Belonging to Another

Colossians 2:1-23

17th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

July 28, 2019

William G. Carter

Sometimes when we hear the Bible, we nod our heads in affirmation. There is something that resonates, something that rings as true. Perhaps it’s an insight we had never thought about, and when we hear it, we say, “Yes, that’s right.” We discover we were not alone.

But other times, when we hear the Bible, we grit our teeth. There is a voice that confronts us. It questions what we assumed was true. It shakes us up sufficiently that we push back against it, or have to rethink what we held close in our heart.

Such is the case when Paul and Timothy write, “See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deceit.” I have had a mixed history with that verse.

It got kind of quiet at the dinner table when I announced, “Dad, I am changing my college major to philosophy.” My little sister said, “What’s philosophy?” My brother rolled his eyes. My mother abruptly left the table. My dad grunted, wondering what kind of do philosophy majors get when they graduate?" Little did he know. And I expected those reactions.

What I didn't expect was the reaction from friends in my dormitory Bible study. They were absolutely outraged by my decision. "Philosophy is a pagan business," one of them declared, “and no true Christian would dare take a philosophy class."

"It's true," said another student. "I knew a guy who took a class on existentialism. He used to be a good Baptist who believed the Bible. Now he drinks whiskey and listens to jazz."

The loudest thunder came from Steven, a recently converted Jew. He stood up, unzipped his Bible, and turned to Colossians 2:8 -- "See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits of the universe, and not according to Christ." Then he sat down, zipped up his Bible, looked at me, and said, "You don't need philosophy. All you need is Jesus."

That happened almost 40 years ago. Since that time, I have learned a few things. First, you can never argue with a convert. They always want to be right. Second, it was my life, not theirs. I was the one who dropped physics for philosophy, after all, and I was the one who had to look for a job after graduation.

In my case, philosophy was a perfect way to prepare for Princeton Seminary, because philosophy is a discipline that challenged me to use my brain.

And third, even though he was a convert, even though it was my life, I have spent forty years coming to terms with what Steven said: "You don't need philosophy. All you need is Jesus." Now is that true? Is Jesus enough?

I was hard-headed enough to ignore the criticism from my classmates. And I discovered they really diddn't know what they were talking about. Philosophy is a way of working through the world. You try to build a coherent way to make sense of what we see and experience every day. You attempt to use your head to sift through what is true and what is false, what is beautiful and what is ugly, what is worthy of praise and what is worthy to be ignored.

When you study philosophy, you read writings of people who tried to work it out before we came on the scene and you learn how to discuss with people with whom you disagree. As I discovered, if you want to get an A in philosophy class, it’s not about getting all the answers right (like math or physics). It’s about asking the right questions.

The word itself is instructive. The beginning, "philo" comes from philia, the Greek word for friend. "Sophia" is the word for wisdom. At its root, the philosopher is a friend of wisdom. I like that: a friend of wisdom.

Last week, we heard Paul and Timothy say that Christ is the wisdom of the universe.        He was the primal mover of creation, and he is the firstborn from the dead. "In him, all things hold together." The Risen Christ is the glue for all reality. That is, Christ is the philosophical framework for all things seen and unseen. He gives meaning and purpose to everything else in the world.

Nevertheless Paul and Timothy say, "Don't let anybody take you captive through philosophy and empty deceit." What is he talking about?

Scholars aren’t sure. Obviously the apostle was referring to some screwy ideas in the small city of Colossae. That shouldn’t surprise us. There are screwy ideas everywhere. I made myself a short list of some of the screwy ideas in Clarks Summit:

·         Life is best lived on the dead run.

·         Giving money to your kids is more important than getting to know them.

·         We exist only for our weekends and our vacations.

·         It’s all about consumption. Consume, consume, consume.

Every one of those philosophies is a dead end, what Paul and Timothy call “empty deceit.” It’s empty, in the sense that it has no substance, and it will fool you into thinking otherwise.

Colossae was wiped out by an earthquake a few years after this letter was written. We don’t really know what Paul and Timothy were referring to, although we have three hints.

Apparently some in that church were insisting on self-abasement. That is, they were depriving themselves, or beating up on themselves, as a spiritual practice. Every church seems to attract these kind of people. We know what they say: "Look at me: I've been on that committee longer than anybody else." "Hit me again: I don't want to be happy, I want to suffer like Jesus." "Look here: I spend more time on my knees in prayer than everybody else in town."

