Setting the Table with Prayer Deut. 10:12-20, Acts 9:1-19

It is a Christmas Eve tradition in Poland
to have dinner together with all the family gathered around,
and to place a lighted candle in the window
in the hope that the Christ child in the form of a stranger
will see the light and come join the meal.
No matter how large the family or how cramped the conditions,
an empty place is always set to allow room for the stranger.

Like all traditions, this one could lose its meaning over time
as one generation fades into the next.
That would be a shame, because setting a place at the table for the stranger
reflects two basic and essential aspects of the way God has chosen
to work in the lives of God’s people
Starting all the way back with Sarah and Abraham
God has chosen to work in two elemental ways:
1. God likes to work in our lives through other people.
That’s why an empty place is set. If God appears on Christmas Eve
it will not be as an apparition, a ghost, but a flesh and blood human being
2. God likes to surprise us by working in our lives through people
whom we would least expect to be instruments of divine intervention.
That’s why the place is not set for a halo-ed infant but for a stranger.

I bring this up because these two themes: God works through other people
God works through surprising people
are also reflected in the story of Saul
AND they are themes that we in America tend to resist.
The way we express our faith, like everything else we do in our culture
is colored by our affection for the heroic individual.
We like to imagine we can go it alone.
We’re not SUPPOSED to need anyone else.
And, in these days when we’re told in airports not to even THINK about
leaving our luggage unattended,
we surely aren’t crazy about welcoming strangers.

Our affinity for rugged individualism definitely affects how we read the Bible.
WE get so focused on the heroic individual, the MAIN character,
that we don’t even notice the supporting cast of the story.
We idealize the HERO of the story to the degree that we lose sight of the irony
that the “HEROES” of the Bible are often criminals, rogues and social outcasts.
If we saw their counterparts on the street today
we would gingerly reach over and lock all the car doors!
And we CERTAINLY either downplay or ignore the fact
that in the Bible nobody ever goes it alone.
Our story this morning about Saul’s blinding experience on the road to Damascus
is a case in point.

Saul, whom we later come to know as Paul, initially comes to our attention
as Stephen, the first martyr of the church,
is being stoned to death by Jews who are threatened by this new sect
within Judaism that proclaims Jesus as the Messiah.
Saul is identified in the story as the young man who holds the coats
of those who pick up stones against Stephen.

Later, we suddenly become aware that Saul is “ravaging the church”
by entering house after house; dragging off both men and women,
and putting them in prison.

Saul, it seems, is one of those most dangerous of religious people –
one who has no doubt whatsoever that God is on his side.
Unable to imagine that God would NOT approve of his zealous campaign,
Saul sets to work with a single minded devotion to rid Judaism
of the corrupting effect of those who are part of the Jesus phenomenon;
those who have started calling their movement simply, “The Way.”

In chapter nine Luke picks up his account of Saul’s activities
reporting that, “still breathing threats and murder against the disciples”
Saul went to the high priest in Jerusalem asking for letters of introduction
to the synagogues of Damascus giving Saul authority to snatch up
any whom he may find in that teeming city who were part of “The Way.”

Now, Damascus is 145 miles from Jerusalem
so that gives us an idea of the depth of Saul’s obsession.
He is a righteous Pharisee
who sees it as his duty to purify his people and he will go to any lengths to do so.
It was on the outskirts of Damascus that Saul has what’s become known
as his “Damascus Road Conversion.”
A light flashed, he falls to the ground,
and he and those who are with him hear a voice saying,
“Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?
“Who are you, Lord?” Saul sputters.
“I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting.
But get up and enter the city and you will be told there what to do.”
The “Damascus Road conversion” has become part of our vocabulary.
Anytime anybody has an abrupt change of mind about anything -
religion, politics, even feelings about a particular song or color of paint -
it’s referred to as a that person’s “Damascus Road.”
But especially in a sweaty auditorium or in a large, canvass tent
when the revival preacher strikes a chord
that reverberates deep in the heart of a hardened reprobate
and that lost soul who is beyond all human intervention
lurches forward and kneels at the throne of grace
and all who are gathered in that place lift their hands in praise to God
for the swift and sudden salvation of such a sinner
we think of sorry old Saul, that enemy numero uno
down on his knees in the dust.

