Decently and In Order, Mostly

1 Corinthians 14:26-40
Epiphany 5
February 9, 2025

William G. Carter

What should be done then, my friends? When you come together, each one has a hymn, a lesson, a revelation, a tongue, or an interpretation. Let all things be done for building up. If anyone speaks in a tongue, let there be only two or at most three, and each in turn; and let one interpret. But if there is no one to interpret, let them be silent in church and speak to themselves and to God. Let two or three prophets speak, and let the others weigh what is said. If a revelation is made to someone else sitting nearby, let the first person be silent. For you can all prophesy one by one, so that all may learn and all be encouraged. And the spirits of prophets are subject to the prophets, for God is a God not of disorder but of peace.

 

(As in all the churches of the saints, women should be silent in the churches. For they are not permitted to speak, but should be subordinate, as the law also says. If there is anything they desire to know, let them ask their husbands at home. For it is shameful for a woman to speak in church. Or did the word of God originate with you? Or are you the only ones it has reached?) 

 

Anyone who claims to be a prophet, or to have spiritual powers, must acknowledge that what I am writing to you is a command of the Lord. Anyone who does not recognize this is not to be recognized. So, my friends, be eager to prophesy, and do not forbid speaking in tongues; but all things should be done decently and in order.

Thanks to all of you, I don’t get around to a lot of other churches. But sometimes when I do, it tweaks one of my long-standing pet peeves. Say, for instance, if I’m the guest preacher. Some nice people will meet me at the door. They will show me around. We will chat about some necessary matters, such as, “Do you ask for the ushers to bring forward the offering plates for the offering, or will they be on the communion table?”

Then, of course, there is the follow-up question: “When everybody stands to sing the offertory, does the preacher retrieve them and put them on the communion table, or do the ushers turn around after the prayer, walk back down the aisle, and deliver them to the folks who are counting the proceeds?” You might think these are small matters, but the slightest bit of confusion can make for a moment that is awkward at best and paralyzing at worst.

It happens to guest preachers here. When the communion servers return with the trays of unused bread, do they sit down or remain standing when the preacher gives them bread? And how about the wine? Do those serving sit down then to receive the cup or do they stand? OR, as has happened here, do two of them sit while the other two stand? There can be a whole lot of drama missed by those who bow their heads and pray while all this is going on.

These things don’t upset me. In moments of anxiety, some of our worship volunteers have heard me whisper, “Just make it look like you’ve practiced all week.” We don’t want worship to be sloppy, but it’s OK if our humanity breaks through. Sometimes babies cry. Sometime choir members nod off to sleep. We bring all of ourselves before God in worship. Some of us showed up in snow boots today. Perfectly acceptable, since God is the One who sent us the weather.

But can I tell you what annoys me? It’s when I show up as a guest and the worship service doesn’t make any sense at all. There’s no order to it. Maybe there’s a call to worship, followed by ten minutes of announcements, then an offering, a children’s sermon, a prayer to thank God for the money. Then a scripture verse, followed by a hymn, then another announcement, a quiet organ piece, another song. Finally, eight minutes before the hour is up, someone points at me to say, “OK, padre, you’re on.” It’s chaotic. It makes no sense.

From the sounds of it, there was a lot of chaos in Corinth. We can only infer this by listening by listening to what Paul’s responding to. Yet it’s clear that young little church in the seaport city had a lot of issues. Especially on Sunday morning. People were talking over one another, some of them more enthusiastic than the next. Somebody over here was murmuring to herself in ecstatic bliss. The man next to her had no clue what was going in. As someone opened the scripture to interpret it, somebody else jumped up to say, “God has given me a song,” and started belting it out. The interruptions were irritating.

I remember the day I had a really good sermon. It was a while ago, but you would have known it was a good one. The mood was building. The Spirit was moving. Everybody was leaning forward, ready to say Amen – and these were Presbyterians! Suddenly, a man burst through the back door and yelled out, “Excuse me. I’m parked across the street. Somebody blocked me in. I’d like to get out. Let me give you the license place number: TP3 7VR.” Excuse me. I was talking. I finally had a good one. You know, really?

Interruptions happen. We know they happen. The bell choir is chiming perfectly. The notes are like crystal rain drops – and then, the Clarks Summit Fire Department blasts the weirdest fire alarm in the commonwealth.

Or we are celebrating the Lord’s Supper. It feels like the roof has opened and heaven has come down. It’s quiet. It’s reverent. It’s what most of us need. And suddenly, somebody’s cell ring plays “The Beer Barrel Polka.” You know, there’s a line in the worship bulletin. It says, “Please silence your cell phone.” There’s a good reason for that. It’s intrusive.

In fact, I wanted to change the line but got outvoted by our church administrator. I wanted it to say, “God is the only one who may call you while you’re in the sanctuary, and God doesn’t use Verizon.” Can’t you turn off the phone for an hour?

The apostle Paul calls it “order.” He says, “Do all things decently and in order.” I know the Presbyterians have stolen that line and written a Book of Order. But Paul was talking about worship. It’s “order,” not for the sake of control (Presbyterians need to remember that), but “order” for the sake of consideration. That’s what Paul was giving us in chapter fourteen in this letter. It’s a brief and somewhat primitive manual for worship.

