Acts 15:1-21
Circumcision.
It’s something I can’t spell – autocorrect has to help me every time.
It’s something I don’t have a technical understanding of – and no desire whatsoever to do a google image search.
It’s something, to be frank, I don’t find very interesting or engaging.
And struck me this week, as I misspelt circumcision for the ninetieth time, how very weird it is that, in order to make sense of the gospel, the good news of Christ Jesus, expressed in scripture, at some point you will confront the issue of penis skin removal.
In my corner of the world, the mantra “other people’s bodies aren’t my business” applies to beauty norms, gender norms, and cultural norms. (Though public health and social justice do intersect here, and general interest is distinct to interest in an individual.) I’m inclined to think it’s inappropriate to proclaim the love of God via the body of an 8 day old baby male, and also inappropriate for me, completely outside of the system and it’s meaning, to comment on it.
But here we are.
Way back in Genesis 17 God and Abraham made a covenant. Abraham would walk faithfully with God, live a life that witnessed to the goodness and might of God. And God would bless Abrahamto be a blessing – and all his descendants after him. The sign of their sacred commitment to each other would be male circumcision – God’s favour towards a community bodily marked on males.
(Freud could have had a field day! Google indicates he didn’t though.)
It’s all very well for me to be blasé. A Christian woman, long after the question of circumcision for men in the church has been settled and dropped from our agenda. What’s it to me?
But to enter into the context of this chapter, the question that the church agonisedover, probably for decades although Acts presents it as only a few events, was desperately important and incredibly relevant to the life of any and all believers:
Can Gentiles, non Jews, be full members of God’s community, and follow the risen Christ, without converting to Judaism first?!
Because while (as Tony pointed out last week) Gentiles were expected to be drawn to the God of Israel, and welcomed by the God of Israel, the assumption was that they would either fully convert and become Jewish, or be a sort of friend-of-Jewishness, a “God-fearer” as Acts puts it.
Israel was a dot on the map, surrounded by hostile powers and captivating cultures. In those days they weren’t in danger of obliterating others but of fading themselves. Their identity and the way they marked it were critical.
Jesus came to that community. He interacted with others, cared for others, changed the lives of others... but Jesus was Jewish and Judaism was his world.
Then early Jewish followers of Jesus found wide spread interest and faith among Gentiles. Some “God-fearers” already – attentive to the God of Israel without being full converts, others aware of Judaism and culturally primed – in centres with synagogues; non-Jews eager to embrace a message that was completely intertwined with Judaism.
Maybe it felt to some early Jewish Christians like these were people passionate about undertaking a renovation project on their house; excited to create new spaces, knock out walls, bring the light in – but without having a house to renovate in the first place. An oxymoron.
Pharisees objecting aren’t necessarily being snobbish and exclusive, though because of their run-ins with Jesus we’re used to rolling our eyes at them. They are concerned with inclusion and blessing. To shrug off Jewish law and drop the mark of the covenant from a life of faith may irresponsibly short change Gentile followers of Jesus. Not to be done lightly.
It is all very well for Peter to enjoy a Gentile’s hospitality, witness God at work. All very well for Paul to hop about preaching, opening doors. It’s one thing for God to be startling on the edges of church consciousness. It’s another for the church to shift to these wild edges.
Yet despite the valid concerns on the pro-circumcision law keeping side of the debate, boundaries shift. This is the significance of the Council at Jerusalem.
Scripture is reconsidered in light of experience. Gentiles have faith in Jesus, so directives about covenant and circumcision are held up to patterns of God’s reach and embrace.
As you know, I’m puzzling these days over who gets to hold boundaries, and who get to push and break them. I’m both a boundary pusher and a stick in the mud. It seems like the question is always relevant in the life of the church. Almost like the call of God on our lives is a call to tangle with boundaries; to break them, to hold them, but to never be complacent about them.
The Jerusalem Council doesn’t endorse on a complete break with tradition – easy for us to overlook when we don’t trouble ourselves with circumcision or Jewish law keeping. The leaders of the community are clear that some traditions must be observed: “we should write to them to abstain only from things polluted by idols and from fornication and from whatever has been strangled and from blood.” These are guidelines that nod back to the law on behaviours of “resident aliens” living among Jewish people, and are designed to respect the church’s Jewish origins, and not create conflict or stress for Jewish Christians.
