Sunday, May 26, 2024

Phil Kniss: Bringing church within reach

BRINGING CHURCH BACK to the TABLE
Church within reach
Genesis 12:1-3; Psalm 67; Luke 22:14-21


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The closer I get to retirement,
the more I look into the rearview mirror,
and think on the how things have changed over the years,
in me, in the church, in the world.
I often tell people that even though, for 28 years,
I’ve had the same job,
worked out of the same office,
at the same street address,
I’ve never been bored,
because everything keeps changing.
I’m not the same pastor I was when I came to Park View,
this isn’t the same congregation,
we aren’t in the same neighborhood,
and none of us live in the same world.

And while all that is true, so much is the same.
I’ve been preaching regularly for over 41 years,
and I keep coming back to the same themes.
There’s a different context today, so I need to find
different words,
different stories,
different metaphors,
different nuance.
But the core narrative of scripture—
the big story of what God is doing in God’s world,
and with God’s people—
that is still the story that needs to be told.
Over and over.
It’s still the Good news we need to hear.

Because our world is still full of unspeakable brokenness.
And heart-stopping beauty.
God is still at work,
restoring what is broken,
and magnifying what is beautiful.
And it’s all for God’s grand purpose of recreating
the shalom God intends for the universe.

And God, in a most unlikely and inspired arrangement,
chose to partner with flawed human communities, like ours,
to join in that work as God’s full partners.

I know. You’ve heard me preach this song before.
But like any good musical refrain,
it needs to be repeated.
_____________________

So here comes a seven-week sermon series,
in which you’ll hear from four different preachers,
all reflecting on different aspects of how God is working
to carry out God’s saving purposes,
through very human, and consequently very flawed,
communities of people,
trying to practice the life Jesus demonstrated,
in everyday and ordinary places.

“Bringing the church back to the table”
is just another way of saying
rediscovering our roots as a church.

The church, writ large, is in a troubled state.
We can certainly point to local and particular examples,
in Virginia Mennonite Conference,
and Mennonite Church USA,
as we are going through a tumultuous season
of conflict and realignment and shrinkage.

But when I say the church is in a troubled state,
I’m also thinking globally.
There is a lot of beauty and goodness to celebrate, and we will.
But we have to be honest,
and name the ways the church takes its lead not from Jesus,
but from the powers and ways of the world.

We have church leaders in Russia who praise President Putin,
and wholeheartedly support his brutal war against Ukraine.
We have vocal Christian leaders,
who steadfastly support Israel in its massive assault
against the men, women, and children of Gaza,
even when the UN World Court orders them to stop.
We have pastors and self-avowed evangelists
who openly side with insurrectionists in our country
who used violence to try to force their will on the US Congress.
We have bishops and archbishops
and top leaders in many denominational sex abuse scandals,
who chose to cover up to protect their reputations,
and protect the assets of their institution,
rather than side with those who suffer.
We have untold numbers of charismatic and dynamic leaders,
who wow the public,
and build up their own wealth and power,
all while they take advantage of vulnerable people around them.
I needn’t go on with more examples.
We know them all too well.

How did we get here?

And how do we get back to the table of Spirit-filled
fellowship and community and worship and witness,
the kind that transforms our lives and remakes the world,
and demonstrates the character of the kingdom of God?
_____________________

We can start by examining the church in the New Testament.
I don’t mean we just recreate the church we find there.
They had a particular context, which is not ours—
they were a newly founded movement,
living in reaction to recent trauma,
victims of the brutal Roman Empire,
facing opposition on every side.
So they pulled together, up close and personal.
They gathered at homes and at tables,
and fostered relationships that were organic and fluid.
Life was intense.
So church was intense.
They shared everything, and met together daily at their tables,
because they had to in order to survive.
They gave up personal convenience
for the sake of supporting each other
in the struggle to stay faithful to Jesus’ radical Gospel call.

