“In All Things God Works…”

Our Scripture reading this morning is on page 790 in our church Bibles. It’s Acts 22:30 through to Acts 23:11. And if you care to turn to it, I will read it in your hearing, and you can follow along as I read verse 30. The concluding verse of Acts 22 is where we begin our reading:

“The next day, since the commander wanted to find out exactly why Paul was being accused by the Jews, he released him and ordered the chief priests and all the Sanhedrin to assemble. Then he brought Paul and had him stand before them.

“Paul looked straight at the Sanhedrin and said, ‘My brothers, I have fulfilled my duty to God in all good conscience to this day.’ At this the high priest Ananias ordered those standing near Paul to strike him on the mouth. Then Paul said to him, ‘God will strike you, you whitewashed wall! You sit there to judge me according to the law, yet you yourself violate the law by commanding that I be struck!’

“Those who were standing near Paul said, ‘You dare to insult God’s high priest?’

“Paul replied, ‘Brothers, I did not realize that he was the high priest; for it is written: “Do not speak evil about the ruler of your people.”’

“Then Paul, knowing that some of them were Sadducees and the others Pharisees, called out in the Sanhedrin, ‘My brothers, I am a Pharisee, the son of a Pharisee. I stand on trial because of my hope in the resurrection of the dead.’ When he said this, a dispute broke out between the Pharisees and the Sadducees, and the assembly was divided. (The Sadducees say that there is no resurrection, and that there are neither angels nor spirits, but the Pharisees acknowledge them all.)

“There was a great uproar, and some of the teachers of the law who were Pharisees stood up and argued vigorously. ‘We find nothing wrong with this man,’ they said. ‘What if a spirit or an angel has spoken to him?’ The dispute became so violent that the commander was afraid Paul would be torn to pieces by them. He ordered the troops to go down and take him away from them by force and bring him into the barracks.

“The following night the Lord stood near Paul and said, ‘Take courage! As you have testified about me in Jerusalem, so you must also testify in Rome.’”

Amen.

I’ve given our study this morning a title. I always do. I’m usually asked for it; I don’t always have one, but I’m feeling very proud of myself in that I managed to give the title to my assistant this week before ever I preached the sermon. Usually, I preach it to find out what it was about, and then I make up a title. But the title this morning is a phrase from one of Paul’s most well-known statements. The statement is in Romans 8:28, remember: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” So this morning’s title is just one little phrase: “In All Things God Works…” “In All Things God Works…”

And the truth that circumstances, albeit adverse circumstances, are turned to good by the operation of God on behalf of his children is something that is affirmed by Paul not only in his writing but also in his living. And I wonder if you’ve found with me that as you’ve been reading particularly these chapters as Paul proceeds towards ultimately Rome, interim towards Jerusalem, that the things that he has written in his epistles in many ways stand up and look at us. At least I’ve been finding that. I wonder if you have too. And the distinct impression is created that Paul is working out his theology not in the context of some cloistered tranquility, but he’s actually hammering out his theology on the anvil of experience, and that the things that he writes elsewhere we’re able to tie in to the things that we find him encountering here. And I’ll show that to you before we end this morning.

This is not the easiest of little passages. At least I haven’t found it particularly easy. I don’t know what you would have done with it. I wrestled with it all week, and eventually Sunday comes, and you have to stop and say something. It’s liberating. It’s also terrifying. But I’ve concluded—and I hope I don’t do a disservice to Paul in this—but I have concluded that to some extent, this passage provides helpfulness to us in introducing us to something of the ordinariness of this extraordinary apostle; that something, if you like, of his feet of clay are to be found in the encounter which we’ve just read here.

Paul is working out his theology not in the context of some cloistered tranquility, but he’s actually hammering out his theology on the anvil of experience.

His journey to Jerusalem had begun with that dramatic declaration back in chapter 20. You needn’t turn to it, but if you want to remind yourself of it, it comes about the twenty-second verse, where he says, “Compelled by the Spirit, I’m going up to Jerusalem. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me there. I only know that the Spirit has told me that in every city to which I go, there’s going to be that for me to encounter that is not necessarily going to be just a walk in the park.” That’s my own summary of it.