It’s not a case of “anything goes so long as you love Jesus”.
Rather that God, who knows the human heart, has given faith, and this is the mark they all bear in common.
As I mentioned, some commentators suggest that Acts has condensed decades of discussion and debate into one council meeting. The text makes is clear that disagreement is valid and ok. Both sides of the debate are shown in the lead up to the council meeting, though only the victors have a voice once there. But it’s noteworthy, perhaps, that no one is neutral. No one takes a stand on waiting and seeing what emerges.
As a church discussing big subjects like building projects and marriage arrangements, we’ve learned to take our time with our discussions, and not rush decisions. But we also know that waiting must not be done in a way that diminishes the humanity of someone else for our convenience. To ask women to be patient for a “just a few generations” while men slowly come to grips with giving them rights and opportunities in the church isn’t patience – it’s oppression.
Maybe a long conversation is condensed in the telling because there’s a recognition that it’s not fair to real people, real lives, to leave them hanging while their salvation is discussed. And probably we as the church need to examine not only boundaries, but how to discuss and argue boundaries without exploiting those who are truly vulnerable.
I wonder how the story be different if Acts had chosen to present not the voices of the men who won, but the prayer of the people who didn’t get invited to the meeting? Could God, who knows the human heart and gives the Holy Spirit, have been at work in a completely different place and in completely different ways than the meeting on record?
I know prayer is not a procedure to give Christian respectability to a debate or decision. It is an alternative way of knowing and being. I suspect large segments of the church have barely scratched the surface of the transformative possibilities of prayer. And in a tradition where the record of big decisions is distilled to men’s voices being right, I’m very curious what it looks like to explore other ways of knowing and being.
I’ve added a prayer box here this morning, like one we enjoyed a few weeks ago at Cityside. It’s not that I think a few candles change everything – but flames of prayers symbolise that when God is at work, there’s more to be sought than winners and losers.
How do we cultivate hearts marked by faith, in our lives and in our church community?
Circumcision.
It’s something I can’t spell – autocorrect has to help me every time.
It’s something I don’t have a technical understanding of – and no desire whatsoever to do a google image search.
It’s something, to be frank, I don’t find very interesting or engaging.
And struck me this week, as I misspelt circumcision for the ninetieth time, how very weird it is that, in order to make sense of the gospel, the good news of Christ Jesus, expressed in scripture, at some point you will confront the issue of penis skin removal.
In my corner of the world, the mantra “other people’s bodies aren’t my business” applies to beauty norms, gender norms, and cultural norms. (Though public health and social justice do intersect here, and general interest is distinct to interest in an individual.) I’m inclined to think it’s inappropriate to proclaim the love of God via the body of an 8 day old baby male, and also inappropriate for me, completely outside of the system and it’s meaning, to comment on it.
But here we are.
Way back in Genesis 17 God and Abraham made a covenant. Abraham would walk faithfully with God, live a life that witnessed to the goodness and might of God. And God would bless Abrahamto be a blessing – and all his descendants after him. The sign of their sacred commitment to each other would be male circumcision – God’s favour towards a community bodily marked on males.
(Freud could have had a field day! Google indicates he didn’t though.)
It’s all very well for me to be blasé. A Christian woman, long after the question of circumcision for men in the church has been settled and dropped from our agenda. What’s it to me?
But to enter into the context of this chapter, the question that the church agonisedover, probably for decades although Acts presents it as only a few events, was desperately important and incredibly relevant to the life of any and all believers:
Can Gentiles, non Jews, be full members of God’s community, and follow the risen Christ, without converting to Judaism first?!
Because while (as Tony pointed out last week) Gentiles were expected to be drawn to the God of Israel, and welcomed by the God of Israel, the assumption was that they would either fully convert and become Jewish, or be a sort of friend-of-Jewishness, a “God-fearer” as Acts puts it.
Israel was a dot on the map, surrounded by hostile powers and captivating cultures. In those days they weren’t in danger of obliterating others but of fading themselves. Their identity and the way they marked it were critical.