Paul is not impressed. He diagnoses it as the sickness of "spiritual self-indulgence.” He refers to the person who insists on being super pious in every circumstance. "There's no freedom in that," he says. "It's a form of captivity."

Others in the church were taking part in a little angel worship: angels on the Christmas tree, angels on the mantle, angels on the wall. "Let's get ourselves a good angel who will become our personal guardian."             People like this also show up in churches now and then. Most of us can understand the attraction of angels. Angels do not get born among peasants and placed in mangers. Angels don't suffer humiliation and abuse. Angels don't carry crosses, and they don't give their lives for the salvation of the world.

                       

"Who needs Jesus?" some of them said. "Let's just find a few good angels."

Still others were caught up in rule-keeping. Rule-keeping has always been a favorite hobby among religious folk. “Don’t sit too far up front. The preacher may spit on you.” “Don’t arrive too early. The ushers may press you into service.” We love to keep our rules, whether they are written or not.

           

I wonder what regulations Paul and Timothy were referring to. They quote some of them: "Do not handle. Do not taste. Do not touch." Most likely, it meant, "Do not handle the holy silverware." "Do not taste the wrong kind of food or drink." "Do not touch the wrong kind of people."

           

Paul says, "These rules come from people; these laws are not eternal, like God; they are human notions. "Why do you live as if you still belonged to the world?" That, you see, is really the issue.

These people were baptized. They were initiated into the mystery of the Gospel. They were adopted into a relationship with Jesus Christ, not merely the Palestinian who was crucified, but the Risen Christ who reveals the grace of God. In a manner of speaking, the apostles are saying, "All you need is Jesus." That’s the fullness of the philosophy of God. As they say, “In Christ are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge." (2:3)

Years ago, on our first trip to Haiti, a woman stopped by who was an expert on the voodoo religion. She told us about the roots of voodoo, how it came from Africa on the slave ships. She explained some of the beliefs of voodoo, which are based in human relationships with the primal elements, like wind and fire. She told us how voodoo dolls are supposed to work. Apparently you get a doll, write somebody's name on the forehead, and poke it with pins. The pins don't inflict pain; rather, they repel that person from you. They keep them away. (Some days, a dozen or so dolls like that might come in handy!)

Then she said something very striking. "In Haiti, 80 percent of the people are Roman Catholic. 100 percent of them practice voodoo." "How can that be?" we asked. "When people get in trouble," she said, "they turn to the place where they find the most help. On Sunday morning, they go to church and act respectable. But if they ever get in trouble, they turn to wherever they can find help."

It haunted me, because she was indicting the church! It is possible to attend every Sunday, give your money to the poor, go through all the rituals, and remain distant from the Lord who is the source of our help. So Paul and Timothy say, "See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits of the universe, and not according to Christ."

The truth of the Gospel is that our help comes from Jesus Christ. In Jesus, God dwelt in all fullness. When we are filled, we are filled up through him. When we sank down in the waters of baptism, we were buried with Jesus who died for us. When we were raised up out of the water, God made us alive with Christ who lives.

The dark power of our trespasses has been cancelled. Our human failures have been forgotten. Our sins have been nailed to the cross of Jesus and taken away. And there is no power to break us, no earthly ruler to destroy us, no demonic artillery that can finally damage us. God has disarmed the world. Our help has come in Jesus.

                                               

The invitation of the Christian faith is to remain focused on Christ alone, to see the world through the One in whom all things are made and redeemed.

           

It's easy to get distracted, and easy to get tangled up or turned around. Every once in a while, I find myself in trouble. I frequently put myself down and try to look humble enough for God to love me. Or I look for a good, strong angel to help me get what I want. Or I get firm about the rules of the universe and how I think they should be kept. I do whatever I can to help myself out . . . and it's always a miserable flop.

Sooner or later, I start thinking: how am I going to get through this? It's only then that I realize: I don’t belong to my troubles. I don’t belong to my inadequacies. I don’t belong to the empty promises of a consumer society. I don’t belong to the empty vanity of any earthly empire. My only comfort, in life and death, is that I am not my own, but belong with body and soul, in life and in death, to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ. And that’s enough.

So here is the philosophy of Paul and Timothy, as a gift for us: "As you therefore have received Christ Jesus the Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving."  (2:6)

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

The Gospel in Three Words

Colossians1:1-29

Summer 2019

July 21, 2019

William G. Carter

God has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins. He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers—all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together. He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross. 

