Is God present? - Acts 7:44-53 | Prescott Anglican Church

God is always with his people.

Text: Acts 7:44-53

In this sermon, we end Stephen's sermon. For the last several weeks, Stephen has been showing how God was with his people in unusual places, yet they rejected him, his servants, and his works.

This week, we end with Stephen showing that God persisted with his people, traveling with them, that even though the temple was good, it was not God's home, and that the end goal of God's covenant with the Israelites was a converted people whose hearts had been transformed. The whole drive of Stephen's speech is to glorify Christ and challenge those who had made themselves His enemies to see His goodness.

Manuscript, cleaned up for reading:

Let us pray.

Heavenly Father, as we finish Stephen’s sermon—or speech—we pray that we would be overwhelmed by the depth and breadth of your goodness toward us in your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. As we contemplate that goodness, cause us to flee from all our sins and, in everything, to seek to glorify you.

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of our hearts be always acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, our strength and our Redeemer. Amen.

Please be seated.

Before we dive into the text this morning, I took Sam down to the children’s hospital for a sleep study on Friday night. The woman came out and said, “All right, we’re ready for you, Sam.” I bent over, and I do not know what I did, but my back has not been the same since. So, if I do not kneel today, please forgive me. I am not sure I would get back up. By the Lord’s grace, I am sure I will be better next week.

That has nothing to do with the sermon, but I wanted to give you a heads-up.

Do you know those memories you have from when you were a very small child—the first fledgling memories of your life? You remember them vividly, although whether they are entirely accurate is another question.

I have one such memory from when my father built his barn.

To understand this, you should know that my father was a carpenter. For the longest time, his workshop was in the basement of our house. When I was about Sam and Lucy’s age, my parents decided that they should probably move it somewhere else. It was dusty, it was not an ideal arrangement, and it would be nice for him to have a little more room. So he built a barn for his workshop.

I remember one particular day when they were working on it. I do not know whether they built the entire thing in a day or whether I simply remember this one day, but my grandparents came to take me somewhere so that my parents could concentrate on the work.

I was a three-year-old boy, however, and this barn was the most exciting thing in the world. I do not remember what my grandparents had planned, but I am sure it was wonderful. My grandparents were wonderful, and they always had wonderful things they wanted to do with me.

But I rejected it.

I did not want to go and do whatever they had planned. You know how three-year-olds are. Eventually, everyone simply says, “All right, we will figure something else out.” I remember refusing to go with them.

To this day, I sometimes wonder what they had planned. I had, so to speak, rejected their kindness.

As we look back over our lives, we can undoubtedly remember many occasions when we had to choose between one thing and another. There were undoubtedly times when we rejected some kindness that was being offered to us.

All of this is to say that there is one kindness which I pray you have not rejected: the invitation to abide in Christ.

It is the invitation to abide in his kindness, to abide in his death and resurrection, and to live in him.

I bring this up because we have come to the end of Stephen’s speech. In case you did not notice, we finally reached the end this morning.

Over the last six weeks, we have covered approximately two thousand years of history contained in a sermon that probably took Stephen about ten minutes to deliver. We managed to make it last six weeks. I do not know whether that is good or bad.

Throughout those two thousand years of history, Stephen has repeatedly demonstrated two incredible truths—two expressions of God’s kindness—which the Sanhedrin missed.

The first is that God was with his people in unexpected places.

Every time there is a theophany, it happens somewhere we might not expect. God called Abraham before Abraham had entered the land. God brought him into the land, but Abraham himself never fully received it as his possession. Later, God was with Joseph in Egypt, outside the Promised Land.

The second truth Stephen has been driving home is that God’s people repeatedly rejected his prophets.

We see this first with Joseph. His brothers rejected him and sent him into Egypt, where God was nevertheless with him. Moses was raised up to deliver Israel, but he too was rejected. The theophanies connected with Moses took place outside the land, at Sinai.

Throughout this entire speech, Stephen has been saying, “Look! God is present with his people in unexpected places, and God’s people repeatedly reject the prophets through whom he works.”

But Stephen is making an even stronger point.

The Sanhedrin missed the kindness of God revealed in Christ because Christ was not what they expected.

