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Holy Boldness

Peter Schellhase • Apr 21, 2024
Sermon for Sunday, April 21, 2024

Alleluia! Christ is risen!
(Response: The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!)


Congratulations: you passed the test. You’re now an evangelist! Please be seated.


The examples of early Christian preaching and evangelism we read in the Acts of the Apostles are simply elaborations on this theme. Paul recaps the message for the Corinthian church: “The first thing I did was place before you what was placed so emphatically before me: that the Messiah died for our sins, exactly as Scripture tells it; that he was buried; that he was raised from death on the third day, again exactly as Scripture says.” (1 Cor. 15 MSG)


The apostles preach this message with holy boldness; they are more afraid of not proclaiming it than of getting in trouble for doing so; and they do experience opposition, as Jesus had said they would. And yet the opposition does nothing to slow them down; if anything it accelerates the spread of the gospel throughout the world, even in that first generation of Christians.


A couple weeks ago Karen reminded us of the apostle Thomas and how he personally made it all the way to India. We know Paul intended to go to Spain; a few scholars believe he actually made it there! Whether or not this happened, the Church spread throughout the known world in a few centuries, despite at times very strong opposition.


For you and me, most of what holds us back from this kind of boldness isn’t the opposition “out there.” It’s the fear “in here.” We’re not afraid that anyone will kill us for talking about Jesus—a fear that would have been rational among the early disciples. The things that intimidate us into silence are more subtle.


One thing I admire about my mother-in-law is her way of casually but persistently identifying herself as a Christian, wherever she is and with whomever she is speaking. She does it in the most natural yet, I know, fully deliberate way. She’s an ordinary woman living her normal life—as housewife, mom and grandma, pet owner, golfer, volunteer, etc.—but above all she’s a Christian and spreads the light of Jesus wherever she goes.


If you do this, you’ll find, as she has found, that you meet other people who are also Christians, and you’ll share an immediate connection, like distant cousins who’ve never met but are part of the same family story. By living as a Christian, you’ll encourage other Christians and be encouraged through them.


And yes—living as a Christian is not just about our words. St. John speaks of this in the epistle. “Little children, let us not love in word or speech but in deed and in truth.” He means empty words. Plenty of people even today think of themselves as Christians, maybe even go to church, If you’re gonna talk the talk, you better walk the walk. Lead with your giving, your time, your compassion.


In a bygone era—perhaps still, in some parts of the American South—a certain degree of cultural Christianity was the norm. To not be a churchgoer was to be socially suspect. Today the shoe is on the other foot, with religious people much more likely to be viewed as suspect and potentially harboring antisocial values. Christianity has become strange again, and I’m okay with that. It just means that many people no longer think they already know what Jesus is about, and we may have the opportunity to tell them about this very good news for the first time.


Preachers sometimes will ask, “If being a Christian were a crime, would there be enough evidence to convict you?” In some parts of the world today this is a real question, with blasphemy laws in some Islamic countries as well as hate speech laws in some Western countries being used to target Christians for publicly affirming teachings that are central to the Christian faith. The situation in our own country is more complex.


But let me suggest another perhaps more fruitful way for us to look at this question: If someone in your circle of acquaintance was looking for some really good news, would they think of you as a person they could turn to?


Would someone be able to say to you, “I’ve noticed how you’re not wrapped up in yourself like other people, you really care about me and others, and I have an idea that Jesus is behind it.” “You’ve been suffering from chronic illness for years, and yet you have this sense of peace and wholeness around you. How can I get that for me?” “I’ve noticed that you always speak kindly to others, and you don’t gossip about people or participate in dirty conversation. I’d like to be more that way. Could Jesus have something to do with this?” Now, they might never say these things in so many words. But would they think it?


If, reflecting soberly on your life and conduct, you do not think you would be identifiable to others as a Christian in this way, think about what steps you could take to identify yourself more closely with our crucified and risen Lord, so that your life might become a sign of his victory and grace.