He gives the Corinthians a few pointers. Be considerate of one another. Listen before you speak. Worship together, not independently. Let all things be done for “building up.” Let each person learn and be encouraged. Worship is for building up. It’s for spiritual encouragement. As one of my professors told us in class, “A room full of theology is a pretty good room. A room full of prayer is a holy room.” Worship is a group effort. Nobody gets to bully everybody else.

He says this to the Corinthians for a couple of reasons. First, they were a mixed house. Jews and Gentiles in the same church. The Jews present had a long-established order of worship, modeled after the synagogue. They gathered, opened the Word of God, responded to the Word, then left. The Gentiles didn’t know this. They were holding their bulletins upside-down, couldn’t tell an introit from a benediction. And the pagan worship practices were sporadic, emotional. When they got spiritual, they just let it fly.

We’ve already heard Paul say, “YOU are the body, the body of Christ. Pay attention to the body. Be considerate. Do the good work of worship together.”[1]

Yet there’s that other thing in the letter. Fifty-one percent of you are waiting for me to say something about that. He says, “Women should be silent in the churches.” Thank you, Paul, for your opinion, but I don’t know a lot of women who agree with you, including all my Sunday school teachers, several seminary professors, and some astonishing female preachers. In fact, I heard my mother give a testimony at a funeral in her church. No reason to silence any of them!

In fact, Paul, I’m not sure the Holy Spirit would agree with you. After all, didn’t you just say in chapter eleven of this same letter, “Now, women, when you speak in church (that is, when you prophesy), here are a few guidelines.”[2] Which is it, Paul? Be silent, which was the cultural norm? Or speak up when the Spirit says, “Speak?”

And the problem is exasperated if you were reading along in the pew Bible this morning. In the New Revised Standard translation, this little section (which seems to interrupt what he’s talking about) is placed in parentheses. As if to say, it is parenthetical and may have been added later. That happened sometimes. Paul wrote a letter to a congregation, but it became a community document. It was incorporated with other letters, other writers. It was hand-copied for generations. And the church put its fingerprints all over the text – because it had become the church’s text.

To our everlasting shame, a group of men later decided to isolate and enshrine this verse here while totally ignoring that the Holy Spirit of God was prompting women in the city of Corinth to hear the Gospel of Jesus Christ and respond to it with prophetic speech. It’s always been that way. Do you know who the first Protestant women preachers were? They were in the Assembly of God denomination, where they believe if the Holy Spirit tells you to speak, you need to speak. Especially if it’s for the benefit of the congregation!

So, we have a clue here as to what happened in Corinth. A lot of the speaking in church was getting out of hand. So, Paul gives his pastoral word, “God is a God not of disorder but of peace.” The worship of God is for prayer and praise, not tornados and chaos. The congregation gathers for encouragement, not interruption. The service is for God’s instruction, not the expression of human ego. In worship, people gather together, not splinter off as solitary individuals. A community is built, a community nurtured, a community is cared for.

For the benefit of that community, let all things be done decently, not indecently. We don’t trample on one another. We discern this is the Body of Jesus in this place, in this neighborhood.

And let all things be done in order: in a sequence that is helpful, in mutual respect that counters chaos, and in a liturgy that unfolds like a story. That’s what we do: we gather, we listen, we respond, we bless.

And if the Holy Spirit works among us to speak or sing something that builds up the church, all praise to God through Jesus Christ our Lord. That’s who we are as a church: decent, in order, and alive to God.

 

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

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[1] “You (plural) are the Body of Christ,” 1 Corinthians 12:27. “Discern the Body,” 1 Corinthians 11:29.

[2] 1 Corinthians 11:5, 10, 13. The evangelical scholar Gordon Fee and others believe this section in chapter 14 is a later interpolation added to Paul’s original text. See, for instance, https://hermeneutics.stackexchange.com/questions/1156/is-1-corinthians-1433-35-an-interpolation

Only in Part

1 Corinthians 13:1-13
Epiphany 4
February 2, 2025
William G. Carter

 

If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

 

Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

 

Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end. For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part; but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end. When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.

 

I have some sermons on this very famous passage. A handful have been preached on Sunday mornings. Others have been offered on Saturday afternoons, including my daughter’s wedding last May. It seems that people want to hear about love, it seems. So, it’s only a slight surprise that the text has been invited to a half-dozen funerals. Love seems to be an appropriate topic then, as well. 

This is a famous text. It travels well, even when it is recited in the presence of those for whom it was not intended. Paul sent it to a church he founded, a church he had left, a church that he still loved. Clearly, some of the people in that church were not loving one another. So, he sends this poem: “Love is patient, love is kind, love does not insist in its own way.” He wanted to lift their eyes and open their hearts. We don’t know how well it worked.

The chapter is a remarkable text. It comes in three parts. In the opening section, he punctures whatever conflict exists in that church by holding his own well=known abilities against the greater virtue of love:

   If I speak in heavenly tongues

   If I have prophetic powers

   If I have knowledge and understanding

   If I have faith to move mountains

   If I generously give away everything – including myself…

All that sounds virtuous. But none of it matters if it is not offered in love. He speaks of himself, so the Corinthians might think about themselves. What good does goodness matter, if done only for our benefit, our ego, or our pretensions of advancement? Goodness only matters when it is good for other people.