And, of course, that prophetic word given to him has been borne out now, as we’ve already begun to see. And God has been working even these bad things into his purpose for him, showing Paul what he’s going to write down, or has written down: “In all things God works.” “He’s worked,” he must have said, “in my imprisonment. I’m glad I said that, because here in my imprisonment, God has been protecting me from a lynching. God has been at work in my upbringing, insofar as, as a Roman citizen, I’ve been able to avoid this dreadful flogging,” which, of course, could have killed him. And once again, as we’ve come to expect from Luke—who, you will remember, in his introduction to his Gospel had said, “I set out to investigate this, to examine it clearly, to set down an orderly account”[1]—once again, here in this little section, Luke is describing the scene very carefully and clearly.

Now, one of the things that I did in looking at this was I just looked at it, as it were, through the eyes of the different characters. And I wonder again, do you have any sense of empathy with this poor commander here? That the commander is quite a man, and his wife at suppertime would have doubtless asked him, “What’s happening with this prisoner, Paul? They making any headway with him? What’s all the trouble about?” And he would be forced to acknowledge that, frankly, what he was trying to get at he just couldn’t get at—that his quest was unsuccessful.

You go back to 21:34 to set the context for this: “Some in the crowd shouted one thing and some another, and since the commander”—notice the phrase—“could not get at the truth because of the uproar,” he sent Paul into the barracks. “What have you been trying to do?” “Well, I’ve been trying to get at the truth,” he said. Chapter 21 and verse 34, and then 22:24: “The commander ordered Paul to be taken into the barracks. He directed that he be flogged and questioned,” notice, “in order to find out why the people were shouting at him like this.” First of all, he can’t get at the truth. One group shouts one thing, one group shouts another thing. He says, “Okay, that hasn’t worked. Let’s take him into the barracks. In fact, let’s give him a jolly good flogging, and perhaps as we give him a flogging, I can ask him a few questions, and I’ll find out why this is all taking place.”

The final verse of 22 sets the scene for his third attempt to find out exactly what’s going on. Notice the phrase in verse 30: “The next day, since the commander wanted to find out exactly why Paul was being accused by the Jews…” He says, “Okay, let’s try this another way. Why don’t we release him from custody? Let’s call a meeting of the Sanhedrin, let’s allow the Sanhedrin to conduct the investigation, let’s listen while they conduct the investigation, and then maybe I’ll be able to tell my wife at suppertime tonight exactly what’s going on with this character. Because so far, my first attempt was no good because of the hullabaloo. My second attempt was foiled because he’s a Roman citizen and we couldn’t flog him. Let’s see what we can do when we bring him in front of the Sanhedrin.”

And so it was that before the ruling council of the Jews, in a way that ought to cause some of you to have an immediate flashback—in fact, if you were making a movie of this, you could quite easily have flashbacks twenty-seven years previously to another individual brought before the ruling council of the Jews, another individual who was struck in the face, another individual who was confronted by the challenge of these moments. I’m not going to be tedious and turn you back to that; I’ll just set you in that direction in case you want to follow it up at your leisure. Any hopes that he had for resolution by means of this third attempt were quickly dashed, as Luke tell us, in the fracas which followed.

Now, those of you who are going to do journalism—and I hope some of you are, ’cause there’s so much dreadful journalism; it’d be nice to have a few bright sparks on the horizon. Looking forward to the days when we could read your columns in the op-ed pages of the New York Times and the Wall Street and so on, not least of all that wonderful paper, the Plain Dealer. But those of you who are doing English and have been given the assignment of writing, you know how important it is to be able to say things pithily, straightforwardly, the vital importance of verbs. And this morning at an early hour—you maybe heard it on National Public Radio—I heard a couple of fellows who were asking individuals on the street, “Summarize your life for me in thirty seconds.” It was fascinating. “Summarize your life for me in thirty seconds.” And one gentleman, an Italian construction worker, he said, “It started bad and got worse.” I thought, “Now, I like that. That’s clarity.”

Now, Luke gives us just the scene, he sets a scene, just three verbs—standing, looking, talking—just so that we might have this in mind.

