A Narrative Lectionary Sermon on Ephesians 2:11-22 and Matthew 28:16-20
Ephesians 2:11-22
So then, remember that at one time you Gentiles by birth, called “the uncircumcision” by those who are called “the circumcision”—a physical circumcision made in the flesh by human hands—remember that you were at that time without Christ, being aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world. But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us. He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it. So he came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near; for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father. So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone. In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God.
Matthew 28:16-20
Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”
The Message
Welcome, everyone, to Installment Two of our summer series on the letter to the Ephesians.
Last week, we talked about how important the language in this letter is—the repetition and the dramatic vocabulary that the author chooses to use tells us that the feelings the words in this book evoke are just as important as the meaning of the words, themselves. We definitely see that same style coming through in our passage today, right? Especially toward the end.
We also talked about how some scholars track the movement of this letter by leaning on three of the verbs that the author uses most: “sit,” verbs, “walk” verbs, and “stand” verbs. Last week, we were solidly in the “sit” portion of things, ruminating on who Jesus is and what Jesus does in terms of our relationship with the Divine. Chapter One is a vertical focus on God’s love: spelling out what happens between God and us. Us and God. This week, we’re transitioning from “sit” verbs to “walk” verbs. Chapter Two is also trying to highlight who Jesus is and what Jesus does, but this time, in terms of our relationships with each other. Chapter Two has more of a horizontal focus. Me to you; you to me.
If you want an easy way to frame things, think of this week as the “We love,” where last week was the “because God first loved us.”
We. Love. Let’s dig into that.
The author of Ephesians is writing in the style and the tradition of Paul, which means that he views Jesus Christ as an event. A cosmic, transcendent, and utterly transformational event. Nothing about our world before Jesus could possibly be the same now, after Jesus. Literally everything is different. And the way that he chooses to illustrate that is to remind his readers that there have been distances and distinctions throughout history that have made reconciliation impossible between entire groups—and entire generations—of people. Now, in the wake of the event that is Jesus Christ, those distances? Those distinctions? They don’t work the same way. The grace and the mercy in the blood of Jesus Christ have “put hostility to death;” the grace and the mercy in his flesh have “broken down dividing walls.”
The author of Ephesians has a very clear message: Jesus is our peace.
The author of Ephesians has a very clear message: Jesus is our peace.
Why do you think the people living in Ephesus need to hear this? Simple as it seems, my guess is that they need to hear about peace because they don’t have any. They need to know that peace is possible because they aren’t seeing it day to day—and that means that they have begun to believe it unattainable. Unrealistic.
It’s safe to assume that Jesus’s disciples feel much the same way in our passage from Matthew 28. I don’t think they’re experiencing much peace. I think they are in a place where they think it is unattainable. Unrealistic.
First of all, only eleven of them go to this mountain in Galilee. Did that throw anybody else off? I’ve never seen the term “the eleven disciples.” I’ve only ever read about twelve; I’ve only ever imagined twelve; a complete set. But here, in Jesus’s final moments on earth, it appears that the broken trust stemming from Judas’s betrayal is still raw. The pain he caused has cut through the group. Cut him out of the group.
It’s not just that, though. We read that when these eleven disciples saw Jesus, they began worshipping him. But some doubted. That either means that a handful of people are worshipping while the rest are abstaining blatantly in front of Jesus’s face; or that all of them are worshipping, but some are harboring resentment… going through the motions, maybe, but without their hearts really in it. Either way, it’s an interesting split, and one that Jesus has to be picking up on.
After all, he is the cause of a lot of the confusion and frustration among his followers. His crucifixion, his death and his resurrection scared them to their very cores. Some of them found comfort and wonder and understanding when Jesus came back to find them. They were relieved! They were reassured. Reinvigorated, even, when it came to his plan and his message. They rooted down in Jesus’s return, using it as proof that everything they had ever known needed to be run through a new lens.
But others were traumatized—others were hurt. There were disciples who felt so deeply abandoned by Jesus and so disoriented by his death that they lost their trust in him. They lost their passion for his ministry; their faith in his miracles. They rooted down in Jesus’s death, using it as proof that anything Jesus said or did from now on needed to be run through their old lens. They grew cemented in a “fool me once” kind of posture.
Jesus sees this conflict unfolding before him. Jesus feels tension, steady and strong in this shared space. Jesus recognizes anxiety and vulnerability in his most beloved companions. And it is precisely in all of this that he calls them to make disciples. To baptize in his name. To love indiscriminately and to teach everything he has taught. His disciples haven’t even fully shown up, and here is Jesus, encouraging them to go into the world and raise up their own.
Jesus sees this conflict. Jesus feels this tension. Jesus recognizes anxiety and vulnerability in his most beloved companions. And it is precisely in all of this that he calls them to make disciples.
He meets every single one of them exactly where they are and lets them know that this is the time to embark on the reconciling work of building God’s kingdom. “All authority on heaven and earth,” he tells them, “has been given to me.”
Would you like to know another way we can interpret that? A way we can put it into different words? We could read it as, “I am your peace.”
When they author of Ephesians says that distance and distinctions don’t work the same way they used to, what he’s really saying is that they don’t hold any power anymore. Jesus is now the foundational measure of who you are—not your ethnicity, your abilities, your gender, your age, your family history, your tribe politics. None of that has the power to alienate or isolate you anymore. The power to make you a stranger; to pull you away from God or community. You are defined, first and foremost by the fact that you know Jesus. You are intimately and preemptively connected to other people by the fact that you know Jesus. Your empathy has unlimited potential because you know Jesus.
