October 4, 2026, Living Waters Church
Watch or listen to this sermon here.
This summer a friend invited a group of us to spend a weekend at her family’s lake house. We’ve known each other for years and taken other trips together, the group evolving into that special category of friends – old friends. The weekend promised relaxation, fun, time at ease with trusted people. We collaborated on road trip playlists and planned the details as the anticipation toward the weekend grew. Years ago, one of these same friends shared a piece of wisdom her mother had once passed on to her: the secret to a good life is to always have something to look forward to. That pairs well with one of Hemingway’s famous insights: never go on trips with anyone you don’t love.
But a few days before we set off, a nasty little question weaseled its way into the back of my mind. What if our host, the one whose family owned the lake house, had been more liberal with the invite than I first assumed? Friend circles are rarely static, and it was not beyond the realm of possibility that others would join. I feared any addition to our group would change the whole dynamic of the weekend. Other people could be so inconvenient. American author and angler John Gierach once wrote, “There are two types of fishermen: the guys in your party, and the assholes.”
Rather than ruminating, I risked texting my friend. “Will it just be our group this weekend, or are others joining?” “It’s just us!” she replied. Relief washed over me like the warm waters of that summer lake. We’d have the place to ourselves, and my weekend would remain comfortable. I wouldn’t have to share my time or my friends. Even though it had been shared with us, we wouldn’t have to share the lake house.
There’s nothing wrong with wanting quality time with friends or family. Our group had a refreshing weekend, which I needed more than I thought. But my exclusionary attitude also betrayed an all too familiar human tendency: tribalism. Us and them. Our group and their group. My people and those people. The people in other fishing parties.
A (re)newed Covenant
One of the motifs in the book of Acts is a breakdown of an us and them mentality. Once the gospel spreads beyond Jerusalem it becomes quickly apparent that Jesus meant what said about his good news and his kingdom: everyone should hear and everyone should be invited. There was no room for tribalism in the kingdom of God.
It’s hard to overstate how challenging this was for many in Jesus’ immediate people group, the Israelites, as well as many other groups we meet in the New Testament. The LORD God had always been the Israelite God, their relation to God defined by historic covenants. The Mosaic law spelled out exactly how the Israelites should relate to God and others. And if you weren’t an Israelite, you could join in, but only by abiding by clear boundaries and expectations. Even then, non-Israelites were always confined to something of an outer circle. Over time, cultural grooves deepened and traditions grew, segregating further. It would not be a stretch to say that the average first century Israelite lived with something of an us and them mentality.
But, as recorded in the gospels, through Jesus, God had come good on his ancient promise to draw all people to himself. God’s arrival in Jesus meant that the covenants between God and his people had been renewed. There was still a way in, still a way folks were directed to relate to God, but that was now through Jesus himself.
Jesus’ life, death and resurrection had changed everything. Adherence to the law was no longer the way in, relation to Jesus was. The Israelites had a long history with God, but their heritage was no guarantee of admission. They would need to recognize Jesus himself as the LORD their God come among them, accept his renewal of their covenants, and respond accordingly. Not only this, they’d soon learn that the way in, Jesus, was the same door, the same way in, for everyone. Israelite or not, relation to Jesus made you a child of God and assured you of a future hope.
This was a seismic a shift for everyone, including those who knew Jesus best, as we see here in Acts 10. Even Peter, team captain of Jesus’ hand-picked twelve disciples, at times struggled to acclimate. Paul, one of the brightest Jewish minds of his time, spent years working out the implications of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection. In his letter to a group of believers in what is now modern-day Turkey, Paul writes possibly the most historically influential paragraph in western history:
“…the law was our guardian until Christ came that we might be justified by faith. Now that this faith has come, we are no longer under a guardian. So in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.” (Galatians 3)
What Paul spells out here meant a drastic learning curve for Israelite and non-Israelite alike. Here in Acts 10, we’re on the road with Peter who was somewhere near ground zero. Even though Peter was in Jesus’ inner circle, had been commissioned by Jesus, even playing witness to Jesus, he still faced a steep learning curve. Much of that catching up would be to adjust his cultural and traditional outlook to fit the new categories Jesus had defined.
Which is why in Acts and elsewhere in the New Testament we meet people wrestling to work out the implications of the gospel, of their relation to God, and by extension their relations to one another. So relevant and revolutionary are Jesus and his gospel, we’re still wrestling now. Jesus puts us together with God in such proximity we’re called God’s beloved children. And then Jesus puts us together with others which is both wonderful and awkward. Believers are longer enemies of God or one another, but adopted children of God, and therefor make up a family of adopted sisters and brothers.
To some degree we take this now for granted after two millennia of learning. Which isn’t to say we’ve got it sorted. Any believer with a shred of integrity will admit they struggle to get their head, let alone their hearts, fully around the gospel. Still, Peter didn’t have our vantage point, and so here in Acts 10 we’re witnessing the ground zero implications of the gospel’s spread. The first believers are fumbling their way through this new Jesus-shaped reality arriving in their old world.
The Story
In Acts 10 we find Peter in Joppa, which sat on the Mediterranean Sea, about fifty kilometres northwest from inland Jerusalem. He’d been visiting small, scattered groups of believers who had likely left Jerusalem because of the persecution they’d faced there. Asked to visit by a couple of groups in different towns, Peter sees remarkable things had happen, like healings, even someone raised from the dead. Many people then heard the gospel and turned to Jesus. Peter was both shepherding these early believing communities but also found himself on the edge of God drawing more into his orbit. By an unprecedented work of his Spirit, God is very much ahead of Peter and the first believers in this way. This is where we left off last spring at the end of Acts 9.