It is no doubt a big turn-around for Saul, that Pharisee among Pharisees.
One minute he’s God’s one-man wrecking crew,
Heaven’s own hammer ready to come down hard on those Jesus Freaks
cracking heads and naming names.
The next minute he’s pudding – blind, confused, shaken to the bone.
It’s a dramatic scene.
Think of the special effects they could use if someone made it into a movie.
But, contrary to what we’ve thought,
contrary to the way this “Damascus Road” experience
has become central to our religious and even our secular language,
the flash of light, the Divine voice and Saul falling to his knees
is not the climax of the story.
Sure, it’s the scene all the artist’s paint,
the scene people think about when they think of “conversion”
BUT IT’S NOT THE CLIMAX OF THE STORY!
It’s only part of the story, one half of the story, maybe.
It’s the REST of the story that has the real drama.

When we read the book of Acts, we tend to look for the bold strokes –
the car chases, the explosions –
but it’s the more subtle elements that often carry the real power.
Contrary to popular opinion, Saul was not converted on the road to Damascus,
he was only softened up a little.
It apparently took a flash of light, a divine voice, and losing his sight
just to get his attention.
Saul’s conversion wasn’t complete until Ananias came to him,
put his hand on Saul’s shoulder and called him “Brother.”

Ananias is, on one level, just a bit player in the Biblical story;
but think of the consequences if he doesn’t live out his faith.
On the one hand, we could say God has the power to get the job done
with or without Ananias.
But, on the other hand, we can certainly say
that Ananias is THE critical linchpin in God’s plan
that enables Saul to become Paul and become God’s primary instrument
in the growth and development of the church.
It is his incredible courage and obedience
that allows him to seek out this man Saul who, for all he knows,
will bind him on sight and drag him back to Jerusalem.
How did he get such courage?

Since this whole summer we are looking at the place of prayer in the book of Acts
now is a good time to point out that both Ananias and Saul
are in the act of praying when they begin to sort out what God is up to.
Paul is praying because he’s confused and scared and has just heard the voice
of the very one who’s followers he’s been persecuting.
Ananias is just going about his daily habits and routine.
In prayer, each man is in a posture of expectancy.
That’s what prayer does. It allows us a moment away from the clatter and clamor
so we can listen for and hear God’s word to us.
In prayer, each man is open to direction from God.
And they are willing to consider God’s direction, even when it doesn’t make sense.

Ananias hears and obeys God’s direction and he goes to Saul.
Saul regains his sight and is filled with God’s Spirit.
He gets up and Ananias baptizes him.
He eats and is strengthened.
This is hardly a climax made for the big screen.
It doesn’t fit our idea of a dramatic ending.
The power of this scene is subtle, but it’s unmistakable.
In God’s divine plan, two men who are strangers to one another,
are united in prayer and become instruments of grace in each other’s life.
One finds his life altered dramatically, a 180 degree turnaround.
The other simply continues on the same path
but richer for the experience.

People will still speak of Saul’s Damascus Road experience,
but you and I know the real truth.
The power of God was not in the light, not in the voice, not in the blindness.
The power of God was in Ananias’ courageous act of obedience.
It was in his willingness to set an empty place at his table.
It was in his willingness to welcome a stranger.
As we come to Christ’s table, let us do the same.

The Work of Prayer, The Prayer of Work Psalm 146, Acts 6:1-7

Benedict was born in Nursia, Italy in 480 A.D.
The son of a Roman nobleman, he lived a privileged life and pursued classic studies
until, scandalized by the debauchery of his fellow students,
he left his studies to pursue a life of solitude.
Determined to devote his life to God, Benedict is reputed to have been the instrument
of several remarkable divine miracles
and at one point a group of monks invited him to be their leader.
Benedict knew the group and warned them he would be much too strict for them,
but they persisted and he finally relented.
Sure enough, it wasn’t long before the monks became so fed up with Benedict’s
demands that they tried to poison him!

