Once upon a time there was a girl named Priscilla. She loved to sew, she was good at numbers, and she loved to read. She loved to read the Bible. Her parents were a little worried that if people found out she was such a reader it would be hard for them to find her a husband, because the parents of a potential mate might not want their boy to marry a girl who was too smart. But they were indeed able to find her a husband. And her husband loved her. His name was Aquila, and he loved that she was smart. He loved that she loved to read the Bible. They moved from where they grew up, in Pontus, a port on the Black Sea, on the northeast coast of what’s now Turkey: they moved to the capital of the empire, to Rome itself, and there they set up a business making and selling tents.

Somewhere along the way they found out about Jesus. We don’t know when that happened. Scholars speculate that it may have been pilgrims from Rome who told them. You remember that on the day of Pentecost there were visitors to Jerusalem who saw and heard what happened: they were people from all different nations on pilgrimage to Jerusalem. They were there when the Holy Spirit filled the disciples with joy; the disciples were testifying in dozens of languages, singing out the mighty acts of God in the native language of all those pilgrims. Some of the testimony was in Latin. The pilgrims from Rome heard it. And some of those pilgrims from Rome ended up believing in Jesus. When they came home, they brought the gospel message back with them. And shared it with their neighbors. And when Priscilla and Aquila heard the message, their hearts caught fire, and they set themselves to live as followers of Jesus.

The New Testament only gives us a few small glimpses of their story. We know that in the late 40s they lived in Rome, part of the small Christian community there. We know that in the year 49, Emperor Claudius decreed that all the Jews had to leave Rome. The pagan historian Suetonius provides a single line of description: “Claudius expelled the Jews from Rome, because of the disputes about Christ.” Acts 18:2 gives a similar report, again just one sentence long: Aquila and Priscilla had come to Corinth because Claudius had ordered all Jews to leave Rome. In the Jewish quarter of Rome, some people were saying “Jesus is the Messiah!” and some were saying “No he isn’t!” and the argument turned into a shouting match and maybe even a riot. Somebody called the cops: and Claudius responded by saying, “Bah, kick ’em all out, and don’t let ’em come back!” And so Priscilla and her family had to leave town, not knowing if they could ever return home.

They settled in Corinth, in southern Greece. They were there when the apostle Paul arrived. Aquila and Priscilla became friends and colleagues with Paul, working together on making and selling tents. What did they talk about, in between customers, when they were cutting and sewing fabric together to make tents? I guess they talked about the weather, some, because people have always done that. And they talked about Jesus and his gospel, and their role in sharing the gospel with people who had never heard of Jesus. And I suppose Priscilla and Aquila would have talked about Rome as well, about their home there, about how Claudius had expelled them from Rome because of the arguments about Jesus, and about how they wondered if they would ever be able to go back.

When Paul decided to leave Corinth to sail back to Syria, he told Aquila and Priscilla he had a job for them, if they were serious about being missionaries. They said Yes. They gathered their children and their belongings, and Priscilla and Aquila got off the boat in Ephesus, found a place to set up shop, and began to live, making tents and sharing the gospel. They spent the next several years there, and became the teacher of a man from Alexandria named Apollos, who turned out to be one of the great evangelists of the first century. I suppose they felt pretty settled in Ephesus; yet still they wondered if they would ever be able to go back to their house in Rome. And then one day –

In order to understand today’s reading from Romans 5, there are three words that we need to consider, because the meaning of the text turns on the meanings of these three words. You’ll get this better, if you’re looking at the text; so let me invite you to get your Bible back open to Romans 5 again, so you can see the paragraph, and in particular these three key words. The first word is boast; the next word is hope; and the third is disappoint.

The word boast is tricky because we usually think of it as a mean word, a taunting word: it’s a word that says, “I’m better than you are.” But in this particular case, that’s not quite what it means. What we have here is a feeling that something is so fine: not because what I’ve got is better than what you’ve got, but rather what you and I both have is something that is so wondrous, so excellent, that we can’t help singing about it. I think the word that expresses this best in English is exult. The idea is, we shout hurrah in gladness for what we have received, we exult in our hope of sharing the glory of God!

The word hope is tricky because most of the time we think of it as a wistful word that says, “It would be great if this would happen, but it probably won’t.” Again, that’s not the right idea. What Paul meant is: God has established the way that things shall be, and if they have not yet come true within our present experience, we will wait with glad confidence for that fulfillment. A better rendering would be anticipation: because we are eager and ready with that “Christmas is coming! Just a few more days till Christmas!” feeling. We exult with eager anticipation: because soon we will be sharing the glory of God!