I completely understand if you found that a lot to swallow. The first chapter of Colossians is a colossal text. It’s right up there with the first chapter of John’s gospel, though not as mysterious. It may be the basis for a similar passage in the first chapter of Ephesians. This text is so enormous that it requires two writers, not one. Paul and Timothy sign their names to it.

What makes it so large is that this chapter reports on what God is doing in Jesus Christ. Not just in the smallness and the privacy of our hearts, but what God is doing in the universe. At least six times in a few verses, we hear God is at work in “all things.”

• “all things” are created in Christ
• “all things” are created for Christ
• “all things” are created through Christ
• “all things” are created after Christ
• in Christ, “all things” hold together
• through Christ, “all things” are reconciled to God

It’s a big text. With something so large, we need a way to enter into it. Today the best way may be to reflect on three words that sparkle like diamonds and are just as valuable. For the sake of memory, each word begins with the letter “R.” They are rescue, redemption, and reconciliation. The Gospel in its fullness is here in these three words. So let’s reflect on them, as we celebrate Christmas in July.

The first is rescue. Can you remember a time when you were rescued? Flat tire on a dark road? A crime broken up? An EMT showing up at an opportune time?

Let me tell you about a rescue. In the summer of my fourteenth year, I spent a week at Boy Scout camp. The camp is on the western shore of Cayuga Lake, not far from Ithaca, now surrounded by vineyards. It was a great place to spend a week. We ran around in the woods, slept under the stars, racked up a lot of merit badges, and avoided the distraction of girls. It was a perfect week for a young teenager!

My friend Mark and I were tentmates. On a free afternoon, we went down to the waterfront and checked out a boat. We were both inexperienced enough that they didn’t let us take out a small sailboat. Instead we got a rowboat, an old-fashioned rowboat, the kind with two oars. Aiming nowhere in particular, Mark and I traded off on the oars. Pretty soon we were in the middle of Cayuga Lake, maybe a half mile away.

Without warning, the fluffy clouds went dark. A huge thunderhead formed above us, went up about a mile. The smell of ozone burned the air. A big storm was heading right toward us, and we’re in a metal rowboat, half a mile from shore. One of us stood up to yell; the yelling was a good idea, the standing up was not. There was no response on shore. In fact, it looked like they were shutting down the waterfront and putting everything away.

So we yelled again, this time seated in a rowboat that had begun to bounce on some very wild water. Again no response, and we started to panic. In a Three Stooges moment, Mark took one paddle, I took the other. We started rowing hard and went in circles. Cayuga is a glacial lake, over 400 feet deep. We were on top of the water, but I tell you, we were in way over our heads.

There was a flash of lightning and a crack of thunder. We were immobilized by impending doom. Suddenly there was a boat right there, a Boston Whaler throwing us a line and saying, “Hang on.” We were rescued.

I reflect on that moment. We weren’t in trouble because we had done something wrong. Foolish, perhaps, but not something wrong. If we had done something wrong, it would have made things worse. No, we were up against something life-threatening that we could not manage. Help came from outside of our own incompetence.

That’s how Paul and Timothy describe the rescue of the Gospel: “God has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son.” It’s a shift of dominion. Sin is something more than the wrong deed we did or the good deed that we neglected to do. It’s a dominion that we will never be strong enough or good enough to avoid. That’s why we need to be rescued, which is God’s mission in sending Jesus to the world.

The grand old Christmas carol says it best:

God rest ye merry, gentlemen, let nothing you dismay.

Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day.

To save us all from Satan’s power when we were gone astray. O, tidings of comfort and joy!

This saving, this rescuing, is what God has done. It is the work of Christ. For our part, the only thing we must do is hang onto the rope when he pulls us ashore.

The effect of this rescue is the second big Gospel word: redemption. Redemption is not a word we use very much. English professors talk about the redemption of Ebenezer Scrooge; he used to be a terrible, stingy person, but some spirits turn him around and rescue him from himself. But biblically speaking, redemption is more than a change in personality.

Ancient ones among us may remember the redemption centers of S & H green stamps. You collected them in a book and cashed them in for something else. North of our state border, there are redemption centers for bottles and cans that can be recycled, something that Pennsylvania should have done a long time ago. You collect bottles and cans and cash them in to keep the environment cleaner.

Redemption has economic overtones. In the first-century world of Paul and Timothy, the economy was built on the back of human slaves. People were bought and sold to labor for their masters. It was brutal, ugly, and demeaning. Yet in rare cases, slaves could purchase their freedom. It might take years to save the money. Or it could involve an act of extraordinary generosity by a patron. Whatever the case, the act of purchasing freedom is the word Timothy and Paul use here: redemption.

