Visitors

Whenever Christians gather, we hear the Word of God read in our midst; we share Holy Scripture with one another. Indeed, as part of our community worship this morning we have heard God’s Word in passages from Acts, Revelation and John’s Gospel. Now that we have heard God’s Word proclaimed to us, I would like to speak directly to any of you who are strangers or new among us. On behalf of the leaders of this congregation, myself, the wardens and vestry, I would like to invite you to stand up and preach. Preach God’s Word to us, share a word of exhortation with us.

What would we do, what would I do, if someone actually responded? I suppose technically I would have to cut them short, silence their proclamation. In the Episcopal Church, you must be licensed by the Bishop to preach in corporate worship. We don’t let just anyone exhort the faithful. Visitors, newcomers, sojourners are not invited to exhort the congregation in Sunday worship. After all, who knows what they might say?

And yet that is exactly what happened in today’s reading from Acts. Since we get only a little snippet of the story in today’s lesson, it’s easy to miss what happened. Today’s story takes place in Antioch of Pisidia, located in what would now be central Turkey. It’s Paul’s first missionary journey after his conversion, which we heard about last week. He and Barnabas have been called, set apart, by the congregation in Antioch in Syria to do special work. They travel, acts tells us, first to Seleucia; then Salamis and Paphos; then Perga and on to Antioch of Pisidia. In terms of modern geography, they leave Syria along the eastern Mediterranean coast, travel by boat to what is now Cyprus, then again by sea north to the Turkish coast and then several hundred miles inland. When they arrive in the synagogue as we heard this morning they are complete strangers, travelers from a far distant land. They sit down among the congregation. Then after the Scripture reading from the law and the prophets, the officials of the synagogue sent them a message, saying, "Brothers if you have any word of exhortation for the people, give it." So Paul stood up and with a gesture began to speak.

By the time Paul was done, I expect the people had missed lunch, not to mention their afternoon tee times. Yet they didn’t seem to mind. Acts tells us (after this morning’s reading) that as Paul and Barnabas were going out of the synagogue that day, the people urged them to speak about these things again the next Sabbath and on that next Sabbath almost the whole city gathered to hear the word of the Lord.

The Word of the Lord powerfully proclaimed, a word of exhortation that drew a whole town to conversion… Spoken by a visitor, a stranger, a traveler. The personal experiences of a stranger… certainly an unexpected source of revelation. Where would you expect, in your own life, to find revelation of God’s presence? At its most fundamental level, this story from Acts reminds us that the experiences of another human being can bring us new knowledge, new awareness, new faith in God’s presence. The experience, the human experiences of individuals other than ourselves can be more than just stories about their lives… their stories can be sources of revelation and conversion for us.

That may seem such an obvious concept that it goes without saying. The life, the faith experiences, of others can be sources of revelation about God. Maybe it does go without saying—we don’t seem to say it very often. And we don’t seem to act as if we believe it.

Consider our usual posture towards visitors in our midst. I like to think we’re never hostile, but at our worst, we are indifferent. At our best, we are welcoming and gracious. We seek to share our community, introducing ourselves, helping them find their way among us. How often do we ask them to enlighten us, to give us the gift of their faith and experience? We offer to share what is ours, but do we invite them to share what is theirs?

This morning’s reading from Acts reminds us that it is often the visitor, the stranger, that has the most to offer. Because they bring new experiences, new perspectives, new ideas. They tell us about things we might never have thought of on our own, might never have imagined. Had the people of Antioch of Pisidia been indifferent to the newcomers in their midst they would never have heard the gospel of Jesus Christ. If the people of Antioch had welcomed Paul and Barnabas and asked them to coffee hour and even volunteered to teach them "how we do things here at Beth Shalom in Antioch"… had they done all that, but not asked Paul to speak of his own experiences, the people of Antioch would never had heard the gospel.

The experiences of others can be sources of revelation for us. We can come to know God through the stories of other people. Those other people need not be complete strangers or foreigners. They might even be fellow Episcopalians. I recently came across (again) an article written a number of years ago (well before General Convention 2003). The author posed this question: "Is denominational unity really worth the effort?" He asked: Is the immense amount of energy, will and time spent struggling to maintain unity within the Presbyterian, Methodist, Episcopal churches worth the effort? The volatile and divisive issue facing many denominations in this generation is human sexuality. At other times in history, the issue has been different, but the struggle no less intense. Why not amicably agree to split, and spend all of that energy and creativity and time on more "so-called" productive efforts?

The author seriously entertains this question, but then goes on to say that unity is worth the effort. One reason it is worth the effort is for the sake of the conversations we have with others. He writes: "The mainline Protestant denominations are among the few places in our society where people from widely diverse places across the political spectrum can talk about substantive issues within the context of an ongoing community of shared beliefs. Most contemporary American adults, after all, can live their lives having serious conversations almost exclusively with people who share most of their own views. What are suburbs for, if not to make this possible? But if you find yourself elected (for example) as a [delegate to General Convention], suddenly you encounter all these folks supposedly from the same tradition but who have widely different beliefs. And you have to try to talk to them."

Finally, he concludes, "If we can keep these conversations going, we mainline Protestants will make a major contribution to holding this fragmenting society of ours together… we should value denominational unity because it forces us into such tough conversations."

And, even more importantly, I would suggest… in these conversations, challenging conversations, unexpected conversations, exciting conversations… in these conversations, we will find God. In the midst of conversations, especially conversations with people with whom we may not share a common history, a common experience, a common perspective, especially in those conversations God will be revealed to us. In listening to other people recount their experiences of God’s love and presence, we may discover God for ourselves in places we would never have thought to look. And discovering God’s presence in our lives is always a very good thing.

It all depends upon welcoming and valuing one another’s presence and experiences and conversations. We cannot have these conversations, hear these stories, experience these revelations if we are alone. We must be with one another. And we must listen.

The people in the synagogue in Antioch of Pisidia had no idea what Paul might say. Yet they invited him to speak. And they listened. Thanks be to God.

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