Wingham United Church

April 19, 2026

Part of the Story

Acts 2:14a, 36-41

Luke 24:13-35

     I recently sent a letter to the executive of Western Ontario Waterways Regional Council, expressing my disappointment and objection to them planning our spring meeting for the last weekend in May. Western Ontario Waterways expects me to be in a business meeting on the morning of Sunday, May 24, which is Pentecost. I told them that, for the first time in my ministry, I would not be attending this meeting. It was, in my opinion, a liturgical occasion too important for me to abandon my Communities of Faith and urged them to take this into consideration as they plan next year’s gathering.

     How can I lead worship these weeks when the scriptures so deliberately build a bridge between Easter and Pentecost, then be away when the story reaches its climax? You see, this week, like last week, our scriptures connect Easter and Pentecost. The gospel reading recounts yet another appearance of the Risen Christ after his crucifixion, while our reading from Acts continues from last week Peter’s sermon on the day of Pentecost. We are being drawn forward to this special day when the gap between God and humanity closed forever, when the Holy Spirit became part of each and every one of God’s children. Being absent on that day would be like reading an entire novel but leaving out the final chapter.

     But we don’t read scripture as we would a novel. For scripture to make a real difference in our lives, we must engage it more deeply. I read once that there are three levels to studying scripture, and one way to really study a passage of scripture is to read the same passage from three perspectives. The first is to read it as a literal historical document. Studying it from this point of view is informative but also helps set the stage. Remember that none of this was written to people living in our time and culture, so studying scripture from a historical perspective also involves understanding the culture, events, and even geography of the time during which it was written. The history of the Israelites is also the history of Christianity, so this is our history too, and to fully integrate our faith, we need to know where we come from.

          The second level is the more spiritual interpretation. These scriptures were all written to teach us something, so beyond the literal, historical level is the question, “What lesson was the author trying to teach with this story?” At this stage it is important to remember that even some of the stories we read that appear to be historical accounts may have been written as allegory or parable to teach ethical, moral, or spiritual principles rather than as accurate historical accounts of real events. This was a very popular way of teaching these lessons in Ancient Near East culture. Think of all the times Jesus used parable to teach the crowds something new about the Kingdom of Heaven. Sometimes it is hard to decipher which was meant to be read literally and which is intended as parable, so studying scripture from both perspectives ensures we get the most from it.

          The third perspective is the application level. How does this lesson apply to my life in the here and now, and how should I respond? This is where it all comes to fruition. Without application, all we have previously learned from our study is interesting but bears no fruit. It does us and the world no real benefit.

     What this means to me is that scripture is not God's story or Jesus' story, or even history. It is our story. Each time we read our Bible we are invited to see ourselves in the story. This is the ancient Hebrew tradition of midrash. In midrash, you don’t just read the story. You imagine the story as if you are one of the characters, or perhaps an unnamed onlooker, an eyewitness to the events as they unfold. This gives you a chance to use your imagination to fill in the blanks and wonder how it must have actually felt to be there and how you might have responded if you had lived it.

          One of my favourite stories to view through the eye of midrash is the appearance of Christ to the disciples on the Emmaus Road. These two traveling companions are unknowns. This isn't Peter and John walking along, people whom we already know a lot about and suppose even more. We know nothing about Cleopas, and we don’t even know the name of his companion. And that, perhaps, works in our favour.

          It makes it easier to put ourselves in the sandals of the unknown companion. I can imagine myself walking along, deep in conversation with my friend, talking about all the things we had seen and heard, wondering if what the women had said about the tomb being empty is true and speculating on what might have happened to Jesus’ body. I can imagine myself encountering this stranger along the way who doesn’t seem to know what we are talking about and wondering “Where the heck did he come from and how is it that he doesn't know about these things that are so heavy on our minds?” Then I imagine feeling a sense of hope and warmth building inside me as this stranger begins connecting the dots of my faith story, explaining how one thing has led to another and another and yet another until here we are, walking along the road as if all of history has led us to this one inevitable moment in time.

