House Call from the Soul Doctor

Luke 5:27-32
Ash Wednesday
March 5, 2025
William G. Carter

This is the overture for a Lenten series on “Coming Home – With Luke.”

After this Jesus went out and saw a tax collector named Levi, sitting at the tax booth; and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up, left everything, and followed him. Then Levi gave a great banquet for him in his house; and there was a large crowd of tax collectors and others sitting at the table with them. The Pharisees and their scribes were complaining to his disciples, saying, “Why do you eat and drink with tax collectors and sinners?” Jesus answered, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners to repentance.” 

There are a few twists and turns in that brief vignette. More than a few surprises! The first surprise is that a two-word invitation released Levi from his tax booth. Jesus did not plead with him. He did not encourage a career move. No, just two words: “Follow me.” Levi dropped everything and went. That’s all it took.

If we know about first century tax collectors in Palestine, we can understand his motivation. Jewish tax collectors collected for Rome. They agreed to get enough funding for Rome to house their occupying army and keep whatever more they could get. It was lucrative work. And difficult.

People like Levi got rich at the expense of their neighbors. They were cursed for it. They hunkered down in little shacks, protected by an ancient form of chicken wire, and made as much money as they could. Was it worth it? Outside of the tax booth, they were unprotected. At home, they were prisoners behind locked doors. I will bet Levi was ready to go when Jesus said, “Follow me.” No surprise.

Righteous people complained about this. They grumbled to the followers of Jesus, “Why do you eat with people like that?” We never hear their answer, Instead, Jesus interrupts on his own behalf, “I have come to call sinners to repentance.”

Those righteous Pharisees and scribes were grinding their teeth. They worked so hard to keep themselves pure, always guarding their associations, minding their habits, obsessing over the Torah and how to keep it. They would cross the street in silence if someone of questionable character came their way.

For their world was parsed in two camps: sinners and righteous. Sinners like those people, righteous like themselves. Outsiders and insiders. Cursed and blessed. Dirty and pure. Everybody knew tax collectors were cheats, infidels, and Collaborators with the Evil Empire. Those who presumed they were righteous avoided those deemed sinful. No surprise about that.

Levi filled his house for a dinner party, Jesus as his guest of honor. The isolated man reached out just like himself – fellow tax collectors and those described as “others.” It was a free meal in a big house. The invitation was simple: “Come and eat, come and drink, come and hang out with Jesus. He invited me out of my tax shack, so I invited him to my table.” This is no surprise.

And then comes the biggest surprise: the room was full. Luke describes it as a “mega feast” – a full table. The house was jammed with a “multitude.” And why were they there? Because Jesus reached out to Levi. Levi, in turn, wanted to honor him. He invited all these other questionable people. They wanted to be with Jesus, too.

It is a brief story and astonishing. Jesus never says to that crowd, “You must clean up your act before you can eat with me.” He never says, “Let’s get all the tax collectors together to turn the Roman Domination System upside down.” He never says, “Let me hear your confessions.” Doesn’t even say, “Let us pray.”

No, I think what he said was, “Pass the hummus. That matzah ball soup smells delicious. And folks, how was your day?” That is how he calls them. It is the same way he calls us. Never wagging his finger – but with the invitation, “Follow me.” Come with me. Sit with me. Eat with me. Because, no matter what you have done, you matter to me. You have a place by my side.

When somebody loves us, it is the best motivation to change our ways. Some folks cannot understand this. They exert so much energy to keep themselves pure that they will not admit their own impurities. They will not step over their fine reputations long enough to invite Jesus to their own tables. Sad to say, that is their spiritual illness. If only they would invite the Lord to sit with them!

Over the next weeks, we are going to chew on the word that keeps coming up in the Gospel of Luke. The word is repentance. In Greek, it is pronounced “metanoia.” It’s a turning around, a stepping in a new direction. I regard it as the invitation to come home to God, to keep company with Jesus, to welcome his loving, cleansing Spirit that heals us into health.

As Jesus puts it, “I did not come for the righteous (or those who think they are righteous). I came for those who admit they have they are not well.” To tap into that healing power, we must let down our defenses, give up our pretenses, and abandon all attempts to be spiritually self-sufficient. Jesus comes to help us. His first move, always the first move, is to say, “You are loved, even in your imperfections.”

Is that hard to hear? Maybe. If we sit with him long enough, we discover he is telling the truth.

Jesus has not come for those who are perfect. No, he comes for you and me. Tonight, we are honest enough to mark our own limited mortality. It is our opportunity to welcome Christ’s infinite love. This is the first move of repentance. Nobody ever gets through this life on the strength of their own perfection. But we do get through with a whole lot of help from the Christ who comes to love and heal. The Soul Doctor is here.