Stephen is telling them, “Wake up! You missed what God was doing in Christ simply because it was not what you expected. Yet this is how God has always worked.”

Stephen begins the final section of his sermon with this beautiful statement:

“Our fathers had the tabernacle of witness in the wilderness, just as he who spoke to Moses directed him to make it, according to the pattern that he had seen.”

Stephen reminds them that the tabernacle was built according to God’s design.

You can go back and read about it in Exodus. There are several chapters describing the design God gave to Moses, followed by several more chapters describing its construction. God gave explicit instructions for how it was to be made.

The tabernacle was designed to remind the people that God was with them.

Every time Israel moved, they had to take down the tabernacle and carry it with them. Whenever they reassembled it, they were reminded again: God is with us.

Even in the wilderness, God was with them. Even outside the land, before they received their inheritance, God was with them. He had not abandoned them.

Some time ago, we visited a beautiful place while I was going through a particularly difficult time. I remember being overcome, not by the beauty of the place, but by frustration. I knew it was beautiful, but I could not feel its beauty. I could not sense that God was with me.

Beautiful places will often remind me of the goodness of God. But on this occasion, the night became worse and worse until morning finally arrived.

Then, in the morning, there was a poignant moment when I realized that although I felt miserable, God had not left my side. Even in my misery, he had remained with me.

I have always remembered that beautiful place as somewhere God was with me, even when I could not feel his presence.

I tell you this because we sometimes imagine that when we come to church, we must have a particular experience. We think we must feel that God is with us. We expect an overwhelming feeling to bubble up inside us.

In reality, we live on a spectrum.

Perhaps you had a wonderful night’s sleep. You woke up feeling refreshed. Your dog came over, you petted him, and you enjoyed a lovely breakfast—assuming you eat breakfast before church. You got into the car, and a song you love came on. When you arrived, Dan gave you a warm smile, I shook your hand, and you thought, “All is right with the world.”

Then Elizabeth chose your favorite hymn to begin the service, and you thought, “This is the best day ever.”

I hope that was true for some of you.

But perhaps you had a terrible night’s sleep. You woke up, tripped over the dog, and said something to the dog that you should not have said. You can be a little confessional about that; it will be all right.

Perhaps you had an argument with your spouse. Then you got into the car, and it sounded funny or smelled funny. You came through the church doors, I turned around and walked away, and you wondered, “Did I say something wrong to him?”

Then Elizabeth began a hymn you do not particularly like, and everything felt miserable.

I hope you are not there either.

Most of us are probably somewhere between those two extremes. But when we find ourselves on the miserable side of the spectrum, the temptation is to think, “God has forsaken me. Why is this so hard?”

Let me tell you: God is here with you right now.

Even if you tripped over the dog and said something you deeply regret, God is still with you. God is with his people in every moment.

That is what the tabernacle of witness was intended to remind Israel: God was with them.

But something else fascinating is happening in this passage, and we can easily miss it because of the way the readings have been divided.

In the verse immediately preceding our passage, Stephen says that Israel took up “the tent of Moloch.”

Moloch is fascinating. I did not have nearly enough time to study Moloch this week, but even the name is closely connected to the Hebrew word for “king.” There is a sense in which the people desired a false king in the form of this false god. Moloch came to represent the greed, idolatry, and terrible sins after which human beings chase.

Stephen, I believe, is intentionally contrasting the tent of Moloch with the tabernacle of witness.

The tabernacle of witness reminded the Israelites that God was with them. It also foreshadowed the reminders we have that God remains with his people.

The tent of Moloch, by contrast, was devised by human hands. It represented sin, idolatry, and humanity’s attempt to create and control its own gods.

The question, then, is already before us: What do you prefer?

Do you prefer the sweetness of the God who has not abandoned you and will never abandon you, or the deadliness of sin?

The sweetness of God is infinitely better.

God is always with his people. He is, if you will, a traveling God. He travels with his people and abides with his people. He tabernacled among his people in the person of Jesus Christ, and he remains with us through the presence of the Holy Spirit.

We also see here that God is faithful.

Four hundred years before Joshua entered the land, God promised Abraham that he would give that land to his descendants. There was a long and roundabout journey, but eventually Israel returned and possessed the land.