The word disappoint is tricky because – well, because it’s not the right translation at all. The word disappoint isn’t just disappointing; it’s miss-the-point-ing of what Paul said in this verse.

Notice the progression in the text. Verse 2 says that we boast in the hope of sharing the glory of God. And, you know, I get that. Once we see that it means exult rather than brag, and it means anticipation rather than wishful thinking, then I’m quite prepared to exult in the anticipation of sharing in the glory of God. Then verse 3 says that we exult in our sufferings. Why do we do that? Wait, do we do that? Do we exult in our sufferings? Do we say, “Ha, ha! Suffering!! Bring it on! There’s nothing I like better than a month of suffering!!” Do you know anyone who would say that?

I think we would never exult in our sufferings – unless we have come to know something about suffering that most people don’t know. That’s what Paul proposes: there’s something that changes our attitude toward suffering. We know that suffering produces endurance. And we know that endurance produces character. And we know that character produces hope. Wait, there’s that word hope again. Endurance produces character, and character produces this eager expectation, this earnest anticipation about what God has decreed, about what is going to take place. And what does this earnest anticipation do?

In Mark 9:34-38, we can read about how Jesus said if we want to be his followers, we must deny ourselves, take our cross and follow him. If we want to save our life, we’ll lose it, but if we lose our life for his sake, we’ll save it. If we are ashamed of him in this sinful world, then he’ll be ashamed of us.

In the midst of hard times, in the midst of suffering, we need to think about this. What if we stand up, stand up for Jesus, and the world responds by beating us down? What if we lose our lives for the sake of the gospel, like the Book of Acts tells us happened to the Deacon Stephen or the Apostle James? Because of what Jesus tells us, we can believe that suffering and death are no big deal. What if, instead, we are ashamed of Jesus and his gospel, because we are afraid of the danger, because we are afraid of suffering, because we are afraid of how this wicked world might treat us? That is a very big deal, a troublesome deal: Jesus offers the starkest of warnings here: “the Son of Man will be ashamed of you.”

… and then one day the Emperor Claudius died, in the year 54. After that, it was possible for Christians to move back to Rome again. Perhaps Priscilla had three or four children by this time; the eldest might have been ten or twelve years old, or even perhaps a little older and married, maybe with a baby, so that Priscilla and Aquila could have become grandparents by then. What would they have thought about the death of Emperor Claudius? I suppose Priscilla and Aquila debated whether it was a good idea to go back to Rome. They may well have still owned property there; if they didn’t go back, eventually it would be considered abandoned and it would be a complete loss to them, but if they did go back, there was the danger that the new emperor, Nero, would turn out to be just as anti-Christian as Claudius. Or maybe things would be fine. How could they tell?

Priscilla had some experience with danger. Paul would write, later in this same letter to the Romans, that Priscilla and Aquila risked their necks for his life. We don’t know for sure how that happened. But we do know they were still in Ephesus when Paul got there, and we do know that not long after Paul arrived there was a riot in Ephesus against Paul and his message. And so maybe they risked their necks for his life by wading into that riot to get Paul safely away as the rioters were getting ready to stone him to death.

As it turns out, Priscilla and Aquila decided to go back to Rome. When they got there, it seems they were successful in recovering their property; they reopened their business, and soon they were making and selling tents again. They reconnected with other Christians who had also made their way back to Rome. Soon there were several groups of a dozen or twenty Christians gathering once again in different houses to read scripture, pray, and sing to the Lord: and one of those small congregations met in the home of Priscilla and Aquila.

In the winter of 56-57, Paul sailed for Jerusalem with the famine relief offering that the churches of Greece and Macedonia had given to help feed the hungry children of Jerusalem. Just before he left Greece, though, he wrote this letter we now call The Epistle to the Romans. The letter provides an extensive summary of the Christian message. And in his opening remarks Paul gave this ringing declaration: “I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God for salvation for everyone who believes.”

I am not ashamed of the gospel. Jesus had said, “If you are ashamed of me, or of my words, then I’ll be ashamed of you” – and Paul’s affirmation sounds out like a trumpet: I am not ashamed of Jesus; I am not ashamed of his gospel.

I admire that response. But I have to admit that I have not done too good a job of living up to it. I have been anxious about the gospel. I’ve been afraid of looking like a fundamentalist, and so I’ve kept quiet about the gospel. I’ve been awkward about the gospel, hesitant about the gospel. I believe that the gospel is God’s power for salvation, so I don’t want to say that I’m ashamed of the gospel; I’d rather say that I’m just shy, that I don’t want to be brash and obnoxious about the gospel.