But in time, things happened.
300 hundred years after Jesus,
this dynamic and persecuted network of house churches
moved out of the shadows.
It found itself at the center of respectable society—
in fact, at the center of power and wealth and influence,
when Constantine the Great converted
and established Christianity
as the religion of the Roman Empire.
The church lost connection to its radical origins,
and it became a hierarchical institution
whose job was not to change the world,
but support the status quo.

 Fast-forward a dozen centuries,
and the Protestant Reformation, Anabaptism,
and other renewal movements tried to challenge
the church’s addiction to wealth and power,
but often, it just redirected its addiction to some other power center.
And today, we still live with this legacy.
_____________________

So should we despair?
No! In our present day struggle, there is a potentially positive outcome.
With the church is losing its place at the center of society,
with many churches fragmenting
and finding it hard to hold the institution together,
and to keep funding a top-heavy organization,
this might be a very good time
to bring the church back to the table.

And we at Park View are actually in a very good place right now,
to think creatively in these terms.
There are multiple things happening at once,
as some groups lead us in taking a fresh look
at who we are as a community of faith,
how we belong to each other;
while others lead us in discerning what kind of leadership we need
to keep moving forward as a healthy congregation,
in times of pastoral transition.

Perhaps it would be wise of us,
as we work at this together,
to bring back the table as a central metaphor
for how we relate to each other—
in worship, witness, formation, discernment,
and other core practices of the church.
How might we nurture these practices in all of life—
not only in our large official gatherings,
but in everyday relationships that are deeply connected,
that are authentic, organic,
and as close as people sitting around a table.

Let me be clear.
I’m not saying there needs to be a literal table
that we gather around every time.
Although sometimes physical tables,
and the food and drink on them,
facilitate a deeper way of relating.
What I’m saying is this.
The table is a metaphor for keeping church within reach.

When the church started going off the rails,
was when the essential elements of church got out of reach.
When Emperor Constantine, by royal edict,
declared every Roman citizen a Christian,
the important activities of church suddenly became centered,
not at a table in someone’s house,
but in the offices of bishop, archbishop, pope, and Emperor.

People stopped being church at their tables,
and they started going to church at cathedrals and basilicas.
Everything in those buildings—
from towering ceilings and spires,
to pulpits that soared high above the people,
to railings and gates that kept the laity from the clergy,
to liturgies in language people couldn’t understand,
shaped people to think the essence of church was out of reach.

Please understand.
This is not a criticism of classical Christian art and architecture, per se.
Much of that was intended to draw people’s minds heavenward.
And it does that.
At cathedrals, and other beautiful worship spaces,
I find a lot to inspire me, and put me in touch with God.

But stately and soaring church structures are not enough in themselves.
If there isn’t a place for followers of Jesus to gather
in the intimacy and vulnerability and mutual love for one another,
that can happen as we share our lives with each other,
in a community guided by the Spirit,
where church is, literally within reach, within arm’s length,
then we have missed the essence of being a disciple of Jesus.
_____________________

So where do we go from here, as Park View Mennonite,
so that we are drawn to the transcendent, to the divine,
and . . .we are drawn to each other, in all our beauty and brokenness?

I do not have a 10-point plan, if that’s what you were hoping for.

I only hope to point a direction,
and to elevate this metaphor of church at the table,
the church within reach of each other.

Park View is known by many things.
People appreciate the physical beauty and grace of our building—
its wide-open windows,
its simple and elegant design,
its high steeple.
People appreciate the beautiful and resonant sounds of music—
both the singing and the playing of instruments.
People appreciate the well-orchestrated services and liturgies.

Can we be equally described, and appreciated,
for a life that resembles what we see in Acts 2—
for being people who “devote themselves daily
to teaching and fellowship,
to breaking of bread and prayers.”
for causing neighbors to look on in wonder,
at the signs of God’s work among us,
for caring for others in need,
even to the point of selling goods and possessions if need be.
who “day by day” spend time together, and in the public square,
“praising God and having the goodwill of all,”
who are growing, not because of a well-run program,
but because people are being drawn to the saving grace of God?

