Dangerous Newcomers

Moving beyond First Impressions

The great directors of stage and screen thrillers—those masters of suspense—somehow always find a way to surprise you in the end. When the guilty party is finally unmasked, it is never the one you imagined all along. In fact, as the familiar adage goes, it's usually "the one you least suspect." So much for first impressions! When Barnabas makes his debut at the end of Acts 4, he appears to be the ultimate "nice guy," a generous, encouraging, supportive follower who helps promote stability in the Jerusalem community. Paul, on the other hand, when introduced at the end of Acts 7 (with his Hebrew name, Saul), seems to be the obvious "bad guy," an angry, cruel, vengeful persecutor who spreads fear and dread among the followers of Jesus. Such first impressions would be quite misleading, as Barnabas and Paul are much more than they initially appear to be. Indeed, each in their own way will turn out to be far more dangerous than either the apostles or the outside world could imagine.

Second Impressions: The Witnesses

But before we pull back the curtain, we have one more task to ensure that the stage is properly set and ready for Barnabas's and Paul's entrances. In Luke 9 we got our first impressions of the Twelve, as they were commissioned for ministry and we saw how, just one chapter later, another group—the Seventy—was likewise commissioned, at least in part because of the Twelve's inadequacies. Now, at the beginning of Acts the Twelve get a second chance and we get to form our second impressions of them following the events of Jesus's death and resurrection, as the Twelve receive a new commission from the risen Christ, complete with Spirit-filled empowerment. This second commission, this Great Commission, tells them what they are called to be, and where they are called to go.

And so, we make our way to the opening verses in the first chapter of Acts, to a mountain where the resurrected Jesus is preparing to take his leave, and where a final conversation with his apostles ensues. The conversation begins with a seemingly innocent question on their part: "Are you going to restore the kingdom to Israel now?" On one level their question is understandable, given that Israel's restoration under a warrior-king like David a millennia before was an ongoing hope for many around them. Indeed, many would-be messiahs were running around in Jesus's time. Given that their mentor has now somehow defeated death itself, the apostles understandably assume that a new golden age for Israel is about to be born. To show how serious they are, they spend the rest of Acts 1 involved in the selection of a twelfth apostle to take the place of the now departed betrayer, Judas Iscariot, so that their number might once again represent the twelve tribes of ancient Israel.

And yet Jesus's response to the apostles reveals how off-target their question is. The apostles are ready to see their risen Lord usher in a new golden age for Israel, but Jesus counters with a broader, deeper Commission: "It isn't for you to know the times or seasons that the Father has set by his own authority. Rather, you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth." It is the Great Commission according to Luke, both similar to, and distinct from, the more oft-quoted version from the end of Matthew's Gospel: "I've received all authority in heaven and on earth. Therefore, go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to obey everything that I've commanded you. Look, I myself will be with you every day until the end of this present age."

Both versions of the Commission speak of divine empowerment and both express a call to action. God's mission, both then and now, is not intended to be a spectator sport. Neither they nor we can opt to sit in the stands and simply watch. "Go and make disciples," Jesus cries out in Matthew. "You will be my witnesses," he asserts in Acts. This word witnesses is particularly interesting, and to understand its significance, it's helpful to dust off the old Greek texts and explore the word's origin. The Greek martyroi literally translates to "martyrs." All too often, we think of martyrs as those who face death for the sake of a greater cause, people such as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. or Archbishop Oscar Romero of El Salvador. And in a less noble context, most of us have heard people at times describe as martyrs those who grudgingly take on tasks or responsibilities that they really don't want: "Oh, she's just being a martyr!" or "He has such a martyr complex." But at its heart, being a martyr means bearing witness to something, as if in a court of law. The prohibition, "You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor," is part of the Decalogue, the Ten Commandments. Jesus calls the apostles to be true witnesses, bold witnesses, empowered witnesses, of all that they have seen and experienced. Their actions as well as their words should point beyond themselves not simply to the restoration of a glorious past but to the promise of a glorious destiny, abundant life in Christ for all the world.

When I was in college, cancer struck my close friend Don. People around him prayed for recovery, but the cancer grew and spread. As others either denied the inevitable or shook their fists towards heaven, Don just carried on with a smile on his face and a kind word to those around him. Toward the end, when friends came to comfort him, they left his room speaking with astonishment of the comfort he gave to them, of how he prayed for them. After his passing, the church where his funeral was held was filled to capacity. The person next to me was a nurse who only knew him in his final months through his chemotherapy treatments. Yet there she was because, as she said, she had seen something in him that changed her. Don was a martyr in the truest sense, both in his death but even more in his life. He exemplified what Francis of Assisi is rumored to have once said: "Preach the gospel at all times; if necessary use words."

