All Alive All in Time

1 Corinthians 15:21-28
Epiphany 7
February 23, 2025
William G. Carter

For since death came through a human being, the resurrection of the dead has also come through a human being; for as all die in Adam, so all will be made alive in Christ. But each in his own order: Christ the first fruits, then at his coming those who belong to Christ. Then comes the end, when he hands over the kingdom to God the Father, after he has destroyed every ruler and every authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death.

February is Boy Scout month. It’s a good time to remember a service project that I once did with the Scouts. As part of my Eagle Scout badge, I was required to undertake a project that benefited the community. The project needed to exhibit leadership, lead a group of volunteers, and make a difference. Naturally, I turned to my pastor for suggestions. He pointed me to the cemetery next door. 

It had fallen into some disrepair. Some of the headstones had fallen over. Weeds and crabgrass had taken over some spots. An old pine tree, now dead, had dropped a lot of needles and several branches. The church’s part-time custodian couldn’t manage the work, and she probably pointed out that it exceeded her job description.

So, I talked a number of boys into helping out. Some collected the pine branches and raked up the pine needles. Somebody else got out the lawnmower, while another tended to the dandelions. A few of the husky guys lifted and adjusted the tombstones. And I directed others to fill a couple of wheelbarrows with topsoil and dump them in a few of the depressed areas.

I’ll never forget when one young Scout (I’ll call him Tommy) pointed and said, “Look at that depression in the ground. Why is it a perfect rectangle?” Everybody got quiet, almost reverent. Then an older kid replied, “It must have been a cheap wooden casket.” There was a flash of recognition and a unanimous sound of “Eww!”

We were working an acre of death. There’s no way to dress it up. That two-hundred-year-old field had been neglected for a long time. There were many depressed rectangles that needed to be filled in, raked, and reseeded. The flat limestone planks needed to be lifted and reset, even though the acid rain had erased the names and dates that had once been carved into them. It was a matter of respect. Whether we teenagers knew it, we were honoring people that none of us knew and nobody else remembered. Nobody, that is, except God.

Ever since, I’ve spent a lot of time in graveyards. Occupational hazard, I suppose. Most of my visits have lasted twenty minutes or less. One thing I’ve noticed: nobody wants to be forgotten, even though it’s probably inevitable.

Some years ago, a funeral director and I were winding up a morning’s duties at a local cemetery. We heard a sound, and my friend nodded toward a man riding in a golf cart. He was attached to an oxygen tank. He had come to inspect the construction of a large marble mausoleum with his last name inscribed along the top. My friend whispered, “Won’t be long.” The whole scene screamed, “Don’t forget me.” With the kind of money he was investing in his own memorial, perhaps folks might remember him a little longer than others, but maybe not.

Now, what would the apostle Paul have to say about this? Probably a lot. That church he started in the city of Corinth had questions about death. They all knew that death would come for all of us. It’s the one perfect statistic. We will try to postpone it as long as we can. But all of us have a shelf life and an expiration date.

But Jesus Christ has been raised from the dead. Somehow, the perfect statistic has been broken. As a character in one of Flannery O’Connor’s short stories, “Jesus is the only One that ever raised the dead, and He shouldn’t have done it. He thrown everything off balance.”[1] Indeed he has. As we heard last week, Paul said, “Jesus has been raised, we shall be raised.” Jesus was first, the confirmation that everything he did and said was what God wanted said and done.

The more we reflect on the resurrection, the more expansive it becomes. In Christ’s raising, he did not return to exact revenge on those who wanted to get rid of him. Rather, he prayed from the cross, “Father, forgive them, they are clueless;” that is the one prayer we want the Father to answer, thank God. Then there’s this elusive quality of Christ’s resurrection. Jesus appears here and there, but never long enough for us to control him or capture him; all we can do is listen for him and pray to him. He says, “I am with you always,” yet we do not see him; not directly at least.

And the resurrection gets even bigger. Paul says to the Corinthians, “All will be raised.” Just as death came through the one man Adam, all will be made alive in in the one man Jesus Christ. That’s quite the promise.

I remember the afternoon when my Eagle Scout project was winding up. Most of my volunteer team had evaporated. The sexton of my hometown church appeared. She had some blank sheets of paper, a couple of chunks of charcoal, and a Bible.

She took the paper, held it up to the gravestone, and rubbed it with charcoal. She said, “Even if the name is faded, we might find out who is here.” Clearly, they deserved to be remembered. The people beneath our feet mattered to God even if everybody else forgot them.

