Persecution, the Outcasts, and the Famous

Acts 8 is a transitional chapter in the book of Acts. We move away from a Jerusalem-focus to a wider vision of the church’s growth. Jesus promised that the apostles would be witnesses in Jerusalem, in Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth (Acts 1:8), and Acts 8 shows that surprising way that the second stage is fulfilled.

Let’s begin with a recap. We’ve seen before how the book of Acts moves back and forth between an internal focus and an external focus. We’ve also seen an escalating movement of growth (as people embrace the gospel) and opposition (as the powers that be try to shut it down). In particular, we’ve noted that there is a progression in the hostility to the gospel in terms of the motive for arresting the apostles, the response to the apostolic testimony, and the resolution to the situation.

In motive, we move from theological annoyance (Acts 4) to jealousy (Acts 5) to outright hatred and slander (Acts 6-7)

In response, we move from amazement (Acts 4) to barely controlled anger (Acts 5) to uncontrollable rage (Acts 7).

In resolution, we move from verbal warning (Acts 4) to violent warning (Acts 5) to murder by mob (Acts 7).

We’ve also noted that this hostility tracks with an increasing boldness on the part of the apostles and other Christian leaders. They speak with increasing clarity and courage about Jesus and his works, and the people and their sin. Commands to stop preaching, to stop highlighting specific sins, to cease and desist, are met with prayers to God for boldness and non-stop teaching and witness from house to house in Jerusalem. And this progression comes to a head in the show trial of Stephen, in which he retells Israel’s story and recasts the Sanhedrin as the villains. They think they’re the heroes; they identify with Joseph, Moses, and the prophets. In reality, they are the jealous brothers; they resist God’s messengers; they worship idols; they are stiff-necked, uncircumcised in heart and ears, and resisting the Holy Spirit. They are the true law-breakers and the true haters of God’s temple. And Stephen’s boldness under intense pressure wins for him the martyr’s crown, as he sees Jesus standing to acknowledge him just as he acknowledges Jesus before men, and then imitates Jesus as he dies, asking God to forgive his persecutors and entrusting his spirit to the Risen Lord Jesus.

So, to this point, we’ve highlighted that bold preaching of the good news about Jesus (his life, death, and resurrection for the forgiveness of our sins), when coupled with a deep commitment to loving one another, meeting each other’s needs, serving the body, and seeking the good of those outside, is met with two diametrically opposed responses. Some embrace this gospel and this community and this mission; they repent of their sins and bow the knee to King Jesus. Others grow annoyed and jealous and angry and full of hate. So Acts 1-7 shows us that there are two roads that emerge out of faithful gospel witness: fruitfulness and opposition, success and persecution, glad embrace and violent hatred. What Acts 8 shows us, is that even the second road is simply another path to the first. Even the hostility, opposition, persecution, and hatred are means of gospel fruitfulness in fulfilling the mission of Jesus.

In today’s message, I want us to see how 1) persecution spreads the gospel both 2) to the outcasts and 3) to the famous, and the particular kind of dangers associated with each of these.

The Persecution

In the aftershock of Stephen’s martyrdom by mob, a general persecution of the church in Jerusalem breaks out. The result of this persecution is a scattering, a diaspora of Jewish Christians throughout Judea and Samaria. The young Saul, execution witness and execution approver, is moving from house to house and dragging men and women to prison. He’s a church-ravaging rage monster (Acts 26:11, “in raging fury against them I persecuted them even to foreign cities.”) People lose their homes. People lose their jobs. Families are split up, as one spouse is hauled away to jail. This is awful stuff. These people are refugees, exiles. Earlier this week, I spent some time trying to imagine what kind of temptations I’d be experiencing if I were them. If I were in their shoes, I’d be tempted

• To blame Stephen. Why’d he have to mouth off that way? Why couldn’t he have tried dialogue and discussion? Did he really have to resort to name-calling? I mean, his actions didn’t just affect him; look at what they did to my family.

• To grumble and complain about the injustice of it all. We were just trying to help people. We were seeking their good. We were seeking their eternal good by calling them to turn from the suicide of sin and embrace the joy of forgiveness. We were the messengers of Everlasting Joy. We were calling them to eternal pleasures at God’s right hand, the deepest satisfaction of their souls. And even if they couldn’t recognize that, we also sought their temporal good through healings and generosity. We were good neighbors, good friends, good coworkers. This isn’t fair. If we do good works, people should see them and glorify God, not drag us to prison and ruin our lives.

• To despair. It’s hopeless. There’s no way it’s ever going to get better. It looked hopeful for a while, when those 3,000 people came aboard, and even after Ananias and Sapphira, believers were added to the Lord (even if they were a little afraid of the apostles). Sure, it got a little intense sometimes with the Sanhedrin, but wiser heads always prevailed, and we were growing in number because the word of God was increasing. But now, this is a whole different level. This church-ravaging rage monster named Saul—he’s never gonna stop. He’s just going to keep going from house to house to house and carry our friends and family away. This is hopeless.