“Then he brought Paul and had him stand before them.” Again, the flashback, Luke 22: “And Jesus was led before them.”[2] There he stands before them.

Secondly, looking at them: “Paul looked straight at the Sanhedrin,” fixing his eyes on them. In fact, the phraseology here is graphic phraseology. I won’t bore you with where you can find it elsewhere. Fixing his eyes on them. In other words, nothing diffident, nothing deceptive about his posture.

Standing, looking, talking: “I have,” he says, “fulfilled my duty to God in all good conscience to this day.” That is a dramatic statement, isn’t it? “I have fulfilled my duty to God in all good conscience to this day.” Remember Micah 6:8:

He has show[n] you, O man, what is good.
 And what does the Lord require of you?
[But] to [do] justly … to love mercy
 and to walk humbly with your God.

And Paul makes this very special statement. He has a lot to say concerning his conscience. He, you remember, writes to the Corinthians and says, “My conscience is clear, … that does[n’t] make me innocent.”[3] On a number of occasions, he makes much of the fact that he wants to have a clear conscience before God. We’ll come back to this in chapter 24: the importance of a clear conscience in the service of God.

But what we discover is that he only gets as far as this opening statement before, at the behest of the high priest, he’s struck on the mouth. And in the account which then follows and takes us up to the eleventh verse, we see, I suggest to you again, something of the ordinariness of this extraordinary man.

The Hostility Paul Encounters

Now, I have three headings, and I’ll give them to you. I’ll try to get quickly to the third one, because that’s where I want to spend most of my time. First of all, notice the hostility that he encounters. The hostility that he encounters. Again, you see, here is somebody trying to do his best. Here is somebody who gets up in the morning, as it were, shackled and then unshackled and out into the day, and once again confronted by this ugly scene, and is setting himself up for the opportunity of investigation by the ruling council. He speaks to them initially in a kindly and respectful way: “Brothers…” “My brothers, I have fulfilled my duty to God in all good conscience to this day.” Bam! And they strike him right in the mouth.

Now, I don’t know how long it is since you’ve taken a punch in the mouth. I have to go back quite a long way. I think I probably have to go back to my schoolyard, but I have some memorable punches on the mouth in my record as a result of the use of my mouth. I remember going home with my nose in my hands, blood coursing through the palms of my hands, and my dad saying to me, “What happened?” And I said, “Well, I asked this big boy if he’d like a punch on the nose.” And he said, “You probably shouldn’t have said that.” And I said, “No, I understand that now.”

But here, this is an unprovoked strike on the mouth. This is without provocation. This is a bizarre interruption. This is strange. Don’t you expect that the people who represent the religious establishment will at least be in control of themselves, they’ll be able to moderate things properly? You don’t rise to become the high priest, presumably, because you’re a vagabond and a rascal, because you’re an insolent and quick-tempered character. Oh, but maybe you do! In fact, Josephus tells us that this particular high priest was known for his greed, for his insolence, and for his quick temper.[4] Calvin observes, “The Lord allows wicked people to be so carried away by Satan that they abandon all pretense of fairness and moderation.”[5]

Now, if the intervention of the high priest is striking, what do you think about Paul’s reaction? Paul knows the Bible. Paul knew that a silent answer turns away wrath.[6] But here he adopts a more aggressive approach: “Then Paul said to him, ‘God[’ll] strike you, you whitewashed wall!’” I mean, I don’t think he said it like, “And God is going to strike you, you whitewashed wall.” No, I think he probably… It was a riposte. R-i-p-o-s-t-e. It was boom! It was out before he knew it.

Well, what about turning the other cheek? Calvin—and I think probably because Calvin sees himself in Paul’s reaction—Calvin says that the command of Christ to turn the other cheek “does not stop us from complaining about injuries we have suffered” and “convicting the ungodly of their guilt, … provided we do so calmly and without ill will.”[7] Well, I don’t know how you do that. And when we get a chance to ask Calvin, we can ask him, you know, just to work his way through it for us. I’m not so sure he knew how to do it himself.

