Readings

by Rick Dietrich

Abrupt Endings

Not too many weeks ago, one of the clues for the Sunday crossword was “Ananias, et al.”—four letters, ending in R. I knew the story, of course, from Acts—chapter 5, beginning in verse 1: “Ananias with his wife Sapphira sold a piece of land.”

But the answer puzzled me, at least at first glance: “LIAR.” For how did Ananias lie? They sell the land—verse one. Verse two: he brings the proceeds in and lays them at the apostles’ feet—true, holding back some for himself. Then Peter says, “You’ve lied. Satan’s filled your heart, and you’ve lied—against the Holy Spirit.” Peter goes on to “explain”: Ananias could have kept the land. He could have sold the land and kept the money. He could not, it seems, give God—or, is it Peter?—only a part.

Still, why is that “a lie”? He doesn’t say, “Here, take it all.” Or, “I’m as good as Barnabas.” (See chapter 4.) He only disappoints, it seems to me. But Peter thunders, “Son of Satan. Liar!” And Ananias has a heart attack and dies. He grabs his chest

. . . the will of God. Proof positive, it seems—guilty as charged.

Enter Sapphira. And she does lie. At least, when Peter asks, “You sold the land for such and such?”—naming what Ananias had brought in—she says, “Yes, such and such.” In short, she agrees. And, “Aha!” he’s trapped her, too, another lying tool of Satan. The scene repeats. She grabs her heart and falls at Peter’s feet. The young men cart her out and bury her beside her poor husband. The End. Except for the moral of the story, which seems to be something like “Don’t tread on me!” The fear of God was great, Luke says, on the whole church and everyone else who heard of these things.

The story is really about the church, as I read it, or more accurately about the making of a new religion . . . at the apostles’ feet. Before Ananias and Sapphira, Barnabas sold his field. And he lays the money—at the apostles’ feet. When Ananias sells, he lays the money at the apostles’ feet. And Sapphira’s guilty death takes place where? She falls at Peter’s feet.

I am tempted to be flippant here, to say, though I’m sure I’m one of the few, “I’ve never liked Peter much, the Rock on which the church was founded.” I might go on: “Paul could be a pain, but he was never pope.”

Of course, we don’t know that Peter was pope either. But we do know that the Way (Acts 9:2; 19:9, 23; 22:4; 24:14,22) soon gets bogged down, less concerned with movement and more with order and discipline. This concern is at the heart of the so-called First Letter of Clement, written from Peter’s Rome to Corinth in A.D. 96 or 97.

I should say right off that I have some sympathy with Clement, at least with the recognized leaders of the church in Corinth to which he is writing. In the Corinthian church are certain folks with “special spiritual gifts,” as the editors of the grand old Library of Christian Classics have it, and “in the course of the Church’s history those with [such gifts] have not seldom felt slighted if they received insufficient recognition.” Those who feel slighted tend to stir things up, often in unhelpful ways. In opposition to the envy and rivalry the “arrogant and disorderly fellows” (14:1) in Corinth are stirring up, Clement holds up the virtues of humility and order. Deep humility and, especially, strict order.

By order Clement means established authority, because the “everlasting structure” that God brought to the world (60:1), has antitypes in the body politic (chapter 61, cf. Romans 13)—and in the church. This is for our good, for “the strong must take care of the weak; [and] the weak must look up to the strong” (38:2). So, you weak, get in line. In short, “learn obedience” and “submit to the presbyters” (57:1-2). March under the “irreproachable orders” given by “our generals” (37:1-2). For they—the generals, or presbyters—have received their orders from the apostles who have received theirs from Christ, by God (chapter 42).

By humility Clement means obedience to the established authority. Christ may be the First Example of humility (chapter 16, cf. Philippians 2), but humility has since become the especial virtue of the follower, for it belongs to that “rank” (41:1). Clement’s prayer for those who in Corinth have become uppity and disruptive is that “humility . . . be granted to them” (56:1).

And to us? Do we pray for humility?

Wait. Let’s ask first: Does the story of Ananias and Sapphira or the letter of Clement give us any clues about where our Presbyterian love of order comes from? At the risk of upsetting both the generals and those who think we don’t have generals—because we’re a representative government—I’m going to say the story and the letter are instructive. Our love of order comes from the top down. At least, it comes from—it is taught us by—those who have the most to lose if order is disrupted.

And our love of humility?