Corinth Reformed Church
150 Sixteenth Avenue NW
Hickory, North Carolina 28601

Robert M. Thompson, Pastor
December 14, 2008
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Note This sermon was originally published with numerous footnotes giving background into the text, but the script generating these sermons for the web doesn't handle footnotes. For the sake of time, the sermon is published at the moment without the footnotes.

Master story teller

I have always loved stories -- hearing them and telling them. Stories fascinate me because people intrigue me.

He was a master story teller. I never personally met him, perhaps the greatest disappointment of my life. How I would love to have listened to him telling one of his stories! He and I were contemporaries. I actually did walk the ground he traveled -- but missed seeing him by about a week!

For about thirty years, the desire to write his story grew inside me. I collected his stories -- stories about him, stories he told, waiting for the right time and place to put it all together. The time was right when the compulsion was inescapable.

Writing his story would be the ultimate gift I could give him. The occasion that prompted me to write it was the plea of my dear friend, a Lover of God. "You're not getting any younger," he said. "You have so much in your heart and in your notes that will die when you die unless you put your gifted pen to paper and record it for posterity. Write the story, Doctor!"

Before I tell you more of his story, perhaps I will tell you mine.

Physician and proselyte

I was born in Antioch, Syria, about three hundred miles north of Jerusalem. As a boy, colors captivated me. Language interested me. History intrigued me. But people mesmerized me. I could sit in the marketplace for hours and just watch them -- old and young, rich and poor, male and female. They rarely knew they were being observed.

When they laughed, I laughed. When they became angry, I wondered why. Those whom life had seemingly passed by caught my special attention -- the blind man begging for a few scraps of bread, the impoverished mother pleading for extra grains of wheat, the paralyzed man who dragged himself across the rocky street.

I began to wonder if something more could not be done to help those who suffered physically. So I pursued the field of medicine. I became fascinated with my own body. What caused my hands and feet to move when I willed them to do so? How do meats and vegetables provide energy? What causes illness? I threw myself into learning the secrets of good health -- clean water, uncontaminated food, regular exercise -- and the causes and cures of disease, seen and unseen. I wanted to help people.

My chosen profession offered even greater opportunities to study people, especially when they are at their worst -- in pain, hopeless, miserable. It aafforded social settings among the educated and the wealthy. Dinner parties gave me opportunity to listen to stories, to ask questions, to watch the comfort and the misery of people up close. Women fascinated me -- their physical charms, their complexity of feeling. I loved being around them -- but somehow never found one I wanted to marry.

Medicine also led me to religion. My own family practiced a kind of superstitious fear of the unseen that they called their religion. But worshiping one's ancestors, or the farmers' god, or the god of this city or that mountain provided neither meaning nor explanation. I became drawn to the Jewish understanding of one God and Creator of all. Only that God could have created the human body and soul with its intricate design.

I loved the Jewish sense of hope and anticipation -- always longing for and believing in the promise of a coming Messiah. So I became a "God-fearer," a convert to Judaism.

It was my first pilgrimage to Jerusalem as a proselyte that introduced me to one whose story would become my life passion. I arrived three days before Pentecost , only to learn later that Jesus had ascended to heaven one week before I arrived. How close I was!

Pentecost, A. D. 30

Jerusalem was crowded for the feast, mobbed by pilgrims from every corner of the empire. The overwhelming majority of non-residents were Jewish by race, but Greek in language and culture. They had been "Hellenized" from birth, so they looked different and spoke differently from the local Jews in the mother city. I was in the minority within that group -- a Jew by choice, not by birth. I wanted to learn all I could learn about the city of David, about the temple, about the law of the God I had chosen.

But the passion in the city that day was not about the law. It was about a Jewish rabbi who had been crucified by the Romans just before Passover. One of his disciples, a man named Peter, was preaching near the temple, proclaiming that this Jesus had accomplished miracles, and then had been handed over to the civil authorities by the Jewish high priests. He had been nailed to a cross, but had been raised from the dead by the power of God. From that time on, the story of his suffering became primary to me.

Amazingly, those of us from Syria, Egypt, Asia, and Mesopotamia all heard Peter speak in our native tongue! I was convinced. I was among the 3,000 who were baptized that day in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of my sins.

Thus began my life of intrigue with the story of Jesus. I stayed in Jerusalem for weeks, breaking bread with Jesus' followers and listening to the stories of those who had heard him teach, who had watched him heal. I met a man who was in a crowd of 5,000 that Jesus fed from five loaves and two fish. I met a woman who had shattered an alabaster jar to anoint his feet at the home of a Pharisee. I met a child who had sat on his lap. I heard about stories he told -- a good Samaritan, a lost coin, a farmer who scattered seed in different kinds of soil.

