Complete this sentence. Obey your…
So in our first lesson this morning, we’ve met Peter and the apostles, boldly announcing to the Senhadrin—the central council of religious authorities in Jerusalem—that they obeyed God rather than any human authority. That’s the kind of statement that’s bound to get you into trouble with those same human authorities. And in fact the very next verse in Acts—which was oddly omitted from this morning’s lesson—records the council’s reaction to Peter’s speech: “when they heard this, they were enraged and wanted to kill them.”
The political rage had indeed been building. The confrontation we just heard about follows the imprisonment and miraculous release of the apostles, who—empowered by Resurrection and the Pentecost Spirit—had been boldly healing and teaching in the name of Christ. And it precedes the arrest and stoning of Stephen—protomartyr and our own patron saint—and the subsequent persecution and martyrdom of many of Jesus’ followers.
When we hear the word “obey,” it’s hard to escape the contemporary understanding of obedience as unquestioning deference to whomever has coercive authority. Obey the one who might kill you, or take away your freedom or livelihood, or send you to bed early. Ever since the imperial co-optation of the church under Constantine in the fourth century, Christian obedience has been tainted by its associations with political and military authority. Which we project onto God. Whom we are called to obey… or else! Right?
But it’s important to remember that the New Testament was written by people with a very different understanding of the authority of the church. The first century followers of Jesus were a long way from being the comfortably legal institution we might recognize as church today. Rather, they were a socially marginal endeavor without any political legitimacy or hierarchy or payroll or real estate. Peter’s understanding of God was not as a leader commanding his obedience under threat of persecution, but rather as Jesus Christ, who was himself persecuted. And whose triumph was made possible not through his might, nor his ability to command obedience, but through his vulnerability. So I want to pause for a moment and ponder what obedience might mean if it were stripped of hierarchical and coercive context.
Our own English word “obey” actually hints of an alternate understanding. Its Latin roots mean something like to listen deeply, or to pay attention, or to hearken. As in, to hearken to the voice of God. Likewise the Hebrew word that is most frequently translated as “obey” also has its roots in listening; to obey the word of the Lord is to hear or to heed it. So most of the time when you encounter the word “obey” in the Bible, you can be pretty sure it is not there to remind you to obey God—as in the “obey me, or else” sense—but rather as an invitation to a deeper experience of the holy. To listen, to taste and see, to touch God with us.
You know, there’s another part of the Acts 5 story that is unfortunately left out of this morning’s lessons. It kind of makes me wish we were Baptists or something and I could ask you to take out your personal Bibles and read verses 33-39 right now. But since nobody will be able to do that except possibly Brad Barber, who always has his iPhone Bible at the ready, I’m going to give it away. After Peter challenged the council, Rabbi Gameliel—a religious elder himself—persuaded his fellow councilors to leave Peter and the apostles alone. That is, not to kill or imprison them. Because, as he said, “if this plan or this undertaking is of human origin, it will fail; but if it is of God, you will not be able to overthrow them.” In other words, let’s pay attention instead of just reacting. Let us watch, listen, and see what actually happens. We might even say that it was Gameliel’s curiosity that saved Peter and apostles.
Which brings me to our brother Thomas, that most curious of apostles. Like Gameliel, he wasn’t taking the word of his trusted colleagues, or of religious authorities charged with keeping the social order intact, or anyone else, for granted. He wanted to see for himself. To touch for himself. To hear the voice of his Lord affirming his legitimate questioning by saying “put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side.”
There’s an intriguing omission in the Thomas story. Do you know what it is? Despite thousands of years of visual representations suggesting otherwise, its not actually clear from the text that Thomas did touch Jesus’s wounds. Read it again, it’s verses 27-28. I know that you do have that Bible text at hand, because its in the bulletin. Notice that all John tells us is that—as soon as Thomas heard Jesus speak—he confessed him as his Lord and God. In other words, Thomas listened. He hearkened to God’s voice. In the Biblical sense, Thomas was being utterly obedient.
Which suggests to me that Christian obedience is not lack of doubt, or unwillingness to argue with authority, but faith to fully and bravely engage the questions before us. To wonder. To bring all of our senses to bear on our uncertainties and doubts. To test assumptions, to be patient and inquiring, and to wait and see what God will do. Perhaps especially what God will do with people bearing wounds or social movements we may not understand. This kind of listening obedience is not about denying legitimate political authority, but rather about asking hard questions of those who would wield it without paying attention to who is hurt.
This is where the Greek work that is translated “obey” in the fifth chapter of Acts reveals its countercultural power. It’s an unusual choice of word. Peitharcheó appears only four times the New Testament, in contrast to the much more common hupakouó, also translated as obey and having a meaning like “to listen or to hearken.” Peitharcheó means something like “to have confidence in the highest authority.” So we might say that Peter was rubbing it in: not only telling the council that he didn’t plan to obey them, but also emphasizing his allegiance to someone else. Way to enrage the human authorities.
What Peter knew, and what Thomas discovered, was the authority that has breathed life into the church of Jesus Christ from its earliest days until now. The authority of the wounded, which in God’s kingdom is stronger than the authority of the one who has the power to wound. Because, in the clear and countercultural light of the Resurrection, we are called to give our obedience—our curiosity and our full attention—not so much what is strong, but what is weak. Not so much to what can hurt us, but to those who have been hurt. Not so much to those who demand unquestioning loyalty, but to those who welcome questions. Go into the world with your curiosity and your questions, then, and seek out the one who is most vulnerable. Pay attention to their wounds. Hearken to their voice. There you may just find your Lord and your God.