Then she wiped the charcoal off on her pantleg and opened the Bible to the prophet Isaiah. She nodded toward those depressed rectangles that we had filled with topsoil. Then she read these words:

Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain.
Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all people shall see it together,

for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.[2]

It was the same thing Paul said to the Corinthians, sharpened by the resurrection of Jesus. I stood in that field of death, now a field of memory. For the moment I imagined everybody rising. For that is what Easter has set into motion. And the worn-away gravestones don’t matter because God remembers who those people are. And that marble mausoleum that the rich man built won’t matter, either, because God knows his name, too, and he will be no better than anybody else. “All shall be made alive in Christ.” That’s the Gospel promise.

Now, we don’t know when. Nobody knows when. That’s why the language in our obituaries is so confusing. The funeral home may print, “Uncle Johnnie went into the arms of Jesus,” while another might say, “Aunt Sarah passed away and awaits the final day of resurrection.” I happen to believe both are true simultaneously; God is eternal, and our sense of time collapses in the light of eternity.

What matters is what Paul most wants us to remember, that Jesus Christ is the Lord of life, and death, and life. Christ is working out God’s purposes until he puts all his enemies under his feet. That’s an important verse. It’s from one of the Psalms. In fact, it is the most frequently quoted Old Testament verse in the Christian scriptures.[3] The essence is this. God has appointed one ruler over all things, one King, one Lord, one Savior. And he is going to keep ruling until he rules over all things. Until all things are either under his feet or removed from God’s dominion.

All things, not some things. All things. Just like he says, “all people,” not some people, but “all people.” All people shall be raised to stand before him once again. It’s hard to imagine this, but this is the size of God’s salvation. Every valley lifted, every mountain lowered, every life restored, every name remembered.

And the wilderness shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice.

The blind shall see, the lame shall dance.

The hungry shall feast, the selfish shall be relieved of their selfishness.

And God shall dwell in the midst of them.[4]

We are talking about a really big resurrection. That’s the hope. That’s the promise. That’s what the raising of Jesus has begun. Any questions?

Well, just one. What about death? That’s a good question. People still die. They – we – run out of time. But Paul wants us to know one final thing. Death is more than a natural process; that’s “little d death,” and all things die. But there is a “Capital D Death” as well. This is the power that Adam and Eve unleashed when they ate the mythical apple in the long-ago Garden of Eden. According to the ancient story, when they disobeyed God, they created their own tombstones. And God said, “I still love you, but you have now put limits on your longevity.”

Ever since, the grandchildren of Adam and Eve have continued to get into one mess after another, largely of their own making. This is the evidence of Capital-D-Death. It’s there every day for those with courage to turn on the evening news. As someone notes, “Along comes capital-d Death to sneer at our hopes, to take away our freedom, and to turn us into slaves paid only the wages of sin, which severs our relationship with the eternal God… while Death stands in the shadows and laughs.” Only God can solve this problem.[5]

The good news is that God has loved all of us enough to stay with us, no matter what. But the day is coming, the Final Day when God will say, “Come home. All of you. All of you, or at least all who can still hear my voice. Enough with the mistakes, the pain, the losses, and the dying. All rise.” And Death, Capital-D-Death, will die. We know it to be true, because we sang it in the third stanza of our first hymn. Remember?

When I treat the verge of Jorden, bid my anxious fears subside.

Death of death (hear it?) and hell’s destruction, land me safe on Canaan’s side.

Now, I know the hymn stirs the blood, as it should. And it’s the promise of God that points us to the final day: the death of death. And all that God loves will be brought alive once again. That’s the Good News.

How will it happen? We can’t say yet because we’re not the ones in charge of the universe.

When will it happen? It will happen when the God of eternity says so.

Why will it happen? Because God is a God of perfect love and perfect justice. And it is God’s will that everything shall be made well, through Jesus Christ our Lord.

One thing we know. On that final “getting up” day, all God’s creation is going to sing:

Songs of praises, songs of praises,

I will ever give to Thee. I will ever give to Thee.

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

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[1] Flannery O’Connor, “A Good Man is Hard to Find” 

[2] Isaiah 40:4-5.

[3] Psalm 110:1.

[4] Some of my favorite salvation verses from: Isaiah 35:1-10 and Revelation 21:1-6.

[5] Thomas G. Long, Accompany Them with Singing: The Christian Funeral (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009) 38-41.