A healthy church is a church within reach.
It’s a church where each one is invested,
because it’s our own everyday life that we share with others.
When we are invested, we’re not merely passive participants.
We contribute to the good of the whole,
out of whatever gifts God has given us.
We show up.
Not just for worship or events.
We show up for each other,
out of mutual love and mutual respect.
We ourselves matter, and every other person matters—
whether they delight us or annoy us,
whether they belong to this body, or not,
whether they think like us, or not.

If Park View is to remain a healthy church,
we need to continually bring church back to the table.

Jesus modeled a small-scale communal and missional life
with his own disciples.
And he expected them to replicate it,
when they went out on their own.
How are we replicating the ministry of Jesus?
_____________________

As we reflect on those questions, let us make our confession together.
You’ll find words in your bulletin and on the screens.

one We confess we often rely on familiar traditions of church;
rituals and structures which suit us and soothe us,
and shield us from the need for change or challenge.
all Holy One, we seek you, as you seek us.
one We commit ourselves to a wider openness
to the persons within our reach,
both inside and beyond our walls.
all Holy One, we reach for you, as you reach for us.
one May we not be content with only what we already know and love.
Deepen our longing for what is still unrevealed.
[silence]
one The God who makes all things new hears our prayer,
and says to us, as to Abraham and Sarah of old,
“Come on a journey to the place I will show you”

—Phil Kniss, May 26, 2024

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Sunday, May 19, 2024

Sarah Bixler: Gifts of the Spirit

Gifts of the Spirit
THE CHURCH IN (com)MOTION
PENTECOST
Acts 2:1-4; 1 Corinthians 12:1-13



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Sunday, May 12, 2024

Phil Kniss: The life that swallows death

THE CHURCH IN (com)MOTION
Death Swallowed in Life
SENIOR BLESSING
1 Corinthians 15:1-10a, 51-57


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We’re bearing down on the end of the Easter season.
Next week Pentecost marks the official end
of Easter season in the church year.
So I’m glad Sam chose two joyful Easter hymns today.
We already sang one, and there’s one more coming.

1 Corinthians 15 is often called the “resurrection chapter.”
It’s an inspiring, encouraging, hopeful case for resurrection,
and . . . it’s always been a little hard to get hold of.

Just speaking for myself,
1 Cor. 15 is challenging for at least two reasons.
The first reason has to do with
the historical context of the church in Corinth.
The second has to do with our context.

So first, Corinth.
We don’t really know the precise questions
causing conflict in the church at Corinth,
to which the apostle Paul was so forcefully responding
in this chapter on resurrection.

We do know these questions were dividing the church,
and we know Paul was passionate in his response,
and we know Paul felt the very ground of their faith in Jesus
was at stake.
We can guess, but we don’t know with any precision,
the actual argument in the church, around resurrection.
So that alone makes this chapter a bit challenging.

But then add our context into the mix.
We live in an age and a culture shaped deeply
by a scientific and rational world view,
where our default posture toward resurrection
is to make it a kind of metaphor for life,
or at least to spiritualize it.
So our approach to resurrection
doesn’t mesh very well with Paul’s pointed words
in 1 Corinthians 15.

If we, today, would walk around town,
saying out loud to random people
the things Paul says in this chapter,
people would likely turn away,
avoid eye contact,
and assume some kind of mental disturbance.

Especially some of parts we skipped over between v. 10 and 51,
where Paul points to baptism on behalf of the dead,
as evidence for resurrection,
or to his fighting wild animals at Ephesus as more evidence.
Or Paul’s philosophy that there is one kind of flesh for humans,
another kind for animals, another for birds, another for fish.
It’s all just a little incomprehensible.
Even Paul’s last joyful and triumphant refrain,
stretches our rationality—
“when the last trumpet sounds,
our perishable bodies in the grave will
clothe themselves with the imperishable, and be raised.”

It’s all just a little hard to talk about in a way that makes sense,
unless we speak of resurrection as a spiritual reality,
some high-level metaphor for life.
But Paul isn’t saying that.

It won’t surprise you that scholars don’t agree entirely,
on how to read this chapter.
But it is safe to say,
resurrection was a very real argument in Paul’s day,
an argument that followers of Jesus were deeply invested in,
from very early on.

