I’m writing this at the end of January, a few days after Nehemiah, Chapter 8 appeared in the Sunday lectionary. One of the things that struck me when studying and preaching on that passage was how happy the people were when Ezra read them the law of Moses, how much they rejoiced at being given some instructions on how to live their lives. The believers in Antioch express a similar joy when Silas and Barsabbas read them the Council in Jerusalem’s letter. Part of their joy is that it relieves a big anxiety. Some unappointed interlopers have come and told them that they’re practicing their faith wrong, that if they hope to be real followers of Jesus, they have to be circumcised. But their practice, the practice that Paul was formed in and his friend Barnabas supports, is to be pretty mellow about circumcision, and not teach it as a necessary entrance rite to the Beloved Community. So they’re grateful that the Council has solved the issue. But they’re also very grateful that the Council exhorts them, that it gives them four disciplines to live under. Don’t practice any form of idolatry, keep to two important food ways, and don’t fornicate.

In a way, the content of the exhortation isn’t that important. Most Christians today ignore the food ways entirely, eating meat that hasn’t been drained of blood and never questioning whether our meat was slaughtered by strangling. That said, many of us keep to the spirit of that strangulation rule, and try to avoid purchasing products that were created with processes that are cruel to animals. Yet we have accepted other disciplines over time, things that the Jewish followers of Jesus in Jerusalem never dreamt of. We abstain from certain vices during Lent, confess our sins, celebrate Jesus’ birth at a time of year that would have surprised early Christians, go on silent retreats…the list could go on. The point is that we have many practices that are important to us, and we’re happy to have them. We might even exult over them.

Sometimes the secular culture that we all live in, the culture that influences us whether we like it or not, seems antithetical to the very idea of discipline, although it probably isn’t. Even the most passionate advocates of personal freedom probably think that people should take care of their property, be prudent with money, or hold to some other discipline that seems so obvious that it doesn’t even need to be named. There is something in us that clearly needs some rules to follow. There is also something in us that can become rigid and ungenerous about those rules, and use them as a cudgel to pummel others. The rules can become idols in themselves. I think it’s important to look at the heart of the Council’s four exhortations, and understand their intent. When we do, we see that they’re all about trying to look through God’s eyes, trying to view everything with love. We can’t do that if we worship idols. But once we’re no longer worried about idols, we are exposed to a startling vision. Animals count, God loves them to, and they shouldn’t be treated with cruelty. Other people count, and we shouldn’t use them to satisfy our own desires.

We need these rules made plain to us so that we can be a community together. Any community could get lost in constant argument about which practices are the best. Such arguments can decrease love, increase suspicion and enmity, and break communities apart. That’s why simple, understandable disciplines can come as such a relief. We can stop fretting about the best ways to live our lives, and get on with living them. If the rules are simple enough, they leave room for more discovery, for finding new ways of expressing Christian love. Understanding this, we all might come to rejoice.

Imagine this story being told around the table at one of the many meals that Paul presided over, Luke sitting to one side and noting everything. People are eating, dipping bread into olive oil, picking over fish, and as they eat they tell stories of Jesus and the disciples, engaging in the kind of deep spiritual conversation that is so life giving. The conversation lags for a moment, and then someone says, “I know another story, about what will happen to you if you’re a hypocrite and pretend to be better than you are.” Everyone feels a little guilty, and as the story is told they start searching their own consciences. What have they been holding back from their neighbors? Which of their own petty contrivances might become known? The story goes on, and it’s super harsh, and people are looking down at their sandals, or picking at their cuticles, not willing to meet each other’s eyes. They’re all at this dinner because they want to be a part of this new community, and they’ve been gaining a great deal from coming to dinners like this. But now the storyteller is telling them that there’s a cost. That by breaking bread together and singing and praying together, they have agreed to live under a kind of discipline. Their lives and their choices are no longer really their own. They belong to something greater than themselves, and for the most part it’s wonderful, but this community that is encouraging them to surrender their egos so that they can live within the deep beauty of the Kingdom of God really means it, and they’ll have to obey the wisdom of the group and give some things up if they want to grow in the spirit.

Tough stuff, without a doubt, and Ananias and Sapphira’s story is exaggerated to make a point.  But it’s a point that’s worth making. When we join a community, we agree to live by its norms, the way it seeks to make meaning, the way it understand the world, and the actions that stem from those norms and understanding. The classic Christian term for this is discipline. In the church, clergy live under the discipline of their bishops, which means that they understand that they might not be in a position to see the big picture, and they have to accept that there are some things going on behind the scenes in a diocese that they simply can’t be privy to. They can disagree with their bishop, and even kick against the goads a little, but they remain dedicated to the spirituality of being a person under discipline, willing to accept that they can’t and won’t always have their own way. This isn’t only true of clergy, but of every single Christian in the world, to greater and lesser degrees. Being part of a church means agreeing to its norms and practices. More than that, it means being willing to let those norms and practices shape you. By the very act of belonging, you are essentially saying to other people that they can change you, and you are trusting that the changes they wrought in you will draw you closer to God.

Everyone gathered at that table with Paul and Luke understood this after they heard the story of Ananias and Sapphira. They were left with a choice, of course. They could turn away from the discipline of the community and simply not come to its next gathering. They could stay with the community, and willingly allow it to shape and change them. The one thing they couldn’t do was act as hypocrites, and pretend that they were agreeing to the discipline of the community while finding ways to avoid it. They might not physically die if they did, but they would enter a kind of spiritual stasis that amounted to death, unable to grow and change under discipline, unable to accept the fruits of Beloved Community, because they were unable to contribute to those fruits in their turn.