Acts 12:1-19 Angels and Laughter

As I have said, many of the stories that Luke relates must have been told around the communal table when the early church met to pray and break bread together. I find it easy to believe that this story must have been a popular favorite, one that people asked to hear again and again. It was full of wonder, but also contained the slapstick humor of the maid Rhoda slamming the door in Peter’s face and not reopening it until she had talked to the praying disciples. This is a daffy, charming description of how people act, and its inclusion here is vital to my understanding of Luke’s spirituality. Through this simple story, he seems to be telling us that it’s okay to laugh, to find amusement, even to experience joy in the midst of dark times. In fact, it’s more holy to do this than it is to insist on acknowledging nothing but misery and sorrow.

Some people get angry when they encounter such seeming frivolity in a serious moment. Yet Rhoda’s response is, to my mind, in keeping with the presence of angels in Luke’s story. This is the fifth time that angels have appeared in the Acts of the Apostles. Two men in white robes stand beside the disciples in chapter one as Jesus is ascending into heaven. An angel appears to Philip and sends him off to meet the Ethiopian eunuch. An angel appears to Cornelius and tells him to send men to Joppa to find Peter. And, in Acts 5, the angels are responsible for another jailbreak, letting the apostles out of prison so that they can keep preaching in the temple. Angels seem to be always coming and going, and their main task seems to be the expansion of the group of believers, the widening of community. In every instance, the people they appear to do what they say – there is no denial of angels in this story. Angels appear, and the only response to them, Luke tells us, is acceptance.

He seems to feel the same way about Rhoda, and about the other funny little anecdotes that he sometimes weaves into his narrative. Rather than trying to repress them as frivolous, Luke is happy to tell us about weird things happening and people responding to them in inappropriate ways. I think that he wants us to know these stories because he wants us to be forgiving when it comes to our own inappropriate responses. For him, a beloved community is not a community of censure. Things will happen in these communities that we don’t know how to react to, and because we’re confused our reactions will be off, and sometimes blatantly wrong. If anyone is truly hurt by our wrongness, we should apologize. But a better response is to laugh at our own capacity for mistakes, to take a kind of delight in them, since none of us is perfect, and we’re all going to find ourselves in Rhoda’s position at one moment or another. And isn’t it wonderful that this community no longer always reacts to angels with fear and trembling, which was the usual response to angelic appearances in Luke’s Gospel? Sometimes there’s terror, but just as often there’s wonder that leads to a kind of hinky, stumbling reaction, and instead of finding this inappropriate, the community finds it delightful, and wants to hear about it again and again.

Luke 10:1-20 Responding to Beauty and Mystery

First, let me introduce you to Andrew Hudgins’ poem, “Two Strangers Enter Sodom.”

Two Strangers Enter Sodom
by Andrew Hudgins

Those who’d seen them told the others,
and we gathered at Lot’s doorsills
to watch them eat.  They had just dipped
their fingers into lentils

and their slender fingers glistened with grease.
Lot bathed their feet, small feet
just barely dulled with earth, releasing
light trapped beneath a sheet

of fine dust.  Slowly he released them,
each small foot oiled and dried.
“I want them,” someone whispered.  Another,
like an ardent echo, sighed.

Another said it openly.
“We want them!  Send them out!”
we shouted.  We’d seen unearthly beauty
enter a house, bathe, eat,

prepare to sleep.  Some might stop at looking,
but others, seeing it,
would reach out and, touching, they would take it,
even if taking it

destroyed what they desired.  We surged
against the strangers, screaming,
and the angels calmly struck us blind
with the light of our own dreaming.

Still reaching out, we touched each other:
coarse cloth, coarse hair, coarse skin –
and cringed from it.  We pawed cool air
for the lost celestial men,

whose footfalls faded lighter, lighter
till they were light’s own light
departing – or so it seemed to us
in our god-dazzled night.

Hudgins suggests that the sin of the Sodomites arises from them knowing only one response to profound beauty and revelation.  When heavenly messengers appear among them, they want to rape them. They want to assert power over them, to possess them, to subject them to carnality.  Their sin is famous because it’s an extreme response to a common instinct. Faltering before beauty and mystery, we seek to belittle it, control it, and reduce it to something we can understand.