Why?
Most people, the apostle Paul included,
believed that Christ’s return to earth, the end of the age,
would occur in their lifetime.
So resurrection was something that needed sorting out.
It was a justice issue. A fairness issue.

It wouldn’t be fair, when Jesus returned, very soon,
if it was only those still alive,
that got to be part of the heavenly kingdom,
and got to rule with Christ on David’s throne.

While, unfortunately,
those who died in the 20+ years since Jesus was around—
maybe even died a martyr—
would just miss out on this new kingdom.
That wouldn’t be right.

So early on, among Jesus’ followers,
a core message of their preaching,
was that we shared with Jesus, not only his humanity.
We also shared, and partook of his resurrection.
We shared in Jesus’ heavenly nature, in his immortality.

For early disciples, belief in resurrection led directly to
a firmer trust in God’s goodness,
in God’s just and righteous nature,
and a stronger commitment to follow Jesus, no matter the cost.
Because if they believed their own resurrection was coming,
they would be more willing to risk their lives.
When the heat was on, they would stay faithful to Jesus.
_____________________

It seems to me that in our context—
with our scientific and evidence-based worldview,
and with our relative wealth, and comfort, and safety,
and freedom, and choice,
resurrection doesn’t have the same gravity for us.
Compared to the first followers of Jesus,
we don’t have as much skin in the game.

And I think the same is true,
if we compare ourselves to our 16th-century Anabaptist ancestors.
_____________________

So where am I going with all this…?
How should we read this chapter today,
so that it actually makes a difference in how we live our lives?

It made a real difference for Paul’s readers,
who were expecting, in their own lifetime,
for Jesus to come back and set up the new kingdom in Jerusalem.
Without a theology of resurrection,
the world wasn’t fair,
Jesus’ promise of a new kingdom was a hollow promise,
and their faith was in vain.
But with a robust theology of resurrection,
they had reason to keep the faith, to stay engaged.

So what is the practical difference for us today,
who realize the Kingdom of heaven has a long timeline,
who live in a scientific and rational world,
and who have a secure and comfortable life in the here and now?
Is there a theology of resurrection that still matters,
on a daily basis?
Do we still need resurrection?
Do we still have skin in the game, so to speak?
_____________________

I believe we do.
For me, it’s not a physical argument.
I really don’t feel like I have a lot invested in being right
about the mechanics and nature of physical resurrection,
or about what an imperishable body looks like,
compared to a perishable one.

For myself, guided by my understanding of what this actually meant
to Paul’s first-century readers,
it comes down to this:
Resurrection is a theology of hope.
To believe in resurrection is to assert
that God’s purposes are sure,
and that God is not yet finished with us and the world.

If 1 Corinthians 15 helped followers of Jesus stay hopeful enough
to keep the faith,
to stay engaged in the struggle,
to work to make their world a better place,
then there’s no reason it shouldn’t do exactly the same for us.

A theology of hope,
a theology that trusts God’s purposes,
a theology that God isn’t finished with us, or the world,
is exactly the theology I need
to live courageously in a world like ours.
For me to stay engaged,
I need to know God’s work is not yet finished.
I need to know there is goodness in the universe
beyond my own small existence.
I need to have hope.

In the face of a world full of death,
I need to know that death isn’t the last word.
Or, as Paul put it, in a fascinating turn of phrase . . .
“death has been swallowed”…swallowed.

Paul could have used a more straightforward phrase like,
“death has been defeated” or “destroyed” or “done away with.”
But here, he says, “death has been swallowed” by life.
In Paul’s world, followers of Jesus just kept on dying.
Paul and his fellow travelers lived with daily threat of death.
And all “Easter people” still deal with the harsh reality of death,
and other life-draining evil, all around them.

I think Paul wanted to tell everyone, us included,
that resurrection life does not do away with death—it swallows it.
Life overwhelms death.
Life eats death.
It swallows it, consumes it, digests it,
lets it be transformed into something new.
It puts death in its place.

