Text: [Peter] lodgeth with one Simon a tanner, whose house is by the seaside … (Acts 10:6).
When a great idea bursts upon the world, its first and perhaps worst battle is to free itself from the ropes and cords that its own prejudiced friends try to fasten round it. Like the young bird in the shell, it has to crack the covering and get free. Our Lord’s great declaration of salvation and redemption to all men everywhere provides a striking instance of this. For the first thing that the early Christians themselves tried to do was to bind and tie His universal message to the old Jewish narrow system in which they had been brought up.
This is easily understood. These men and women were Jews by birth and religion: and they had no idea at first that any break-away from the Temple or the Synagogue might be needed. For years, although they had become Christians, they went every day to their devotions in the Temple. Ananias, for example—the man who helped Paul to escape in Damascus—is described as “a devout man according to the Law,” although he had become a convinced Christian: and James, our Lord’s brother, who was the Head of the young Church in Jerusalem, worshipped regularly and faithfully in the Temple, according to his life-long custom.
In fact, there soon arose an active party among the converts who argued that a Greek, a Roman, a German, or a Briton, if he wanted to become a Christian, must first become a Jew and must observe the full rites of the ancient system of Moses.
If this attempt had succeeded, we now see clearly that the so-called Christian Church might have become merely a new form of Jewish nationalism, and certainly its universal appeal and redeeming quality would have been lost for the Gentile world. In other words, the big free dream would have been shackled—tied down with ropes and strings by its own friends.
How was the young Church saved from this disaster?
The happy answer is that fortunately the dream itself was so galvanic and so self-expanding that it burst the ropes as if they had been threads. One by one, these man-made strings were snapped, until the message of Jesus was set free in its own natural fullness, free to enlarge and expand itself in its native power, free to win all men of every nation, heritage, or tradition, free to be itself, and free to proclaim the illimitable mercy of God without controls or conditions.
In the story of Simon the tanner, I imagine that we can see and even hear the first rope snapping. In principle, the future of the Church was settled in this apparent casual incident.
It is common knowledge that the Jews divided the concerns of life and religion into the clean and the unclean: and their ceremonial worship was very strict—and still is fairly strict—on this question of the clean and unclean. In particular, certain animals were regarded as ceremonially unclean; for instance, the pig, the camel and the coney: and in the same way, certain trades and occupations were put by them under the same dark shadow. One of the most despised of these occupations was the now fully honourable trade of tanning—the reason being, no doubt, that the tanner must handle the hides and skins of dead animals, and might even have to deal with the skins of unclean animals! No tanner, therefore, was regarded as clean or was allowed to have his house or his business premises inside the sacred city walls.
This accounts for the fact that this man Simon the tanner was forced to live outside the environs of Joppa, down by the unfrequented seashore—and let us remember that the seashore in those days was an outcast and derelict place, possessing none of the romantic or seasonal attractions it has for us to-day! Nothing is just so modern as our love of seaside resorts.
We can readily understand, then, the underlying bitterness of ostracism and aversion in this short sentence: “One Simon a tanner, whose house is by the seaside.” By compulsion, he had to live and work there, beyond the protection and amenities of the town, because no one would have tolerated him or his business inside the city walls. “Unclean, unclean!”
When Peter came to Joppa, we are told that he lodged “with one Simon a tanner, whose house is by the seaside.” Small as this fact seems, it represents nothing less than a revolution—a revolution of outlook and custom. What did this fact imply?
Go back five years before this, and say to Peter, “We are glad you have come to Joppa, but we are sorry that the town is so full that we haven’t a stray corner to put you up. But if you don’t mind, we shall lodge you tonight with a man called Simon, a tanner, whose house, of course, is outside the city walls.” What do you think Peter would have said?
We know that before he met Jesus, this disciple had a considerable gift for strong language, pungent and scathing. Indeed, even after he became a disciple, he could use his native talent in the court-room at Jerusalem with oaths and curses. I leave you then to imagine what his language would have been, had you told him five years before this that he was to lodge with Simon, a tanner. To put it mildly, he would have said, “Not on your life! I would rather sleep on the moors, in a hay-loft, or even in the streets. But I will not lodge on any account with an unclean tradesman like this tanner whose house is by the seaside.” And that would have been that!