Paul and Timothy equate this redemption with the gift of forgiveness. In Christ, we have been liberated from the addiction of sin. Thanks to God in Christ, the rescue offered by Christ redeems us from every form of slavery. No longer shackled, no longer demeaned, no longer unable to determine your own future – we are free! As long, of course, as we wish to be free. As long as we welcome that Christ has paid our redemption through the cost of his life.

That reminds me of a Christmas carol, the Sussex Carol:

On Christmas night all Christians sing / to hear the news the angels bring:

News of great joy, news of great mirth, news of our merciful King’s birth.

Then why should we on earth be sad, since our Redeemer made us glad?

When from our sin He has set us free, all for to gain our liberty?

When sin departs before His grace, then life and health come in his place;

Angels and (all) with joy may sing, all for to see the newborn king.

There is the rescue from the powers of darkness. There is redemption from the powers of oppression. And ultimately there is the gift of reconciliation.

Reconciliation is the bringing together of two parties that have been at war with one another. If we have been rescued, if God in Christ has redeemed us, there is nothing to keep us from living in peace with God.

You know the favorite Christmas carol:

Hark, the herald angels sing! Glory to the newborn king.

Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled.

To be reconciled is to be in complete relationship. There is nothing withheld and nothing to disrupt. There is, as Paul writes elsewhere, nothing that shall can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 8). This is the experience of reconciliation.

Now, I know it’s hard to accept this completely. Life is full of disruptions that throw us off balance. There are people with whom we differ, opinions we find had to understand. Someone out there is always trying to disrupt the peace. Others are compelled by their own brokenness to attempt to break somebody else.

Yet the truth of the Gospel is God has provided for the reconciliation of “all things.” All things.

It’s like Dietrich Bonhoeffer described life in the church. You go to church and you’re surrounded by enemies. It’s no different than living in the world: there are enemies all around you. In the church, there are all these broken sinners, people whose lives have been a complete mess. And you are one of them.

Then the Gospel is announced: in Christ, God comes to rescue us. In Christ, all are redeemed, and sins are forgiven. Your sins are forgiven, and that is good news. Right over there, your enemies’ sins are also forgiven. You might not like that, because you are still holding onto a grudge, even if Christ is no longer holding onto it. Our reconciliation to one another, our ability to live in peace together, is because Christ has forgiven each of us.  In Christian fellowship, you cannot hold onto the anger and resentment that Christ has already released and let go.

As Bonhoeffer says, “Christian (fellowship) is not an ideal which we much realize; it is rather a reality by God I Christ in which we may participate. The more clearly we learn to recognize that the ground and strength and promise of all of our fellowship is in Jesus Christ alone, the more serenely shall we think of our fellowship and pray and hope for it.”[1]

Or to quote Paul and Timothy, “in Christ, all things hold together.” Not “some things” but all things. Not merely the things we approve of, or the people with whom we agree; all things. And not merely the things and people we see, but all things – all things were made through Christ, in Christ, and for Christ, both in heaven and on earth. It is the greatest claim of all scripture, that “in Christ, all things hold together.” And it’s remarkable that it says, “all things in heaven and earth.”

Fifty years ago this weekend, a Presbyterian elder landed on the moon. His name was Buzz Aldrin. Before he blasted off, he told his pastor he “had been struggling to find the right symbol for the first lunar landing.” He wanted to find something that would signify how this mission transcended electronics, computers, and rockets. The two of them wondered if it was possible to celebrate the sacrament of Holy Communion on the moon.

His pastor gave Aldrin a small silver chalice and a vial of wine. A communion wafer was carried in an airtight pouch. Aldrin had thought about sharing the event with the world over the radio, but some atheists had recently sued NASA after previous astronauts read from the book of Genesis when they had orbited the moon. A public celebration was ruled out.

But the moment came when Buzz Aldrin went off the radio and read the words of Jesus: “I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever remains in me, and I in him, will bear much fruit, for you can do nothing without me.” Then he took the bread, broke it and ate it. With just enough gravity on the moon, he poured the wine into the chalice and drank it.[2]

The quiet testimony of this Presbyterian elder was simply this: “Through Christ, God was please to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of the cross.”

The testimony is still true. It gathers us every week and send us out to serve. We are rescued, redeemed, and reconciled to God. Thank be to God through our Lord Jesus Christ.