No, the best I can do with this—and I’ve read just about every commentary I can find, hoping that in the next one I take down from my shelf, there will be somebody who says something that says, “Oh, that’s perfect. That explains it. That cleans it up. It leaves Paul in the clear, gets me out of my problem, has something to say to the congregation.” None of them were any help at all. They were all absolutely just dribbling down their chins when it came to this.

And so, here I go. We must always remember that Paul was a mighty apostle, but he was at the same time a mere man—that he was not a perfect man, and it is surely not inconceivable that he lost his temper. See, think about it. When he says, “The good I want to do I don’t do, and the bad I don’t want to do, this I do,”[8] we read that and we go, “Oh yeah, that was nice, Paul. You put that in for us. But you’re not like that. You don’t know…” What, he was fabricating? No, he was describing his own experience. He says, “When I reflect upon my life, I know there are times I should be quiet and I speak, and I know there are other times when I speak and I should be quiet.” This may well be one of those times.

He accuses the high priest of hypocrisy, hence the “whitewashed wall.” “You’re violating the law,” he says, “while claiming the right to judge.” And the onlookers, verse 4, “those who were standing near,” immediately took the side of the high priest. Well, they had an agenda, didn’t they? “You dare to insult God’s high priest?” Wouldn’t one of them say, “Hey, what are you doing belting Paul on the mouth?” He hasn’t done anything yet. All he said was “I have been fulfilling my duty to God with a clear conscience.”

Paul was a mighty apostle, but he was at the same time a mere man, not a perfect man.

And then verse 5, it gets even more troublesome, doesn’t it? “Paul replied, ‘Brothers, I did not realize that he was the high priest.’” Because, he says, “I know that the Bible says, ‘Do not speak evil about the ruler of your people.’ And since I know that’s a clear instruction of Scripture, and I don’t want to violate a clear instruction of Scripture, I wouldn’t have gone about and said what I just said if I’d known he was the high priest.” Which raises the question: Why didn’t he know he was the high priest?

Now, once again, the commentaries are pretty useless. This one commentator says, “Well, there was a great babble of voices in the commotion that was going on. Paul knew somebody said something, but he didn’t know who said what he said. Therefore, he confused the origin of the statement.” It’s possible. A number say that his statement here is ironic—that he’s making an ironic response to what has taken place. In other words, what he’s saying is “I didn’t think that a man who could give such an order could be the high priest.”[9] I wondered if maybe the high priest was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, which was my great contribution to the discussion—say, “You know, maybe he had his street clothes on or something, it was his day off, and he expected…” But that couldn’t be either, because of this “whitewashed wall,” because I think probably the whitewashed wall is a reference to the white robes of the high priest as well and that he’s tying things together.

John Stott, for whom we’re all grateful in what we do, says when we take what we know of the dimness of his sight and the problems that he had with his sight, referenced in Galatians 6 (“See with what big letters I write to you!”)[10] and his reference to “These people cared about me so much they would have taken their very eyes out and given them to me,”[11] Stottie says it is a most likely explanation that his response is to be found in his poor eyesight: “In this case ‘you white-washed wall’ may [not] have been … such a reference to hypocrisy as an uncouth allusion to a white-robed figure across the court whom Paul could only dimly perceive.”[12]

So he stands before the Sanhedrin. He makes his opening statement. Somebody says, “Strike him on the mouth!” He looks across, and he sees the source of the statement. Someone says, “Strike him on the mouth!” And as he looks across—and those of you who have very poor eyesight will understand this. I have people walk past me all the time, and they tell me that it’s their eyesight, which I hope is true—not just to, you know, bolster up my miserable ego. But I’ve had people literally walk past me, and because their contact lenses are out, because I’m in a different situation, they just walk right past me. I said, “Hey, hey!” and they turn around and say, “Oh, I didn’t realize it was you.” Now, I find that hard to believe, given my eyesight. But for those of you who are whatever that sight is, you know that can take place. “Is that you, honey? Oh!” “Oh, I didn’t realize it was the high priest.” That’s the best I can do with it. I don’t know. I don’t know.

The hostility.