I do not imagine that when he came now to Joppa, Peter had in any way thought or argued the matter out in his own mind. But I do suggest that when he did go down to Joppa and actually agreed to stay with Simon the tanner, his act helped to snap the first rope that bound the young Church! For in so doing, he broke with the whole ancient Jewish tradition of the clean and the unclean.
Remember, all these converts were still wholly Jewish in their ideas and customs. As we have seen, they regularly attended the Synagogue: they went to the Temple and offered sacrifices: they observed the full Jewish ritual and lived under the strict law of Moses. Especially in regard to the clean and the unclean, they had no notion as yet of the real meaning of Christ’s command, “Make the inside of the cup clean.”
Well, Peter came down to Joppa on this occasion.
So far, there were few converts in the town. But one of them, praise God, was this man Simon, the tanner, whose workplace and home lay out of the town, where he and his proscribed trade could not be an offence to his scrupulous Jewish brethren.
Rather diffidently—almost with a stutter and a very uneasy smile—he said to Peter, when he arrived, “I wonder, sir, if you would care to lodge with me? Fortunately, I have plenty of room in my house, and I think I can look after your comfort. But I ought to say, sir [here his smile must have become rather twisted and anxious]—I ought to say, sir, that I am one Simon, a tanner, who is compelled by our Jewish law to live outside the city walls. But, of course, if you are unwilling to come, I’ll understand at once.” And we can imagine how he must have feared, from old experience, a rude or (perhaps worse) a frigidly polite refusal, or some faked excuse that the Apostle was already engaged.
God bless you, Peter! I believe that at the moment when the man asked you to lodge with him, you got one of the shocks of your life! I think perhaps you were flummoxed and were completely taken aback at the moment. Then you remembered Jesus, and you said in a flash, “What would Jesus, my Lord and Master, do?”
And so, as quickly as you could, to cover your previous hesitation, you said, “My dear Simon, I’ll be honoured indeed. Yes, I’ll gladly stay with you in your house.” And you put your arm through his—whom no Jew had willingly touched for years—and you said, “Give me my little bag, and we’ll go straightaway to your house by the seaside,” and you went through the town arm-in-arm, bless your soul. I am sure that two men went down that narrow street with a new revelation in their hearts—you, Peter, who saw for the first time that your Master comes to all equally, clean or unclean, Pharisee or sinner—and Simon, a despised tanner, who for the first time walked that street as if he were treading on air. For he was a man now, equal with any and all, a really honoured man at last!
If you think of it, this is the first bursting of the ropes that threatened to shackle the free Gospel of Jesus. For it is the clear proclamation—in act, if not in words—of the liberating and ransoming Gospel of His love. What silly and narrow prejudice of man could possibly remain when the great Gospel came in and cut the ropes men tie about God and the human sold?
And now let us sit down and apply it to our own concerns.
There are as many, as vicious, as brutal, as Satanic prejudices today as ever cursed the social and religious life of Peter’s generation. If these prejudices are new or different—questions of race, land, blood, rank, class, or privilege—they are only the more devilish and hateful for that. For we are forming and enforcing them in spite of centuries of Christian teaching! Perhaps the old test may still sift many of us into Christian or non-Christian, or at least sub-Christian. Can we go down and lodge with one Simon, a tanner, whom people have kicked out and compelled to live outside the pale of the city—yes, and not patronize him, or talk down to him, or condescend to him, or blush for him, but regard him as our open equal, at whose table we can sit, not as if we were conferring an honour, or doing something for which we should get a pat on the back? If we act as if we were “honouring” someone, then we are not supping with Simon, but supping with the Devil! There is no real Christ in our hearts—the liberating, enfranchising power of Jesus—until all the little rotten arrogances of the prideful world and all the insolences of assumed privileges are blown clean out of us with the bursting of the ropes.