The Great Undoing

1 Corinthians 15:12-20
Epiphany 6
February 16, 2025
William G. Carter

Now if Christ is proclaimed as raised from the dead, how can some of you say there is no resurrection of the dead? If there is no resurrection of the dead, then Christ has not been raised; and if Christ has not been raised, then our proclamation has been in vain and your faith has been in vain. We are even found to be misrepresenting God, because we testified of God that he raised Christ—whom he did not raise if it is true that the dead are not raised. For if the dead are not raised, then Christ has not been raised. If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins. Then those also who have died in Christ have perished. If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.

 

But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have died. 

 

I’m sure somebody is wondering why we are singing Easter hymns today. It’s the middle of February. Easter won’t come until the end of April. That’s a long time away.

It is not a novelty, like Christmas in July. We’ve done that in our summer hymn sings. We pull out the carols that we sing only once a year. In the hottest month of summer, we dream of a White Christmas and a Silent Night. We remember the little town of Bethlehem and listen for the angels to sing.

But here, in winter that has been way too white, we sing of resurrection. Why do you suppose that is?

It could be because the schedule of scripture lessons brings us to this point. We are working through Paul’s first letter to the church in Corinth. He addresses many of that congregation’s concerns. He saves the biggest concern for last – the resurrection. It’s big enough to require two sermons out of me, and it really serves four. To which I’ll add, “Easter’s coming.” But why now?

Perhaps it is because we worship on Sunday mornings. This is the first day of the Jewish week, the eighth day of new creation. Jesus was raised from the dead on a Sunday morning. Ever since the followers of Christ altered their worship schedule from Friday night Sabbath to Sunday morning (which they call the “Lord’s Day”), every Sunday is regarded as a little Easter. That’s why the forty days of Lent don’t include the Sundays. Some day when you’re bored by winter weather, count them up. It’s Sunday, a little Easter.

The better reason, however, is not the date nor the schedule, but that Christians are Easter people. The resurrection of Jesus is central to what we believe about God, Christ, and the faith. This is where Paul begins in chapter fifteen. This is the Good News, he says. It’s the Message, the Saving Word. It is the Spoken Tradition that we continue to voice: Christ has died, Christ is risen. Jesus died for our sins, because of our sins, with our sins – and God raised him from the dead. That one weekend event revealed the heart of God’s love for the world. We received that Message. We speak it – and sing it.

But what does Easter have to do with us? Good question, because on the face of it, Easter has to do with Jesus. He is the One who is alive again, not us. And he is the focal point. Today, without the distraction of brunch plans, a lot of beautiful flowers, the visits of a hundred church alumni, and all the extra musical notes, we can take a bit of time to reflect on this. What is Easter for us?

Because it has to do with Jesus: the world tried to push him out, but God brought him back. Therefore, everything God was doing in Jesus was the right thing. Every word he spoke was worth hearing and keeping. Every person he loved is a person we are commanded to love. God has confirmed that Jesus the Christ is the One with whom we have to deal. There is no other. He has been raised from the grave and raised to authority. He is Lord, the Lord. Only one!

So, Easter has something to do with God. The event revealed the God is stronger than death, which is a good thing to remember when death comes close to us. By faith, we trust God sent his own son to us; we killed him, God said, “No, you don’t1” And that’s extraordinary, too. For it reveals God is stronger than the sin that conspired against his son, stronger than the human hatred and religious jealousy that convicted him, stronger than the brutality that murdered him, stronger from the impulses that could lurk in any of us to twist and destroy another life. God says, “No!” and cancels the power of sin – even though there’s a whole lot of sin still going on. This is what God has done.

But what about us?

This is where Paul digs in. He preaches Easter as a Message, yet he knows something bigger is afoot. The resurrection creates a chain reaction that affects all reality. If we deny the message, we miss out on what God has begun. To get at this, Paul creates a little chain reaction of his own. It’s so important he says it twice:

If there is no resurrection, then Jesus has not been raised.

If Jesus has not been raised, then our message has been in vain.

            If our message has been in vain, then your faith has been in vain.

At this, the Corinthian Christians would have looked at one another and said, “But our faith is not in vain.” It’s real. There are good things going on. We know more about God. His message gives us a new kind of life. There is evidence that Jesus still speaks to us and the world. The Message is reaching others. Lives are being changed. Our faith gives us eyes to see. It stirs up positive values. It directs the daily work God wants us to do. It’s not futile at all.