So Peter is staying in Joppa at a tanner’s house. A tanner cleaned and prepared hides of animals for all sorts of uses. Peter was already growing comfortable with God’s new creation landscape, as staying in a tanner’s home placed him in proximity to unclean and dead animals, off limits under the law. The story goes that Peter was on the roof praying, got hungry, and as he was waiting for his meal, falls into a kind of trance. Scholars have noted that Peter’s stay in the tanner’s house, his waiting for lunch, and this odd vision all appear connected. Peter sees a sheet lowered, loaded up with all sorts of unclean animals avoided by good Jewish boys like himself. He’s told three times to get up, kill and eat. And three times in the dream Peter insists he couldn’t as he’d never eaten anything unclean before.
We might remember that Peter tends to learn in threes. Three denials of Jesus, three questions from Jesus to restore him. Here, Peter gets a lesson in three again. Finally, he comes to and tries to make sense of the message. Then he hears the Holy Spirit tell him clearly that three men are on their way, sent by God, and that he should not hesitate to go with them.
Peter’s rooftop message appeared timely. Three men turn up, sent by their commanding officer, a Roman centurion stationed in Caesarea, some fifty kilometers north of Joppa. Caesarea was a Roman military and administrative stronghold in Judea. The Roman occupation had defined the whole region and life for all residing there. Caesarea, in the mind of someone like Peter, was the belly of the beast. A Roman centurion commanded about one hundred men, which in a place like Caesarea, meant significant military authority. The Spirit tells Peter to go with these men back to Caesarea. Even with clear instructions, you have to wonder if he was nervous.
We also learn that Peter is told to go because God had not only been speaking to Peter. Surprisingly, this centurion, Cornelius, was of much interest to God. He may have been part of the occupying force in Judea, but like many at that time, Cornelius had been drawn in by the customs of his posting. So appealing was the Jewish way of life, way of worship, overall world view, that many across the empire left their local traditions and modes of Greco-Roman worship, and devoted themselves to the LORD God of Israel. First century Judaism was attractive to outsiders. Cornelius was such a man, worshiping the LORD God as he could, but, not being an Israelite himself, always at something of a distance, resigned to that outer circle.
So Peter has a strange dream and is told to expect visitors. And some fifty kilometers north, Cornelius has a vision, spoken to directly by an angel of God, given instruction to send for Peter. He’s told exactly where Peter is, down to the family home in which Peter is staying. Upon arrival, Peter greets the men Cornelius has sent and invites them in after the long journey. I wonder what the conversation over the table was like before they set off on the journey back down to Caesarea. What did they ask Peter? What did he ask them? There was Peter, part of one fishing party, and these guys a part of another. That must have been quite the us and them moment. But if God was at work beyond and between them, it didn’t seem like they’d be in different fishing parties for long.
We’ll continue the rest of the story next week, as Peter travels to Caesarea and meets Cornelius – an pivotal and incredible moment in Acts. What happens next will change the world forever. But until then, a few reflections for today.
My friends and I had a great time that weekend at the lake house. Swimming, eating well, laughing till our sides split – all with the place to ourselves. But towards the end of our time my earlier fears became realized. We learned that another group would soon be coming to stay for a few days, just as we had, but that they’d be arriving a little early, rather than after we’d left as planned. Quietly, we were all a little sore about it. We felt that nasty tinge of tribalism rise. Other people? What if they cramped our style on our last day, messed with our vibe? Who invited them anyway?
Regardless of our moping, the truth was this other party had as much right to the lake house as we did. We didn’t own the place, my friend’s parents did, and these were very generous folks. The pantry was full, the vegetable garden and orchard wide open, the wine collection in no way off limits. The guest book was stuffed with names from over the years because they’d built the place to bless as many as possible. They had blessed me. And now they wanted to bless others. Can you believe the nerve of these people?
We are not first century Israelites, nor first century Romans or Greeks. Historically we have been invited sometime later. But it’s funny how quickly we put our feet up, make things our own, decorate to our taste. We are told to settle in, put down roots. We are, in fact, home. But we should remember it’s not only our home. Through Jesus we have entered God’s house. Or, rather, in Jesus God has taken up residence in us by his Spirit.
Acts reminds us that God cares more about the sharing of his good news of great joy for all people than he does the convenience of those already reclining at the lake house. If it was a competition between people’s comfort zones and God’s welcome, God’s welcome always won out. The liberal outpouring of the Holy Spirit would break down barriers, disrupt the status quo, and unify people as never before. People can be small minded; God is large hearted. In Jesus, there was room for everyone. At any point we might hear a knock at the door. These are not strangers, interlopers, the unwashed or unwelcomed. These are children coming home. “Do not call unclean, what God has made clean.”
Notice in this story the wide sweeping narrative of Acts, the growth and movement of the gospel, the activity of the Spirit drawing and growing. Notice with that same expanse and range, the intimacy present between God and someone like Cornelius – picked out, drawn in. God’s drawing of any and all people is not beyond his ability, nor his interest.
At any given moment he could be speaking to you, me, the person down the street, even the jerks in the other fishing party. You might be listening today and have up until now been uncertain of God’s interest in you. I’m here to tell you that God is far more interested in you than you think. We are more known and more loved than we imagine. There is room at the lake house. In Jesus, all are washed and welcome. In Jesus’ own words the night before his death, as recorded in John’s gospel “In my Father’s house there are many rooms…I go to prepare a place for you, that you may be where I am.” (John 14:2)