The Disunity Paul Engenders

Secondly and quickly, there is not only the hostility that he encounters, but there is the disunity that he engenders. In what follows, it isn’t simply that he exposes the division that is there between the Sadducees and the Pharisees. That would be one thing. But it is clear that by his introduction of the theme of the resurrection—which really was not on the table for discussion. The accusation against him was that he was opposing the law of God, he was opposing the people of God, he was opposing the temple of God. That was the context of accusation. But now, having failed in his initial attempt to give a credible defense of his position—that’s been vetoed by a smack on the mouth—it seems obvious that he changes his tactics.

And he introduces a subject which he recognizes will create further division in the group. Because the Sadducees had no concept of the resurrection, did not believe in it, had very little to say about it at all. The Pharisees believed in the resurrection at the last day. And once again, seeking to underscore his Jewish roots and his background, he takes the side of the Pharisee. Now, that is entirely legitimate. It was absolutely true. He says, “I am a Pharisee, I was a Pharisee, I am the son of Pharisee.” And in so doing, he puts the cat among the pigeons. He sets them all at odds with one another. And the impact of his words is immediate.

Now, we don’t need to tease this out, but look at verse 7: “When he said this, a dispute broke out between the Pharisees and the Sadducees.” Luke very kindly, in his parenthetical statement in verse 8, explains for those of us who don’t know why this would be the case. The Sadducees were “sad, you see,” because they did not believe in the resurrection. That’s the way we learned it from Sunday school. Verse 9: “There was a great uproar, … some of the … Pharisees stood up and argued vigorously.” And “the dispute,” verse 10, “became so violent” that once again our poor old friend the commander, he says, “You know, boys, go get him again. We’re going to have to bring him in. I think they’re going to tear him apart if we leave him out there. What does he think he’s doing?” Well, what did he think he was doing?

The Security Paul Enjoys

Well, let’s just go to our last point. The hostility that he encounters is clear. The disunity that I’m suggesting the text suggests he engenders—does not merely expose but is responsible for in large measure—is then more than matched by the security he enjoys. The uproar, the violence, the vigorous arguing over these details, which were important details, resulted in his being once again brought back into the barracks.

So the first dimension of his security was the security that was provided for him physically by the intervention of these troops, so that once again Paul could sit down in his cell or in his place of captivity and thank God that he was once again a prisoner: “Thank you, God, for the Roman authorities putting me in prison again. And I know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him. I know I’m in jail again, but you know what? At least I’m intact. If they’d left me out there, I might have been ripped to bits. I thank you for the security of this place tonight, Lord. I thank you that I can at least rest secure in the captivity that has been provided for me.”

But that security, of course, only covered his physical well-being. And as we know, our physical well-being in the security of that is not that much, really. Because where do most of our insecurities lie? For a time it may be related to our physical being, but many times our insecurities and our deep uncertainties lie within the realm of our minds, within the realm of our emotions, within the realm of our spirits. So that is why we can be in the most physically wonderful environment, in the security that a world would say, “My, look at that lovely place! It must be nice to have that lovely room, to drive in that super conveyance.” But, of course, you and I both know that that kind of physical, external security is unable to take care of the deep-seated and rooted anxieties and fearfulnesses and disappointments and despairs that are all part and parcel of our lives.

And I would wager this morning that most people who are listening to me now are saying to themselves, “Oh yes, I get this part. I understand this part entirely. I have never been in the context of having a beating. I actually haven’t been struck on the mouth. I am not very much aware of that. But now this notion of security begins to ring a bell for me.”

Now, again, I don’t want to do a disservice to Paul, but this is the way my mind has gone, and I might as well share it with you. I don’t argue for its rightness. Do you agree with me in any measure at all that when Paul, taken back into the security of the barracks, would have laid his head down on his bed for the night, that he would have inevitably reflected upon the day—unless he was dog tired and fell immediately asleep? But let’s say he did, and he wakened up, and he was part of the 3:00 a.m. group. Let’s allow that he went to sleep and slept the sleep of the just, and at three o’clock, with the rest of us, he was awake. And in that tossing, turning hour or so, he said to himself, rubbing his hand across his swollen lip, “You know, this is nothing compared to the sting that I feel in my conscience. Why did I have to speak so quickly? I mean, I know better than that. Why did I shout out like that? Why did I just go immediately…? Why the knee-jerk reaction?” he says to himself. “Why immediately ‘God’ll strike you, you whitewashed wall’? Was it right,” he says to himself, “for me to react in that way? To accuse him in that way of hypocrisy?”

