May 4, 2025
A Living Hope
Acts 6:1-7
Rev. Caitlin C. T. Johnson
I want you to imagine a big circle on the floor right here on the chancel. The circle represents the followers of Jesus at the beginning – we could even imagine it was a circle with just the 12 disciples standing close together, watching as Jesus disappears into a cloud and ascends into heaven as David read for us last week. Now, the Spirit has been poured out at Pentecost, and the church is forming and growing, so imagine that more and more people come to join this circle. What happens? If everyone stays right where they are in the circle, there isn’t any more room. In fact, there is no way for anyone else to join. So what needs to happen? We could pile in, right? We could keep that original circle form, but start pressing into the middle of the circle, hoping that we can get everyone to fit inside. But we all know how that ends: “I can’t see!” “Everyone is stepping on my toes!” “It stinks in here!” And still, eventually, we’d run out of space. Or we could take a step back, and make the circle bigger.
In the passage from Acts today, the church was like that circle. It started small, but God kept bringing new people in. Some of these new people spoke different languages and had different
customs. And at first, some folks weren’t getting the food and help they needed because they weren’t as visible to the leaders. The disciples realized they needed to make the circle bigger – not just by moving over a bit, but by inviting new leaders to help care for everyone. They needed to expand their circle of care and leadership so that no one would be left out.
Today’s reading helps us understand the challenge that comes alongside growth like this. Before I read these verses there are a few terms to unpack. You’re going to hear me mention “Hellenists” and “Hebrews.” For today, understand “Hellenists” as Jews who speak Greek and have likely come from other places. The other group are “Hebrews” – they are Jews who speak Aramaic and grew up in Palestine — those who have been around. For our purposes today we have these two groups – insiders and outsiders, newcomers and old-timers, gathered together in community.
Listen now to God’s word:
Now during those days, when the disciples were increasing in number, the Hellenists complained against the Hebrews because their widows were being neglected in the daily distribution of food. And the twelve called together the whole community of the disciples and said, “It is not right that we should neglect the word of God in order to wait on tables. Therefore, friends, select from among yourselves seven men of good standing, full of the Spirit and of wisdom, whom we may appoint to this task, while we, for our part, will devote ourselves to prayer and to serving the word.” What they said pleased the whole community, and they chose Stephen, a man full of faith and the Holy Spirit, together with Philip, Prochorus, Nicanor, Timon, Parmenas, and Nicolaus, a proselyte of Antioch. They had these men stand before the apostles, who prayed and laid their hands on them. The word of God continued to spread; the number of the disciples increased greatly in Jerusalem, and a great many of the priests became obedient to the faith.
This is the word of the Lord. Thanks be to God.
On Easter we gathered in this place, surrounded by the beautiful garden on the chancel, full pews of new and old faces, and by the light of the risen Christ we heard how early in the morning on the first day of the week the women came to the tomb to care for Jesus’ body. We leaned in as they realized that the stone had been moved and that Jesus was not there but had been raised. We ran alongside them, as they told the others the good news: Christ is Risen! (Christ is Risen, indeed)
Even just two weeks later, that good news might for us sound like an idle tale, or perhaps we, like Peter want to see for ourselves. By now, the freshly pressed Easter clothes have wrinkled, the
flowers have withered and the petals have fallen, the joyful alleluias are barely audible over the constant nagging of May calendars or the latest headlines and alerts on our cell phones. In this
broken and fearful world – how can we embody the truth of the resurrection of Christ today for one another?
I think we can find some help in this short, often overlooked, passage in Acts which unfolds just as the church is trying to figure out how to embody resurrection life in the here and now. The text tells us that the early church wasn’t just about uplifting choruses or theological debates or communal living – there were complaints. When the Hellenists complained that their widows were being neglected, they were naming a painful truth.
In the six months since Hurricane Helene, I wonder how many complaints we’ve heard – and,perhaps voiced ourselves. “The recovery is taking too long,” “The help isn’t reaching the right
people.” And the grumbling extends beyond storm damage, doesn’t it? “My anxiety keeps me awake at night,” “I feel invisible in my workplace.” “The diagnosis doesn’t make sense. I did everything right,” “I’m exhausted by caregiving,” “My marriage feels stuck,” “I can’t find my purpose,” “My parents just don’t get it.”
Sometimes we feel like we need to run from these feelings – they’re too scary, too big. But when we look at our pain, or the pain of the world, we find that underneath it is a sturdy ground of hope. In fact, these aren’t signs of faithlessness, but of faithfulness – signs of resurrection activity – God making visible what has been invisible. Our hidden complaints being revealed for what they are: a living, lively hope, for the world and for one another.
The Greek-speaking widows were not “troublemakers” – they were witnesses. They saw what the leaders could not see. They gave voice to what threatened the very heart of their community. And remarkably, the apostles listened.