And so, there on the mountain, Jesus appoints the apostles to be his martyrs, his empowered witnesses. And where are they supposed to fulfill this Commission? In Jerusalem, the very place to which their Lord had set his face back in Luke 9, the very place where he went on to face arrest and death. Yes, Jerusalem is the focal point of their mission, but at the same time Jesus's Commission to them makes it clear that it is also to be the starting point from which they must go, to paraphrase the author C. S. Lewis, "further up and further out"—out to surrounding Judea, out to the despised and once-resistant Samaria, and ultimately out to the ends of the earth. When Jesus had earlier sent them out back in Luke 9, there was no mention of the geographical trajectory of their mission. Now there is. With each step outward, they are being called to a deeper trust and a broader vision, to get out of their boat and step into the unknown.

Do the apostles understand? Do they get it? This, unfortunately, is not at all clear. In Acts 2, the newly reconstituted Twelve (having selected Matthias to replace Judas), along with Mary and the faithful women who supported Jesus's ministry, and other unnamed friends, together experience the fulfillment of Jesus's promise of divine empowerment. Like a rushing wind, the Holy Spirit bursts through their sealed room and they are transformed. Empowered by the Spirit, the previously frightened apostles themselves burst through the doors in order to proclaim the greatness of God and of Jesus the Christ to all who will listen. And many do listen, devout Jews in Jerusalem for Pentecost, the second of the great Jewish feasts. Celebrated fifty days after Passover, when a lamb was sacrificed and first-fruits were offered, Pentecost pointed to the fullness of what was foreseen in the first-fruits seven weeks previously with the presentation of new grain from the harvest on Pentecost. More than this, Pentecost commemorated the giving of the Decalogue at Mount Sinai, the Mosaic Law that would help form the basis of the community that had proceeded out of Egypt. Unlike Passover, which was intended to be a more private, family commemoration, Pentecost was an opportunity for the people to come together for a brief time to renew their connection to God and to one another, to recall the ties of both liberty and law that bind them as one.

Thus, faithful Jews from all parts of the Roman Empire find themselves on this particular Pentecost listening to a small group of emboldened apostles bear witness to Jesus as the promised Messiah, hearing the words in their own languages, like a reversal of the curse of Babel, when understanding gave way to confusion and babbling. The Pentecost miracle reverses all that, as the crowd hears in their own native tongues the proclamation of the Twelve and asks, "Are not all these who are speaking Galileans?" Luke notes that three thousand believe and are baptized—a very successful day indeed. And in the days that follow, there are repeated instances of proclamation and power. As far as second impressions go, following their empowerment by the Spirit, the Twelve appear to be fulfilling Jesus's Commission quite well; they have come a long way from their earlier inadequacies in Luke's Gospel.

There is just one problem. All the preaching and miraculous signs of the Twelve, indeed all their success in those early chapters of Acts, occur solely in Jerusalem, in the very shadow of the temple. Yes, thousands respond to the apostles' message on Pentecost, but the converts are all Jews or Jewish proselytes. Yes, the Twelve help form a community of love and sharing, but they still spend time each day in the temple prayers, and presumably the sacrifices. The healing of a lame man occurs at the "Beautiful Gate" as Peter and John are going "up to the temple at the hour of prayer." Peter addresses the people at Solomon's Portico, and after their release from the authorities, the Twelve return daily to the temple. And later in Acts 8, as a result of the persecution following the death of Stephen, Luke explicitly states that all the followers of Jesus are scattered throughout Judea and Samaria—all, that is, except for the Twelve. Having once been told to wait in the city, the Twelve do just that! They preach and heal, they enjoy great success, but all of it is in the familiar environs of Jerusalem. They believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Christ, but they remain a Jewish sect, an insiders' club. It is as if the new wine of the gospel remains held in the old wineskin of their familiar religious traditions.

How many times have our own churches become insiders' clubs? There is an old joke that says that everyone who should be an Episcopalian (or name your denomination) already is one! Newcomers might be welcome, but only as long as they look and sound like us. How comforting it is to experience growth and energy as long as we don't have to really change. Like a thermostat or a car's cruise control, small deviations from the norm are allowed, as long as the system eventually returns to normal. Like the apostles, we can easily remain in the shadow of the temple, never leaving our comfort zone. To move further out, to move beyond Jerusalem to the ends of the earth, we need someone to assist, someone with a foot in both the world we know and the world beyond, someone who can build a bridge and help us take our first steps into the unknown.

First Impressions: The Encourager

Barnabas is first introduced on Luke's stage at the end of a passage that describes the intentional sharing of possessions among Jesus's followers.

