“He was a devout man who feared God

…gave alms generously

         …and prayed constantly to God.”

    –Acts 10:2

The words above refer to a man named Cornelius. Luke tells us that he was a centurion, an officer in the Roman army.  By implication it also meant he was a Gentile, a term that referred to anyone who was not Jewish. Jews had been taught from childhood that the promises of God were exclusively for them. That perspective lived on for a time with the very first Christians, too. After all, Jesus had been a Jewish man as had been all of his initial disciples. Even with the day of Pentecost when the Holy Spirit came upon the crowds, virtually all who had responded and been baptized had been Jews. 

“He was a devout man,” our text says of Cornelius, “who feared God with all his household; he gave alms generously to the people and prayed constantly to God.” In other words, he was living like a faithful Jew as was his family. A Gentile following the law of Moses.

How did that come about?  What caused him to take that step even though the Jewish faith he sought to follow taught that he was beyond the concern of God?

Perhaps Cornelius had a patient Jewish neighbor who answered all of his questions about God. Maybe he had been brought to Jerusalem as added security when Jews gathered for a festival and had observed the faithful. Could he have overheard two Jewish boys talking about what they had learned at synagogue? The narrative doesn’t explain. Yet somehow Cornelius had witnessed that faith and been drawn to it; intrigued enough to practice and share it with others.

That’s how it often begins. I suspect a neighbor noticed as you left home this morning for church. Perhaps a co-worker caught a hint of your faith by seeing how you interact with others. Some friends learned about the youth ministry of your church by overhearing comments from classmates of their teenager. Cornelius experienced that gift from the Jews of his era and as events unfold will become a Christian himself. It began by his noticing something different about people of faith. It still happens that way.            

Years ago, Lori and I led a Reformation Tour to Germany, France, and Switzerland. As part of that pilgrimage, we stopped at key points along the way to share in group devotionals. I drew from key theological themes of the Reformed tradition and would reflect on them one at a time as the group stood in a spot with historic relevance. I enjoyed each of those occasions, including the Sunday we shared in the Lord’s Supper in a park adjacent to a busy highway in Heidelberg, Germany. 

The most meaningful devotional for me was our last one. We had gathered in the Chapel of the Maccabees at St. Peter’s Cathedral in Geneva. That church is sometimes referred to as the Protestant Vatican. John Calvin, an ancestor in the faith, preached, taught and shaped the church in ways that still endure for Presbyterians and others in the Reformed tradition.

Our tour manager had arranged for us to have our devotional in that chapel. It was built in 1405, two centuries before Jamestown and Plymouth were founded on this continent. Along with its history, the wood and stone of the room created wonderful acoustics. Our group sat down in pews on one side and after I had spoken for a few minutes about Calvin’s ministry we sang a hymn that was composed to mark the 500^th anniversary of his birth. The words were not familiar to our group, but the tune was. As we sang, other visitors peered in the room wondering what was happening.  A few came in and sat down. 

After we finished a woman walked over to me and asked where we were from. When I replied “The United States,” she said “No, which state?“ I’ve heard over the years that we Americans stand out overseas, both by style of dress and speaking so loudly! Whatever clued her in, she said “I’m a Reformed Christian from France. When you started singing, I recognized the tune and joined in using my own language.” I told her we were ending 12 days of celebrating the Reformation and mentioned a few places we’d seen.  She replied, “You know, I live near all of those sites and have never been myself. I’m going to do that soon.”

We witness to our faith wherever we are–as visitors in an historic chapel and while overheard in the grocery store, as we stand alongside our child’s soccer field, and when we offer time to the soup kitchen. We give evidence of our faith when we extend patience to the elderly man who is holding up the line. Or when we live beneath our means so that we can be financially generous to hurting ones. Or when we offer forgiveness even though revenge seems justified. Or when we act in some other way that seems so contrary to our world’s priorities or first instinct.

It isn’t a matter of whether others notice those acts, for they do. Instead, the story of Cornelius gives us reason enough to give thanks for those who shaped his faith and to pray that our actions will bring attention to God as well. And that in our best moments those same deeds will make others curious enough to want to know why we believe.  

God of all people and places, I am your witness.  Help me live in such a way that makes clear to others what I cherish the most.  Amen.