You might say in this resurrection chapter, 1 Corinthians 15,
the God of life is defining the narrative.
Death and the grave have no power to control the narrative.
They have neither the last word or the first word.
We are invited into a narrative of life.
And into a community that lives by that narrative.
Resurrection may not be rational or empirical.
But it is an overarching narrative that redefines the universe.
_____________________

So this morning I say to our graduating high school seniors,
and I say to us all:
We have real choices about how we turn and face into a world
where death seems so powerful and prominent,
and is in our awareness constantly.
We need not despair.
We need not run from death, or run from suffering.
In hope, we can proclaim the truth of God’s victory over the grave.
We can proclaim, with Paul,
that death has been swallowed by life,
and then live like we believe it.

May God help you, Hannah, Sophie, Silas, and Eleanor.
And may God help us all.

—Phil Kniss, May 12, 2024

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Sunday, May 5, 2024

Moriah Hurst: Love in action

Faith, Hope, and Love
THE CHURCH IN (com)MOTION
Mark 12:28-31; 1 Corinthians 13:1-13



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Sunday, April 28, 2024

Phil Kniss: How (not) to fight in church

THE CHURCH IN (com)MOTION
Church at Corinth
Acts 18:1-4; 1 Corinthians 1:10-18; Mark 9:34-35


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Today we heard heartfelt words from three young people
committing to a lifelong relationship with God . . . and . . .
with a sometimes dysfunctional family called “church.”
Specifically, Park View Mennonite Church.
Now, let me be clear.
I love my church family.
It’s beautiful.
And complicated.
And unified.
And divided.
And harmonious.
And conflicted.
And if it’s occasionally dysfunctional—
in other words, if it’s
flawed, wounded, kept from living to its fullest potential—
that doesn’t diminish its inherent beauty and goodness.

We are a both/and community.
We are a community of human beings.
So we can’t help but reflect human frailty, inadequacy, sin.
And . . . we are the body of Christ,
knit together by God’s Spirit,
and capable of immensely good work in this world,
the work of healing, restoring and re-creating God’s shalom!

Nowhere is the complexity of the body of Christ more clearly seen,
than in scripture.

Some people are put off by all the human ugliness
that we see in holy scripture, including among God’s people.
Not me.
The mere fact that scripture includes such stories
is evidence of its authenticity.
It dares to be real.
And not just tell stories with good PR value.

In this worship series,
we’re noticing how the church on mission, or church in motion,
often becomes the church in com-motion.
And today Sunday we celebrated baptism
into this church on the move.
So it’s appropriate we have three short scriptures,
telling us about three significant arguments
among followers of Jesus.

But these are not equivalent arguments.
In fact, scripture talks about them very differently.
The first one is presumed to be both necessary, and good.
The second one is condemned, and the parties in the disagreement
are told to “just stop!”
and shut down the argument.
The third is also not deemed helpful,
so the issue at hand is reframed and redefined.

The first one (the good one) is a struggle over truth and integrity.
The second one is based on identity politics.
The third one is over power.

Maybe let’s start with the two negative arguments.
_____________________

An argument based on identity politics,
can never be productive.
The whole premise is that I’m right,
because I belong to this group,
and therefore you’re wrong,
because you belong to that other group.
Sound at all familiar?
Only something we see every single day in our culture.

In 1 Corinthians 1, Paul calls out the church in Corinth
for dividing up along party lines.
The Paul Party.
The Apollos Party.
The Peter Party.

You can never win an identity argument.
You’re either with us (which is good)
or you’re against us (which is evil).
There is no gradation of right or wrong.
There is no collaboration, no compromise with the adversary.
The only success is getting your way,
and being utterly dismissive of the other.
To this, Paul says, “Enough already! Just stop!”
We are all in the service of a greater good—
the Gospel of Christ.
Start by trusting that the other parties
have the same end goal in mind.
_____________________

Then, in the Gospel of Mark,
we heard a few verses of a famous argument
between a couple of the disciples.
It was an argument over who would sit on Jesus’ right and left hand.
Who would be greatest in the coming Kingdom.
Who would have the power and influence.