Every story I heard confirmed that his passion was my passion -- people. He loved them, heard them, touched them, healed them. He reached out to outcasts, to Samaritans, to Gentiles, to sinners, to the poor. His inner strength came from the Holy Spirit and from his life of prayer with the Father.

But I couldn't stay in Jerusalem. Times became hard for those who were followers of Jesus. As a physician, my profile was too prominent for my safety. I continued my career by traveling to Greece, where the science of medicine had its origin.

With Paul

I secured a position as the household physician of a wealthy Roman official in Neapolis in Macedonia on the Grecian coast. His name, Theophilus, means "lover of God." How he got that name at first I do not know, but it wasn't long before my absorption with Jesus spilled over, and Theophilus began to hear the stories I had heard about Jesus. He became a lover of God in the truest sense, and shared my longing to know and tell the stories of Jesus -- Messiah of the Jews, Savior of the world.

Theophilus and I traveled together from time to time on business. One of our trips took us across the Aegean Sea to the western coast of Asia Minor, a town called Troas. There we heard that Jesus' most-traveled ambassador -- a Jewish convert named Saul who also went by his Roman name, Paul -- had arrived in the town. We went to hear him speak.

Paul had been traveling around Asia when his way forward was suddenly obstructed. About the same time, he had a vision of a man who said, "Come over into Macedonia and help us." Paul always said the man in his vision looked just like me! Whether for that reason or another, the bond that formed between us was instant. We were both followers of the Way, unmarried, well-educated, articulate, and anxious to spread the Gospel. Another factor that bonded us: Paul was often ill, and I was a doctor. He would need me.

Theophilus and I traveled with Paul across the Aegean with a stop in the island city of Samothrace and landed in our town of Neapolis. Those early days of traveling together brought many hours of conversation as I pumped him for first-hand reports from Peter and James and other eyewitnesses of Jesus that he had met. I began taking notes and inquiring if others had written of Jesus.

When Paul set out for Philippi, I asked leave of Theophilus to travel with Paul. Our time there was short and hard. Paul and Silas were arrested and jailed. He insisted I return home.

It would be two years before Paul returned to Macedonia. There I rejoined a growing itinerant team. We sailed back across the Aegean, and met the elders of Ephesus in the coastal Asian city of Miletus. On that visit Paul sounded more and more like Jesus himself, convinced that he had to go to Jerusalem to suffer or even die. The parting was emotional for all of us. A dark cloud hung in the air.

From that point until Paul reached Rome, I never left his side -- except when he was in prison. I was his personal physician, his secretary, and his pupil. We sailed past Cyprus to Tyre, then on to Ptolemais and Caesarea. There we met Philip, an early evangelist, and his four prophet-daughters. More stories of Jesus entered my notes. For the first time I realized that the story that had to be told was not only of Jesus' time on earth, but of how his followers continued to do his work and speak his words after he ascended.

Ignoring further warnings, Paul went on to Jerusalem, where we met with James and the other elders. Paul shared his stories; I listened for theirs. Stories of Jesus, stories of the church.

Then Paul was arrested and imprisoned for two years , most of it back in Caesarea. When cut off from Paul, I spent my days tracking down and interviewing every eyewitness of Jesus' life and impact I could find. I also visited all the places I could connected with the life of Jesus. I wanted to feel what it was like to sit in the Garden of Gethsemane at night, to look out from the pinnacle of the temple.

There was one interview I determined must take place. I needed to find Jesus' mother, Mary. If I were to write a credible story of Jesus, I had to know about his whole life, not just his public life. What was he like as a boy? Where was he born? Was there anything special about him at the beginning? I did find her -- but let me return to that in a moment.

Eventually Paul appealed to Rome, and I was permitted to accompany him. Before we left Caesarea, I wrote Theophilus to tell him of our impending journey, and told him of my rich encounters with Jesus' followers. I remained with Paul on the voyage across the Sea, including the memorable storm and shipwreck. You can imagine that saving my notes from the water was almost important as saving my life.

Finally we arrived in Rome where Paul lived out his final days under house arrest, but still free to speak and write. Our bond as brothers only grew. We were different. He's not so much fascinated with a story as he is with logical argument. He reasons toward truth; I want vivid accounts of how truth changes people. We did not always agree , but I loved that man, and he loved me.

While I stayed in Rome, I met Mark, Peter's disciple, who was so intrigued with my interest in Jesus' life, he entrusted me with a copy of his own scroll! About that time, Theophilus wrote to inquire of my health and my journeys. A response to his letter required more than the usual courtesy. This lover of God and of Jesus had demonstrated a remarkable patience with my travels.

