Acts 19:11-20
What do you trust to heal you, to protect you, to fix you? Is anyone in charge here, or are we left to fight for our lives and figure it out ourselves? People have been asking these questions for a long time, including the people of Ephesus.
Ephesus was one of the great cities of the ancient world, a port, a capital, and home to one of the Seven Wonders. It was also the magic capital of the Roman world. Much of what you see in Salem today, you'd have seen in Ephesus on a much larger scale. Its spells, recited or worn as charms to ward off evil and bring good luck, were so famous they were called Ephesian writings. The Ephesians wanted what we want: healing, protection, love, success, and some way to know what's coming. We aren't so different. Some of us turn to horoscopes or tarot cards, but most of us reach for money in the bank, a plan for every possibility, anything that promises we can stay in control. So who or what has the power?
For two years Paul had been in Ephesus, and Luke tells us that God did extraordinary miracles through him, so that even handkerchiefs and aprons that had touched him were carried to the sick, and they were healed. These were likely a tentmaker's work rags. It's easy to be distracted by the strangeness of it all, but the most important words come first: God did it. The rags did nothing. Paul did nothing. God walked into the magic capital of the world and beat magic on its own turf, just as Aaron's staff once swallowed up the staffs of Pharaoh's magicians until they admitted, "This is the finger of God." The power was never in the staff or the rags. It was the Spirit, the ruach of God, the wind you can feel but can't bottle. The Spirit isn't ours to explain or repeat on demand. He is ours to receive.
Then came the seven sons of Sceva, professional exorcists who saw what was happening and wanted in. In a world where names were tools, they borrowed one: "In the name of the Jesus whom Paul preaches, I command you to come out." The evil spirit answered, "Jesus I know, and Paul I know about, but who are you?" and sent them running from the house naked and bleeding. They knew the name, but they didn't know the man. We do this too. Our faith can be secondhand: the Jesus my mother prayed to, the Jesus my church talks about. We pray, "Lord, provide," but the real peace comes when we check the bank balance. We pray, "Lord, protect my kids," and then check their location every ten minutes. We say his name, but our trust is somewhere else.
You'd expect that beating to scare people away from Jesus. Instead, the name of the Lord Jesus was held in high honor. Many who believed came and openly confessed what they had done. Then they brought out their scrolls, the spells they had paid for and trusted, piled them together in the street in front of their neighbors, and set them on fire. When somebody did the math, the total came to fifty thousand drachmas, more than a hundred years of wages, up in smoke. Nobody burns that by accident. That's what turning looks like. The sons of Sceva tried to use the power of Jesus. The Ephesians bowed to it.
Our scrolls are wider than the occult. The money isn't the scroll, and neither is the plan or the phone. The scroll is the trust we put in them, whatever we reach for first when we're afraid, whatever we'd panic without. Underneath most of them is the same desire the Ephesians had: we want to be in control. But you don't burn your scrolls by gritting your teeth. You burn them when you find something worth more.
The Ephesians found him. Magic is power you grab to get what you want. Jesus had all the power there is, and he didn't grab. He emptied himself, went to the cross with empty hands, and let himself be overpowered. Then God filled him up and gave him the name that is above every name, the very name the sons of Sceva tried to borrow and the Ephesians bowed to. That's how it works for us too. The Ephesians emptied themselves of charms and scrolls, and God filled them with his Spirit.
Luke sums it up: the word of the Lord was growing mightily and prevailing. That word was the euangelion, the announcement of a great victory. On the cross and out of the empty tomb, Jesus defeated the powers of darkness. If he has won, why does darkness still seem so strong? The decisive battle is won, but the fighting isn't over yet. That's where we live. And still, the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. Someone is in charge. You are not left to fight for your life alone.