For a moment in time, the seventy disciples have become heavenly messengers.  They go to the surrounding villages to declare the Kingdom of God through their words and through their deeds.  Something profound is seeping through the corners of the world. Revelation is appearing in the corner of the eye.  If the people were to turn their heads and look, they would find themselves transformed. Jesus prepares the disciples for an encounter with Sodom.  Some, he says, will reject this revelation and use the tools of violence and rape to repress it.

Yet when the disciples return, they have not encountered Sodom.  On the contrary, they return rejoicing, and in welcoming their joy Jesus is at his most poetic.  Cosmic results accompany their traveling, and the small, biting malevolence of the world begins to fall away.  Nevertheless, Jesus says, don’t rejoice that the spirits submit to you, but that your names are written in heaven.  It is not the disciples control over spiritual forces that is important. It is their participation in the revelation of the Kingdom of God.

When we encounter beauty and mystery, when we are moved beyond our understanding and catch a glimpse of revelation out of the corner of our eye, how do we respond?  Do we reject the glimpse, attempt to control the revelation? Or do we simply rejoice, and invite others to rejoice with us?

Luke 1:1-56 Suddenly the Spirit is Talking to Everybody

The Holy Spirit pours into the beginning of Luke’s Gospel, embodied by angels and the singing, leaping responses that human beings make to them.  When the angels arrive its with a wildness and strangeness that has mutating effects on the people who encounter them. An old man falls silent, an old woman becomes pregnant, a virgin conceives and sings a song that anticipates the reordering of the entire world.  Luke is telling us that encounters with the divine will transform our lives, and that people with transformed lives eventually end up participating in the transformation of existence itself. This is the opening trumpet blast announcing Luke’s spirituality, which is about divine encounter, surrendered conventionality, and the remaking of human existence.

Elizabeth and Zechariah are both old when an angel appears with its revelations.  They are both Levites, descendants of Aaron, born into the priestly cast, their position in society assured since birth. They do their duty, get along with their neighbors, and act rightly in all circumstances. The only thing about them that could cause anyone to talk behind their backs is the fact that they have no children. Elizabeth feels this keenly. She refers to it as a disgrace, and maybe she thinks about Sarah, that great matriarch of her people, who also reached old age in a childless condition.

So where is the note of unconventionality that could lead them to raise an iconoclast like John the Baptist?  Maybe there is some wildness inside of them, carefully repressed through all their long years. But I suspect that John’s wildness is the result of Zechariah’s encounter with the angel. It’s hard to find a good image of this encounter. Baroque and Rococo paintings show very human looking angels, naked and floating suspended in swaths of cloth, descending on a startled looking old man who is, somehow, surrounded by onlookers, even though the Gospel tells us that Zechariah was alone in the Holy of Holies. Angels in art are rarely weird enough for the story that’s being conveyed in scripture. Contemporary art does a better job at capturing their essence. In paintings by Alexander Roitburd and Wassily Kandinsky they are riots of color, deeply abstract, and there’s nothing quiet or restful about looking at them. The angel of the Lord who appears to Zechariah is terrifying, and not very patient.  Poor Zechariah gets struck dumb for voicing only the tiniest of doubts, and really its a doubt that’s more about his own unsuitability than it is about God’s intentions.

We’re not told if Elizabeth learns about her husband’s encounter with the angel. He certainly can’t tell her about it. But she gets pregnant pretty quickly, and she has no trouble believing that its happening. In fact, both women in this first chapter of Luke’s Gospel fare better than the men. When the Angel Gabriel appears to Mary, she questions divine revelation, just like Zechariah did. But Gabriel is a more patient divine messenger, explains things more thoroughly, and doesn’t strike her dumb. Instead, she gets to sing, and gives us the words of the lovely and challenging Magnificat, which we can sing, also. It’s through the words of this hymn that we come to understand that a transformation is about to take place, that the world is about to be remade.