At first blush, the small portion of the book of Acts, which we read as the second lesson this morning, serves two simple purposes. First, it gives a concise, textual account of the details of the death of the Apostle James. Second, it represents the fulfillment of Jesus' prophecy that both James and John would, indeed, "drink the cup" of Jesus' passion and death. But that's about it. As far as the lectionary's obvious commitment to linking the character James with the concept of servant leadership and "that spirit of self-denying service," (BCP 242) which we mentioned in the opening collect; this seemingly insignificant piece of scripture does little to help or hinder.

Now, it is often times said that "God is in the details", and perhaps that is why this portion of Acts has sticks in my craw every time I read it. There is something about this insignificant little reading, some kind of unexplained and unresolved tension that seems to me to be an example of the type of fertile ground that, with a little tilling, will produce much fruit.

So let's dig a little deeper, shall we. The lesson begins at the 27th verse of chapter 11. At that time prophets came down from Jerusalem to Antioch. One of them named Agabus stood up and predicted by the Spirit that there would be a severe famine over all the world; and this took place during the reign of Claudius.

Now I'm no literary scholar, but it seems to me that this piece of the story - along with the next part about the collection for the brothers and sisters in Judea - is a major league non sequitur, when juxtaposed with the portion of the text about James' death at the beginning of chapter 12. That is to say that this report about the growth of the church in Antioch doesn't have a thing to do with James, or Jesus' prediction, or even servant leadership, per se. So we must ask ourselves, what is it doing here, and more than that, how is it proclaiming the Gospel?

If we take a step back and afford ourselves just a little bit longer view, we will see that throughout this portion of his book, the author of Acts is frequently jumping back and forth between Jerusalem and the new centers of the burgeoning Christian movement. What's more, the trope associated with each of these moves is always the same - During the early years of the movement know simply as "the way", things are not going so well in Jerusalem, but they are going great everywhere else.

This kind of thinking is precisely what's at stake in today's reading. It appears as if things continue to go great for Syrian Antioch, the place where Christian are first called Christians. Following the stoning of Stephen, followers of the risen Christ had left Jerusalem and found refuge in other cities. Antioch had proven an important refuge, good soil, where, one might say, the seeds of the Good News had begun to "yield[] thirty, sixty and a hundredfold." (Mark 4:8). The community was so strong, in fact, that Prophets had come down to speak the truth of the word of God among these believers. And they had money, too. Enough that they could take up a collection for the poor and need of Jerusalem.

But, "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it!" (Matt. 27:37): not only did they need a collection, but they continued to come on hard times. Herod killed James, the brother of John, an intimate of Jesus himself, and Peter was arrested again. What starker contrast could there possibly be?

But what does it all mean? Certainly, the overall arc of the book of Acts is meant to show the Spirit-driven spread of the Gospel from Jerusalem "to the ends of the earth" (cf. Acts 1:8). But what purpose does it serve to constantly bring attention back to the plight of Jerusalem?

I have a feeling that some in the church today might suggest that the answer to that question is very simple. Why point out the downfall of Jerusalem? To highlight the palpable way in which the Spirit moves through the church. It is obvious, some would argue, that the Spirit is powerfully present in the lives of those first Christians in Antioch. Paul lists prophecy (1 Cor. 12:10) and generosity (2 Cor. 8:1-2) as gifts of the Holy Spirit, so we can take the "prophets coming down" (Acts 11:27) and the move to gather a collection (Acts 11:29-30) as tangible signs of the Spirits presence.

And it only stands to reason, therefore, that if good things are signs that the Spirit has really come to Antioch, then the troubles of Jerusalem must be signs of the Spirit's departure. Surely it is not the Spirit who dictated James' murder - even if Jesus had predicted it. Surely it was not the work of the Spirit that Peter be arrested and thrown in jail. Some one or something more sinister must be at work. The Spirit, like Elvis, has left the building.

