What I Have I Give You

Every day they carried him to the same doorway. A man lame from birth was laid daily at the temple gate called Beautiful, set down to ask alms of those going in (Acts 3:2), and by now it had the worn smoothness of habit — the same corner, the same hand lifted as the worshippers filed past. He had learned exactly what to expect from this routine: one coin, then another, hopefully enough to get through the day.

When Peter and John came up the steps, he asked them too. Peter's answer began by gathering the man's whole attention — “Look at us” (Acts 3:4) — and the man fixed his eyes on them, his limited hope in tact (Acts 3:5). He was braced for the small thing. Then Peter said what no beggar at that gate had ever heard: “I have no silver and gold, but what I do have I give to you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, rise up and walk” (Acts 3:6). Peter took him by the right hand and raised him up; at once his feet and ankles were made strong, and he went into the temple walking and leaping and praising God (Acts 3:7–8).

He had asked for a coin because he could not imagine asking for legs. That is what stops us — not that he wanted too much from God, but that he hoped for, even imagined far too little.

Are we so different? We pray, holding up our hand for some manageable mercy, a small improvement in the day's circumstances. Our hopes get trimmed to what we think the world can spare, and we ask for a slightly better version of the life we already have. We ask for coins. The risen Christ comes to give to us in abundance we can't comprehend.

Peter is quick to say whose power did this. Not his own — “why do you stare at us, as though by our own power or piety we have made him walk?” (Acts 3:12). It was the name, and the One who bears it. In the sermon that follows he names Jesus without flinching as: “...the Author of life (you killed), whom God raised from the dead” (Acts 3:15). There is the whole gospel in a single line. The name that lifted a lame man off the pavement belongs Creator God himself — the same Lord who is the resurrection and the life, crucified and raised. The strength that surged into those ankles is the strength of Easter resurrection, and it is the power that will one day raise us whole.

The crowd is staring, amazed. Peter invites them in further — “Repent therefore, and turn back, that your sins may be blotted out” (Acts 3:19) — a mind made new. Turn, he is imploring, and see the wonderful love and power of Author of Life.

And then a final vision of the healed man. He went in walking and leaping and praising God (Acts 3:8), through the gate he had only ever sat beside, into the temple he had begged outside of — carried in by the very legs he never thought to ask for. That is where grace ends: the outstretched hand, once cupped for a coin, opened now in praise. He asked for enough to get through the day; he was given his feet, and a way home. So it is with us. Let us stop holding up our hand for so little, and let the One at the gate do what he came to do — raise us, and bring us in.