Here in western North Carolina and in our own hearts, where do we hear similar witnesses today? Perhaps it’s the family still displaced and also grappling with the unexpected death of a loved one. Perhaps it’s our undocumented neighbors who hesitate to seek help while also feeling isolated in their daily struggles. Perhaps it’s the person questioning their faith after years of prayers that seem unanswered. Perhaps it’s the young adult feeling lost between careers, or the retiree wondering how to stay relevant. These are not idle complaints – these are resurrection rumblings. The Easter light that filled this sanctuary two weeks ago doesn’t blind us to suffering – no, it illuminates it. So where are we grumbling in our own lives? About political divisions, being played out in dangerous and hate-filled ways, that seem insurmountable. About the climate crisis that threatens our mountain communities again and again. About feeling overwhelmed by the need around us. These are invitations to participate in God’s resurrection work, to join God’s kingdom work here. When hearing complaints, the disciples in Acts did something remarkable: they didn’t defend themselves, they didn’t minimize it, and they didn’t tell the widows to be patient. Instead, they expanded the circle of leadership itself. This is the resurrection pattern – death to old structures, life abundant to new possibilities.
We’ve experienced this same resurrection pattern right here in our sanctuary. In October, when many families were without water or power at home, and our building itself lacked water, we could
have simply waited to return to “normal” worship once the basics were restored. Instead, we asked ourselves: How can we make our space and worship hospitable to those going through so
much?
The answer came through literally changing the shape of our sanctuary. We moved pews to create a welcoming space for children and families, where children have clear sight lines to the chancel, the organ, the choir, and worship leaders. This wasn’t just rearranging furniture – it was expanding the circle of who belongs at the very center of our worship life.
What happened next surprised even us. Rather than finding children “distracting,” our congregation reported feeling more connected and vibrant. Older members spoke of joy in watching children dance to the organ postlude, of hearing their voices during prayers. Newer families found their home. This resurrection work – making space for those who had been on the margins – brought unexpected life to our entire community.
But incredibly, this is not the first time that this congregation has changed the shape of their sanctuary. In 2015 when this sanctuary was renovated, it began with a small group studying worship
for over a year – studying what was working and what they were missing and then a congregation that boldly moved the chancel into the center of the sanctuary, creating accessible pathways for all in the heart of their space. This too, is resurrection work.
This is how resurrection shapes our response to crisis and change: We don’t just restore what was; we allow the Spirit to create something new. Like the early church choosing leaders from among those with complaints, we’ve discovered that when we center those who’ve been marginalized, everyone benefits.
The early church’s choice of seven deacons wasn’t charity – it was structural transformation. They didn’t create a “widow distribution committee” that reported to the apostles. They ordained new
leadership with real authority…. (we’ll leave aside the fact that this new leadership didn’t include the widows themselves and was all male for another day). Similarly, by literally reshaping our worship space and including children regularly in leadership, we’ve embraced a shift in how we understand church.
This is what resurrection looks like in action: it begins by listening to the grumbling, it continues by expanding our circles of leadership and care, and ultimately it transforms not just individuals but whole systems.
Last week, David challenged us to ask one another: “What’s God doing in your life?” I want to invite you to continue asking this—but don’t just look for God in what’s working.
Pay attention to the edges, to your grumbling, to others’ complaints, maybe even where you’re angry. These aren’t distractions from God’s work; they are signposts to it. Resurrection isn’t a future hope or just a past event—it is a living hope, transforming how we see, hear, and live today. This living hope shapes us into witnesses who dare to speak up, leaders who dare to restructure, and a congregation that dares to rearrange both pews and priorities.
In his Easter address two weeks ago, Pope Francis said: “The light of Easter impels us to break down the barriers that create division and are fraught with grave political and economic
consequences. It impels us to care for one another, to increase our mutual solidarity, and to work for the integral development of each human person.”
Breaking down barriers doesn’t always begin with a sledgehammer—sometimes it begins in quiet listening. It begins with hearing discontent and letting it lead us into active participation in God’s
kingdom. These grumblings might just hold the seed of God’s next invitation to transformation. Christian hope isn’t wishful thinking nor passive waiting. It is active and living, growing stronger
through engagement with suffering. We are witnesses to resurrection like the women at the tomb, like those Greek-speaking widows, like all who speak truth to power and announce good news from the margins.
This is how we embody resurrection for one another: we hope in such a way that we turn toward suffering, not away. We join our voices to the hope-filled chorus that echoes from the dawn of
creation—when God’s Spirit hovered over the waters—and through the Israelites’ song at the Red Sea, through the prophet Isaiah’s proclamation to a people in exile: “Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you.” It echoes through Mary’s Magnificat, the widows in the early church, and into this very moment, and this very people. Each time we sing, the circle widens— as does our community, our vision, and God’s kingdom on earth.
Amen.