My return letter to Theophilus became a full scroll, an orderly account of what I had heard from eyewitnesses and servants of Jesus. In contrast to Mark, I wanted to write Jesus' story particularly for Greeks to read -- Gentiles who had little knowledge of Jewish heritage and customs. A second scroll followed soon thereafter with the continuing story of the Holy Spirit's work as the message of Jesus spread in Jerusalem, Judea and Samaria, and on to Asia, Greece, and Rome.

The best interview

Let me return to the story of my favorite interview. The time with Mary provided a unique insight into the person of Jesus. She had a presence about her, a dignity, a saintliness. She was humble, yet wise. She was the kind of person who could convey openness and warmth, yet guardedness and confidence, all at the same time. I instantly knew I could entrust her with my most private thoughts, and she would protect them. We bonded from the moment we sat down to talk.

Well into her seventies , her mind was sharp. She spoke of the cross as if she were watching his suffering unfold in the present. Her face pained as she saw the blood once again stream down his face, as she experienced the black darkness, as she heard her boy say, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit," and watched him take his breath. She personally heard a nearby centurion exclaim, "He was God's Son!"

I listened and wrote as she related so many captivating stories of him. Hours seemed like minutes. She corroborated the accounts of others while adding vivid detail only a mother might remember. Then she paused. It seemed she had almost run out of stories to tell.

I wanted a moment and then said, "Mary, there is more hidden inside you. Give me the ultimate gift. Tell me about the beginning. Tell me the stories only you can tell. How did it all begin?"

At that moment I could tell on her face that I had just asked her to pull out a locked box from the attic of her mind, dust it off, retrieve the key, and open it to expose treasures that had been hidden for more than six decades. For so many reasons, the time had never seemed right for her to tell her story. Now she realized if she didn't open the box, its treasure may buried forever.

I had gained her trust. And the stories began to spill out -- in no particular order, like water through a compromised dam. Angels, songs, shepherds, travel from Nazareth, the manger, a newborn's cry. Fear, hope, joy, peace, unimaginable strength from a supernatural source. Chills went down my spine as I realized I was hearing things no one else had heard.

"Why have you never told anyone these stories before?" I asked.

She smiled. "It wasn't time. He himself often told those who experienced his true nature close up. Don't tell anyone. Not yet."

"Is that the only reason?"

Another wry smile. "Who would believe me?"

"I will. Tell me more."

"The most implausible aspect of this story is one known only to Joseph, Jesus, and me -- oh, and my cousin Elizabeth -- until this moment."

I sensed this was a moment of self-revelation I should not rush. I waited for Mary to speak again.

"Joseph was not Jesus' father," she said slowly, looking to see how I might react. I said nothing. I wasn't sure what might come next, and whether it might unravel the entire mystery and wonder of what I had discovered Jesus to be. How could the Messiah be an illegitimate child born of extramarital passion? I wanted the rest of the story, so I said nothing of what had just entered my mind.

"I was a young girl of fourteen. I was pledged to Joseph, which was a binding contract between him and my family. To break the engagement would have been divorce. To have had relations with another man would have been considered adultery.

"In my innocence, I knew of nothing except to anticipate marriage and a union with my husband. One night as I lay in my room trying to sleep, a bright light filled the room. From the midst of a light, a voice spoke. 'Greetings, blessed girl! The Lord is with you.'"

"I was frightened, but he spoke reassurance to me. He said to me, 'You will be with child and bear a son. You are to call him Jesus. He will be the Son of the Most High, and he will rule Jacob's house as king forever.'

"I didn't understand. Did he mean after my marriage to Joseph? 'How can this happen?' I asked him. 'I am a virgin.'

"'The Holy Spirit, the power of God Almighty, will come upon your body. The child you bear will be the Son of God. He is God's ultimate gift to the world. If my words seem unbelievable, you should know that your cousin Elizabeth, long past child bearing age, is six months pregnant. No word God speaks is impossible.'

"Then my ultimate gift to him will be to serve."

I have often wondered how it came to be that I was chosen to hear her story, to hear so many stories, and to record them. So many factors made it possible for me to research and write -- my early interest in people, my timely journey to Jerusalem for Passover, my patron Theophilus, my travels with Paul, my rescue at sea, and so much more. So much of it was beyond my control, but bundled together it became my passion.

God extends to each of us his favor that can turn hardship into opportunity, problem into blessing, setback into the ultimate gift. Like Mary, my ultimate gift is to be in his service.

Copyright 2008 by Robert M. Thompson, Pastor. Unless otherwise indicated, Scriptures quoted are from The Holy Bible, New International Version, Copyright 1978 by New York International Bible Society.