Then Paul moved to the middle part, the famous part. He describes love, mostly by telling us what love is not: not envious, not boastful, not arrogant, not rude, not insistent, not irritable, not resentful, not rejoicing in wrongdoing. That’s quite a list. Notice he never tells us what love is. It’s never defined, at least in the English language.

However, in the Greek language, the definition is clear. The word is agape. This is love that flows down from above. It is love that benefits other people. It is love without conditions or restrictions. It’s greater than the love of affection. It’s deeper than the love of passion. It’s more satisfying than the love of companionship. Agape love with a mission – and the mission is to benefit everybody else. This is love that comes from God. Agape love can come to us, but it must pass through us.

Agape is the love that bears the pain of those around us. This is the love that trusts God is working, even in our own pain. This love hopes – it sees beyond the present circumstances to the possibility of God making all thing right. This is the love that sticks around. As the apostle puts it, “Love never ends.” He’s talking about the love of God.

That brings us to the third piece of this chapter, the piece that almost everybody jumps over. Several young couples want to skip over the final verses when the text is read at their weddings. They want the preacher to say on their behalf, “Don’t be envious, boastful, arrogant, or rude.” That’s like a referee blowing a whistle. Yet sooner or later, everybody I know insists on their own way. Everybody. Welcome to the human dilemma.

The fact is sometimes human love does come to an end. Hate to say it, but this is church, and we must tell the truth. I’ve heard people confess their failures. Or they tried to make it work and it fizzled out. Or they dragged the other to a marriage counselor and said, “Fix this!” The wise counselor says, “I can’t fix a thing. Best I can do is listen and see if we can figure out what’s going on.” It’s then up to the couple to find the courage to take the next steps.

Paul does not give anybody this text as a good luck charm. He never says, “Recite my beautiful poem and you will be happy forever after.” But he does say love is a revelation of God. Elsewhere in the New Testament, someone says God is love. Just run that through Paul’s list of negative attributes: God is not boastful, God is not arrogant, God never insists on getting the divine way. All of that is true. Then run it through the positive descriptions: God is patient, God is kind, God rejoices, not in wrongdoing, but in the truth. That works.

As for the rest of us, how are we doing? Is it fair to say we’re not there? Or better put, we’re not there yet?

Remember what I said last Sunday ago? Paul speaks of the Corinthians as saints who are becoming saints. They are in the process of transformation. God has been working on them, just as God continues to work on you and me. This is the key that unlocks that elusive third part of this chapter: “We know only in part.” Know what? “We know God only in part.” “We know love only in part.” We have received enough, experienced enough, learned enough that we know love is real. But we have not perfected it.

It's like children. Children see the sun come up over here, go down over there, and watch the sun return over here – naturally, they sense the sun revolves around them. I know a lot of people who have blown up their lives because they thought the sun revolved around them. The grown-up truth is that we are all part of something bigger. We must keep growing up. That’s how love increases.

Or think of it this way, he says. “It’s like looking a mirror, dimly.” Now, Corinth is a cosmopolitan city. People were always trying to primp in front of mirrors. But the mirrors of that time were not made of reflectorized glass. A first-century mirror was made from polished metal. No doubt, the Corinthians had the best first-century mirrors money could buy – but the image was still blurred. As somebody notes, “To see a friend’s face in a cheap mirror would be very different from looking at the friend.”[1] We don’t see clearly; not yet. We see, but not completely. Only in part.

But here is the Good News: God sees us. God gave us life out of love. God continues to instruct us to love. God has conclusively shown us love in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. God remains with us in love, even when we are captive to our incompleteness. Even when we are still childish. Even when we know about love “only in part.”

The Good News is that God knows us – completely – and God still loves us – completely. And the day is coming as heaven moves toward us when all things will be caught up and filled with the love of God. This is where life is going. This is the hope that Jesus has pulled back the curtain to show us.

Love is eternal. What that means is love is where the past, present, and future come together. That’s how we can love people even after we’ve lost them. That’s how somebody can pledge life to another, even before the two of them have any idea of what’s coming in that life together. That’s how we trust, hope, and believe, even if we live alone, even if love has bruised us along the way, even if we don’t always believe we are lovable. God sees otherwise. And love never ends because God “never ends.”

Think of it this way. For God, love is identity. It is the truth that God is for us, no matter what, through thick and thin. For us, however, love is a muscle. It is strength expressed through activity, and it improves through exercise. The more we love, the greater our capacity for love. It is the most excellent way.

If we listen carefully, we might hear God say, “This is what I intended from the beginning, and this is how everything is going to end." In love, with love, for love – forever.

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

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[1] William Orr and James Walther, The Anchor Bible: First Corinthians (New York: Doubleday, 1976) 297.

So Arranged

1 Corinthians 12:13-31
Epiphany 3
January 26, 2025
William G. Carter

For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—Jews or Greeks, slaves or free—and we were all made to drink of one Spirit. Indeed, the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot would say, “Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,” that would not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear would say, “Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body,” that would not make it any less a part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would the hearing be? If the whole body were hearing, where would the sense of smell be? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be? As it is, there are many members, yet one body. The eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need of you,” nor again the head to the feet, “I have no need of you.” On the contrary, the members of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and those members of the body that we think less honorable we clothe with greater honor, and our less respectable members are treated with greater respect; whereas our more respectable members do not need this. But God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member, that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another. If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.

Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it. And God has appointed in the church first apostles, second prophets, third teachers; then deeds of power, then gifts of healing, forms of assistance, forms of leadership, various kinds of tongues. Are all apostles? Are all prophets? Are all teachers? Do all work miracles? Do all possess gifts of healing? Do all speak in tongues? Do all interpret? But strive for the greater gifts. And I will show you a still more excellent way.

We continue to read another church’s mail. The church was small, by some estimates forty or fifty souls. When they gathered for worship, most likely they met in the large home of one of their leaders. The congregation constituted a tiny minority in a bustling city that was both opulent and indifferent. But it was spiritually alive. It held the attention of the apostle Paul. 

Last week, we heard Paul write about the spiritual life. It came from God, as he explained. It was not natural but supernatural. That modest gathering of believers experienced the holy power of heaven. There was evidence that the Holy Spirit was creating holy speech, deepening holy wisdom, and providing the holy healing of body, mind, and spirit. The Risen Christ worked to transform these gifts into acts of service. Christ was building up that church. And God the Creator was behind it all. That church was God’s idea.

It would be enough to hover on that point. To look around this room, perceive all the people who are present even if they are absent, and declare this congregation is God’s idea. It doesn’t begin with us. It doesn’t end with us. Church begins and ends with God. This is a spiritual community, not merely a human organization. This is a holy people, not because anybody here has mastered holiness.

In fact, I know a lot of you well, and most of you know me – if anybody would ever call us holy, it’s because God chooses to work among us. That is how Paul regards the Corinthians when he addresses the letter: To the church of God that is in Corinth, to those who are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints…[1]

They are the saints who are called to be saints. To become saints. They are the holy ones, called to become holy. God’s work is not finished among them, but it’s underway. This is how he understands that word “church.” They are God’s local project, as the Holy Spirit speaks, and the Risen Christ serves.

Today Paul deepens his description. The church is a body. He calls us “the body of Christ.” It’s a brilliant metaphor because it is both human and holy. The church has form and substance; it’s more than an idea. The church has skin and bones; yet it’s alive because it houses the Breath of God. Just as Jesus Christ is God’s body on earth, so the church of Christ is the body of Christ. Christ lives – not just in me – but us. It’s always us. With that, suddenly we are dignified.

Well, maybe. We have mixed feelings about our bodies. Someone said to me yesterday, “Looks like you’ve lost a lot of weight.” I said, “Not really.” Then quickly added, “Thank you!” Who naturally believes their bodies look good? That takes some emotional work!

And if once we did look good, bodies do change. The hairline thins or disappears. The wrinkles ripple. The eyes grow dim. Knees give out. Gravity takes over. For some, the finest compliment anybody ever hears is, “You look pretty good for the shape you’re in.” To refer to our bodies is to open us to embarrassment.

Yet Paul says, “You are the body of Christ.” Singular, the body. You are the means by which Jesus takes up space on earth. You physically represent the Gospel of God in height and width and weight. Not the church building, but you, the people.

Now, why does he say that? He says it because, although they may be holy, or at least becoming holy, they are also very human. And whenever human beings gather, certain things happen. They measure themselves against one another: some are taller, some are smaller, some tune in, some take a little longer. Everybody is different. Even twin sisters tell me, “I am not her.” So, the differences distinguish and divide. Somebody says, “He’s so different, I really don’t want to be around him.”

If not differences, similarities can be a problem. Some years ago, I attended a church gathering near Pittsburgh. Before we attended, we were required to take a personality test. I bristled at that; it felt like being classified by my astrological sign. “Aquarius over here, Leo over there.” Seems like nonsense to me, but I took the test. When we arrived, we were given headbands with our scores written on them, then told to find others just like us and do a written exercise together. Ok, we will play along.

Pretty soon, it was clear what the leader wanted us to see. The extraverts were over here, talking a good game, getting louder by the minute. The introverts sat in a corner and looked at one another. The detail lovers were over here, tying themselves in knots over procedures, while the visionaries saw the forest but had no idea how to plant a tree. Over here, the people who loved checklists were bulldozing ahead, marking off their lists. Over there, the open-hearted folks were still considering all the options. We were all in the same room, separated, and lost to ourselves.

Then the leader blew a whistle, split up the groups, mixed us up with people unlike ourselves, and gave us another exercise. I’ll bet you think it was easier. Oh no! In some ways, it was a lot harder. The talkers thought the listeners were going along with them. The visionaries got tugged down to earth by the detail lovers. The check-listers demanded the open-minders make a decision. And we realized how difficult and precious is the gift of Christian community.

God calls us together. God binds us together. We have all these different abilities and inclinations. There is no way that all of us can ever be the same. No matter how high a value somebody places on conformity, conformity is always a false value. It’s impossible for us to be the same. God didn’t make us that way. And when the Holy Spirit is at work among us, there is a diversity within the unity. That’s the reality of church.

So, Paul talks to the little church in Corinth: “You are the Body of Christ.” You are together – and you have differences. Just like a human body, there is an eye and a foot. The eye can’t say, “I don’t need you,” because the foot will never take it anywhere. The foot can’t say to the eye, “I don’t need you,” because it will walk into a brick wall. If there is no nose, you cannot sniff the odors that smell. If there is no brain, you cease to reason. If there is no heart, you are therefore heartless. And so on. I think we get the point, or at least that much of it.