As time passed, Benedict matured and he became less obsessed with avoiding sin
and more interested in establishing a community of common, ordinary laymen
who shared his desire to live a life similar to that
which he read about in the New Testament.
So, around the age of 50, Benedict came up with seventy three guidelines
governing this life together.
The centerpiece of what the church has come to know as the “Rule of St. Benedict”
is the essential balance of work and prayer.
Actually, Benedict saw no distinction between the two.
For Benedict, work is the lattice upon which a life of devotion grows,
and, as for prayer, he calls it “God’s work.”
Prayer is work. Work is prayer.
Work and Prayer, Prayer and Work.
Down through the history of the church we see how easy it is
to tip the scales toward one or the other
and how difficult it is to keep the two in balance.
We tend to see prayer and work as an either/or proposition.
Those who would live a life of piety
sometimes withdraw into a cocoon of quiet contemplation
substituting ritual and liturgy for actual engagement with the world.
Those who seek their salvation through action
sometimes jeer at what they perceive as the passiveness and irrelevance of prayer.
They have to produce something, accomplish something, fix something
before they can feel they’ve been faithful.

We Protestants are very familiar with Monty Python stereotypes of Roman monks
chanting in monotonous Latin phrases, hidden away in their dim cloister
where the world can’t touch them and vice versa.
Likewise, conservative fundamentalists have a stereotype of us “liberal” Presbyterians
spending all our energy on “secular” pursuits like working for civil rights
or affordable housing or stewardship of the environment and not caring one whit
about leading someone to a moment of decision for Christ.

One thing about a stereotype is that there is often a grain of truth in it.
It is possible to cloister oneself and go through the motions of prayer and piety
and be dead inside.
It’s also possible to be a fiery activist for a worthy cause
and be absolutely closed off to the movement of God’s Spirit.

Another thing about a stereotype is that those who swear by it
usually do so as a defense against feeling inadequate in some way.
The very thing we ridicule in someone else
is often a quality in which we find ourselves deficient.

Through my ministry I confess I have often harbored a sense of superiority
toward those devoted souls who speak of “bathing themselves in prayer”
and “feeding on” God’s word.
I’d personally rather bathe myself in a tub and feed on bacon and eggs
and then get on with the work of God’s kingdom
making sure a poor family in Mexico has a roof over their heads
or an orphan in Haiti has food in his stomach.

But, if I’m honest, the truth is I get ants in my pants if I sit and try to pray for very long.
If I’m still and quiet I have to face myself.
I think most of those who have been coming to our class on prayer
are having a hard time with this.
We excuse our unwillingness to spend fifteen minutes in silence before God
with the assertion that we have more important things to do,
yet we easily find fifteen minutes to read the paper or watch TV or nap.
The truth is that sitting in silence before God even for fifteen minutes is hard work.
It requires concentration.
I complain that it’s boring, but in reality it’s more terrifying than boring.
Such a period of silence in God’s presence
gives me time to think of all the things I’ve left undone.
It gives me the opportunity to see that if I’m quiet for fifteen minutes
the world somehow manages to keep spinning on it’s axis.
Fifteen minutes of silence is long enough to allow those thoughts to creep in
that all my strategies of distraction through the day are meant to keep out.
To fight through this discomfort requires courage.
It requires tenacity. It requires stamina that I fear I don’t have.
The practice of prayer is a topic of ongoing concern in the life of the early church
as Luke describes for us the initial growing pains of that early band of believers.
In our passage today we read about a very practical problem that has come up
among the followers of Jesus
and the solution that was reached to satisfy those who were unhappy.

You’ve got to remember that Jerusalem was a melting pot of sorts
and that prior to the time of the early church
the area had been ruled first by Greeks and then by Romans.
Within Jerusalem there were Jews who spoke a dialect of Hebrew called Aramaic
and those who spoke Greek, called in our text Hellenists.
The Apostles of Jesus probably all spoke Aramaic
so it was likely that Aramaic speakers among the early believers felt more privileged
and the Hellenists felt more like second class citizens.

