Scripture: Acts 16:9–15
For the past five years I have been a chaplain at a school called St. Paul’s School in Concord, New Hampshire. The school itself is named after the St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, which takes its name from St. Paul the apostle, and follower of Jesus, who lived in the first century and traveled throughout West Asia and South Eastern Europe spreading the tradition of Jesus’s good news. Paul also wrote most of the New Testament letters as part of his ministry.
As a chaplain at St. Paul’s School, I loved giving talks in the daily chapel program for students about the same topics I love preaching here at Newman Church:
- the history of the community,
- the lessons learned from the natural world,
- and where the events of our world connect with the Jesus tradition.
But at least once a year I would give a chapel talk explaining to everyone who Paul the person was, so that students at St. Paul’s would know something about the person whose name they wore on their sweatshirts, and water bottles, and sport uniforms.
Paul was born in the early years of the first century, born in Tarsus, which was a big city of the Roman Empire — in today’s Turkey. Paul’s given name was Saul, the name of Israel’s first king. He was a person of many identities: the son of a Jewish family who enjoyed the power of Roman citizenship, and Saul made a reputation for himself opposing the early Christian movement, which people simply called “the way.”
The famous story of Paul’s conversion to Christianity comes “on the road to Damascus,”1 when he encountered the risen Jesus, fell from his horse, and was inspired by Jesus to change his name and change his life to become a supporter of the Jesus movement, to which he gave the rest of his life and energy.
Paul spent his entire adult life supporting early Christian communities through his travels and writing. He would enter a new town and preach in the formal religious places, and then preach in the streets and in the marketplace. In Acts today we see him preaching by the banks of a river because there was no synagogue in Philippi. He was an adaptable and interconnected person with a gift for supporting people in their faith — and unexpected moments of grace were constantly happening to him.
The reading from Acts this morning depicts an unexpected change of plans for Paul, and a mysterious mission. A vision comes to him of a man calling out for help. As Elena shared before the reading, this meant Paul had to cross open sea, rather than traveling the traditional roads. Dreams and visions act to drive the plot of the book of Acts forward, and to give a rationale for why Paul makes such a major shift in his travels.
Life is about making plans and changing them:
- Saul becomes Paul;
- an opponent becomes a supporter;
- we become new versions of ourselves, adjusting, seeking, hoping.
Paul grappled for his whole life with his history of persecuting Christians. He wrote about this in many of his letters and cited it as an example of having changed his mind — he used it as evidence that change is possible as he encouraged people to do the same and join in the “the way” of Jesus.
How are we changing? What is something that you recently changed your mind about? Where is this change leading you?
Our scripture is ancient, but the way that we channel the divine Word is always changing. Acts 16 provides a good example of this. Let me explain by way of a current example:
Memorial Day weekend is a day of remembrance and honor for those who gave of their lives in service to their country; it’s an unofficial beginning to the summer season for many; and it is the heart of graduation season.
Today . . . right now, Brown University is having graduation exercises and celebrations. And if you have traveled around the East Side this week, you’ve seen that the graduation setup is extensive, with tents and rows of chairs, and you can see the Brown University crests everywhere. You may know the one I’m talking about: a yellow sun rising over a red cross four and open books of learning. And below the crest are the Latin words “In Deo Speramus,” meaning “In God we Hope.” This motto may have inspired the motto of the United States: “In God we Trust.”2
For many institutions, crests and mottos are an important part of the tradition, and many of them are drawn from scripture:
- Columbia University’s motto is from Psalm 36 “In your light we see the light.”
- The University of California system’s mottos is the first words of Genesis: “Let there be light!”
- Dartmouth draws from Isaiah; Georgetown from Ephesians; University of North Carolina, Asheville is Psalm 121; the University of Tennessee draws from the Gospel of John.
The first seal and crest of the Massachusetts Bay Colony used the scripture from Acts 16 that we read this morning where Paul hears the Macedonian man calling out in his dream: “come over here and help us.” The first Massachusetts seal attributes this cry for help to an Indigenous man who is calling out for help, with the suggestion that the Massachusetts colony was coming to help. We recognize this today as part of a negation of indigenous history and the assertion of a religious superiority that wreaked havoc on Indigenous life here in Massachusetts, and around North America.
The words from Acts 16 were removed from the Massachusetts Bay crest after King Philip’s War in the 1670s, replaced with Latin words that mean “By the Sword We Seek Peace.” This is still the Massachusetts State motto to this day, by the way. I could suggest an alternative from Acts 2: erant omnes partier, “they were all together.” Because on this planet home, more and more each day, we are all in this together. There is nowhere else to be. And the sword does not bring peace. Swords only bring what swords bring. Christ comes with water; with a baptism of the Holy Spirit; with the transformative power of love that lives on even after he is gone.
This is the power that draws Paul to Lydia and what causes her to hear something in the good news that he is preaching and ask to be baptized. Love creates a way for the power of new things. New things, making things new.
Over the past few weeks, there has been a lot of talk about an old document of the Catholic Church called Rerum Novarum, meaning “of new things.” This document written in the 19th century by the last Pope to use the name Leo. Leo the Thirteenth who is an inspiration to the current Pope Leo the 14th. This document of new things acknowledged that the modern world had changed to such a degree that without some big changes, the tradition of Jesus would not translate into a changed world, changed by industrialization, changed by technology, changed by war and the loss of old forms of relating to one another.
Rerum Novarum laid the foundation for new forms of care for the vulnerable in a changed world. What will we add to our book of new things today? The presence of God among us is strong; how will we use it well? Where is God calling us in this new creation?
Perhaps Brown University has the right idea with their motto: With the help of God we have an open-ended hope . . . not God with a sword, but God made vulnerable, God making a new way, and God with us on our ever-changing journey, seeking justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly . . . together.
May it be so.
Amen.