It sounds like the problem in Corinth, or at least one of the many problems, can be summarized in what Paul has heard, namely, someone says to another, “I have no need for you.” In the household of God, that’s simply wrong. It’s completely wrong. We need one another. We need the organizer with the clipboard. We need the workers to plug in the crockpots of soup. We need the teenager in the snowman suit. We need the three wisemen selling brownies. We might even need the pastor to wander around the room to talk with the guests.

We are different and we are together. In the best scenario, God redefines our differences as potential assets. It is still going to take some work to become a functioning community. We must step over our individualism and find common ground. We must forego our personal pride and build another kind of pride in what we share. We must protest the kind of isolation in a suburban town like this and build friendships that transcend the differences. And we must resist the temptation to even say, “I have no need of you.”  

Who talks like that, anyway? Those who presume they are superior. Those who are arrogant. Those who insist on their own way. Those who believe they must win by domination. Those out of their own emotional deficit think that everybody must be just like them. Those who do not believe in a God who created his children as they are. To summarize, those who have no compassion, no love, and no mercy. They are the ones who say, “I have no need of you.”

There’s a lot more we can say about this, especially these days. But this is not how God has arranged his own church. Everybody needs everybody. We rise and fall and rise again together.

If one of us loses a beloved spouse, all of us suffer together. If one of us celebrates teaching for twenty years at university, all of us celebrate together. If one of us is hobbling on a bad foot, the rest of us slow down to hobble alongside. If one of us makes a prize-winning pot of chili, we don’t merely say, “Good for you!” We say, “Good for us.”

In the words of Paul, it is a matter of showing “care.” Church is the laboratory for “showing care.” Actually, care is not the precise word he uses. It’s more like “showing profound consideration.” And it is offered, he says, even to the most “inelegant” parts of the body – for we are “fearfully and wonderfully made.”[2] We are masterpieces in the making! Every one of us has infinite value, just as God has made us. It’s mercy, embodied.

The world does not understand this. The world hears a sermon on mercy and criticizes the preacher’s haircut.[3] The world hears a call for compassion and responds with more meanness. The world hears deep concern for the weak and says, “The weak are expendable.” The world hears Jesus say, “Blessed are the meek” and responds, “Crucify him – and anybody who sounds like him.”

Yet we are the body of Christ within that world, living in the world as Jesus does but not belonging to it. We know there is another way to live together. And we will consider that more excellent way when we gather next week with chapter thirteen. See you then.

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

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[1] 1 Corinthians 1:2.

[2] Psalm 139:14.

[3] See, for instance, https://www.mediamatters.org/fox-news/right-wing-media-attack-bishop-mariann-edgar-budde-after-she-asks-trump-have-mercy-upon

Energized and Activated

1 Corinthians 12:1-11
Epiphany 2
January 19, 2025
William G. Carter

This winter, we will spend some time in Corinth. The ancient city was a seaport. It sat on the Ionian Sea, which went west toward Italy. Across a small land bridge, it opened on the Aegean Sea, which curved north to Athens or went east toward Ephesus and Asia. Corinth was a strategic place for the apostle Paul. He preached there for eighteen months, and moved on, as was his custom.

Eighteen months was not long enough to inform that little congregation about all the Christian faith, especially since that faith was being worked out on the ground. So, they wrote to Paul with a series of questions. What about this? What about that? “If we follow Christ, can we buy meat from a butcher who believes in Zeus?” It was a big question for some. Others wanted to know, “If Jesus is coming back at any time, is it OK to get married?” As a transportation hub, Corinth had a significant stake in the pleasure business, leading some to ask, “Can we still buy and sell human passion?” He probably didn’t preach any sermons about that.

The questions went on: “Are we worshiping correctly?” “When we have communion, is it fair that some believers gobble down loaves of bread while others at the Table are hungry?” “As Greek people, we’re not as uptight as the ancient Jews, so is it appropriate to let women preach?” “And while you’re at it, Paul, explain the resurrection. You say Jesus is raised; what difference does that make for us?”

Paul is a good pastor. He takes on one question after another. He leans back into the preaching tradition about Jesus, and he puts together the best replies he can muster. This is what you do when you work on the edge of the frontier. And one of the questions, the one he addresses in today’s text, can be simply put: “What does it mean to be spiritual?” Listen:

Now concerning spiritual gifts, brothers and sisters, I do not want you to be uninformed. You know that when you were pagans, you were enticed and led astray to idols that could not speak. Therefore I want you to understand that no one speaking by the Spirit of God ever says “Let Jesus be cursed!” and no one can say “Jesus is Lord” except by the Holy Spirit. Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of services, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone. To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good. To one is given through the Spirit the utterance of wisdom, and to another the utterance of knowledge according to the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healing by the one Spirit, to another the working of miracles, to another prophecy, to another the discernment of spirits, to another various kinds of tongues, to another the interpretation of tongues. All these are activated by one and the same Spirit, who allots to each one individually just as the Spirit chooses.

The conversation took place in a supermarket checkout line. The two people were acquaintances. The first said, “I’m looking for a church.” Her friend replied by telling her where she attended and inviting her to come along some Sunday. 

The first said, “I hear it is a busy place; but is it spiritual?”  

