SERMON PREACHED BY THE REVEREND DR. HAROLD T. LEWIS, RECTOR
CALVARY EPISCOPAL CHURCH, PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA
ON THE SUNDAY WITHIN THE OCTAVE OF THE ASCENSION
24 MAY 2009
“And the lot fell on Matthias, and he was numbered among the Apostles.” (Acts 1:26)
Poor St. Matthias. His feast day falls on February twenty-fourth. In most years that’s a weekday, when few people are in church. If it’s a Sunday, the feast day is suppressed, by a Sunday in Epiphanytide or Lent. Sometimes it falls on the same day as Ash Wednesday, in which case, of course, the first day of Lent takes precedence. Anyway you slice it, Matthias, an obscure, unknown figure who only rates a verse or two in the Book of Acts to begin with, gets kicked to the curb. But fear not. The Rector, noticing that the story of Matthias’ election is in this morning’s lesson from the Acts of the Apostles, will rescue him from obscurity, and restore to him the honor due his name.
First of all, what’s the big deal? After Judas betrayed Jesus and then did himself in, couldn’t the church function with eleven disciples? Well, no. There were twelve tribes in Israel, so there had to be twelve Apostles of Jesus, symbolizing Israel reconstituted. What is more, Apostles, literally “those who are sent” are the personal representatives of Jesus, hence the need, expressed in today’s lesson, for someone who was an eye-witness of Jesus’ ministry and one “who went in and out among us.”
Now, a few things strike me about what Luke relates to us in today’s lesson (Luke, as you will remember, wrote Acts as well as the Gospel that bears his name.) The first is the ghastly event that made his election necessary. What ghastly event, you ask? Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot. The Standing Liturgical Commission, in this morning’s lesson, is, as usual, about the business of “sanitizing” the text, believing that well-bred Episcopalians could not stomach the unpleasant details of Judas’ death on a Sunday morning. This is why, if you look at your insert, you see that the verses read from the first chapter of Acts are 15-17, then 21-26. What is left out is an excerpt from a sermon delivered by Peter, which tells us about Judas’ bowels gushing out. Peter could have left this out, but he didn’t. Why? Because, I think, he wanted to impress upon his fellow Apostles and the one whom they would elect to replace Judas that the ministry in which they were engaged was a serious one. Judas was a good man, trusted by Jesus, but he betrayed that trust big time, as a result, perhaps, of jealousy, greed, despair and a host of other emotions --- causing him eventually to make the very field he purchased from his ill-gotten gains the site of the suicide to which his guilt had driven him.
Everything about ministry isn’t pretty, Peter is telling them; ministry is carried out in a world, as Martin Luther reminds us in his great hymn, “with devils filled, that threaten to undo us,” and church leaders, Peter would remind us, are not immune to them. Sam Portaro, writing about Matthias in his book on the saints called Brightest and Best, says, in words with which we can certainly identify: “We need this gospel of human frailty and institutional failure in those times and places when and where our tradition and institutions threaten to grind up human lives, when so much that is destructive and hurtful, divisive and hateful, is done in the name of preserving orthodoxy and purity.”
Another thing strikes us 21st century Christians as a little odd --- the method of election. “They cast lots, and the lot fell on Matthias.” (Although I must say, having survived more than one episcopal election, complete with profiles, consultants, search committees and what we call in the trade dog-and-pony shows, this lot-casting approach certainly has its appeal.) Are we to conclude from the text that the apostles said, “Whom shall we ordain today, guys? Let’s roll the dice, toss the coin, or see who draws the short straw.” Well, not exactly. The apostles were engaging in an ancient and venerable tradition. In Leviticus, the method was used to separate the scapegoat from the goat being sacrificed. In the Book of Numbers, it was used to divide the Promised Land among the Israelites. Even the sailors on Jonah’s boat cast lots to determine who was responsible for the great storm. My favorite example is in I Chronicles, where lots were used to determine who was to receive which temple service. There were lots drawn for musicians, gatekeepers, and miscellaneous chores. This was done to keep the participants from becoming prideful in their positions. (Maybe Chuck Grimstad would like to consider this method the next time his committee revises the parish by-laws). And, of course, the example with which we are probably most familiar is the practice of the soldiers at the foot of the Cross. “They parted his garments, casting lots,” fulfilling the words of the Psalmist.
But the thing to remember is that the Israelites didn’t see casting lots as a game of chance. They saw it as a revelation of God’s will. According to the Book of Proverbs, “The lot is cast into the lap, but its every decision is from the Lord.” Casting of lots was considered totally impartial ---completely untainted by politics, favoritism or nepotism. Also, the lots themselves were not random coins or dice. They were two onyx stones taken from the breastplate of the high priest.
But upon reflection, perhaps the casting of lots is not so alien to us after all. The difference between us and the folks in the Bible is that they sacramentalized, as it were, the practice of God making a choice. They used lots as an outward and visible sign of God’s will. We may not go through the same motions, but we have to admit that God is in control of our lives nevertheless. Somebody once said, “If you want to make God laugh, make plans.” So often people attribute to luck, chance or coincidence what may well be the hand of God at work. The other difference between us and the people of the Bible is that they were fed with a steady diet of revelations, manifestations and theophanies. Angels appearing out of nowhere, burning bushes, and miracles of every description.
In our age, God does not always go the dramatic route. God may work through ordinary people---our families, friends and neighbors and those who are alone --- through the counsel of friends and fellow pilgrims, in the words of a prayer, or a hymn, or on rare occasions, a sermon! Often our so-called “chosen” professions, our life partners, where we live and move and have our being are not the product of weighty deliberations, years of planning, and talking to consultants (whom someone has described as people who borrow your watch and tell you what time it is). No, the directions that our lives take seem to flow from brief conversations, the signing up for a particular course, or a visit to a place we had never been before.
Lastly, what comes across to me loud and clear in the story of Matthias is his anonymity and obscurity. He comes out of the ether, it would appear, and returns to it. He is mentioned nowhere else in all of the New Testament. There were, we would think, other better known candidates --- like Stephen, the first deacon. But such thinking only makes sense if we equate qualifications with fame. The Bible is not the Social Register. If the Bible is anything at all, it is the story of how God, time and time again, chooses those whom we would deem unlikely if not downright unworthy. David was the runt of the litter, whom his father didn’t even think of as he paraded his other sons to be considered to be king of Israel. Mary was an unknown peasant girl when the angel Gabriel came to her with some startling news. Peter was a clueless fisherman and Matthew a despised tax-collector. The blind Bartimaeus and the vertically challenged Zacchaeus were, despite their infirmities, were asked to join Jesus’ retinue. The Ethiopian eunuch was baptized by Philip even though his condition prevented him from having full privileges in the synagogue.
I think most of us can identify with Matthias. Most of us have walk-on parts in life. We probably won’t make into Wikipedia, and probably won’t rate a full-page obituary in The New York Times. Like Matthias, we may have been accorded a dubious distinction or two, catapulting us into the limelight briefly for what Andy Warhol described as our “fifteen minutes of fame.” But in that quarter hour, and indeed in every moment that God gives us breath, each and every one of us can respond to God’s call to build up Christ’s Body, the Church. All we have to do is discern just what it is that God would have us do for the good of the Kingdom.
Let us pray:
Lord, whose guiding finger ruled in the casting of the lot,
That thy Church might fill the throne of the lost Iscariot,
In our trouble ever thus
Stand, Good Master, nigh to us.
When the saints their order take in the new Jerusalem,
And Matthias stands elect, give us part and lot with him,
Where in thine own dwelling-place
We may witness face to face. Hymns Ancient and Modern, 231.
AMEN.