In Mark’s version, at least, Jesus didn’t come right out and scold them.
He didn’t silence the argument.
He sat down with them,
and had a conversation that reframed the whole issue.
He didn’t fault them for wanting power.
Instead, he redefined power.
And it’s summarized in this one line,
“Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.”

Sometimes, for arguments to turn from being divisive,
to being life-giving,
the goal is not to shut it down,
or dismiss the argument as having no point.
The goal is to shift and redefine the point.
Jesus wasn’t saying his followers had to
give up seeking influence,
or stop seeking power to lead.
Instead, Jesus redefined power.
Power is serving.
It is listening.
It is sacrificing personal status
for the sake of communal well-being.
It is laying down claims to positional authority,
and instead seeking moral authority.
_____________________

And now, turning to arguments that are good and necessary,
if we desire to be faithful as God’s people in a complicated world.
Engage in a whole-hearted and honest struggle
for truth, beauty, justice, love, and integrity.

I said the same thing in last week’s sermon,
when I mentioned the Jewish rabbinical tradition
of arguing in good faith over scripture.
That’s what Paul was doing in Corinth, according to Acts 18.
He lived with Aquilla and Priscilla,
tradespeople, who had the same skillset Paul had.
So they made tents by day.
And every Sabbath, Paul would go to the synagogue to argue.
It says, in v. 4, that he “would try to convince Jews and Greeks.”

We aren’t given the benefit of the details of the argument.
But I think we can be sure,
the argument was over interpretation of scripture,
specifically Torah.
And there is nothing wrong, at all,
about arguing over biblical interpretation.
That’s what the church should be doing.
There is a good kind of fighting in church,
a good kind of struggle.

But well-meaning Christians often make an easy mistake—
one of two easy mistakes.
Some will say,
“Let’s just stop talking about our disagreement,
so we can all get along, and have peace in the church.”
Others will say,
“Let’s just go our separate ways, so there’s no need to argue,
and we can all get along, in different churches.”

Paul was not in the synagogue arguing for a separation
between Judaism and Christianity.
And Paul was certainly not just wanting to end the argument.
Paul, to his dying day, remained a Jewish rabbi who followed Jesus,
and sought, fervently, to convince others to do the same.
And as for Paul’s fellow Jewish rabbis
who did not believe Jesus was the Messiah?
I don’t know of any evidence that Paul ever accused them
of not believing in the authority of Torah.
They had a different interpretation,
and Paul believed that interpretation was mistaken.
And they felt the same about him.

But both sides, it seems to me,
started with the assumption that their opponents
also trusted the Torah as authority for faith and life, and
also were struggling to find truth, beauty, justice, and integrity.
And they believed their adversaries were
worthy partners in the same struggle.
So they also believed it was worth coming to the same synagogue
week after week,
and staying in the struggle . . . together.

Now, I grant you, that’s putting the best possible spin on it.
We know that the shared struggle didn’t actually last.
There were outbreaks of the conflict that got ugly.
On both sides, to be sure.
And there was, eventually,
a schism between Jews and Christians that could not be healed.

And I am under no illusion that we Christians have done any better,
since that first schism.
We are still splitting.
Because holding a sustained argument is hard. Very hard.
And frankly, sometimes relationships can be more fruitful,
when the right amount of space,
and healthy boundaries are kept between us.

So I’m not suggesting there is never a time
to be in separate church bodies.

For instance, I would never propose reuniting our congregation
with our buggy-driving Old Order Mennonite
brothers and sisters in Dayton.
But I do consider them siblings in Anabaptist faith.
I do trust that they, using the same scripture we have,
are struggling, in good faith, to answer the question
of how we live faithfully in a broken world.
And I do enjoy having meaningful relationships with them,
and remaining in creative conversation about faith issues.
It takes effort, but there are still things we can discuss in good faith.
_____________________

So to all of you old-timers in the church,
and I count myself among you,
and to all newly baptized disciples,
let us stay in the struggle,
the struggle for truth, beauty, justice, love, and integrity.
And let’s not walk away from each other,
when an honest argument comes up.
Let’s assume the best in the other,
and let’s trust that by struggling together,
God will lead the way forward.