It is a fair question. Many venture an answer. Sit in a room filled with incense and burning candles – isn’t that spiritual? Listen to quiet harp music, or the chants of a monastery, or the recorded sounds of waterfalls – that’s spiritual, isn’t it? Or for that matter, go outside and take in the beauty of nature. I wouldn’t recommend it during a snowstorm, but we understand. For some, spiritual is another word for quiet, peaceful, reflective, meditative.

Others would say, “That’s boring.” Bring in an inspirational speaker with a big voice. Let her raise your spirits. Or turn up the wattage significantly. Create a holy pep rally with a big crowd, lots of visual stimulation, and a house-rocking gospel choir. Wouldn’t that be something? These folks equate spirituality with excitement, enthusiasm, and power. It still happens. There are a few churches around that cancel worship when Christmas Day falls on a Sunday. They won’t worship if they can’t guarantee a big crowd. For them, “spiritual” means exciting.

Does that sound superficial? Perhaps, but whatever else is said about that little first century congregation in Corinth, it was an exciting place. Never knew what might happen! In the middle of a sermon, somebody could jump up on a pew and shout, “But I have a word from the Lord.” Over here, two or three were joining in prayer, while somebody else interrupted by pelting out a loud spontaneous song. It was an experience that had everybody sitting on the edge of their seats. People were excited, interrupted, and exhausted. To which some exclaimed, “At least, our church is spiritual.”

The report got back to Paul, apostle, and founder of that flock. The question was raised, “How do we know when something is spiritual?” That is the issue in this chapter. It’s all about the word “spiritual.” In the New Testament, the word “spiritual” shows up only twenty-six times in the twenty-seven books. About half those times occur in this letter. Most of those occurrences are in this section of this letter. The Corinthians asked, “Paul, what is spiritual?”

It’s a good question. One of the exciting activities in that church was speaking in tongues. It’s an ecstatic burst of speech. It’s a phenomenon that has occurred in all kinds of religions around the world, not restricted to Christianity. In Corinth, some could do it, others could not. It became a dividing line in the congregation, as some assumed they were spiritual, and others were not. Paul worked himself into a froth about that one. Later in the letter, he exclaims, “I would rather speak five words with my mind to instruct others, than ten thousand words in a tongue”[1] Then he adds, “Grow up!”

When is an activity spiritual? For Paul, the adjective “spiritual” is always tied to the Spirit – to the Holy Spirit. The spiritual life is the life of God’s Spirit working through us. That is to say, “being spiritual” is never about us. It is about God working through us. That is how Eugene Peterson translates the first verse of this chapter. As he puts the words of Paul: “What I want to talk about now is the various ways God's Spirit gets worked into our lives.”[2]

That is his answer to their question: the Spirit of God works through us. This is the New Testament view on spirituality. Here is how we know something is spiritual: it comes from the Holy Spirit.

If some of this scripture passage sounds familiar, it’s because we hear it whenever Presbyterians ordain elders, deacons, even pastors, although the text is not restricted to them alone. Let me remind you of the passage:

            there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit;

            there are varieties of services, but the same Lord;

            there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone.

            To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.

Let’s get spiritual for a minute, shall we? Paul is saying three things that are vital for the Christian life.

We have heard the first, namely whatever is spiritual comes from God. The spiritual life begins with God who created the world. It comes from God whose very nature is to give. Our spiritual life can infuse our creaturely life. There is power that originates beyond us. We receive gifts, abilities, and energy from God the Giver.

The second thing Paul says is something that he sneaks in on us. Remember about the source of the gifts, the services, and the activities of the spiritual life? He says, “Spirit, Lord, God.” Or to be specific, “Spirit, Jesus, Creator.” Hear it? Paul is sneaking in the Trinity. Now, he mentions the Holy Spirit first, because that’s what the Corinthians are asking about. Yet he can’t mention the Spirit without mentioning the Lord Jesus and God the Creator. That’s the second thing he tells us about the spiritual life: whatever is spiritual is grounded in the life of the Trinity.

Now don’t think for a minute that this is theoretical jargon. It’s quite practical. If the spiritual life comes from God, it’s going to be shaped by the identity of God. Christians confess God is “three in one and one in three.” God’s very identity is both plurality and a unity. Or to reduce it to street language, God is one and there’s a lot going on. So, we should not expect God to do only one thing among us. God is doing many things. Just look around here: isn’t it wonderful that all of us are different? Isn’t it dazzling that a lot of people do a lot of things?

Other human organizations put a high emphasis on conformity: be the same, talk the same, and act the same. But in a truly spiritual community, God does not roll out the cookie dough and stamp out one cookie cutter Christian after another! As the old spiritual reminds us, “If you cannot preach like Peter, if you cannot pray like Paul, you can tell the love of Jesus and say he died for all.” Thank God, all of us are not gifted the same! That truth is based in God’s very identity as Trinity. If God is something of a Unified Plurality, then so is the church!

No wonder, then, that Paul gives us a sample list: some have the gift of knowledge and know a lot of facts. Others have the gift of wisdom and perceive how the facts fit together. Some have the gift of faith and find it easy to trust. Others have the gift of healing, with the capacity to mend what is broken. Some speak, others understand what is spoken. Some perform miracles. Others can sort out what is a miracle and what is not.

