The Ceiling of Christlikeness (May 11)

Readings, Acts 9:36-43 and John 10:22-30
 Image, Tabeakirche, Berlin
 
The general tenor of these weeks following Easter has been the shift in focus of the story, from Christ, to Christ’s followers taking up his work. We have seen, each week how the story of Jesus expands and unfurls into the story of the disciples, the church, at work in the world.
 
This week, things step up a notch. Because so far, the implication of this shift has been a bit oblique. Peter is told: feed my sheep, those in the upper room are entrusted the ministry of forgiveness, the church is commended as priests of God… all of this is open to interpretation, such as we might say the charge to carry on the work of Christ might be read rather symbolically. Naturally the distinction between Christ and the Christian demands such symbolism, that at best our works might gesture to Christ’s, be poetic interpretations of Christ’s work. Surely they will not be the works themselves, surely not repetitions.
 
Where Christ miraculously turned the few fish and loaves into a feast for the five thousand, Christ’s followers capture the spirit of this act through a general commitment to sharing and hospitality. Where Christ calmed the storm at the cries of his fearful friends, Christ’s followers offer words of comfort to neighbours tossed about by the metaphorical storms of life. And where Christ went to the bed of the young girl, recently deceased, and took her by the hand and told her to get up, Christ’s followers… well, what do we say here? Today’s story from Acts doesn’t imply any kind of symbolic or poetic interpretation of Christ’s example. Peter, for all intents and purposes, repeats (almost beat for beat) what Christ has already done. This story unsettles any simple or easy designations of what it means to follow after Christ, what the ceiling there is for our own continuation of the works of Christ. Because the lesson of this story in Acts (like others surrounding it) is fairly explicit: the power and commission belonging to Christ, now, by virtue of the Holy Spirit, belongs to his followers.
 
And yet, we aren’t all out and about raising the dead. Traditionally the church has dealt with this gap in a few ways. One is to stress that there is a distinction between the age of the apostles and the age of the church. The great works of the apostles (and included in this is their capacity to write the inspired texts of scripture) ends with them. When the generation of the twelve passes, the Spirit remains with the church, but does not operate in the same way, and so these kinds of mighty acts do not continue through the history of the church. They served a purpose at the time, testifying to the reality of the resurrection and allowing the fragile early Jesus movement to gain followers and legitimacy following the surprise death (and doubted resurrection) of its leader. Now, however, this testimony takes another form, through the witness of the scripture, tradition, and the church.
 
Another option is to say, yeah, more or less that’s true, however, there remain unique and special individuals whose lives take on an intensity of Christlikeness in such a way that in their profound humility and sacrifice they are able to perform remarkable works as witness to the power of Christ. These individuals, in certain traditions, will earn the moniker of Saint.
 
A third says there is no distinction between the generations. That the Spirit stills works in mighty and mysterious ways allowing Christians to perform acts of healing, deliverance, and prophecy. The reason that we do not encounter miracles of this kind is attributed to a lack of faith on the part of the church, a capitulation to secular powers of reason or practices of medicine. If there is a distinction between the age of the apostles and our own, so the line goes, it is not because of the Spirit changed, but the expectations of the church.
 
And a final tradition might say that the story we heard in Acts is a literary construction, itself a poetic or symbolic interpretation or repetition of an earlier story in the gospels. Its aim is not to convey a historical fact but a theological truth (which just so happens to be the main one we are focusing on this Easter season): Jesus’ followers are called to follow Christ by taking up his example in word and deed. The raising of the dead is chosen because this is the most marvellous and emphatic example. In this view there is no distinction in the age of the apostles and that of the church: we aren’t raising the dead, but neither did Peter. The point is to model the story of our lives on the story of Christ.  
 
All approaches have their virtues and shortcomings, and while some are more central in particular traditions than others, they are not wholly confined by such. Indeed, I would argue you could audit those gathered here today and we would find representations of all four positions (and probably some more I have not even named). And so perhaps, rather than trying to solve the problem through commending one position, we ask what might be learnt through them when we consider the broader question of this season: what does it mean for us to take up the work of Christ in our own life and community?
 
In the gospel reading, Jesus declares that as the Good Shepherd, My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. We belong, entirely to Christ. We cannot be separated from his love nor snatched from his hand. This is the great drama of redemption, Christ has shared all that was his by righteousness with us by grace. Or, as Saint Athanasius famously wrote in the Third Century: “God became man so that man might become god.” That is to say that in receiving the spirit of adoption, in being made one with Christ – sharing his death and resurrection – all that is Christ’s belongs to us.
 
The book of Acts stresses this again and again – all that is Christ’s belongs to his followers. Not only his commission, not only his message, but his power and potential. If there is any gap between the apostles and ourselves, it is not to be found on this matter. We are also those who have heard Christ’s voice and followed him. We are also those who cannot be snatched from his hand, we are also those given eternal life. We are also those who have become one with the Son who is one with the Father.
 
The question then becomes less about what Peter did, and instead what are we about to do. The life of the Christian is one of upturning and surprises. Just last week in our readings, Peter had gone back to fishing and needed to be beckoned to his task by Christ. Now he’s calling people back to life. And so, perhaps, if the story of Peter is to cause us a problem, let it be a new one: let it disturb and problematise the false ceilings we might put on our own lives as Christ’s disciples. Let it problematise the speed at which we might doubt the difference our community can make. Let it problematise the defeatism that accompanies narratives of decline and death of the church. Let it problematise any sense that Christ or his church has no more use for us. Because whatever the age may be, we have heard the voice of the Good Shepherd and have been asked to take up his work.  
 
And look, maybe we will only raise the dead symbolically – maybe the life we help restore will be a life of dignity where there was disregard, a life of potential where there was despondency, a life of community where there was isolation, a life of meaning where there was dismissal, a life of hope where there was dread. And if such symbolic acts of life-giving are all we are led to perform in the power of the Spirit and for the glory of Christ, well, that’s not too shabby a thing to strive for.

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Postscript. For an excellent study on the character of Tabitha as exemplary disciple, you can read this piece from Margaret Mowczko.