An Obligation is Laid Upon Me

1 Corinthians 9:16-23

5^th Ordinary

February 4, 2018

William G. Carter

If I proclaim the gospel, this gives me no ground for boasting, for an obligation is laid on me, and woe to me if I do not proclaim the gospel! For if I do this of my own will, I have a reward; but if not of my own will, I am entrusted with a commission. What then is my reward? Just this: that in my proclamation I may make the gospel free of charge, so as not to make full use of my rights in the gospel.

For though I am free with respect to all, I have made myself a slave to all, so that I might win more of them. To the Jews I became as a Jew, in order to win Jews. To those under the law I became as one under the law (though I myself am not under the law) so that I might win those under the law. To those outside the law I became as one outside the law (though I am not free from God’s law but am under Christ’s law) so that I might win those outside the law. To the weak I became weak, so that I might win the weak. I have become all things to all people, that I might by all means save some. I do it all for the sake of the gospel, so that I may share in its blessings.

I want to tell you a story about my friend Virginia. When she was growing up, she didn’t like football. She never wanted to go to a high school game, even though it was the only thing on a Friday night in the small town where she grew up. But she was in the marching band, so she had to go. She played her horn in the bleachers, talked to her friends, and ate a slice of cold pizza while the game was going on. She couldn’t care less about football.

She went to a college that didn’t have a football team. They had a library, with actual books. She took classes and got good grades. There was no distraction from a stadium, no parking problems, no overpriced tickets, no rah-rah-rah. Her college career had no football, and she was alright with that.

The same can be said of the graduate school she attended, which was the same school I attended. I played on an intramural team. My friends tossed the ball around on the green space on the center of the campus, until the campus security guard said, “Get off the field; it’s not for sports.” Virginia probably smirked at that. For her, football was an unnecessary distraction from real life.

Did I mention that she never liked football? In fact, someone once asked about her favorite team. Without much thought, she said, “The Chicago Bears.” Why the Bears? “Well, they are far from home,” she said, “they don’t win a lot of games, so they won’t require a lot of my energy.”

We graduated from school. Both of us were ordained as ministers. She went her way, I went mine. I started out in the Lehigh Valley, and she went to a town called Peckville. Within minutes of her landing there, the phone rang. She was invited to give the opening prayer at the annual football banquet for the Valley View Cougars. “The priests were all busy,” she said, “so they called the new kid on the block.”

That was thirty-four years ago. And in most of the years since, she has gone back to offer the prayer.

She is not able to come over to my house this afternoon to eat chicken wings and enjoy the Super Bowl. But I have noticed that football has grown on her, without compromising any of her values. You see, she’s kind of sneaky. She slips in a little Gospel whenever she prays. For instance, she might pray, “Almighty God, even though we live in a world of fierce competition, you embrace equally the losers and the winners. We thank you, Lord, that we don't need to be champions to be saved by your love.” That's the kind of prayer that she prays, and every year they keep inviting her back.

Given what I have told you about her, you might wonder: why did she keep going to the Valley View football banquets? (Go ahead: ask!) Virginia said, “That’s where the people are; and if I have an opportunity to be with them and share the Good News, then that’s where I need to go.”

It’s an interesting little parable.

Years ago, we had a wonderful man who moved to our region. He came from one of the turnpike exits in New Jersey and landed in a county seat town, not far from here. It was an awkward fit. The people didn’t take to him very well.

A few friends went to check on him, and see if they could help. One of them said, “What do you do on Friday nights?” He said, “That’s our night to stay home, read a book, watch a couple of cop shows on TV.” The friend said, “Ever think about going to a high school football game? Everybody in town is there.” And he replied, “Why would I want to do that?” He didn’t last very long, and it had nothing to do with football.

That’s a similar, but very different, little parable.

So the critics and the cranks in Corinth were going after the apostle Paul. They didn’t care that he started their little church. They didn’t care that he had moved on to another place. They found plenty to pick at him: he wasn’t tall and good looking, he had a squeaky voice. He didn’t do a lot of miracles, didn’t move a lot of mountains, didn’t pack the church with more and more people every week.