Which leads us to the third truth of the spiritual life: we need one another. First, Paul declares whatever is spiritual comes from God’s Spirit. Second, whatever is spiritual is rooted in the multiple works of the Trinity. And third, whatever is spiritual is intended for the common good. The truly spiritual life builds up everybody in the church, even beyond the church, and not merely hoarded by the privileged few. The spiritual life is not private but interconnected. It is not for me alone, but for all of us.

What we know about Corinth is that a lot of the church members were trying to out-spiritualize the others. “Look at me – I’m praying so well.” “Look at me – I know how to teach, and you don’t.” “Look at me, look at me -- I have the gift of humility,” and so on and so forth.

Paul scrapes all the competition off the table. He puts the emphasis right where it needs to be, on God, who is saving the world and working through the church. The spiritual life, the life of the spirit, is always about God. God provides what God wants to use for furthering God’s own work in the world. The spiritual life is a gift from God. It is our privilege to be included and invited.

There is much more to say about this, so the chapter goes on to next week, and the weeks after that. For today, it’s sufficient to say the spiritual life comes from the Holy Spirit. The spiritual life is as plentiful as the Triune God. And the spiritual life is always about what’s best for the largest possible number of people in the community.

Meanwhile, if someone stop you in the checkout line to say, “I know your church is active, but is it spiritual?” I hope you will have something to say. You can say, “Come and see what God is doing among us.”

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

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[1] 1 Corinthians 14:19.

[2] 1 Corinthians 12:1. The Message

God's Pleasure

Isaiah 43:1-7
Baptism of the Lord
January 12, 2025

William G. Carter  

But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel:

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;

     I have called you by name, you are mine. 

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;

and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;

when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. 

or I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.

     I give Egypt as your ransom, Ethiopia and Seba in exchange for you. 

Because you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you, I give people in return for you,

     nations in exchange for your life. Do not fear, for I am with you.

I will bring your offspring from the east, and from the west I will gather you. 

I will say to the north, “Give them up,” and to the south, “Do not withhold; 

bring my sons from far away and my daughters from the end of the earth—  \everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made.”

My good friend John has been a Presbyterian pastor for a good long time. He’s a good preacher, an insightful leader, and a careful listener. John is loaded with people skills. He remembers names and can make you feel like you’ve been friends all your life.

But for all his many abilities, he does something that sets him apart. In every church John has served, he has offered a signature blessing. As the last hymn fades, he steps forward, raises his hands, and looks at the congregation square in the eye. Then he says it: “Remember, you are loved.” The music starts up, the people stand up, the ushers open the doors. And for a brief three seconds, John speaks the holy truth.

Can we hear it? Do we believe it? How quickly do we dismiss it?

The words are easy to dismiss if we don’t hear the words very often. They are easy to dismiss, too, if we hear them too much. Try it sometime when you go home. Say to someone close at hand, “I love you; I love you; I love you.” About five minutes of that, should you pause and take a breath, the other might say, “So, what do you want?”

Ulterior motives aside, maybe it is easier to say those words than to hear them.

When Henri Nouwen taught classes at Yale Divinity School, he befriended a young man named Fred. Fred was not a divinity student. He was a writer. He arrived to interview Henri for the Sunday edition of the New York Times. A friendship sparked. They stayed connected after the interview. Fred read a number of Henri’s books on the spiritual life. Henri encouraged Fred to write books of his own.

One day, as they walked down a street in New York, Fred said to him, “Henri, why don’t you write a book on the spiritual life for me and my friends?” He was a secular Jew in the city. Henri was a Roman Catholic priest. Henri agreed to the project, but soon began to agonize over it. What could he possibly write that would be helpful to those who did not share his religious tradition, his language, or his vision?

In time, he decided to write Fred a letter, a hundred-and-ten-page letter. The sum of that long letter was a single word: “Beloved.” You are beloved, which is the indirect way of saying Somebody loves you. And it’s hard to hear it. As Nouwen wrote to Fred, 

“It is not easy to hear that voice in a world filled with voices that shout: “You are no good, you are ugly, you are worthless, you are despicable, you are nobody – unless you can demonstrate the opposite.” These negative voices are so loud and so persistent that it is easy to believe them. That’s the great trap. It is the trap of self-rejection. Over the years, I have come to realize that the greatest trap in our life is not success, popularity, or power, but self-rejection. . .

 

He adds: “I am constantly surprised at how quickly I give in to this temptation. As soon as someone accuses me or criticizes me, as soon as I am rejected, left alone, or abandoned, I find myself thinking, “Well, that proves once again that I am a nobody.”[1]

Yet behind it all, beneath it all, are the words of blessing: “Remember: You are loved.” Nouwen admitted in his letter to Fred how hard it is to trust these words. Yet, even in his most broken moments, even when every success was shattered and swept away, the word was with him, for it did not originate with him. It came from God. And if he dared sit long enough in silence, the Word echoed again. “You are my Beloved Child; on you my favor rests.”[2]  

Has somebody told you that today?

Jesus heard these words on the day of his baptism. According to the Gospel story, the clouds cracked open, a dove descended, and a Voice thundered, “You are my Beloved Son; I’m pleased with you.” He did not choose those words. He was chosen to listen to them. 