          I can imagine how my friend and I would realize in retrospect how our hearts had been lifted and warmed as this wise stranger had opened our eyes to truths we had somehow missed, and how we had been affirmed in our belief in all that we had heard because something deep within us knew it was true. I can imagine that I would never again eat a simple piece of bread without remembering that day and all the things that had been shown to me the day I walked with Christ unawares.

          This use of the imagination after the other levels of study had been completed gives us a whole new way of engaging scripture and integrating it into our understanding of our faith.

          I think a similar sense of being warmed from within must have happened seven weeks later at Pentecost. Remember now, the disciples and their closest fellow congregants are once again hidden away in a secret location to share in a feast – out of the public eye. It isn't safe to be seen gathered like this. Church is a dangerous place and people to be. And yet, they gathered anyway. Pentecost was too important to ignore. Just as they had gathered with Jesus before his death for these important religious occasions, they are gathered here once again.

          Perhaps, in the backs of their minds, they are hoping for another appearance of Christ – what theologians call a Christophany – like that experienced by the friends on the road to Emmaus. This time, of course, was different. Something did appear, but it wasn’t Jesus. Luke's description of tongues of fire settling upon each remind me of how Cleopas and his companion felt as if their hearts were burning as Christ spoke to them on the road. Something special has happened, and it has restored their hope, their faith, and their courage.

          Thank God for that courage because that sound of roaring wind has betrayed their secret location. Their tiny little upper room is now the focus of attention for a crowd of thousands. And each one hears the good news proclaimed in their own dialect. It is unimaginable! It’s like the Babel story in reverse. They start to grasp for explanations that will set their logical, reasonable minds at ease. Too much wine for breakfast is the best some of them can come up with. Others are just too stunned to make sense of it at all.

          Then Peter steps forward and begins to preach. He speaks, and thousands hang on his words. When you read Peter's sermon, as Luke recorded it, it seems like a pretty dry bit of preaching. But like Jesus on the road to Emmaus, he reminds the people of their common history, quoting the prophets and psalms they all know so well, connecting the dots throughout their story to explain how it has all been part of this great plan, how one thing leads to another and another and another, until it all makes sense.

          I can imagine myself as part of that crowd. Listening carefully as this fisherman from Galilee retells episodes of my history, drawing the web that connects them all until the only truth that makes any sense is that these disciples had been right all along. This Jesus they talk about is our Lord and Messiah. Again, I feel my heart begin to burn within me as I realize this truth and begin to accept it.

          Then Peter drops a bomb. This is who Jesus is, and we crucified him. Not the crowds at Passover, not the temple leaders, not Pilate or Herod or Rome. Me, and those standing with me. Peter reveals all these things so that I will understand who Jesus is and what we have done to him.

          At this point, you would think people would turn away. In our day and age, many people do. I didn't drive any spikes. I didn't weave a crown of thorns. I didn't even realize who this man was at the time. I was just going along with the crowd. Now, weeks later, this fisherman accuses me of this. How dare he? Why would people stand there and continue to listen? Perhaps some did turn away, in anger, or guilt, or simply disbelief. But thousands stayed and were rewarded.

          You see, Peter doesn’t condemn his listeners. He invites them. Despite what happened to Jesus – despite the role I played in it, there is still hope. If we will declare our belief, not just in our hearts, but publicly, and demonstrate our sorrow and repentance for what has happened by being baptized in the name of the one we have been accused of killing, forgiveness is ours. Despite the terrible thing we have just been accused of being part of, the one to whom it was done will forgive and bless.

          And three thousand people accepted the invitation. I can only imagine two ways this happens. Either Peter's sermon was a whole lot more compelling than Luke recounts, although he does write that Peter said much more than is written here, or that same fire that burned in the hearts of Cleopas and his friend, and burned in the hearts of the disciples as they sat together at the breakfast table, also burned in the hearts of those thousands who had been drawn to this place. They recognized the truth because of the way it made them feel. The Spirit opened their hearts, eyes, and minds to a truth that logic and philosophy could never accept.

          That is how I know my faith is real and right. Not because it makes sense or can be proven scientifically or historically. But because of the times I feel my heart burning within me, and I know that the Spirit is real and present. These stories are my stories, and they are your stories too.

Rev. Colin Snyder, MDiv