As I said, there are three words that you need to understand in order to see what today’s text is all about. The first was boast, better rendered as exult; the second was hope, better rendered as anticipation; and the third was disappoint; and all I’ve said so far was that was wrong. I didn’t tell you what a better alternative would be. That better alternative is make ashamed. The old King James version had it right: “hope maketh not ashamed,” it says. Modern translations have thought that felt clunky, and so they have opted for the “hope does not disappoint us” translation. But even if it feels a little clunky, “maketh not ashamed” points us straight into a great truth: Christian hope – the earnest anticipation of seeing the fulfillment of what God has decreed – makes us not ashamed that the love of God has been poured into our hearts, through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.

We exult in our anticipation of sharing the glory of God – we are excited because whether we die for our faith tomorrow or die in the fullness of old age, we know we will share the glory of God in heaven. And we even exult in the midst of suffering, because we know that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character leads to a stronger and stronger sense of hope, a stronger and stronger sense of anticipation of the wonder of being filled with joy in the presence of our Lord forever. And that hope, that anticipation, says Paul: that makes us not ashamed of the gospel, not ashamed that the love of God has been poured into our hearts.

So Paul’s letter arrived in Rome, and they quickly made copies of it, so that all the little house churches could have it to read on the following Sunday. When that day came, Priscilla and Aquila were leading worship in their home, and they read it to those who had gathered in their living room. Perhaps Aquila and Priscilla took turns reading from it; maybe Priscilla was the one reading out this part that we now call chapter 5. I wonder how she would feel, as she read out the words Paul wrote, and heard them speaking in her own heart. What would that be like? “We exult in our suffering,” she read out, and she thought, “Is that right? Am I glad I have the opportunity to suffer?” She remembered the upheaval in their life when they had to leave Rome, and knew she didn’t want that to happen to her family again. “Suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character,” she said to the people in her living room, “and character produces anticipation, and this anticipation makes us not ashamed that the love of God has been poured into our hearts, through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”

What would that be like for Priscilla, reading those words and thinking about her fears for her home and her family? She had been open about sharing her faith, in earlier days; but now she had to acknowledge that she was more hesitant. Was she thinking that she might take the risk of being more vocal about her faith, if it were just her; but now she had her children to think about? Was she trying to convince herself that she wasn’t ashamed of the gospel, she wasn’t ashamed that the love of God had been poured into our hearts. She was just hesitant. Cautious. Prudent. Because of her children. She didn’t want anything to happen to her children.

What would it ha be like for Priscilla, as she read that passage to the people in her living room? What would it be like for her, that evening and throughout the next week, as she pondered on those words: I am not ashamed of the gospel. Suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces this eager anticipation, and this eager anticipation makes us not ashamed that the love of God has been poured into our hearts. I am not ashamed, Priscilla said to herself. I am not ashamed of Jesus. I am not ashamed of his gospel. I‘m not. But I am scared. I’m scared for my children. I’m scared for the church. And I guess I’m scared for me, too.

In the early centuries, Christian people wrote and treasured stories about the martyrdom of heroes of the faith. These stories are often quite breathless and sometimes kind of gory. But there are no details regarding the martyrdom of Priscilla and Aquila. The stories that were passed down about them are sketchy and contradictory. The Roman Martyrology sets July the 8^th as the day they were beheaded, in Rome. The Byzantine Martyrology says they were martyred in Ephesus, and gives no further information.

These accounts can’t both be true; after they behead you in Rome, you can’t travel to Ephesus to get martyred there, too. Still, if both versions agree that Aquila and Priscilla got martyred, at least that much is probably right. And that means that Priscilla found her courage. She decided she was not ashamed of the gospel, and she decided to live on that basis. The hope that Jesus had established within her was big enough that it made her not ashamed that the love of God had been poured into her heart. In fact, God had poured enough of the love of Jesus into her heart that it overflowed, so she had plenty to share with others. And she did: she shared the cup-running-over love of God with those around her, she was not ashamed of the gospel of Jesus, and shared that gospel with her neighbors and friends. She was not ashamed of the deep, deep love of Jesus, and she spoke it out loud, even at the cost of her own life: she was faithful all the way to the end, knowing that in life and in death we belong to the Lord.

And may we be just as courageous, and just as faithful.