This kind of thinking is not unfamiliar to our ears, or even our mouths, and it is certainly not reserved for the interpretation of Biblical events. It is very common for people to look around at what is going on in the world and then pick and choose "proper" locations for the Spirit based upon what seems appropriate, or even fitting to their own likes or dislikes. Seasonable weather and natural abundance show God's favor, but God is somehow absent from those who suffer from drought or disaster. The Spirit guides the voices of hands and those who vote for this or that civil program, but has nothing to do with others who feel equally committed and justified to fighting against it. Growing membership roles and budgets are sure signs of a ministry filled with the Spirit, while God evidently turns his back on Churches who are struggling with scandal or simply to make ends meet.

And lest we think too highly of ourselves and our own ways, I have recently been reminded of our own denomination's proclivity to identify the movement of the Spirit with the "wind of [popular] doctrine" (cf. Eph 4:14). Having just come through a General Convention that was filled with trial, tribulation and landmark decisions, you would be surprised at the number of people whom I have heard saying that such and such a decision - one with which they were pleased - was obviously the work of the Spirit, while some other decision which they felt was unfair or unjust was "the voice of the crowd," somehow or another divorced off from the influence or workings of the Spirit whose presence was so obvious only hours before.

And how many of us, upon finding a $10 bill on the street would celebrate the favor of "luck" or "providence" or "the Spirit," suggesting that some how or another God wanted us to have that extra sawbuck? And how many of us, upon loosing that same ten dollars would suggest that it was as a result of our own carelessness - or worse, a sign that we had done something to offend God?

My brothers and sisters, I'm afraid that the Spirit doesn't work that way. This Holy Spirit in which we believe is not some lucky-charm or magic totem to which we pray and seek to find or claim favor. It is the creative power of God working in and through the world. It is the Paraclete, the comforter, the very wisdom of God, "the Lord, the giver of Life, who proceeds from the Father and the Son. He has spoken through the prophets," (BCP 358) but not through the prophets alone. This Spirit continues to speak today, and more than that continues to work today, throughout the world, in every situation "work[ing] for good for those who love God" (Rom. 8:28).

If this is the case, if we really believe this, then we must reconsider our previous notions about the relationship between the Spirit and our observations of the world. If the Spirit has a hand in everything, as it has since the very beginning of creation, then there is nothing going on now that we can claim to be outside of its influence.

If the Spirit is that which gives power to the church, then how can we say that anything the church does is not, at least in some part, empowered by the Spirit?

If the Spirit is meant to be our comforter, then why do we limit its actions to those things with which we agree - and arguably need no comfort?

Now, I'm not suggesting the type of theology that posits a god who serves as some kind of divinely twisted puppet master, taking the lead role in everything, haphazardly causing joy and grief throughout the world. What I am suggesting is that we try harder to seek and find the Spirit acting in all things. We confess to believe that God's Spirit permeates creation, therefore, we are bound to seek its action in both the good and the bad.

Take the case of James. Where is God in the death of martyr? It would easy to say that the Spirit had abandoned James and his fellow Apostles in Jerusalem; had packed up with the stoning of Stephen and the authorities obvious rejection of "the way"; had hitched a ride with Saul-turned-Paul and moved on to greener pastures. Such a notion would certainly make us feel better about God and would help us to avoid the notion that God actually desired and took some insane pleasure in the murder of one of Jesus closest friends. No, I don't believe that either of these is the case. The Spirit lighted upon James and the rest of the Apostles on the First Pentecost (Acts 2:1-4) and it was still present with James in his final moments. The Spirit was grieved when Herod's sword fell but it remained upon James, giving him the courage and power to continue to proclaim the Gospel in the face of dire circumstances, and ensuring that the witness of James the son of Zebedee was never forgotten.

My brothers and Sisters in Christ, the Gospel for us, today - the gospel on this feast of St. James - the Gospel hidden beneath the surface of this oddly edited piece of lectionary - is a challenge to seek the Spirit.

Seek the Spirit in both abundance and want.
Seek the Spirit in both success and failure.
Seek the Spirit in both joy and tragedy.
Seek the Spirit in both the found $10 and the lost.
Seek the Spirit in both life and in death.

And the Spirit will reveal itself to you, and you will know the presence of God.

Amen