Those would be my temptations if I were scattered because of persecution: blaming the loud-mouthed preacher who got me there, complaining about the injustice, despairing about the future. That’s what it means to be an exile, a refugee, right? What’s amazing in this passage is that the church (not the apostles), the church, doesn’t travel from place to place doing any of those things. Those who are scattered go about “preaching the word” (Acts 8:4), the same word that caused them to be kicked out of their homes. They don’t act like refugees; they act like missionaries. They don’t act like they got kicked out; they act like they got sent. So the first place that this passage challenges me is to ask what I would do (what I will do) when this sort of exile happens to me?

Last week the Supreme Court heard oral arguments regarding whether the Constitution mandates that states call same-sex partnerships “marriage.” In the course of those arguments, the Solicitor General of the United States said that religious schools and churches that refuse to go along with the redefinition of marriage may lose their tax-exemption (“It’s going to be an issue”). Losing the benefits of tax-exemption will threaten the existence of a lot of schools, including Bethlehem College and Seminary, where I work. What am I going to do if that day comes? But let’s not even talk about me. Some of you already walk on eggshells at your place of employment, lest anyone discover that you believe what the Bible says and what nature says about men and women and sexuality. You know that you could easily be fired, if the outraged mob sets their sights on you. So you have to ask yourself: if that should happen, if I should lose my job because I refuse to bow the knee to the cultural idols of our day, what will be my demeanor? Will it throw me into despair or blame or bitterness at the injustice? Or will I see it as an opportunity for even greater fruitfulness?

I was talking to Pastor Jonathan the other night, and he was reminding me again that “Jesus is real.” You don’t view your forced exile as a new set of marching orders unless you really believe that Jesus is real. And not just that he’s real, but that, by his design, persecution is simply another pathway to gospel fruitfulness.

Gospel to the Outcasts

Second truth, second danger: This persecution spreads the gospel to the outcasts. Philip is exhibit A of those who were scattered and went about preaching the word. He travels down to Samaria and proclaimed to them the Messiah. Now, most of you know the Jewish view of the Samaritans. The Samaritans weren’t really Jews and weren’t really Gentiles. They believed in the Pentateuch (though they had some modifications). They were closer to the Hellenistic Jews, who were often viewed with suspicion by Hebraic Jews. They didn’t worship in the temple at Jerusalem, but instead at Mt. Gerizim. The Jews regarded them with disdain and contempt. They’re half-breeds, they embrace a syncretized religion (Simon Magus being a good example); in short, they were outcasts. And so, if you’ve just been cast out by the Jewish leaders, where should you preach? To other outcasts. So Philip preaches Christ, he wins a hearing for the gospel because of his words and because of the signs that he did (healings and exorcisms), and the result is much joy in the city of the outcasts. In v. 12, we’re told that some of them believed the good news about the kingdom of God and the name of Jesus, and they’re baptized.

So this is good news. God is working this persecution together for the good of his people. Saul meant evil against the church, but God meant it for good, the salvation of the Samaritan outcasts. So what would be the danger here? The danger would be a two-tiered church. The danger would be that Hebraic Christians wouldn’t accept these half-breeds into fellowship, that the Jewish contempt for Samaritans would arise in the church as well. On the flip side, the Samaritans equally disdain the Jews. Their stories mock the temple in Jerusalem as a dung-hill. They are accustomed to ignoring the commands and exhortations from Jerusalem. So there’s a real danger for a divided church here.

How does God prevent this danger? By withholding the Holy Spirit until the apostles show-up. We’re told in v. 16 that the Spirit had not yet fallen on any of them, even though they were baptized in Jesus’s name. So Peter and John come down, lay hands on these new Samaritan Christians, and the Spirit falls (I assume in a similar manner to Pentecost, with signs and tongues). Now some Christians see this as evidence that it’s normal for people to be converted, to believe the gospel, and then some time later to have a second experience of the Holy Spirit. First you believe and are baptized in water, then later, you’re baptized with the Holy Spirit. I think that’s a misreading. Instead, we should think about this event in light of three other similar events in Acts. In Acts 2, the Spirit falls on the apostles and the church in Jerusalem. In Acts 8, the Spirit comes upon the Samaritans some time after their conversion through apostolic laying on of hands. In Acts 10, the Spirit falls on the Gentiles (Cornelius) immediately when they believe in response to the preaching of Peter. In Acts 19, Paul encounters some disciples of John the Baptist who have not even heard of the Holy Spirit. Paul preaches to them about Jesus, and then they receive the Spirit when Paul lays his hands on them.

So twice the Spirit falls immediately, without laying on of hands, and twice it falls some time after the disciples have believed. So how do we make sense of this? Are the Pentecostals correct that sometimes baptism of the Holy Spirit happens at conversion, and sometimes it happens later? I think all four of these can be explained in light of Acts 1:8: “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses [notice the three regions] in Jerusalem (Ch. 2-7) and in all Judea and Samaria (Ch. 8), and to the end of the earth (Ch. 10, 11, 19).” And then notice who the immediate audience is: it’s the apostles, God’s authorized spokesmen. In order to prevent the fragmentation of the early church and to ensure that everyone recognizes the authority of the apostles, God gives the Samaritan Pentecost through apostolic hands.