This is what will make all the difference in Ephesus. Remember—Ephesus was a huge city. It basically marked the fusion between the East and the West in the trading world, which meant that it was wealthier and more diverse than almost any other place in the Ancient Near East. The people of Ephesus no longer needed to spend their time parsing out who was legitimate in which spaces, or who had the power to speak to what. Now, Jesus is everybody’s common power. Everybody’s access to legitimacy; to a voice.
This is what will make all the difference for the disciples and the early church that they help to grow. They didn’t need to be on the same page in order to do God’s work. They just needed to be connected by the same live wire—touched and molded by the same, confounding paradox: Jesus.
When I opened this text early last week to begin my research and my reflection, I let out an audible groan. I didn’t want to preach on unity, because unity feels so unattainable right now. So unrealistic. I don’t have to go into much detail or wax poetic about the abnormally high level of conflict we’re living through right now. We have record numbers of people taking to the streets in Cuba to protest poverty and rampant sickness and suppression of the media. Our own federal court system just blocked new applications for the DACA program. We’re banding behind our country’s greatest athletes as the Olympic trials wrap up for every sport, and we’re arguing about regulations in ways we never have before. State to state, we’re politicizing and debating mask mandates in the face of the new COVID-19 variant, and the heart of our beloved Minneapolis is still a site of struggle and resistance in the pursuit of justice. My faith in Jesus doesn’t seem like it’s something that can actually bring about peace in all of this.
But then it hit me: the word “unity” isn’t used anywhere in this text. We put it in our prayers and our liturgy today. But nowhere in this part of Ephesians or this part of Matthew does Jesus’s peace entail unity. Jesus’s peace is about:
“Being brought near.”
“Making many groups into one.”
“Reconciling people to God in one body.”
“Being joined together and growing.”
But it’s not about erasing differences. Diversity. Struggles, even. It’s about cherishing them. Valuing them. Jesus’s peace doesn’t expect us to ignore pain or conflict. Jesus’s peace doesn’t call for us to deny the things that are hard…or to be a monolith in his name. Jesus’s peace transforms difference; diversity; struggle; from things that cause pain to things that can beget and amplify love. Jesus’s peace uses the differences, diversity and struggles between us to heighten awareness and widen witness. To surprise us out of our doubt and out of our certainty just enough to show us new ways of being. New ways of loving.
Here’s the thing, friends. The event that is Jesus Christ warped our metric of what is “realistic.” It made it kind of obsolete, actually. Christ’s radical love reveals to us the exceptions to all of our rules; it empowers us to create where we would normally destroy.
The event that is Jesus Christ warped our metric of what is “realistic.” It made it kind of obsolete, actually. Christ’s radical love reveals to us the exceptions to all of our rules; it empowers us to create where we would normally destroy.
At my seminary, the Lutheran program was a pan-Lutheran program. That means that I had Missouri Synod and Wisconsin Synod peers for my entire time there, which made things difficult not only in class, but in planning Lutheran Group activities. How could we organize on campus and do good work if we couldn’t even take communion together? If these men didn’t take me seriously as the organizer of the group? I spent almost two years bristling at every question they asked me about my call; getting defensive and even dismissive of their opinions and their feedback because I deemed both harmful. Exclusive. Dangerous. All of the things they represented have hurt people I know; all of the beliefs they carried with them seemed threatening to me. I was polite to them, but nothing more. I felt a constant strain in our relationship—a constant buzz in the background.
And then, on the morning I was assigned to deliver my senior sermon in the campus chapel, I walked in to find all of them sitting in the third row from the front. That’s pretty good for Lutherans! Any kind of Lutherans! I hadn’t invited them. I didn’t want the strain—the buzz—associated with this beautiful day, and I assumed they wouldn’t want to hear the word coming from me, anyway. But here they were, of their own volition. Early. Ready. So supportive and so receptive. They focused on every word I said. They mercy-laughed at of all of my dumb jokes. They told me afterward that they had prayed for my me and my message. They told me they were proud of me. They had no agenda that morning but love.
And that changed everything for me. To this day, we disagree about what Biblical justice means. What it looks like. We disagree about major pieces of how to live a Christian life. We do not have a comfortable unity. But we don’t have strain or buzz anymore, either. We have recognized Jesus and his peace as our common bond, and it has allowed us to engage in a true way; a genuine way. Jesus’s peace is doing work on both sides and helping us to grow together.
The author of Ephesians says that Jesus has created a new humanity in himself. We’ve talked about this before, especially in our celebrations of Baptism and our Thanksgiving for Baptism rite. In Jesus, the old creature is drowned—washed away—and the new creature emerges, empowered to love without end and to make the impossible, possible. This morning, we will commit to nurturing this new humanity in Andrew John David Stevens, beloved child of God. And as we go into the world this week, we will commit to nurturing this new humanity in ourselves.
When we say the word “unity” today, let’s put an asterisk on it. Let’s think “connection.” Let’s think “change.” Let’s think of being built together, spiritually. Loving in new ways that stem from all of our beautiful particularities,
Jesus’s peace be with you.
This sermon was authored and delivered on July 18, 2021.
Helpful influences included:
“Commentary on Matthew 28:16-20” by Eric Barreto (April 12, 2015)
“#88: Preaching Series on Ephesians” episode of I Love To Tell The Story: Working Preacher Narrative Lectionary Podcast (July 3, 2021)
P A S T O R ( I S H ) 