And then, as he reflects upon the animosity that broke out between the Sadducees and the Pharisees, now his mind starts to go, and he says to himself, “You know, I was taking the easy way out when I introduced the resurrection. Because I knew that that would set them at odds with one another, and in many ways, it’d get the monkey off my back. Suddenly I was able skillfully, strategically, and at the same time honestly”—because ultimately you would have to argue that his conviction about the resurrection was what established the uniqueness of his new position in Jesus, which he wasn’t deviating from at all, but nevertheless, it was a very skillful use of the material, wasn’t it? And as he tossed and turned on his bed, he said to himself, “You know, I did that. I set them at odds with one another.”

And then he said to himself, “And what about my friend the commander? What is the commander making of all of this? Is this helping the commander to know the truth of Jesus? Is this helping these troops to understand what it means to know that Jesus is alive and transforms a life?” Then he says, “You know, I think I’m going to write a few things down in my journal right now while I’m awake, because after all, I’m not getting to sleep in any case.”

And so he wrote, “Oh, what a wretched man I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death? The good I want to do, I don’t do it, and the bad I don’t want to do, I do it.”[13] And then in his mind he hears his voice saying, “I have fulfilled my duty to God in all good conscience to this day.” And then the accusing voice: “Yes, that got you to this day, but what about today?” And he takes his pen again, and he says, “I want to know Christ. I want to know the power of his resurrection. I want to share the fellowship of his suffering.[14] Don’t let me, Lord, be the man who thinks he stands and falls down on his face.[15] Lord Jesus Christ, knowing what you know about me, will you help me to fight the fight, to run the race, to finish the course?[16] Today, Lord Jesus, has not been a very good day.”

During the week, in reading just quite arbitrarily—because I saw it, and I started to read it, and then I read it through—reading Thomas Watson’s Body of Divinity on “The Believer’s Privilege at Death,” and he was talking about all the wonderful things that will be no more when we die; and one of them he references is relief from sin, and then he makes these couple of statements regarding sin, which were a tremendous help to me and I hope may be to you as well as we draw this to a close. He writes,

Sin adheres to us, we cannot get rid of it; it may be compared to a wild fig-tree growing on a wall, … the roots [of which] are pulled up, [but] … some fibres, … of it [are left] in the joints of the stone-work which cannot be [got] out. Sin mingles … our duties and graces …. [It] makes a child of God weary of his life, … makes him water his couch with his tears, to think [that] sin [is] so strong a party, and he … often offend[s the] God … he loves; this made Paul cry out Miser ego homo! “O wretched man that I am!” … [He] did not cry out [for] his affliction, [or] his prison-chain, [he cried out for] the body of sin.[17]

How wonderful, then, that the record closes with the arrival of Jesus. Verse 11: “The following night the Lord stood near Paul.” How gracious is Jesus! “O the deep, deep love of Jesus, vast, unmeasure[less], boundless, free,” like “a mighty ocean,”[18] coming to cover our sins, coming to meet us where we are, coming on our good days, coming on our bad days, coming with our fat mouths, coming with our closed mouths, coming when we’ve made a royal hash of it. And the Lord came and stood by him and said, “Take courage! We’re not finished yet. Jerusalem’s one thing, but Rome’s still in the future. I haven’t done with you, Paul.” Violence, hostility, outbursts, regrets, disappointments—in all things God works. In all things God works.

Because be honest, dear ones: to the extent that there is any accuracy in the observation of the very ordinariness of Paul the apostle, let’s allow for a moment that my observation is irrelevant. We’ll forget him for now. Think about the ordinariness of your own life. Think about the way you’ve dealt with things this last week. Think of how easy it has been for us to speak out or to remain silent or to react in some way that just makes clear the fact that like the fig tree sinews in the masonry, sin still seeps into our psyche and still spills from our actions and our words. What do we need? We need Jesus. We need Jesus to come and speak into our lives. And does he come? Yes, he comes. “There’s not a friend like the lowly Jesus—no, not one.”[19] Jesus knows all about our troubles, all of our troubles—knows us exactly as we are and loves us just the same. It is his amazing grace.