In fact, they said, he had only one sermon and kept preaching it over and over again. “You’re right about that,” he said, “I preach Christ crucified; that’s all I ever preach. The cross is the power of God.” So they criticized him some more.

Here in chapter 9, he defends himself. "I am not bound by anybody's opinions or expectations," he says. “Neither am I bound by anybody's money. I am free. My preaching does not depend on what people think of me. My ministry does not depend on conning people out of their hard-earned wages. No, what matters most is what God has done for the world in Jesus Christ. That there is Good News from God which comes free of charge.”

“So,” he says, “I will speak of the saving love of Jesus Christ wherever I can. In feast and famine. In places of comfort and places of hostility. I will go and preach anywhere, and I will talk to anybody, because I am free. The Gospel of Christ has set me free from my own neediness, my own brokenness. The love of God is sufficient for me to make it available to as many people as I can."

Do you know why churches stop growing? It’s because the people in the church stop thinking they have any good news to offer to anybody else. It is possible to grow insulated, to surround yourself with people just like you, to withdraw into your own little cocoon, to pull back from the world, to not even know the names of the people who move in next door.

A few years ago, I met a man named Phil Tom. He was the guy that the Presbyterian churches called when they said they wanted to reach out and bring more people into their building. Phil would set up an appointment with the church leaders, say on a Thursday night at 7:00. He would arrive at 5:00, park the car, and walk around the neighborhood.

At 7:00, the folks would show up. These were tired Presbyterians. They would drag themselves into the church, plop down in their favorite chairs, and say, “Phil, what can you do for us to bring more people into our church?”

He would ask, “Whom are you missing?” They would say, “We don’t have any young families.” Phil would say, “Really?” “Yes,” came the reply, “There are no young families around here.”

Phil pulled out a pad of paper and said, “Is that so? Did you know that within a three block radius of this church building, I counted fifteen homes with swing sets, five play houses and seven soccer balls in back yards, eight bicycles, to say nothing of some kids riding skateboards or shooting basketballs.”

One tired Presbyterian said, “But none of those people come to our church.” Phil smiled and said, “What are their names?” “We don’t know their names. In fact, most of us drive when we come to church.”

Oh, said Phil, “So you don’t have a relationship with the people with kids who live within three blocks of your church building?” Another tired Presbyterian said, “But they don’t come to our church.”

And Phil smiled and said, “Why don’t you go to them? Why don’t you knock on the door, say hello, take a fresh baked loaf of bread, learn who they are, and begin a friendship? Maybe you could find out if your church could offer to meet their needs in some way.” Many times, most of the time, Phil said that was the end of the conversation. “I move we adjourn.”

Do you know why churches stop growing? It happens when the people in the church stop thinking they have any good news to offer to anybody else. They would prefer to drive past their neighbors, go inside the building and hide for an hour, and drive past their neighbors to go home.

But not so with the apostle Paul. “An obligation is laid upon me,” he said. “It is a necessity.” The Greek word is “anagke” -- necessity – the sense is, “God has opened my heart with the riches of divine mercy, and I simply must share that mercy with everybody I can. It is my necessity.”

Paul’s play for outreach goes like this: “I will take them seriously, as they are. If they are Jews, I will speak as a Jew. If they are Gentiles, I will speak as a Gentile. If they are Patriots fans, I will use a Boston accent (“Park the car in Harvard yard”). If they are Eagles fans, I will say, 'Hey youse guys' and eat a pretzel with mustard.”

“And even if I can’t stand football, I will go to the high school football banquet and offer a prayer, because that’s where the people are.”

So I think about these things, on a day when we celebrate the life and work of our congregation, and I ask, “Who will be the next people that we can befriend on behalf of Jesus?” And I think about these things, as we gather around the Lord’s Table. A table is a community piece of furniture. There is grace and mercy for all. There’s room here for everyone.

And if they are not here, we need to take it to them. The obligation is laid upon us all, and that obligation is God’s blessing.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.