Sixth Sunday of Easter: May 13, 2007.

Acts 16:9-15

Psalm 67

Revelation 21:10, 22-22:5

John 14:23-29 or John 5:1-9

One of the most famous statues from classical antiquity is the "Winged Victory [Gk. Nike] of Samothrace," now in the Louvre. Its graceful lines call to mind the "glory that was Greece," to quote Poe. As it happens, the island on which it was found was also the first place that Christianity, or at least St. Paul, set foot in Europe, according to Acts 16. With this, the faith took another significant step. Last week, it was outreach to the Gentiles, this week, a new continent--one that would prove both hospitable and fateful in the history of the church.

This week's reading includes another, more subtle, act of inclusion. Verse 11 marks the beginning of the "we" section of Acts. If one holds with the tradition that the author is Luke, the narrative has picked up not just Greece but a Greek.

In fact, place names and personal identities say much in this text. The action begins in Asia Minor, in Troas, just south of the site of the Iliad. Following their stopover on the island, Paul's party proceeds to a literally "new city" (Gk. Nea Polis) and thence to Philippi, "a leading city of the district of Macedonia and a Roman colony" (v. 12). Past glories are all around, as Paul walks in the land of Alexander and mingles with retirees from the Roman legions (sort of an ancient San Diego). No wonder that, at a later date, Paul would write to the church in that place, "We are a colony of heaven" (Phil 3:20 Moffitt trans.)--the recipients knew exactly what he meant. At the end of the week, Paul meets a wealthy business-woman, Lydia, at the local river, amid some "worshippers of God" (possibly Jews, possibly gentile "God-fearers"; see "Lydia" in IDB and ABD for differing views). Like the first witnesses to the resurrection, the first person in Europe to accept the gospel is a woman. She offers hospitality to Paul and company, to stay with her, and they do.

One of the great challenges of preaching is that we often use words that have very different meanings when employed in a Christian context, as opposed to their secular usage. We saw this, for example, with "love," as discussed on Maundy Thursday. Similarly, this First Reading illustrates a distinctive, Christian understanding of success or nike (although the text does not use the term per se). For Homer or the soldiers and sculptors of the classical world, victory was an epic accomplishment, the work of gods and heroes. The book of Acts takes a different, longer view, as step by step the gospel spreads, sometimes stymied but never thwarted. Today's text illustrates well the old observation that the true title of the book should be "The Acts of the Holy Spirit," as the Spirit blocks Paul's work in Asia and Bithynia (16:6f.) in order to open hearts in Macedonia (v. 14). The baptism of Lydia and her household was but the first of millions in European waters. Pope Benedict XVI is surely correct that Europe is now one of the world's great mission fields, but even now, culturally speaking, the ripples of that baptism are felt there.

The Spirit is also active in the reading from Revelation, as it bears the seer, like Moses at the end of his days, to a high mountain to view God's future for his people. Here, too, otherwise common concepts are transfigured, as "temple" becomes God and the Lamb (21:22), and "light" finds its source no longer in sun and moon, as it has since Gen 1:14-19, but in the glory of God (cf. the "Shekinah" of the OT tabernacle and temple) and in the Lamb (v. 23). Numerous promises of the "old story" now come to pass. Isaiah 60:3 had said, "Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn," and it is so (v. 24). The most sustained, yet unfulfilled, vision of the OT prophets had been Ezekiel's portrait of the restored land of Israel, city of Jerusalem, and temple (cc. 40-48); now the "river of the water of life" flows out from the divine throne in the midst of the new Jerusalem (21:10; 22:1; cf. Ezek 47:1). Moreover, that prophet's endlessly fruitful foliage and therapeutic leaves are there (cf. Ezek 47:12)--only now for the benefit of the "nations" (v. 2; Gk. ethne; cf. Mt 28:19). Indeed, Eden's Tree of Life is that greenery, and its fruits are accessible, for there is none present to eat of it and live forever confirmed in sin (21:27; 22:3; cf. Gen 3:22). Wonder of wonders, God's servants even see his face and live--as even Moses could not do (v. 4; cf. Exod 33:20). And, incidentally, no longer will a sentence like "and it was night" (John 13:30) be heard with foreboding, for night will be no more (v. 5).

By now, we get the definite feeling that the stage is being set for the gift of the Spirit on Pentecost two weeks hence, and the reading from John does nothing to dissuade us. As in last week's Gospel, we continue to hear from Jesus' Maundy Thursday discourses. Jesus is preparing his disciples for his physical absence. Indeed, he claims that things will be better that way. For one thing, he will be with the Father, and those who love Jesus can only rejoice with him in that (v. 28). For another, once Jesus is gone, the Father will bequeath the Advocate (Gk. Parakletos), the Holy Spirit, who will both teach the disciples and review Jesus' teachings (v. 26). Still again comes the argument that we have already seen in John's Gospel, that succeeding generations (including our own) in fact have an advantage: "Blessed are those who have not seen [me] and yet have come to believe" (20:29).

As if sensing the skepticism that such a claim naturally engenders in us all, Jesus then gives a gift even in advance of the Father's bestowal of the Spirit: "my peace" (Gk. eirene, v. 27). Like victory in Acts and light in Revelation, peace in John is not intended in its usual connotation; in fact, Jesus pointedly distinguishes the two ("I do not give to you as the world gives"). Of course, there lies behind Jesus' "peace" the holistic well-being entailed in the Hebrew shalom. But in the present context the term has a very specific focus: freedom from anxiety over being without him, because both Father and Son "will make our home" (Gk. monen poiesometha) with the faithful (v. 23). All in all, it sounds very much like the promises in Revelation. And it should: The Apocalypse speaks not merely of the "not yet" but also of the "even now." GCH