You see, the resurrection cracks open the confinement of living only in this world. As John Calvin once commented on our scripture, "To believe 'in this life only' means here to confine the benefits derived from our faith to this world, so that our faith no longer looks or extends beyond the bounds of this present life."[1] (p. 321)

But something has happened. Life, as we generally know it, has been punctured from the outside. God has done something in raising Christ that will affect all of us. Paul describes it as the “first fruit” of a future harvest. It is the first evidence of cosmic goodness. All his years of studying the Jewish scriptures, particularly the scriptures of the Jewish prophets, have prepared him to see God has begun to work out the salvation of the world. In Jewish thinking, salvation is more than a “me and Jesus” thing. Rather, it is the restoration of all that is broken or dead. And it’s now underway.

This is Paul's central interpretation of the resurrection. Christ's resurrection is the "first fruit" of God's coming reign. It is God's initial offering of what is yet to come. It’s big. It’s as enormous as that chapter eight in his other book, the letter to the Romans. Christ’s raising opens the way to our raising. It opens the way to the raising of all that God creates and loves.

Winter is a good time to chew on this. I picked up a thick book by J Christiaan Beker, the eminent New Testament scholar. I wanted to see what he had to say. After wading into the deep, I heard him use a word I did not know. The word is “prolepsis.” I had to look it up in three different dictionaries. It’s exactly what Paul was talking about: "Prolepsis: (noun): the representation or assumption of a future act or development as if presently existing or accomplished."

Easter is Prolepsis. Christ is raised; the future has been revealed although it’s not quite year. What we expect from "this life only" is not what we're going to receive in Christ. Rather, "we believe in the resurrection of the dead." Jesus was raised, we shall be raised, all things shall be healed. That’s the chain reaction. Sure, we have seen it only once, yet faith affirms this is our final destiny. Death shall not have the last word. Here and now, we are no longer enslaved by the powers that lead to death. That’s something I’ll talk about more next week.

In the meantime, Easter frees us to live as if we are already raised with Christ. We do not have to concede to the twisted rulers, authorities, and powers of the world. The resurrection of Christ has opened a new way to live. It provides an alternative script for the future. Here’s how somebody puts it,

There are some people who live toward this future, even if they do not know how to name it. Some people say, "The poor are always with us," and with a shrug of the shoulder, walk away to make the next payment on the Mercedes. Other people, however, sacrificially share their possessions from warm and generous hearts. Why? Some people say, "There will be wars and rumors of wars," and just hope that when the time comes we have more firepower than the other guys. Other people pray for peace, work for peace, and live as makers of peace. Why? Some people say, "Once a jerk, always a jerk," and let many suns go down on their anger. Other people forgive and forgive, seven times seventy. Why?

The only sensible answer lies in the fundamental assumptions we make about the future. If tomorrow is to be just like today, only more so, then only a fool would forgive, pray, love, and sacrifice. To be sure, some prudent planning might be in order so that we can draw the best available hand from the present deck, but we already know what's in the cards.

But if the tomb could not remain sealed, if suffering and death do not have the last word, if God's future for us is more than an infinite extension of yesterday, then we can hope for more than a reshuffling of the same old cards. A radically new game has been promised.[2]

We remember Easter. It’s a past event, a Message we have heard. Easter is also our future hope and our present life. It is the invitation to live under the rule of Christ. His sacrificial love, his amazing grace – they are the promise for the world. God’s future has been signaled. Yet is it going to happen? Is it really going to happen?

I can only tell you a story. Garrison Keillor says the people of Lake Wobegon, Minnesota, must live through a bitter, interminable winter. Does anybody know how that feels? To break up the bleakness, the Sons of Knute have a contest that begins on Groundhog Day. They haul Mr. Berge’s maroon 1949 Ford out onto the lake, about forty yards offshore. A long chain is attached to the rear axle. Then the Sons of Knute start taking wagers on when the Ford will break through the ice. It’s a dollar a chance. Guess the day and the hour. The winner gets a fishing boat, and the proceeds go to a college scholarship.[3]

No one knows when the ice will break. Early March? Middle of April? Nobody knows. But one day, suddenly, the thaw will come. Just as the resurrection will come for us. Winter will not last forever, for we are no longer bound to the present harsh circumstances. We are no longer captive to our mistakes. We are longer confined to the limitations of weakness, bad habits, foolishness, or mortality. For Jesus Christ is risen from the dead.

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

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[1] John Calvin, Commentary on 1 Corinthians, p. 321.

[2] Thomas G. Long, "The Easter Sermon," Journal for Preachers, Easter 1987, 9.

[3] Garrison Keillor, Lake Wobegon Days (New York: Viking Penguin, 1985) 275-6.

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.