—Phil Kniss, April 28, 2024

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Sunday, April 21, 2024

Phil Kniss: An unwelcomed authority

THE CHURCH IN (com)MOTION
Church at Thessalonica
Acts 17:1-9


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In recent years, we’ve gotten all too familiar
with the ugly side of mob behavior.
It’s not very hard, actually, to get a mob of people worked up.
Especially when the mob consists of people
who already feel ignored, misunderstood, or disrespected.
They are like fuel, already heated up.
They only need a spark, to burst into flames.

All it takes for an inferno,
is a few charismatic and outspoken leaders
who know what the people are frustrated about,
who throw out some broad, sweeping allegations,
that contain a grain of truth,
but are purposely stretched way beyond the truth,
and who reframe it in language
that amplifies the frustration,
feeds the fears,
and puts power in the hands
of people who thought they had lost power.
Before you know it, there is a mob that is almost unstoppable.

It happens in person, in real time,
like we saw it unfold on January 6, three years ago,
and countless other times and places around the world today.
And it happens online . . . all day every day.
Online mobs do tremendous real damage to real people,
as anger and shame spill over into real-life
bullying, violence, and other criminal activity.
_____________________

Acts 17 almost feels like today’s news.
We recognize the mob psychology on full display in this story.

Paul and Silas, who do have a little reputation for being feisty,
were actually behaving pretty well in Thessalonica.
They were doing what Jewish rabbis do.
Arguing in the synagogues.
It’s hard for us to relate to this tradition.
We might even be uncomfortable with it.
But it was both routine, and expected, then and now,
when rabbis met in a synagogue, and scripture was read,
it would be followed by an open, and sometime vigorous, debate
about what that text meant,
and how it should be interpreted for their times.

Each synagogue probably had its personality.
I imagine some were pretty tame, most of the time.
Others likely had a reputation for hot debate and raised voices.
But that was simply how Jews went about working out their faith.
They were all, equally, and always, devoted to the Torah.
Commitment to Torah was never in doubt.
Paul and Silas included.

So here’s the situation.
Thessalonica was an important city of the Roman Empire,
situated on a major trade route.
Diaspora Jews had settled there and established synagogues,
but overall, it was a worldly Roman city.
And far, far from Jerusalem.

So Paul and Silas entered the Jewish community as traveling rabbis.
Happened all the time in a city like Thessalonica.
Nothing unusual.
Except the controversial interpretation they brought to the Torah,
pointing to Jesus of Nazareth as the promised Messiah.

The book of Acts spells out in some detail how things developed,
from polite scripture reading,
to vigorous rabbinical debate,
to heated conflict that involved both
Jews and Torah-believing Gentiles,
which spilled over into violence in the marketplace,
spurred on by town ruffians,
which brought in law enforcement.
_____________________

But you know, the more I thought about this sequence of events,
and these wild charges of treason and sedition
brought against two unarmed rabbis
who were just sitting around and
geeking out on matters of biblical interpretation . . .
the more I came to the conclusion
that the mob was not wrong about what they were saying.
Yes, the instigators purposely tried to over-state the allegations,
so as to over-heat the emotions of the people,
already on edge by an over-militarized empire.
But when they shouted out their wild complaints,
they—accidentally—spoke the truth.

They said, and I quote,
“These people . . . have been turning the world upside down!”
And,
“They are acting contrary to the decrees of the emperor,
saying that there is another king named Jesus.”

Remember, Rome was an all-encompassing Empire,
who ruled the whole Mediterranean Sea,
and virtually every region on its coast,
including the Jewish homeland of Judea.

Rome succeeded in this because of their iron-fisted rule of law,
their military that could overpower any potential threat,
and an Emperor who claimed to be God, and demanded worship.
 They had a solid grip on the people,
thanks to a social hierarchy that functioned exactly as designed.
It worked flawlessly from top to bottom, and bottom to top.
The higher in rank, the more power and influence you could have.
And the more you cooperated, and fulfilled your role in the system,
the more likely you might be rewarded,
by being allowed to move up one rung, and get more perks.

