“Though the cords of the wicked entangle me,
I do not forget your law.
At midnight I will rise to give you thanks… [Psalm 119 v61-62]
From Psalm 119.
About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them. Suddenly there was an earthquake, so violent that the foundations of the prison were shaken; and immediately all the doors were opened and everyone’s chains were unfastened. When the jailer woke up and saw that the prison doors were wide open, he drew his sword and was about to kill himself, since he had supposed the prisoners had escaped. But Paul shouted in a loud voice, “Do not harm yourself, for we are all here.” The jailer called for lights, and rushing in, he fell down trembling before Paul and Silas. Then he brought them outside and said, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?
“…what must I do to be saved?”
A good question.
Maybe the question.
Not long after I joined the Episcopal Church I noticed how much they like the Psalms. In Sunday School in Texarkana, I had managed to learn the 23rd Psalm but that was about it. But now every Sunday we’d hear a psalm. The Prayer Book has all 150 of them.
Sometimes sitting in a service I’d get fidgety and have to read something – and there were the psalms. So varied, so different. And then there are additional words at the beginning of some of the psalms – sort of like a rubric – but I didn’t know what they meant. Maybe something more was going on than just one person quietly reading a psalm.
Since a visit with a Methodist group to Israel some years ago I’ve learned a little more about the Temple Mount – Herod’s rebuilding of the Temple. It was “destroyed” by the Romans in 70 A.D. – yet the Temple Mount itself – the “platform” on which the Temple was built was not because it was mostly solid, mostly rock – even though some of the higher rows of large, almost room size, rocks were pushed over onto the street below. But it is a detail about these passageways that I would recall: as the people – not necessarily the priests and higher-up’s – but the people, the ordinary people – as they would ascend one of the interior passageways to the top they would be singing songs – sometimes led by one who would sing a verse to which the others would respond– and their “songbook” was the Psalter – the Psalms.
As I picture this in my mind’s eye I visualize a group, maybe 30 or 50, maybe more, probably from one village or one distinct area going up the steps, their leader beginning with one verse, singing that verse, than the group responding in further verses in song.
As I was writing this, I recalled a time in my life – again many, many years ago – I, too, was part of a group, singing together – responding to words sung by someone. This was in the country wooded acres of a state to our south – Louisiana. I was a private in Basic Training at Ft. Polk, Louisiana, singing cadence as we moved –much faster than a leisurely walk- sometimes as a march or even a run as I recall. And sometimes encumbered with a rifle and maybe a field pack. And sometimes the words were a bit bawdy.
But as I think back the words, the singing together, was the good part. We were a good training company – maybe not the best – but good enough. We all made it through. I had made some friends – some from parts of the country I had never visited, some from very different backgrounds. Yet we had come together.
As our time together was coming to a close – most of us going on to further training – advanced training – one of the men in our company that I had gotten to know – asked me if he could borrow some money – $20.00. His name was John LeBlanc. As the name suggests he was also from Louisiana. Sure! I told him as I gave him my address in Texarkana so he could mail the repayment. That’s the least I could do even though I never expected to see a penny.
But one day there was a letter in the mailbox postmarked “Louisiana.” John sent a nice letter telling how he had been and what was going on and thanking for the $20.00 which he enclosed.
Prison is not a fun place to be. Every person there is in prison. Even those who are “in charge” or “guarding” the others are in a “prison.” They must constantly be on alert, on their guard – prisons are a dangerous place. In truth even they are “prisoners” of the prisoners. Prisons also are places of stupefying boredom, stupefying sameness. I can understand the other prisoners listening to Paul and Silas praying and “singing hymns to God.”
Phillippi was named for the father of Alexander the Great. In 42 B.C. it the site of a great battle – over 200,000 soldiers were involved. The forces of two of Julius Caesar’s assassins – Brutus and Cassius faced Mark Antony and Octavian. The forces of Brutus and Cassius were defeated and failing to defeat Mark Antony and Octavian both men killed themselves for their failure.
Afterwords much of the land was given to the victorious soldiers. It continued to be settled by the Romans as almost a model Rome.
Roman justice could be very exacting and cruel. The jailer understood the punishment for his “failure” to keep his prisoners “locked up” – even when circumstances were out of his control. He had heard the prayers of Silas and Paul both as spoken prayer and in hymns proclaiming the “Good News.” And then there was the “Great News” from Paul and Silas that he did not have to kill himself – his prisoners had not run away.
There was really something wonderful, transforming about this “Good News” he was experiencing in such a powerful way.
He wanted to be part of it.
“Sirs, what must I do to be saved?”
“Believe on the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household.”
That’s it.
I recall some of the words of a sermon I heard as a very young man in the Methodist church, Texarkana, on one Sunday morning. Dr. Arthur Terry was preaching. His text was from Acts as is our reading this morning but from the King James Version. Paul is being sent to Rome but now is in Caesarea. He has been called from his prison cell to bring his case before King Agrippa and others.
Paul speaks at length at one point asking:
“King Agrippa, believest thou the prophets? I knowest that thou believest.”
Then Agrippa said unto Paul, “Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.”
Then Paul said, I would to God, that not only thou, but also all that hear me this day, were both almost, and altogether such as I am, except these bonds.
I remember that sermon, those words, because at that moment I felt I was “almost persuadest” – but not fully, maybe not really.
Many years later when I visited Israel one of the places, I most wanted to visit was the site of the that palace in the harbor at Caesarea where Paul had spoken these words.
I have lived a long life.
And during a good number of those years, I have been away from the church. Like many of us I have gone through some experiences over the course of my life. During those away from the church years I moved to Kansas for job reasons. One Sunday morning I felt I needed to go to church.
There was a church downtown not far from where I worked. So, I went there that Sunday morning. I was welcomed. I don’t remember anything particular about Dean Robert Shahan’s sermon but later I was to come to appreciate his thoughtful messages. I wanted to learn more so I participated in a four-year study called EFM – Education for Ministry.
Later when I moved back to Arkansas, I joined the nearest Episcopal church to my home, St. Stephen’s. There when we went through some challenges I was involved in a ministry support team effort encouraged and supported by Bishop Larry Maze. In the process all of us participated in a survey that asked if there were members of our congregation who might could serve, might be called to serve, as ordained clergy, priest or deacon? I was one who was mentioned as deacon.
On June 3, 2006, I was ordained as deacon by Bishop Maze.
On February 18, 2017, I was assigned to St. Luke’s by Bishop Benfield.
Lent as I recall.
Sometime during that first year or so I had a bout in the hospital. It was for more than an overnight stay.
I noticed I kept getting visitors. Visitors from St. Luke’s. I started counting. Over twenty.
I was in the right place. I knew I was loved.
I believe in a lot of things. I believe in our country. I believe some things are right, moral. I believe in goodness and kindness. I believe in being kind and being forgiving even when some people are pure, unadulterated jerks. I believe that all that exists is not the result of happenstance but exists as the creation of a Loving Creator.
I believe on the Lord Jesus.
Amen.