They saw that God had been faithful. He had never abandoned them.

They may have forgotten God, but God had not forgotten them. He traveled with them and continually reminded them that he would fulfill his promises.

The question Stephen lays before the Sanhedrin—and perhaps before us as well—is this: Which is truly better, Moloch and his tent, or Christ?

With Joshua, Stephen finally shifts his focus away from the early history of the Pentateuch.

We have talked about Abraham, Joseph, and Moses. All of this occurred before Israel possessed the land. At last, Joshua entered the land. At last, God gave the people their inheritance. Then the kings arose.

We are introduced to a king who “found favor in the sight of God.”

We think, “That is exciting. David found favor in the sight of God.” Yet, for some reason, God would not allow David to build the temple.

Those familiar with Old Testament history know that David’s life was not without grievous sin. Nevertheless, the people held him in the highest esteem. They saw David as their great king.

Stephen gently reminds them to remember the whole story.

For those who do not remember it, I will give you the ten-second version.

David sent his troops off to war, but instead of going with them, he remained at home. While walking on his roof, he saw a beautiful woman and desired her.

This was a terrible idea, David.

But David did not care. He took the woman, Bathsheba, and she became pregnant. There was one considerable problem: Bathsheba had a husband.

Instead of confessing his sin, David arranged for her husband, Uriah, to be killed. He sent Uriah back into battle and instructed the commanders to withdraw from him at the fiercest point of the fighting.

Uriah was killed.

It is horrible.

There was grievous sin in David’s life, and his sins had deadly consequences. God would not allow him to build the temple. Yes, we have David’s beautiful songs of repentance, including Psalm 51, but his life also offers us a stark reminder of the deadly cost of sin and the destruction it can bring.

Stephen then continues with a single sentence:

“But it was Solomon who built a house for him.”

If you want to read Solomon’s entire prayer of dedication, you can find it in 1 Kings 8. There is a particularly poignant moment when Solomon prays:

“But will God indeed dwell on the earth? Behold, heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you; how much less this house that I have built!”

Solomon had just completed this glorious temple, yet he understood that God was not literally going to live inside it.

He went on to describe the temple as a place of worship and prayer. It was never intended to contain God or to be understood as his earthly home.

God intended the temple to be a shadow—a foreshadowing of something greater. It was a place where his people could come, offer sacrifices, pray, and worship.

Yet the people repeatedly mistook the temple for the reality to which it pointed. They thought, “We have the temple. We do not need to worry about anything.”

My favorite example of this comes from Jeremiah. Stephen quotes Isaiah, but I am going to give you my example from Jeremiah.

Jeremiah warned Jerusalem, “You are going to fall if you do not repent. An army will come, conquer the city, and tear down the temple.”

The false prophets responded, “Do not listen to this man. He does not know what he is talking about.”

Their language is striking:

“The temple of the Lord! The temple of the Lord!”

In other words, “There is no possible way God would ever allow his temple to be destroyed.”

Yet the temple was destroyed.

The people—and, to some extent, we ourselves—sometimes treasure the gifts more than the Giver.

They said, “Look at this beautiful temple. Look at how magnificent it is. God would never permit anything terrible to happen to it.”

Yet God allowed it to be torn down so that he might draw his people back to himself.

Stephen draws the same point from Isaiah 66:

“Heaven is my throne,and the earth is my footstool.What kind of house will you build for me, says the Lord,or what is the place of my rest?Did not my hand make all these things?”

Stephen is desperately trying to remind the Sanhedrin: “This is not the ultimate reality. It is a foreshadowing of the ultimate reality, and you have missed the reality itself.”

The one who tabernacled among them—the one who was God incarnate in their midst—had come, and they missed him.

Wake up!

If you can remember seven weeks ago, the high priest asked Stephen, “You have been accused of blaspheming Moses and blaspheming the temple. Is this true? Have you done this?”

Stephen never directly answers that question.

But neither does he attack the temple. Instead, he reminds them that Moses and the temple were foreshadows of the one who was to come. They pointed beyond themselves to something infinitely better.

Stephen does not blaspheme them. He points beyond them.

Then we arrive at Stephen’s closing argument:

“You stiff-necked people!”