The community of believers was one in heart and mind. None of them would say, "This is mine!" about any of their possessions, but held everything in common. The apostles continued to bear powerful witness to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and an abundance of grace was at work among them all. There were no needy persons among them. Those who owned properties or houses would sell them, bring the proceeds from the sales, and place them in the care and under the authority of the apostles. Then it was distributed to anyone who was in need. Joseph, whom the apostles nicknamed Barnabas (that is, "one who encourages"), was a Levite from Cyprus. He owned a field, sold it, brought the money, and placed it in the care and under the authority of the apostles.

This initial mention of Barnabas is a modest one, naming him as one among many who generously donates money from a property sale for the good of the community of believers, laying the proceeds at the feet of the apostles. In this brief introduction, however, a lot may be learned about him, beginning with his generosity. In icons made of Barnabas he is often pictured holding a money bag, ready to give it away. Luke himself stresses his munificence, contrasting Barnabas with the miserly, deceitful couple, Ananias and Sapphira, whose grim tale depicts them holding back proceeds from the apostles and lying about it. Their meanness of spirit only makes Barnabas's bigheartedness that much more impressive.

As a brief interlude, it is important to step back and recognize that throughout Luke's Gospel and Acts people who experience a conversion in their lives often reflect that internal change by reordering their financial priorities. An obvious example found in Luke 19 is the tale of Zaccheus, that delightful, vertically-challenged tax collector who climbs a sycamore tree just to be able to see Jesus. He is Luke's model of a converted life. There is no mention in his tale of reciting a creedal statement or undergoing an initiation rite. What Luke records instead is that following Jesus's visit to his house, Zaccheus immediately pledges to recompense those he has cheated ... fourfold!

Like Zaccheus, Barnabas gives freely, without reservation, for the good of the community. This is more than just almsgiving, that tangible form of compassion exemplified in both the Psalms—"Those who pay close attention to the poor are truly happy!"—and Proverbs—"Those who exploit the powerless anger their maker, / while those who are kind to the poor honor God." While he offers several examples of Zaccheus-like people whose converted lives are precisely evident in their almsgiving—people like Tabitha of Joppa, Cornelius the God-fearing centurion, and Paul himself—Luke moves beyond almsgiving in describing the financial choices made by the apostles and their community after the events of Pentecost. The new converts immediately begin to display a radical change in life: "All the believers were united and shared everything. They would sell pieces of property and possessions and distribute the proceeds to everyone who needed them." As already noted, an almost identical tale is related in Acts 4, suggesting that, for Luke, Pentecost was not simply a one-time event, but rather an ongoing experience among the Jerusalem believers:

The community of believers was one in heart and mind. None of them would say, "This is mine!" about any of their possessions, but held everything in common. The apostles continued to bear powerful witness to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and an abundance of grace was at work among them all. There were no needy persons among them. Those who owned properties or houses would sell them, bring the proceeds from the sales, and place them in the care and under the authority of the apostles. Then it was distributed to anyone who was in need.

This kind of giving goes beyond general almsgiving, beyond what is usually called "outreach" in today's churches, for the recipients of financial help here are fellow members of the community itself. Here, it is not Psalm 41 or Proverbs 14 that provide Old Testament precedents, but rather Deuter-onomy 15: "If there are some poor persons among you, say one of your fellow Israelites ... don't be hard-hearted or tightfisted toward your poor fellow Israelites." Leviticus 25 similarly states: "If one of your fellow Israelites faces financial difficulty and is in a shaky situation with you, you must assist them." The most powerful and visible argument for the truths the apostles proclaimed was not the deeds of power that accompanied their message, but rather Luke's claim that there was not a needy person among them. Miracles astound and amaze, but a community that truly takes care of its own is particularly attractive, whether then or today. The second-century Christian leader Justin Martyr would similarly proclaim: "We who once coveted ... the wealth of others now place in common the goods we possess."

What Luke and Justin report was not unknown in the ancient world. Over three centuries before the coming of Christ, Aristotle quoted the proverbial saying, "Friends' goods are common property," commenting that even as members of a family hold "all things in common," so do members of a close community. The Jewish historian Jospehus provides perhaps the most fascinating analogy to the Christians' communal approach to finances in his account of another first-century Jewish sect, the Essenes: "They have a law that new members on admission to the sect shall confiscate their property to the order, with the result that you will nowhere see either abject poverty or inordinate wealth; the individual's possessions join the common stock and all, like members of the same family, enjoy a single patrimony." Josephus's high regard for the Essenes is clear—"their community of goods is truly admirable"—and perhaps overly idealistic. As will be seen momentarily, Luke is far more honest about the not-so-idyllic reality of the Jerusalem church. For now, however, let's return to that one particular donor in Jerusalem who catches the apostles' attention.