A few years after this, in a quiet gathering at Ephesus, the converts were having a Communion service. A new member was welcomed at the door. The simple Christians were glad to receive him, for he was a man of some influence and power. One of the disciples said, “Perhaps, my friend, you will take that seat over there—you see, that vacant seat on the other side.” The man hemmed and hawed for a moment and then whispered, “I say—ahem—you will excuse me, won’t you, but the man you are asking me to sit beside is—ahem—my own slave.” The disciple was silent for a moment, and then said with courage, “Yes, and why not?” “But,” said the man, “you know—er—he is my own slave!” “Yes,” said the disciple again, “and why not?” And then the man squared his shoulders, walked round the room, shook hands with his own slave, and sat humbly down beside him. Praise God!
When a thing like this takes place—master sitting humbly beside slave—Peter linking his arm with an unclean tanner—the ropes of human prejudice and custom, and all the cursed cords of shame, begin to crack for ever. This proclaims the glorious message that people may be outside the pale of the city, and yet be inside the pale of Christ.
Don’t let any of us try to dodge this terribly modern issue, more ghastly now than ever. Prejudice still runs red like a trail of blood through our social, political, and religious thinking. Let us believe and practise the following Christian affirmations.
1. There are no inferior races fit only to serve us and the likes of us. To believe in race inferiority is merely out-dated barbarism. What has the pigment of a man’s skin to do with the colour of his soul? All men are of one blood before God—equal in need, response, and capacity—and are made in God’s image. Be we white, black, brown, or yellow, to believe anything else is not only unchristian doctrine but also anthropological nonsense.
2. There are no inferior classes who are born to fetch and carry for our clean and dainty hands. There are, of course, natural differences of gifts and aptitudes among men, but there is no difference in their quality, capacity, or destiny. To believe otherwise argues a stupid view of the dignity of human labour, the worth of man, the ends of life, and the purposes of God. Classes, as we use the term, do not exist in the thought of Jesus. His is the one perfectly “classless” society.
3. There are no inferior people to whom we can graciously unbend or condescend. There are, of course, vulgar and common people everywhere in every so-called grade of society: but the worst vulgarity of all is the vulgarity of conceit, pride, affectation, vanity, the arrogance of riches, and the insolence of intellect. I praise God that Jesus gave His finest blessing to the “meek and lowly,” those who are essentially humble of heart.
4. There is no clean or unclean except what comes from the inside. We are not made dirty by our hands but by our hearts, or filthy by our clothes but by our minds. The world must live by honest dirt: and the only real “muck” I know is the muck in men’s thoughts. If you and I ever think some man, some job, some work, or some class unclean, the uncleanness is only in our own thinking. It is our type of mind that makes our type of world.
5. Jesus preached a glorious equality. Men and women equal! British and foreigner equal! Chinese, Indian, Japanese, Afghan, Negro, and American equal! Do I touch any of us on the raw? If so, it is not I, but Jesus, who stabs us. And He cuts the sore only that He may drain the poison.
Peter had his prejudices like any one of us. No doubt he called them “honest” prejudices. (I wonder why we always call them honest?) He believed, as so many of us do, that there are natural grades in life—things clean or unclean, chosen or outcast, privileged or common, precious or cheap. But as he allowed the power of the Gospel to liberate his soul and cleanse his mind, he was able to cast his prejudices to the clean winds of God and to stand in the freedom and equality of Christ.
It wasn’t done all at once: but though it took time, it was sure. For one cannot have Jesus and prejudice in one’s heart at the same time. And the cleansing process began here—yes, here—when in the strength of Jesus, Peter, formerly so biased, snapped the ropes that held him down, and went along that narrow street, arm in arm with an outcast, out through the city walls, and lodged with one Simon, a tanner, whose house was by the seaside.
If he hadn’t done it, what?
I wonder how long it would have taken Peter to go out and preach to the whole world the full Gospel of Christ’s grace, if he had stood on his false dignity and refused to accompany Simon, the tanner.
Remember—it is a final secret—one little liberation, nobly answered, alone makes us fit for the next!—From Days of My Autumn, by James Black (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1950). Used by permission.
