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/

The Dark Side of Epiphany

Matthew 2:1-12
Epiphany / Christmas 2
January 5, 2025

William G. Carter

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: ‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.’” Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.”

 

When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

In the Christmas services of my youth, the three kings were my favorites. Maybe they were your favorites, too. The shepherds wrapped themselves in blankets. The kings put on elaborate gowns. The shepherds had walking sticks, which doubled as staffs to intimidate the wolves. The kings carried a cigar box wrapped in gold foil, a silver jar of frankincense, and an emerald container of myrrh. While the shepherds had hand towels held by twine on their foreheads, the kings wore an elaborate turban or a royal crown. If the shepherds were sloppy, the kings were dignified. There was no way to dress up a shepherd, but the kings were mysterious, even exotic.

And if that wasn’t enough, they had their own song. You know it, we’ve sung it: We Three Kings of Orient Are, bearing gifts, we traverse afar. Field and fountain, moor and mountain, following yonder star. In my childhood church, the congregation sang the first verse mightily. 

Then three men from the choir sang the successive verses. Russ Cashwell sang, “Born a King on Bethlehem plain, gold I bring to crown him again.” Gold is a gift for a king. That’s appropriate.

Then Gerry Hess made his entrance to sing, “Frankincense to offer, have I; incense to own a Deity nigh.” Ah, frankincense was incense, precious, the smoke ascending like a prayer.

Bruce Williams followed. With his deep voice, he belted out, “Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume breathes a life of gathering gloom…” We ignored the words, I think. The pageantry was too dramatic, and we were focused on the star of wonder. After all, Jesus was born. That was the point of it all. Still is.  

As time went on, I began to read and learn. The prophet Isaiah told of a future day when Gentile strangers would come from afar. Kings would arrive on camels. They would bring gold and frankincense. Sound familiar? Isaiah did not mention any myrrh, so I looked it up. Myrrh was a burial spice, the worst possible gift anybody could bring a baby. No wonder Isaiah did not mention it.

Then I realized our traditional “three kings” story never mentions any camels. And the story doesn’t say the strange visitors were kings. The Gospel of Matthew calls them “magi.” They were star-gazers and fortune tellers, considered heretics by the book of Deuteronomy and the Jerusalem elite.  Worst of all, our familiar story never numbers them as “three.” All we’re told is magi from the East arrived. There could have been three, or two, or six. The story never says. The magi brought three gifts. Early on, the number was fixed as three. Nobody ever counted the people in the entourage.

Of course, there’s no reason for us to stop singing “We Three Kings.” The fact is, we’ve been adding details to the story since the seventh century. That’s when the kings, or rather magi, were named. Not Russ, Gerry, and Bruce, but Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazzar – but only in the Western church. The Syrian church, the Ethiopian church and the Armenian church each provide three different names of their own. Some in the Chinese church believe the wise men came from way out East, you know, from China.

Raymond Brown, the great Catholic scholar, says this is what we do. We take the text into our hearts and put ourselves into it. With sincere faithfulness, we build upon it. A good argument can be made that’s what the writer of the Gospel of Matthew has done. If Matthew hasn’t expanded upon the prophet Isaiah, at least his telling of the Christmas story has been shaped by it.

Interesting, don’t you think?

Yet all of this can be a distraction from the heart of the story, namely that Jesus is born and the local king wants to do away with him. The king’s name is Herod. At least, that was his family name. There are six different kings named Herod in the New Testament. The one in our story was the granddaddy of them all. They called him Herod the Great. He ruled from about 37 B.C. to 4 B.C. He played up to the Roman Empire that occupied his land; in turn, they kept him propped up. He compromised any values to get his way, so Rome kept him around.

Herod was everything that the Gospel of Matthew described him to be. Herod was ambitious; he loved to develop real estate to prove how important he was. He had a reputation for profound cruelty, even violence. He never thought twice about imprisoning or eliminating any threat, even if that threat came from his own family. The Herod of history showed little restraint. He was sneaky, sinister. As we’ve heard today, he was devious.

One of my minister friends wrote King Herod into his Christmas pageant one year. I don’t know what he was thinking. But he gave his King Herod the same lines that Matthew gives him: “Go and find this child. Let me know where he is. I want to worship him too.” At that moment, one of the children stood up over here in the manger scene to yell, “No, you don’t. You’re a liar!” People laughed, nervously, but everybody knew the child was right.

These Bible stories are more than stories. They teach us morality. They instruct us to distinguish between right and wrong. They declare directly or implicitly that this is a dangerous world. A lot of children are at risk. One of the reasons they are at risk is because some adults are intoxicated with their own arrogance. Any sense of compassion or humanity shriveled long ago.

And the children know this. Whether they’ve read the stories of Harry Potter, Hansel and Gretl, or the Hunger Games, they know there are dark forces alive in the world.

Today’s text tells us what has unleashed the evil. Matthew says, “Wise men from the East came to say, ‘Where is the new king? All we want to do is worship him.” That was enough to set loose the beast in old king Herod. He had no intention of getting off his throne. He insisted on staying in power, no matter what. So, he said, “Let me know when you find him. I want to worship him too.”

That little kid in my friend’s church said, “No, you don’t. You’re a liar.” Herod the Great proved him right. In the process he exposed himself as being not so great. Not compared to the Real King, King Jesus, who would one day ride into the city on a very humble donkey. This is what the Bible teaches us.

The lesson can be broken down in a few simple points:

    1)     First, the coming of Jesus into our world exposes how broken this world is. The baby provokes old Herod who compromised with Rome and trafficked in arrogance. His ego was so wounded that he could not make for anybody else. In the same way, the grown-up Jesus will walk into a town. The sick folks will flock to him. The demented ones will yell at him. He comes with mercy and complete goodness, and a broken world says, “We need to get rid of Jesus. Let’s see if we can find some of that myrrh.”

     2)     Second, the church tells the truth about the brokenness. We may be tempted to smooth out the Christmas story, polish out the splinters, kept it positive and idyllic. Yet we have King Herod’s number. We’ve written it down in our Bibles. And we will not shy away from speaking about him. And we will not be afraid of our own brokenness, either. Why? Because King Jesus has been born. King Jesus grew up and taught us there is an alternative to the ways of Herod. He taught us how to live with love and service within God’s true dominion.

And in the great irony of the Gospel, the world did get rid of Jesus. They put him on a cross – but nobody got around to using any myrrh because, by the time the women got to the tomb to anoint him, God has already raised him from the dead.[1]

    3)     And here’s the third truth, as expressed so simply by Stanley Hauerwas in his commentary on Matthew. He reminded us: every Herod dies. Hauerwas says, “Crafty as he was, his craftiness could not save Herod from death. Kings come and go, but God’s people endure. They can endure, because God has made endurance possible through the kingdom begun in Jesus.”[2]    

So, here we are. This broken world has been broken into. The fake king has been exposed because the real king has come. Jesus remains with us always, just as he promised. And we bring him our gold, as befits a king. We bring him our frankincense, for he is a king worthy of our worship, and he is the priest who holds our prayers.

But you know, Isaiah was probably right. Forget about the myrrh. The death of Jesus was important, and is central to our faith, but so is his resurrection. So, Jesus doesn’t need the myrrh. He needs our hearts, our minds, and our strength. He will take our love. He alone is worthy of it.

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

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[1] See Mark 16:1. “The women brought burial spices to the tomb”, i.e. myrrh.

[2] Stanley Hauerwas, Matthew: Brazos Theological Commentary on the Bible (Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 2007) 43.