Stories are fundamental to human society… 

and culture.

We tell stories to educate—

especially in terms of ethics and morality—

but we also tell stories to define and reinforce our sense of identity.

The various stories that we tell shape who we are… 

as a family…

as a community…

and as a nation.

Some of those stories we tell are essentially true—

that is, they’re historical—

and some of those stories are metaphorical, mythological, or even make-believe…

but, nonetheless, point to essential truths.

And that’s true in families…

communities…

nations…

and, in the church.

 

Despite how it might appear…

the story of the Acts of the Apostles is not history—

at least not history as we understand it today.

Perhaps, it’s more akin to an historical novel.

There’s certainly a core of historical truth—

although it’s impossible to discern the extent of that…

and what bits are or aren’t… 

reading it almost two thousand years later.

There are certainly metaphorical and mythological elements.

And there’s also a lot of literary embellishment.

In the end, the author is trying to tell a compelling story—

a story that will grab his reader’s attention…

as well as one that makes some significant theological points.

But, at the outset this morning, I’d like us to focus on the story as a story.

 

The book begins with Jesus’ ascension—

when, in a sense, he migrates to heaven…

and they no longer experience his presence as they had previously.

That’s followed, almost immediately, by the dramatically evocative tale of Pentecost…

where the followers of Jesus receive the Spirit…

speak in strange tongues…

and…

supposedly…

thousands of bystanders turn to Christ and form a community that’s described in utopian terms.

Almost immediately, then, they begin to clash with the powers-that-be in Jerusalem… 

who arrest the two main leaders—

Peter and John— 

which results in a miraculous prison escape.

From there we stumble…

more or less…

through further confrontations with the powers-that-be… 

which result in the lynching of Stephen… 

followed by more conflict and sanctions that are framed as an official persecution.

At the height of that, we have the dramatic conversion of Paul—

the chief protagonist of that persecution—

on the road to Damascus.

As he begins his tentative preaching ministry in Jerusalem… 

his change in allegiance is met with anger…

and conspiratorial plotting against his life…

forcing him into a stealthy, nocturnal flight.

Shifting gear slightly…

we then have the colourful conversion of the exotic Ethiopian eunuch…

followed by Peter’s dramatic vision of animals floating on a sort of bed sheet—

an object lesson in rethinking what he considers pure and impure—

leading to the major and unexpected conversion of the Roman centurion, Cornelius. 

That, in turn, stirs up controversy and conflict within the Jerusalem church…

and…

after some tense verbal argy-bargy…

the nay-sayers are theologically put in their place…

and the peaceful idealism of the early church is restored.

Through the first ten and a half chapters of Acts…

we’re subjected to a story that has been dramatic…

to say the least…

and has moved at almost break-neck speed. 

 

But then we get this morning’s reading.

And it’s decidedly anti-climactic.

There are no dramatic images…

no visions…

no scandal or intrigue.

It’s related rather prosaically.

Sure, we have the founding of a new church—

and the author says “a great number” turned to Christ.

But it’s still not like the earlier accounts.

It’s quite different from the claim of three thousand converts in one day in chapter two… 

or another five thousand in chapter four.

And bear in mind, Antioch was the third largest city in the Roman Empire…

much larger than Jerusalem.

So, in the scheme of things, it’s decidedly underwhelming.

But hearing about it, the church in Jerusalem decides to send someone—

no doubt to gather some intelligence…

and to see that everything that’s happening is kosher…

but also, to help them out.

Last time, when that happened in Samaria, they sent Peter and John—

the two lead apostles.

This time, however, they send Barnabas.

He’s not even one of the twelve apostles.

It’s like if there was a royal wedding…

and not only did our prime minister not go…

he didn’t even send a member of cabinet…

but a departmental secretary.

And sure, while Barnabas is there in Antioch…

things continue to grow.

Again, we’re told, “many” turned to Christ—

but you still get the sense that the response is more lukewarm than earlier…

back in the ‘good old days’, in Jerusalem.

Barnabas’ role, it seems, is mostly one of encouraging and enabling.

But he’s not there for long when he decides…

seemingly of his own initiative…

to go and find Paul—

who, apparently, has been twiddling his thumbs back home in Tarsus…

a journey of several days by sea or several weeks by land—

and Barnabas takes him back to Antioch to help.

Riveting stuff, it’s not.

I’m sure I’ve lost some of you already.

 

And yet…

in one sense…

perhaps it’s precisely the sort of thing that we need to hear on a day like today.

As we celebrate another anniversary of this church…

it’s tempting to look back to the glory of the past…

when the pews were always full…

there were numerous sporting, social, and spiritual clubs and activities…

and the place was buzzing.

It’s a far cry from the excitement of that glorious past to the humdrum of today.

And like many small, ageing, declining churches…

it’s also tempting to look at the large, vibrant mega-churches…

with a sense of nostalgic envy.

Perhaps, then, the story of the early church in Antioch is a helpful reminder that…

in the scheme of things… 

the church’s life goes through peaks and troughs…

and the story of the church is not meant to be one of unbridled growth…

and frenetic activity.

And, perhaps, too, the story of the early church in Antioch is a helpful reminder that…

through it all…

the call to us to be church…

is a call to be faithful through those peaks and troughs…

and to do what we can where we can.

 

Indeed… 

I think the final part of our bit of the story from Acts is especially pertinent.

While the early Antiochene church may not have been a spectacularly “successful” community—

either compared to the church in Jerusalem in the early chapters of Acts…

or by the somewhat skewed standards that are often used today—

in a time of need, they gave.

They were moved with a Christ-like sense of love and compassion… 

and they all gave— 

each “according to their ability”.

Being a community of compassion…

that spontaneously responds to need with love and generosity—

that…

more than any number of people or programmes…

is what makes us church…

and it always will.