You do not need to know Hebrew to understand that expression. It does not require much imagination. Stephen is saying, “You are stubborn. Wake up, Sanhedrin! This might be your last chance. Hear the goodness of the God who has come to dwell among you.”

He calls them “uncircumcised in heart and ears.”

That phrase is deeper and more important than we may realize.

When I was much younger, I had not spent much time in the Old Testament. If you have spoken with me recently, you know that now I would happily spend all my time in the Old Testament. But I like having a job, so I try not to do that every week.

When I was younger, however, I imagined the Old Testament to be a stale place—word without Spirit.

Oh boy, was I wrong.

The Old Testament cries out with Christ. The Holy Spirit moves through it. It is incredible and beautiful if we slow down long enough to see it.

Do not make the mistake I made.

This is exactly what Stephen is telling the Sanhedrin: “You know the law.”

We heard something similar in our other readings this morning. They knew the law, but the law had not changed their hearts. They had not been transformed inwardly. They remained stubborn, selfish, and sinful.

Stephen therefore says, “You are uncircumcised in heart and ears.”

They may have recognized that Stephen was drawing from Deuteronomy 10, which describes what the law was intended to produce:

“Circumcise therefore the foreskin of your heart, and be no longer stubborn.”

The law was intended to show them that God is the God who remains with his people. God is the God who saves his people. When a person truly encounters this God, that person does not walk away unchanged.

Stephen is desperately trying to shake the Sanhedrin awake.

Then he openly rebukes them.

He says that they resist the Holy Spirit. He says that they killed the Righteous One whom the prophets foretold, just as their ancestors killed the prophets who announced his coming.

Stephen lays his indictment before them and asks:

“Which will you choose?”

Will you choose the tent of Moloch or the tabernacle of witness?

Will you choose your false gods, your self-righteousness, your sins, and your power? Or will you choose the one who dwelt among you, who died and was raised to life?

Which will you choose?

As we have made our way through Stephen’s sermon, we have seen the incredible goodness of God in Christ.

Now we have reached Stephen’s clear indictment.

Like so many before them, the members of the Sanhedrin preferred their own power, their own control, and gods they could manage over the goodness of God revealed in Christ.

God came and dwelt among them. He died for their sins and was raised to life, but they rejected him.

Stephen makes the charge as clear as possible:

“You received the law as delivered by angels and did not keep it.”

Over the last three or four years, I have developed a growing conviction about my preaching.

This conviction has come from our bishop, from dear friends, and even from conversations with some of you. It is the conviction that I must preach the gospel relentlessly.

I must preach that Christ died for your sins and rose to life so that you might be alive in him. I must preach that he has given you his Holy Spirit so that you might be alive in him.

I mentioned last week that there is a temptation in preaching to finish by saying, “Now go and do this thing. Go be good. Go be holy. Go do something.”

But I have noticed something interesting.

As I have pressed more deeply into preaching the gospel—into proclaiming the reality that you are saved by grace in Christ—I have also seen a desire for holiness begin to arise.

It is not merely a desire to perform works of holiness or establish our own righteousness. It is a genuine desire to rest in Christ. It is a desire to keep parts of the week holy, to repent quickly of our sins, to long for confession, and to hear the words of absolution—the promise that our sins are forgiven.

I have seen that as we desire the gospel more deeply, we also desire God’s holiness more deeply—not as a work by which we save ourselves, but as the fruit of knowing Christ.

As we finish Stephen’s sermon and conclude this remarkable review of Israel’s history and how it pointed to Christ, I hope we have seen the sweetness of God.

I hope we have seen how good he is.

When we see the goodness of God, we also see the vulgarity of our sin. As we prayed in this morning’s collect, we begin to long more and more for God and for his love, so that the things of this world may fall away behind us.

I believe that is what Stephen is trying to do here.

He is showing the Sanhedrin that Christ is infinitely better than everything else they have held dear.

Therefore, flee from sin and abide in Christ.

Repent of your sins and know Christ, because in Christ, God has tabernacled with his people.

Reject the false gods and sins of this world, and know this to be true: the God who tabernacles with his people is far sweeter than anything this world has to offer.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.