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

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[1] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together (New York: Harper & Row, 1954) p. 30.

[2] Here is an account of the full story: “9 Things You Should Know About the Communion Service on the Moon,” Joe Carter, The Gospel Coalition, July 17, 2019. https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/9-things-you-should-know-about-the-communion-service-on-the-moon/

For the Good of All

Galatians 5:26-6:10

July 8, 2019

William G. Carter

Let us not become conceited, competing against one another, envying one another. My friends, if anyone is detected in a transgression, you who have received the Spirit should restore such a one in a spirit of gentleness. Take care that you yourselves are not tempted. Bear one another’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ. For if those who are nothing think they are something, they deceive themselves. All must test their own work; then that work, rather than their neighbor’s work will become a cause for pride. For all must carry their own loads. Those who are taught the word must share in all good things with their teacher.

Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for you reap whatever you sow. If you sow to your own flesh, you will reap corruption from the flesh; but if you sow to the Spirit, you will reap eternal life from the Spirit. So let us not grow weary in doing what is right, for we will reap at harvest time. So then whenever we have an opportunity, let us work for the good of all, and especially for those of the family of faith.

It caught my attention because Paul says, “Bear one another’s burdens.” This is how you fulfill the law of Christ, the law of love: bear one another’s burdens. I can’t think of a better word for the church, the nation, the neighborhood, and for you and me.

It’s a quick admonition dropped into a couple of paragraphs of advice. This was Paul’s general plan for writing a letter: say hello, bless the people you’re addressing, lay out the truth of the Gospel, and give them advice. We hear some of that: restore the sinner with gentleness, avoid temptation, don’t inflate your opinion of yourself, carry your own load, don’t grow weary in doing what’s right, and especially work for the good of all.

In the thick of it all is an expression of mutual care: bear one another’s burdens.

It’s remarkable because it affirms everybody has a burden. No one is exempt. Oh, maybe they try and hide it, pretend in public that it’s no big deal. “Are you OK?” Oh, I buried my father, lost my job, haven’t heard from the kids, and I contracted Lyme’s disease…but I’ll be OK. This is church. I’m supposed to put on a good face in church, isn’t that right?

No, this is the church. In here, we are commanded to take care of one another, to model for the world what it means to love our neighbors. If it can’t happen in the family of faith, how will it ever happen in the world?

If you read the early history of the first Christian community, you discover how radical this was, especially in an empire that ran on power and domination. In the fourth chapter of the book of Acts, here is one of the first descriptions of what it means to belong to Christ:

The whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common...There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles' feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need. (Acts 4:32, 34-35)

That’s a description of the church. "They were of one heart and one mind." Obviously they weren’t Presbyterians. Put three Presbyterians in the same room and you may have four or five opinions.

"No one claimed private ownership of any possessions. Everything they owned was held in common." Have you ever heard of such a thing? My little brother used to steal my socks. I said, “Put on your own socks. Those are mine.”

Then it says, "There was not a needy person among them." That’s the most astounding description of all. There are only two ways for a church to get described like that. The first is to be very selective in your membership. Never let in a needy person. The second is to take care of one another.

That early snapshot from Christian history embodies the advice Paul gives. Those Christians believed Jesus was alive and the world had changed. They gave up selfishness. They stopped putting people in categories. They refused to let wealth and poverty separate them into two different ghettoes. They ignored the world’s adjectives: male or female, Jew or Gentile, slave or free. They traded in their pronouns: “me” became “us,” “mine” became “ours.” What an incredible picture of what it looks like to love neighbor in the name of Jesus.

I try to imagine somebody in coffee hour, saying, "Listen, Stephen, I have a big house with four bedrooms, and there are only the two of us. You are married with seven kids, living in a two-room shack. That's not fair. Let me sell my house, give you the money, and you can buy something more suitable." Can you believe it? The Bible invites us to believe it: to bear one another’s burdens.

Now, I realize old Paul gets a bad rap from modern day people. But I have to say he has this right. His word about bearing burdens is right next to a line about not thinking too much of yourself. That’s exactly right. You can’t truly care for somebody else if you are preoccupied for yourself.