In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

By Peter Schellhase 03 Dec, 2023
Homily for the first Sunday of Advent
By Peter Schellhase 24 Dec, 2022
“Again the Lord spoke to Ahaz, saying, ‘Ask a sign of the LORD your God; let it be as deep as hell, or high as heaven.’ But Ahaz said, ‘I will not ask, and I will not put the LORD to the test.’” In those days the southern kingdom of Judah was besieged: the northern kingdom of Israel was in league with the Assyrian king, and their joint forces had reached the gates of Jerusalem. The prophet Isaiah had gone to Ahaz, king of Judah, with God’s reassurance that he was not idle in Judah’s defense; that the enemies of Jerusalem would not prevail and would themselves be judged, cast down. Ahaz, as we see, was unwilling to take God at his word; to ask a sign, any sign, that he would deliver them. Why? Ahaz phrases his refusal in what may sound like pious terms. After all, in Deuteronomy 6, Moses warns, “Do not put the LORD your God to the test, as you did at Massah,” referring to a memorable episode of unbelief during Israel’s wandering in the desert. Jesus himself quotes this injunction when he is tempted by the devil. But Ahaz misinterpreted and misapplied it. He refused to ‘test’ God—yet not in faith. God invited him to ask for a sign, and put no boundaries on the sign. Ahaz was unmanned with fear because of the army outside the walls, but no longer believed in the power of God to save. His refusal was the counsel of despair. The Psalmist gives us another response in similar situations. He acknowledges the providence of God in the trials of his chosen people, yet calls on God for salvation. “You have made us the derision of our neighbors, and our enemies laugh us to scorn,” and yet, “Restore us, O LORD God of hosts; show us the light of your countenance, and we shall be saved.” The Psalmist waits and hopes for God to act. God offered Ahaz light and hope in the darkest hour, life snatched from the jaws of death. “Ask a sign of the LORD your God, be it as deep as hell, as high as heaven.” As it says elsewhere, God’s throne is in heaven, he beholds all the dwellers upon earth” (Ps. 11), and Isaiah later wrote, “Behold, the LORD’s hand is not shortened that it cannot save, nor his ear heavy that it cannot hear.” Not God’s inabilities, but your inquities, have made a separation between you and your God, and your sins have his his face from you, that he will not hear.” Ahaz, not God, was being tested, to see if he would turn to God in his time of need. In short, he failed the test. And yet, as Isaiah goes on to describe, God promises to accomplish a deliverance greater than Ahaz could imagine, with or without the king’s cooperation. “He saw that there was no man, and wondered that there was no one to intercede: then his own arm brought him salvation, and his righteousness upheld him.” “The LORD himself will give you a sign,” and this sign is both as high as heaven and as deep as hell, “for behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.” After all human strength, all human goodness, all human courage and hope have failed, God reveals his power paradoxically, in human weakness: a young woman and her infant Son: a son whose name, Immanuel, means “God with us,” and a woman who through her free act of faith and obedience becomes the Mother of God. This is a sign, and not only a symbol but a reality that encompasses everything. It means the salvation of the whole world—and salvation offered to each one of us—a sign that comes to us from highest heaven and fathoms even the depths of hell. So in these two individuals we have the two ways; the way of life and the way of death; the broad and easy way that leads to destruction and the narrow way that leads to salvation. The Blessed Virgin Mary is our preeminent icon of this way of life—“be it unto me according to thy word”—and Ahaz, not that Scripture lacks a sufficient number of such examples, reminds us today of the fate of those who refuse to put their hope in God. Ahaz misses out on much more than a way out of his present difficulty. He misses out on being a part of God’s plan of salvation. The Christian doctrine of hell, so much a part of Jesus’s own teaching, is not something we can set aside, even in the context of the universal and free offer of salvation in Jesus Christ. A great living theologian wrote this about it: “Christ . . . descends into hell and suffers . . . but he does not, for all that, treat man as an immature being deprived in the final analysis of any responsibility for his own destiny. Heaven reposes upon freedom, and so leaves to the damned the right to will their own damnation. The specificity of Christianity is shown in this conviction of the greatness of man. Human life is fully serious.” (J. Ratzinger, Eschatology, p. 216) Next Sunday is Christmas. It’s easy to forget, in all the sentimentality of the season, mangers and mistletoe, that we rejoice at Christmas because God has done something utterly serious, even catastrophic, for our sake. The world in its present form will not survive the impact of this salvation; our own lives, though we are saved, will be utterly changed. Come, Lord Jesus, and make perfect our will.
By Peter Schellhase 18 Dec, 2022
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The Third part in an Advent series on the “Four Last Things”
By Peter Schellhase 04 Dec, 2022
The Second part in an Advent series on the “Four Last Things”
By Peter Schellhase 27 Nov, 2022
The first part in an Advent series on the “Four Last Things”
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Homily at the St. Michael’s Requiem Mass for All Souls, November 2, 2022
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