Jesus came to that community. He interacted with others, cared for others, changed the lives of others... but Jesus was Jewish and Judaism was his world.
Then early Jewish followers of Jesus found wide spread interest and faith among Gentiles. Some “God-fearers” already – attentive to the God of Israel without being full converts, others aware of Judaism and culturally primed – in centres with synagogues; non-Jews eager to embrace a message that was completely intertwined with Judaism.
Maybe it felt to some early Jewish Christians like these were people passionate about undertaking a renovation project on their house; excited to create new spaces, knock out walls, bring the light in – but without having a house to renovate in the first place. An oxymoron.
Pharisees objecting aren’t necessarily being snobbish and exclusive, though because of their run-ins with Jesus we’re used to rolling our eyes at them. They are concerned with inclusion and blessing. To shrug off Jewish law and drop the mark of the covenant from a life of faith may irresponsibly short change Gentile followers of Jesus. Not to be done lightly.
It is all very well for Peter to enjoy a Gentile’s hospitality, witness God at work. All very well for Paul to hop about preaching, opening doors. It’s one thing for God to be startling on the edges of church consciousness. It’s another for the church to shift to these wild edges.
Yet despite the valid concerns on the pro-circumcision law keeping side of the debate, boundaries shift. This is the significance of the Council at Jerusalem.
Scripture is reconsidered in light of experience. Gentiles have faith in Jesus, so directives about covenant and circumcision are held up to patterns of God’s reach and embrace.
As you know, I’m puzzling these days over who gets to hold boundaries, and who get to push and break them. I’m both a boundary pusher and a stick in the mud. It seems like the question is always relevant in the life of the church. Almost like the call of God on our lives is a call to tangle with boundaries; to break them, to hold them, but to never be complacent about them.
The Jerusalem Council doesn’t endorse on a complete break with tradition – easy for us to overlook when we don’t trouble ourselves with circumcision or Jewish law keeping. The leaders of the community are clear that some traditions must be observed: “we should write to them to abstain only from things polluted by idols and from fornication and from whatever has been strangled and from blood.” These are guidelines that nod back to the law on behaviours of “resident aliens” living among Jewish people, and are designed to respect the church’s Jewish origins, and not create conflict or stress for Jewish Christians.
It’s not a case of “anything goes so long as you love Jesus”.
Rather that God, who knows the human heart, has given faith, and this is the mark they all bear in common.
As I mentioned, some commentators suggest that Acts has condensed decades of discussion and debate into one council meeting. The text makes is clear that disagreement is valid and ok. Both sides of the debate are shown in the lead up to the council meeting, though only the victors have a voice once there. But it’s noteworthy, perhaps, that no one is neutral. No one takes a stand on waiting and seeing what emerges.
As a church discussing big subjects like building projects and marriage arrangements, we’ve learned to take our time with our discussions, and not rush decisions. But we also know that waiting must not be done in a way that diminishes the humanity of someone else for our convenience. To ask women to be patient for a “just a few generations” while men slowly come to grips with giving them rights and opportunities in the church isn’t patience – it’s oppression.
Maybe a long conversation is condensed in the telling because there’s a recognition that it’s not fair to real people, real lives, to leave them hanging while their salvation is discussed. And probably we as the church need to examine not only boundaries, but how to discuss and argue boundaries without exploiting those who are truly vulnerable.
I wonder how the story be different if Acts had chosen to present not the voices of the men who won, but the prayer of the people who didn’t get invited to the meeting? Could God, who knows the human heart and gives the Holy Spirit, have been at work in a completely different place and in completely different ways than the meeting on record?
I know prayer is not a procedure to give Christian respectability to a debate or decision. It is an alternative way of knowing and being. I suspect large segments of the church have barely scratched the surface of the transformative possibilities of prayer. And in a tradition where the record of big decisions is distilled to men’s voices being right, I’m very curious what it looks like to explore other ways of knowing and being.
I’ve added a prayer box here this morning, like one we enjoyed a few weeks ago at Cityside. It’s not that I think a few candles change everything – but flames of prayers symbolise that when God is at work, there’s more to be sought than winners and losers.
How do we cultivate hearts marked by faith, in our lives and in our church community?