It’s the kind of lesson that Father Henri Nouwen said he had to learn over and over again. Before he taught at Harvard and Yale, he was teaching at Notre Dame. One day he was strolling across the Indiana campus with an older professor. And the man said,

"You know Henri, my whole life I have been complaining that my work was constantly interrupted: I'd have a needy student, or an intrusive colleague, or the phone would ring, or I'd get a letter from the dean that needed a response. It never failed: I would get settled down to do some serious work of my own, and there would be an interruption. I've always complained about that, until I discovered that my interruptions were my work."[1]

It's true, isn't it? If we’re busy climbing the ladder to competence and greatness, we get interrupted. The kids want somebody to play ball. Our significant other needs a hug when you're busy doing something important. The phone rings when you're sitting down at the supper table - it's a friend who has a crisis; “Can you come right away?”  Well, it's supper time. One interruption after another.

If you stop to handle every interruption, you never get to your own agenda. Instead you spend a great deal of time and energy on people outside yourself... which, if you read the Gospels, sounds a lot like what Jesus did.

What if we really did care about one another at least as much as we care about ourselves?

Sometimes I wonder if Americans have confused freedom with independence. We have let counterfeits preach freedom when they really meant independence. It’s here in Paul’s letter to the Galatians. The freedom of the gospel has very little to do with independence, because independence means, “I don’t need you, I don’t need my parents, I don’t need my neighbors, I don’t need anybody. I don’t really even need God. I can handle life by myself.”

But true freedom means we are free from turning in upon ourselves. The grace of God sets us free from the imprisonment of our whims and our drive to get ahead. We are free to be there for one another. We are free to carry one another’s burdens, because all of us have a burden. 

I realize this is a wonderful ideal, even if it strikes us as quaint, old fashioned, or even strange. I recall a conversation that I had with an architect named Bill Jones before he moved out of town. I asked, “What is the most significant change in architecture that you’ve ever known?” He didn’t have to give it a minute’s thought. His answer: the elimination of the front porch and the addition of the backyard deck.

You know why he said that. We used to talk to neighbors when they walked by. Now we retreat out of sight to the barbeque grill. We don’t even know the names of our neighbors.

The Gospel calls us to a different way to live. It’s the way of living together. It requires the life-giving conversion of making room for others, even if they are different or you disagree.

Some of us experienced this a week ago in our memorial service for Ed Cole. That wily curmudgeon wrote his own eulogy – and then asked a lifelong political opponent to read it for all of us. It was pure Ed; he gave a couple of gentle elbows to his reader. What was so astonishing, so Christ-like, was that it modeled for us what it means to pursue the common good. There is something more important than winning or being right: it’s loving one another, bumps and all, finding common ground, and serving a great good.

In his final letter to the Scranton Times-Tribune, published a few days before his death, Ed reminded us of the words from President Kennedy, “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.” We’ve forgotten that advice, he said, or at least our leaders have forgotten it, if they ever knew it. 

So, he declared, “we need leaders who will work together across aisles and divide and do it for the benefit of all… That’s when all of us will prosper.”[2] Sounds like Ed was reading the last chapter of Galatians: “Let us work for the good of all.”

The Gospel gives us this kind of freedom, the freedom to become deeply human. It’s about being kind, but it’s so much more than being kind. It’s about growing into our baptisms in Christ, becoming the people Christ has claimed us to be. It’s about taking one another seriously, and pausing from our own agendas long enough to really listen to the person in front of you. Because he or she is carrying a burden – and so are you.

And the second greatest truth after the truth of Christ’s resurrection is the truth that we’re in this life together. It’s just as Henri Nouwen said somewhere, “The opposite of compassion is competition.” We can’t really care for one another if we are dead-set on nosing ahead of everybody else. But if have the clear and abiding sense that “I cannot truly flourish unless I help you to flourish,” maybe, just maybe we will get through the dark.

For in the end, the best evidence of our Christian faith is our ability to love for one another. To make ourselves available to those in need. To empty our pockets for other people's children. To welcome as family those to whom we are not related. In the words of Paul, “to work for the good of all.”

In the early days of the church, a wise Christian preacher announced the implications of our faith in this way:

We know that we have passed from death to life because we love one another. Whoever does not love abides in death . . . We know love by this - that he laid down his life for us - and we ought to lay down our lives for one another. How does God's love abide in anybody who has the world's good and sees a brother and sister in need and yet refuses help? Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action. (1 John 3:14, 16-18)

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved

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[1] Henri J. M. Nouwen, Reaching Out: The Three Movements of the Spiritual Life (New York: Image Books, 1986) 52.

[2] Edward Cole, “Healing Needed,” The Scranton Times-Tribune, 20 May 2019.