Luke has already told us that those early followers of Jesus
devoted themselves to fellowship
and shared everything in common as each had need.
This is easy enough when the group is small,
but as numbers grow the logistics get more complicated.
At some point Luke recounts that the Hellenists begin to feel
like the widows of their group are getting shorted –
receiving, perhaps, but one bag of groceries per week
when they should be getting two.
Or maybe the widows live out in the boonies
and the donkey driven delivery cart just can’t get out that far.
Or maybe there’s no difference at all, but when you feel second class already
it’s easy to imagine that you’re being slighted.

Whether the slight is real or imagined,
the twelve apostles know that such a complaint can wreck a fellowship.
They’ve got a potential revolt on their hands,
that or a big law suit.

It’s interesting what Luke leaves out at this point.
In previous accounts we’re told that the Apostles took no step
without first devoting themselves to prayer.
Because that was their practice, it’s likely they did the same in this case.
I assume they sought divine guidance because they came up
with such a reasonable, elegant solution.

The first thing they did was reassert their own specific calling.
“It’s not right that we should neglect the word of God to wait on tables.”
This sounds elitist – “What, are they too GOOD to be waiters?”
But clearly that’s not how it was received by their audience.
The church was growing and the Apostles had their work cut out for them
and a large portion of what they saw as their work was the time they spent in prayer.
Prayer and bearing witness to the good news of God’s kingdom was too important
to neglect it, even it would have meant serving widows,
a task certainly in line with Jesus’ teaching.

The second thing the Apostles did, after asserting their own calling,
was to serve as instruments of God’s calling to seven others.
Notice their sensitivity in making sure that the seven chosen were Greeks themselves.
The Apostles used this opportunity to empower those in their group
who felt like second class citizens.
But it wasn’t just an empty gesture,
or a ploy to simply get the Hellenists off their backs.
The Apostles prayed and laid hands on the seven as a sign of ordination,
symbolizing the work and presence of the Holy Spirit in this important task.
The Apostles weren’t just dividing up the weekly chores.
Instead, by their gestures they signaled the deep holiness of the calling to service
that was being bestowed on the seven chosen ones.
The Apostles had accepted their own calling to the work of prayer.
And by praying for the seven and laying on their hands
they were acknowledging the holiness or the prayer of work.

Prayer as work, work as prayer.
Just as there needs to be balance in the individual
there needs to be balance in the congregation as well.
While Jesus himself modeled a balance in his life between prayer and service
between contemplation and action,
it’s not unusual to find that some people have a special gift of praying or teaching
and some people have a special gift of serving in more active ways.
The point is not for one to feel superior to the other
or for one to feel envious of the other.
The point, I suppose, is that there is always room for growth in either direction
and the faithful response for us is not to give excuses or to value one over the other,
but to be honest in recognizing what comes easy to us in our life of faith
and where we could be stronger.

You may not feel God has given you the gift of contemplative prayer.
Or, you may not feel God has given you the courage to take risks in your serving.
Just be aware that sometimes gifts are not evident until they are exercised.
And sometimes our gifts change as our season of life changes.
Sometimes the prodding to grow in a new direction
comes from the most unlikely sources.
Kathryn and I took Will on Friday to visit the community of Innisfree,
a beautiful 500 acre farm where forty adults with developmental disabilities
and twenty-five to thirty volunteers and staff live and work together.
They are not religiously affiliated, but their mission is certainly compatible
with the values of the Kingdom of God that we find in the Bible.
Residents are allowed to freely express their faith,
but there is no outward encouragement of any faith practice that I saw.
So, when we sat down to eat lunch, the plates were put before us.
There was work to be done – people to be cared for, chores to be finished,
everyone needed strength for the afternoon ahead – that was what was important.
Everyone: staff, residents, Kathryn and I – everyone picked up a fork and began to eat.
Everyone except Will who put out his hands as is our practice at home –
he put out his hands because he is accustomed to our giving thanks to God
before we eat. Thanks for the reminder.
Prayer is work. Work is prayer. They belong together.