What’s remarkable is when these words are said. According to Luke, Jesus hadn’t done anything yet. He hadn’t cured the sick, restored the lame, or fed the crowd. He hadn’t yet preached a sermon, chased away a demon, or skewered religious hypocrisy. No. On Day One, God said to him, “I love you. I’m pleased with you.” That affirmation remained even as his friends ran away, as the crowds turned sour, as the soldiers laughed at him, The love defined him even when the voice of evil returned to tempt him to climb down from the cross.[3]

For God told him who he was: “You are my Beloved Child.”

Before God said that to Jesus, he said it to the people from whom Jesus came. As preached by the prophet Isaiah, God said, “People, you are my Beloved people. You are mine. I’ve called you by name. I have redeemed you.” Classic Bible words, of course. God is rarely so direct.

What’s remarkable is when those words are said. The people of Israel are recovering from an unwanted forty-year exile in a far-off land. The warnings had come for years: exploiting the poor, refusing to hold leaders accountable for their crimes, ignoring the teachings of God, skipping out on worship for the sake of their own employment and consumption. God said, “There are consequences to all of your actions.” After the nation had rotted internally, the Babylonians knocked down their temple and dragged them off in chains.

And nevertheless, God said, “I have paid off the ransom for you. I’m going to bring your kids home from east and west, north, and south. You have called me by my name; I’m calling you by name. You are precious. You are ‘significant.’ And I love you.” It’s one thing to hope for it. It’s another to hear it.

How does my good friend John say it? “Remember, you are loved.” Beneath our feet, over our heads. Before we go astray, after we’ve been steered back on course. God believes we are precious, in spite of ourselves. The holy covenant is extended to us through Jesus, a new covenant. It precedes and follows everything we do or say.

It’s no surprise that all of this comes together on a day when we are thinking about baptism. We don’t have any plans to baptize anybody today. It’s sufficient to affirm what God says to all who are baptized. Same words from Isaiah’s collection of God’s: you are precious, you are significant, you are mine. God says, “I call you by name.”

That’s why the preacher says, “What is the name of the one to be baptized?” It’s not because the preacher is old and forgetful, although some of us are. The question did come in handy one Sunday when I met a family at the baptismal font, didn’t have my worship bulletin, and I suddenly went blank, So I asked the question, and they repeated the name. Everybody already knew the name, you understand; but here’s what happens in baptism: that name is inextricably bound to the name of the Trinity. That’s why we baptize in the name of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. It’s more than a formality or a formula. It’s the naming of an identity. “Little one, you are a child of God.” Your destiny is bound to God’s destiny.

And we baptize into the promises of God. We baptize babies before we know if they will grow up to be short or left-handed, bald or curly, gay or libertarian. All we are announcing is, “Here is a new one, precious to God. And we are going to pledge all we can to shape their lives so that they know that.” It may take a while. God takes pleasure in them – and God wants to take pleasure in them. There is a holy life to be lived. Sometimes it’s more than we expect.

About ten years ago, the writer Brian McLaren posted one of his writings on the internet. Within hours it had been shared tens of thousands of times. Brian calls it “A free-verse poem that struck a nerve.” It’s about a baptism, and it goes like this:

      “Please de-baptize me,” she said. The priest’s face crumpled.

     “My parents tell me you did it,” she said. “But I was not consulted. So now, undo it.”

The priest’s eyes asked why.

     “If it were just about belonging to this religion and being forgiven, then I would stay.

  If it were just about believing this list of doctrines and upholding this list of rituals, I’d be OK.

      But your sermon Sunday made it clear it’s about more. More than I bargained for.

      So, please, de-baptize me.”

The priest looked down, said nothing.

She continued:

     “You said baptism sends me into the world to love enemies. I don’t. Nor do I plan to.

       You said it means being willing to stand against the flow. I like the flow.

       You described it like rethinking everything, like joining a Movement.

But I’m not rethinking or moving anywhere. So un-baptize me. Please.”

The priest began to weep. Soon great sobs rose from his deepest heart.

He took off his glasses, blew his nose, took three tissues to dry his eyes.

“These are tears of joy,” he said.

“I think you are the first person who ever truly listened or understood.”

“So,” she said, “Will you? Please?”[4] 

If you were the priest, what would you say? I think I’d say we can’t wash off the water – that’s the nature of God’s love for us. That’s the covenant.

And God loves us so much, that God wants us to grow up and become like Jesus. In fact, God loves us enough to keep interfering in our lives, sometimes stepping in directly, to wake us up, to turn us around, to orient our hearts until the Precious Ones begin to act and look as if they are God’s Precious Ones. That’s the covenant, too. We are bound to God and God is bound to us.

God’s not going to go to all that trouble to gather us, love us, and redeem us, without expecting us to gather others, too; to love them as unconditionally as he loves us; and then to join in Christ’s ongoing work of redemption. For not only are we loved; we are called.

Called to shine God’s light in this present darkness.

Called to love both friends and enemies.

Called to make a healing difference in a hurting world.

We can’t wash off the water of baptism. God loves us – and the world – way too much.

 

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

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[1] Henri J. M. Nouwen, Life of the Beloved: Spiritual Living in a Secular World (New York: Crossroad, 1992) 31-33.

[2] Ibi, 77.

[3] Luke 23:35, 37

[4] Brian McLaren. See https://brianmclaren.net/a-poem-that-struck-a-nerve/