To summarize, the gospel comes to the outcasts of Samaria and they embrace it. But in order to ensure that there aren’t two churches (one Jewish, and one Samaritan), God waits to pour out the Holy Spirit upon the Samaritans until the apostles arrive to lay on their hands. This ensures that we have one church, made up of Jews and Samaritans, and that this church is overseen by God’s apostles and united by one Spirit.

Now, what application can we draw from this? In our day, we don’t receive the Spirit through the laying on of hands. But we do receive it through the preaching of the Scriptures, the apostolic word. There is one faith, once for all delivered to the saints. And, what’s more we work hard to prevent a two-tier church, a church for the rich and a church for the poor. Outcasts, misfits, and refugees are welcome here at Cities Church, because there is one Spirit who binds us together under one gospel.

Gospel to the Famous

But the gospel isn’t just for outcasts. It’s for the famous as well. Simon Magus is famous in Samaria. He was a prominent magician who “amazed the people” (8:9), saying that he was somebody great. Everyone in Samaria, from the least to the greatest, echoed Simon’s assessment of himself, calling him “the Power of God.” Later church tradition says that the Samaritans worshiped Simon as a deity (perhaps showing further evidence of their syncretism). Simon is the kind of guy who gets noticed. His magic is impressive. People know his name. He has a reputation. He’s the local celebrity.

And then Philip shows up, preaching the good news of the kingdom, proclaiming the Messiah, and validating the message with signs and wonders. Notice the difference: Simon does amazing magic and says that he is great. Philip performs great signs, and says that Jesus is great. But when the people bow the knee to Jesus and pass through the waters of baptism, Simon is right there with them. Now, given how the story plays out, the question we all want to know is: was Simon’s conversion genuine? Was his faith real? Or was he a false convert? On the one hand, we’re told that he, just like the others, “believed,” and submitted to baptism, and attached himself to Philip (perhaps in a discipleship relationship). On the other hand, Peter says that his heart is not right before God, that he has no part in this matter, that he is in the gall of bitterness and bond of iniquity, and that he needs to repent of his wickedness, so that God may (may!) forgive him.

So which is it? I think this is another case like Ananias and Sapphira where Luke doesn’t answer that question directly. And the reason is that Simon is supposed to unsettle us. If we knew for sure that he wasn’t a Christian, then we could comfort ourselves that we’re not like him. If we knew for sure that he was a Christian, then we could comfort ourselves when we are like him. It’s the ambiguity that is meant to challenge us. So what should we see about Simon?

First, we initially see a problem in the juxtaposition of the people’s attention. Whereas all the people used to pay attention to Simon (8:10-11), they now pay attention (8:6) to Philip and embrace his gospel. This at least clues us in to the fact that Simon likes being Somebody.

Second, Simon shows us that people can see something real and true in the gospel and still not get it. Simon believes and is amazed (8:13) but notice that we’re not told what he believes in and what he’s amazed at. Is he amazed at Philip, or at Jesus? Is he amazed at the gospel, or amazed at power, and he’s willing to embrace any message if it gets him closer to it?

Third, Simon shows us that it’s necessary for us to repent of our wickedness. Peter says, “Repent of this wickedness of yours… of the intentions of your heart” (8:22). Generic repentance won’t cut it. It’s not enough to agree that people should repent. It’s not even enough to agree that you, in principle, should repent. You must actually repent of the sins that separate you from God. These sins make our hearts crooked. They enslave us and keep us in bondage. So whether it’s sexual immorality, or addiction to drugs or alcohol, whether it’s self-righteousness, or fear of man, or power worship, or money worship—whatever your wickedness is, the gospel offers one way out: turn away from it and receive the gift of God.

Finally, what’s the danger that Simon reveals for us? It’s the danger of compromising the message, of being seduced by money and power. For a people who have just lost everything through persecution, this is no doubt a real temptation. Simon’s money would help put food on the table. Perhaps Simon’s celebrity can help restore some of our own reputation. This is why Christians get excited when celebrities embrace the gospel. We think that their fame and position in society will give them a platform for the gospel. And we’re not wrong. Celebrities do have platforms, and they can be used for gospel fruitfulness. But the danger is that we’ll value that celebrity platform more than the gospel itself, that we’ll treat the gift of God as something to be bought with money or fame. But Peter has none of it. Peter refuses to alter the message or compromise his methods in order to win favor with the famous.

So the bottom line: Jesus is real. Jesus is so real, that when persecution comes, your exile is actually a new mission. Jesus is so real, that he will use persecution to fulfill his mission to the outcasts and unite his church by his Holy Spirit under the preaching of the apostles. And Jesus is so real, that even the powerful, the great, and famous are offered hope, if they will simply repent and believe.

That’s what this table is all about. At this table, we all come together: rich and poor, outcasts and famous, black and white, old and young. Here at this table God gathers us up as one body, in one Spirit, in one faith, sharing one meal together, before he scatters us to the four winds so that we can be fruitful wherever he sends us. And so I invite you to come. This table, representing the body and blood of Christ, is a gift from God. You couldn’t purchase it if you wanted to. It’s entirely free because Jesus is real.