It didn’t pay to fight the system,
because the system would just push you down a rung or two,
or do away with you altogether.

So even Jewish religious authorities way off in Jerusalem,
typically played it safe.
They didn’t try to anger Rome.
Because doing so might cost them whatever freedom they now had.

And this impulse to bow to Rome was even stronger
in Asia Minor and the Greek peninsula,
a short hop away from the city of Rome itself.

So when Paul and Silas went on a mission to Thessalonica,
they had a hard sell, without a doubt.

They were arguing, in a synagogue almost in the shadow of Rome,
that Jesus of Nazareth, crucified on a Roman cross,
was actually the legitimate Messiah and King of the Jews,
and was now the Risen Lord of all creation,
who needed to be obeyed
before any Emperor, Governor, or High Priest.

They were taking the established hierarchy of the Empire,
which was accepted by Gentile and Jew alike,
and turning it end for end.
They were, in fact, turning the world upside down.
They were, in fact, contrary to the decrees of the Emperor,
saying that there is another king named Jesus.

That is their offense.
And it is a real and true offense against the powers that be.

That is the first thought that comes to my mind when I read this story,
and read the accusations.
The accusers were right!
They spoke the truth, unwittingly.

The second thought that comes to my mind
when I read this story, is a question.
What kind of offense are followers of Jesus causing these days?

I actually do see quite a lot of offensive behavior these days
coming from people who call themselves Christian.
But it doesn’t seem to be the same kind of offense
that Paul and Silas were causing.

I see Christians embracing the politics of
coercion and deceit and fear-mongering,
even turning to armed violence,
they seek control of local, state, and national government,
and other civic institutions
so they can wield power over others,
and protect their own interests.
They aren’t trying to turn the world upside down.
They don’t want to invert the hierarchy.
Christian Nationalists and those with that mind set
are like virtually all political partisans—left and right.
They want the same hierarchy,
but they want to be the ones sitting at the top,
calling the shots.

Paul and Silas were by no means trying to seize coercive power
from the hands of Rome.
They had no interest in taking over the palace or the temple.
But what they were preaching, was still a threat
to those in seats of power, of civil and religious power.

Paul and Silas advocated a different way to look at authority.
It was a moral authority based on
the life and teachings of Jesus,
who did not do away with Torah,
but gave a new authoritative interpretation of it,
grounded in love and justice.
They taught something revolutionary—
that when the edicts of Empire,
or the expectations of religion,
contradicted the morality of Torah, as embodied by Jesus,
then the only right thing to do was obey Jesus,
and respectfully refuse to bow
to the authority of either Emperor or religious hierarchy.

That iron-clad hierarchy that up to now
functioned like a well-oiled machine,
and benefitted those at the top,
would utterly collapse if people stopped believing in it.

So what hierarchies are the dominant ones today?
economic? social? political? racial? ideological?
Do we dare undermine them with the upside-down Gospel of Jesus,
that treasures the outcast, and marginalized,
that stands up for the poor and the immigrant,
that says no to state-sponsored war and oppression,
that prioritizes love and mercy over revenge and retribution?
If no one in power is taking offense at us today,
are we doing our job?
If no ruffians in the marketplace are stoking a mob against us
and dragging us to city hall,
because we are “trying to turn the world upside down” . . .
then maybe . . . that’s because
we aren’t trying to turn the world upside down,
and maybe we should start.
Turning it upside-down in the way of Jesus.

It all starts by trusting in God’s rule,
and putting every other rule and authority secondary to it.

Let’s share together, our confession of trust in God . . .
one In a world of many gods and emperors
and conflicting demands for loyalty,
 all God of the universe, we put our trust in you.
one In a world where we often lose faith in our leaders,
 all God of the universe, we put our trust in you.
one In a world where we mistrust our own neighbors,
 all God of the universe, we put our trust in you.
one In a world where hope is easily lost,
on Christ the solid rock we stand,
all other ground is sinking sand.

—Phil Kniss, April 21, 2024

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