Violence, hostility, outbursts, regrets, disappointments—in all things God works.

Now, I found myself finishing my studies this week saying, “But do you know, some of these people are going to say, ‘Oh, well, that was okay for Paul. Jesus came and met with him in his cell, and he doesn’t come and meet with us in that way today, and it would be so much easier for us if he would show up and meet with us.’” Well, just at that I’d come across a little book, rediscovered a little book, lying on my floor in one of my rooms. I’d noted it when it appeared because it bore the name of one of my best friend’s wives, her maiden name. And it is a book on Communion that was given to her when she took Communion for the first time in her local Anglican church—1943, the fourteenth of March, as it turns out. And somehow or another, I liked this wee book, and I just happened to pick it up. And as I picked it up, I began to browse it. And as I began to browse it, I said, “Oh, here’s the close to the study.” And although we do not share Communion now, let me give you this.

The thought is that Jesus came personally to him, right? And we say, “Well he comes to us in his Word and by his Spirit, but is there any tangible way in which he expresses himself to us?” And this is the bishop of Durham of an earlier year, Handley Moule, writing this little book. And this is what he says:

When you take the bread and the wine, what shall you think? What shall you believe? The bread is in itself just bread still, the wine is just wine, but because the Lord has told you to take them in remembrance of him and because you who take them humbly believe in him, therefore, that simple bread, that small draft of wine speaks straight from him to you. They are like the very sound of his voice saying, “All is true, all is yours. It is no dream that I died for you and that you are saved by me, any more than your eating and drinking is a dream.” They are like the very grasp of his hand taking hold of your hand and meaning. “We are one,” says Jesus, “poor believing sinner. I have joined you. I have clasped you to myself. As surely as you touch and taste that bread and wine, so surely you who believe in me are one with me.”

Father, help us to become students of the Bible beyond thirty-plus minutes on a Sunday. Help us to be like the church at Berea, examining the Scriptures to see if what we’re told is true.[20] Help us as sensible people to think the issues out. Thank you for this morning’s study. Thank you for the extraordinary way in which you choose to use very ordinary people. Thank you that when we’ve done our best and it hasn’t been very good or when we’ve done our worst and feel that we’re absolutely finished, that you the risen Christ come, and as surely as you met with Paul there in that room, so you meet with us in the Scriptures, in the breaking of bread.

And so, when our souls are weary and troubled, when it’s hard for us to see light in the pathway, help us to rest again on the depth of your love for us, that we might

Turn [our] eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in his wonderful face,
And the things of earth [may] grow strangely dim
In the light of his glory and grace.[21]

For we ask it in his name, commending one another into your loving care. Amen.

[1] Luke 1:3 (paraphrased).

[2] Luke 22:66 (NIV 1984).

[3] 1 Corinthians 4:4 (NIV 1984).

[4] See Josephus, Antiquities of the Jews 10.9.1–2.

[5] John Calvin, Acts, Crossway Classic Commentaries, ed. Alister McGrath and J. I. Packer (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 1995), 364.

[6] See Proverbs 15:1.

[7] Calvin, Acts, 364.

[8] Romans 7:15 (paraphrased).

[9] John Stott, The Message of Acts: The Spirit, the Church, and the World, The Bible Speaks Today (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 1990), 352.

[10] Galatians 6:11 (paraphrased).

[11] Galatians 4:15 (paraphrased).

[12] Stott, The Message of Acts, 352.

[13] Romans 7:15, 24 (paraphrased).

[14] Philippians 3:10 (paraphrased).

[15] See 1 Corinthians 10:12.

[16] See 2 Timothy 4:7.

[17] Thomas Watson, A Body of Practical Divinity […] (Philadelphia: Thomas Wardle, 1833), 197.

[18] S. Trevor Francis, “O the Deep, Deep Love of Jesus” (1875).

[19] Johnson Oatman, “No, Not One” (1895).

[20] See Acts 17:11.

[21] Helen Howarth Lemmel, “Turn Your Eyes upon Jesus” (1922).