The Name

I love the Book of Acts. My heritage is in the Churches of Christ, so reading Acts is like playing a Friday night football game on your home field. The holy ground underneath my exegetical cleats feels firm and familiar. When I was in the ecclesiastic equivalent of Pop Warner football, I could quote Acts 2:38, 8:36 and 20:7. And that section at the end of chapter two, where they devoted themselves to the Apostles’ doctrine, the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer . . . man, that’s like championship Christianity.

The problem, though, with the Book of Acts (and the other 65 inspired texts) is that no matter how familiar they are, no matter how friendly they seem to your heritage or your current thinking, you are never quite safe when you read them. It’s almost like the Bible is designed to confront the comfortable and unsettle the satisfied.

The other day, I re-read the story in Acts 3:1 – 10 where Peter and John, on their way to the temple for prayer, encounter a man disabled from birth. Here they’ve been caught up in this amazing moment — thousands have been baptized, people are selling their possessions and giving their stuff away to anyone in need, gladness and sincerity are everywhere — and then they are out in the street encountering wreckage and brokenness.

The more I thought about that scene, the more I realized that if I had my way, I’d spend all my time with happy people who love to eat together and praise God. But as much as we need that, it occurred to me that living in an isolated Christian subculture is just not the mission.

So I read some more. The disabled man asked Peter for money. Makes sense. They didn’t issue disability checks in those days, so folks in this man’s condition relied on the support of family or the generosity of strangers. Here’s what doesn’t make sense: Peter says, “Silver and gold I do not have . . . .”

That’s odd, because a few verses back (2:45), the church was practically holding yard sales and giving the money to anyone who had need. But I don’t think Peter was saying, “Sorry, bub, I’m strapped right now.” I think what he was saying was more like, “I could hook you up, but money is not going to fix what is broken in your life.”

I didn’t like the next thought I had and you probably won’t either. If Peter and John weren’t content to just stay huddled up in a happy Christian commune, maybe they were equally unwilling to let the church become just a friendly neighborhood charity.

This familiar turf was beginning to feel foreign. I mean, we’re supposed to enjoy the company of fellow Christians, right? And we’re supposed to give generously and alleviate suffering? Aren’t we? But I read on.

Peter said, “Silver and gold I do not have, but what I have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.” And there it was. The Name.

Yeah, it’s a good thing to hang out with Christians and eat together with glad and sincere hearts and praise God. It’s imperative that we use our resources to alleviate suffering. But if we never get around to The Name, how are we different from a social club or a service organization?

In fact, if we never mention The Name, then people may speak well of our practice of community or our generous compassion. But it’s not supposed to be about us. That’s why, a few verses later (2:12), Peter says to the crowd that has gathered around this suddenly enabled man, “Why do you stare at us as if by our own power or godliness we made this man walk?” Then he pointed them to Jesus. The Name.

Here’s what I’m going to try to do. Try. The next time someone expresses appreciation for a kindness I show or compliments the sweet group of people I worship with every Sunday, I’m going to say, “You know, there isn’t anything really special about us. We’re a lot like you. But Jesus has done some amazing things in our lives.” I’m going to try to find some way to mention The Name.