthood
is so sublime and glorious
that it is hard to believe that the path to it
could involve things as mundane and messy
as settling squabbles
between Greek speakers
and Aramaic speakers.
We might think
that because this living temple is “spiritual”
it cannot involve concrete material concerns
like who gets fed and who goes hungry,
whose voice is heard and who is silenced,
who is empowered and who is disempowered.
But repeatedly in the book of Acts
it is precisely the messy and mundane struggle
to resolve these sorts of issues
that defines what it means
to follow the way of Jesus.
seems to focus our attention
more on the sublime and the glorious,
speaking of the Christian community
as “a spiritual house” built of “living stones,”
with Christ Jesus as the cornerstone.
It speaks of how we have been called to be
“a chosen race, a royal priesthood,
a holy nation, a people of his own.”
The image of this spiritual house
and this royal priesthood
is so sublime and glorious
that it is hard to believe that the path to it
could involve things as mundane and messy
as settling squabbles
between Greek speakers
and Aramaic speakers.
We might think
that because this living temple is “spiritual”
it cannot involve concrete material concerns
like who gets fed and who goes hungry,
whose voice is heard and who is silenced,
who is empowered and who is disempowered.
But repeatedly in the book of Acts
it is precisely the messy and mundane struggle
to resolve these sorts of issues
that defines what it means
to follow the way of Jesus.
When Jesus says that he
is the way and the truth and the life
that leads to the house of his Father,
we must remember
that the way that is Jesus
is the way of cross and resurrection.
Jesus is not a way around
the ordinary and extraordinary struggles
of life together,
but he is the way through them.
He is the living stone rejected by the builders,
who endured the suffering of the Cross,
and if we are to be the living stones
of which his spiritual house is built
we must become like him.
The way to the Father’s house
is through the Cross,
and for us the Cross is often found
not in great and dramatic suffering
but in life’s mundane messiness:
the struggle to love and live with
those whom we can’t understand
due to language or culture
or personality or life experience,
those whose needs
are unfathomable to us,
those we find pushy or insensitive,
insecure or irritating,
irrational or sometimes
just plain weird.
is the way and the truth and the life
that leads to the house of his Father,
we must remember
that the way that is Jesus
is the way of cross and resurrection.
Jesus is not a way around
the ordinary and extraordinary struggles
of life together,
but he is the way through them.
He is the living stone rejected by the builders,
who endured the suffering of the Cross,
and if we are to be the living stones
of which his spiritual house is built
we must become like him.
The way to the Father’s house
is through the Cross,
and for us the Cross is often found
not in great and dramatic suffering
but in life’s mundane messiness:
the struggle to love and live with
those whom we can’t understand
due to language or culture
or personality or life experience,
those whose needs
are unfathomable to us,
those we find pushy or insensitive,
insecure or irritating,
irrational or sometimes
just plain weird.
If life in the Church has taught me nothing else,
it has taught me that I am the Cross
that my fellow Christians bear.
In my unfathomable neediness,
my irritating insecurity,
my uniquely personal weirdness,
I am being borne by all of you.
And all of you are being borne by me.
And we cannot put each other down,
because while we are the Cross
we are also the living stones
from which God’s house must be built.
That is what it means to be God’s pilgrim people.
That is what it means to be the Body of Christ.
That is what it means to be the Temple of the Spirit.
It is to bear the Cross of each other
in the mundane messiness of our common life,
as we walk the way that is Jesus Christ,
crucified and risen,
journeying together to our Father’s house.
Let us pray on this journey
that God, who is merciful,
might have mercy on us all.
it has taught me that I am the Cross
that my fellow Christians bear.
In my unfathomable neediness,
my irritating insecurity,
my uniquely personal weirdness,
I am being borne by all of you.
And all of you are being borne by me.
And we cannot put each other down,
because while we are the Cross
we are also the living stones
from which God’s house must be built.
That is what it means to be God’s pilgrim people.
That is what it means to be the Body of Christ.
That is what it means to be the Temple of the Spirit.
It is to bear the Cross of each other
in the mundane messiness of our common life,
as we walk the way that is Jesus Christ,
crucified and risen,
journeying together to our Father’s house.
Let us pray on this journey
that God, who is merciful,
might have mercy on us all.
