Acts 3:1-10 - April 14, 2024

I don’t know about you, but our healing story from Acts sounds like it really should be from one of the Gospels instead. The pattern here is the same as many of the healing miracles performed by Jesus: the setting and problem are laid out; there are some powerful words spoken, along with a touch; the healing happens; the people are amazed! It’s a miracle! Except, this time, Jesus isn’t in the story. It’s Peter. 

This story incites our inadequacies over miracle performance. Peter can do this, but we can't? At least when Jesus is doing the miracle, we have the opportunity to say, “Oh, it’s Jesus. He IS the Son of God, after all.” But today, it is just Peter doing the healing. We don’t get the “Son of God” excuse this time. He is one of us - just a regular guy. Why can’t I do that? 

Do we need to be more faithful? Do we not believe enough? Do we need to be bolder in our asking? Big questions, no easy answers. 

Where is God when we can’t do a miracle? 

Well, this story actually speaks to that question. Despite the miracle being the part that catches our attention, often, the actual miracle itself is only a small piece of the bigger picture that is being drawn. 

This lame man was brought up every day to be placed right outside of the Beautiful Gate of the Temple. He would ask for money and food, any means of survival, a donation so he could live another day. Those coming to the Temple for prayer or worship would need to walk right past him to get inside. There he was, day after day, outside the Temple. 

And then, Peter and John arrive on the scene. Peter says, “What I have, I give to you,” which leads to the amazing story of the lame man being raised, jumping to his feet. After he is healed, not only is his ability changed, but so is his location. He goes into the Temple with them, walking and leaping and praising God. Because Peter went to him, the man is no longer outside the community; he is brought into the community - from unable and unwelcome to fully part. 

Healing is restoring to community. And it works the other way around, too: to be in community is, in a way, to be healed. 

Which may shift our point of view a bit. Instead of lamenting we can’t perform miracles, we continue to do what Jesus did - what Peter did - and that is to cultivate the community of Christ, bringing those outside to inside. 

So, who sits outside our gates? Maybe not literally - I don’t think we had anyone sitting outside our doors this morning. But who is on the outside? Who could be healed and made whole by the church recognizing them as real people? 

Some people do sit and beg, yes. Usually, eye contact and conversation with them is avoided.
And yet, we at St. Philip welcome them for a meal, for hospitality each month, for respite from the elements. There is healing in community. 

Some people have been excluded or hurt. They were told they aren’t welcome inside as worshipful people pass on by. And so, we at St. Philip welcome anyone, whoever you are, not just to come inside, but to be part of a community with your unique gifts, to share all of who you are in an affirming way. There is healing in community. 

To those who are outside, Jesus’ answer, Peter’s answer, and what our answer strives to be - is the miracle of a welcoming community. We can offer healing to others by including them in this community of faith. There is healing in community. 

That’s all well and good, right? And that probably helps us identify with the story a little bit more - go and welcome people. Act! But sometimes - oftentimes, maybe - it’s the other way around. We’re not always Peter. A lot of times, we’re the beggar - waiting on a miracle.  

This is the hard part about preaching on miracles. There are always faithful people who don’t get one - more than those who do.

We have a paralyzing piece in our lives, a place that is unhealed. We beg to be made better, longing, day after day, for things to just be normal again. We need healing from pain, from illness, from grief or worry or doubt. We need to be brought back in and welcomed, reminded, and healed. 

Where is God when we aren’t given a miracle? 

Well, to keep reiterating the point: God gives community - not just people around us, but people who also remind us of God’s love, of their love, to be a community with us, to receive us in grace, no matter how we feel. It may not bring us the healing that the beggar experienced, but it is healing that lets us know we are welcomed, we are loved, and we are not alone. Knowing you are loved, despite what is happening, is quite the miracle. 

That’s the power of Jesus. Whether through a neighbor, a parent, a stranger - the power of God is present. God is reaching out to lift you up with love, with words, with hope that is shaped by resurrection, not death. That is shaped by healing, not disease. That is shaped by fellowship, not isolation. 

It’s God’s ultimate plan of salvation - a community that welcomes all and heals all. A community that spans all times and all places. A community nothing can break apart or destroy, not even death.
A community we get a foretaste of,
a community Jesus gathers,
a community embedded with God’s love.
Knowing you are loved, despite what is happening, is quite the miracle. 

Growing up, I never really was an outsider. I was always kind of in the middle - never a loser, geek, or dweeb, but also never in the top, popular crowd. You know, just regular, if that’s even a thing in high school. I had my group of friends, and we were fine. I was fine. Community was fine. Life was fine. 

But we all have experiences that shape us - that metaphorically take us by the hand and raise us up to something new. For me, that was working as a counselor at Lutheridge, a Lutheran camp in the mountains of North Carolina. I experienced community there like nowhere else. It healed me in ways I didn’t know I needed to be healed. 

This healing wasn’t about giving me some ability I didn’t have before, or taking away some dreaded trait I had. Instead, this healing took me from the sidelines of faith to being immersed in it. There was community for me, a place and a role for me, love and grace and healing for me. 

Lutheridge changed me, healed me, welcomed me, made me want to make every community I’m part of have the same characteristics: closeness, fun, real, trusting, worshipful, supportive, accepting - all the things Christ wants for us. 

I wasn’t broken - at least, I didn’t think I was. But Jesus, through community, raised me up to a new vision of what community could and should be. 

In all of our lameness, big or small, known or unknown, the community of Christ is here to point to a love that can heal - maybe not always like the beggar, but sometimes in ways that we need it more. Knowing you are loved, despite what is happening, is quite the miracle. 

When I started the sermon, I mentioned that Jesus isn’t in this miracle story. Maybe I was wrong about that, because Jesus is there, so obviously there. Jesus’ story continues - in those first disciples and into our stories today. Jesus works in us and through us.

Healing through community.
Healing through miracles.
Healing through knowing you are loved.
That is quite the miracle, indeed.