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

Unveiled Faces

2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2
Transfiguration (C)
March 2, 2025
William G. Carter

Since, then, we have such a hope, we act with great boldness, not like Moses, who put a veil over his face to keep the people of Israel from gazing at the end of the glory that was being set aside. But their minds were hardened. Indeed, to this very day, when they hear the reading of the old covenant, that same veil is still there, since only in Christ is it set aside. Indeed, to this very day whenever Moses is read, a veil lies over their minds;  but when one turns to the Lord, the veil w. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit.

Therefore, since it is by God's mercy that we are engaged in this ministry, we do not lose heart. We have renounced the shameful things that one hides; we refuse to practice cunning or to falsify God’s word; but by the open statement of the truth we commend ourselves to the conscience of everyone in the sight of God.

Maybe it’s because people know what I do for a living, but I don’t get a lot of invitations to a Mardi Gras party. But there was that one time, a few years back. A couple of us were invited to a restaurant in the Poconos. On the buffet there was a simmering pot of gumbo, shrimp etouffee, and a very tasty jambalaya. Over at the bar, the fluids were flowing. Dessert was a King Cake, a sweet delicacy with three colors of icing: green to symbolize faith, purple for justice, gold for power.

It was a festive gathering. Hot jazz was jangling in the background. People were doing their best to talk over the music – and everybody was wearing a mask. We didn’t get the memo about the masks. It was obvious we were guests.

A short woman with moussed-up Cruella deVil hair drew near to give me a hug. Her face was covered with feathers. I could tell it was Lois who had invited us to the bash. After her ice-breaking hug, a few others came up to say hello. Then some dude in a flannel shirt, reggae dreadlocks under a New York Yankees cap accosted me with a bear hug. He spilled his beverage on my shirt. I had no idea who it was – his mask had a long white beard that descended to his waste. “Who are you?” I asked. No reply. I looked at my friends. They didn’t know.

Just then he gestured in a certain way. Ah, it was Kent, Lois’ husband. The mask disguised him very well. In fact, he had been dancing and grooving to the music, something I never would have guessed he would do. Normally he’s quiet and mild-mannered. The mask released something else.

Have you ever been to the Mardi Gras? Masks are a big part of the celebration. There are big parades with elaborate floats and syncopated marching bands. All the social clubs get out and strut their stuff. People are singing, laughing, and dancing in the streets. Strings of beads are thrown into the crowds, with the same three colors of green, purple, and gold. And then the masks – simple masks, elaborate masks, masks with rhinestones and sequins, masks with ostrich feathers.

Why would anybody wear the masks? There is no single answer. A mask keeps you anonymous. Masks are the great equalizer. People are no longer distinguished by their looks. Everybody is the same. Others say masks take away inhibitions. Put on a mask and you become somebody else for a while. Lose your inhibitions. Let yourself go. Dance like nobody recognizes you!

It’s interesting that two of the Bible texts for today tell us something about masks. The first is the story of Moses. He climbs the mountain to talk to God. He is infused with the holiness of God. When he climbs back down the mountain, he’s glowing like the sun. It scared everybody, beginning with his brother Aaron. They wouldn’t come near him. So, he put a veil over his face. He took it off when he returned to talk with God, but then put it back on when he talked with the people of Israel.

It’s a strange story – and it has nothing to do with the masks in New Orleans. Mardi Gras began there as a religious festival in a French Catholic town. It was the last hurrah before the restrictions of Lent. In time, it has gotten crazy at times. Like the guy pulled aside from the revelry one year. The news reported asked him, “Why are you wearing that mask?” He replied without thinking, “Nobody is going to recognize me on the security cameras tonight.” Not a lot of holiness going on, we can be sure.

But then there’s that other text. Saint Paul is thinking out loud about that old story of Moses. And he’s wondering why a lot of people don’t comprehend the Gospel. Why do they miss the point about Jesus? He admits some of us are afraid around too much holiness. If there’s too much Holy Spirit, it’s scary. They back off. They pull the shades on too much light.

That reminds me of what Professor Jim Dittes used to say when he taught at Yale Divinity School. He said, “The reason people come to church and sit in the back is because they want to be in the presence of something holy – but not too close!”    

So, the apostle Paul says the old veil in the Moses story didn’t just keep too much glory from being shown to others. It also functioned to keep the glory of God from getting too close. And when we keep God away, it never turns out well for us. The apostle gives us a quick list:

We play games and hide the shameful things that we do.

We practice cunning, maneuvering and manipulating behind the scenes.

We twist God’s Word to suit ourselves, making it say things it doesn’t say.

And ultimately, we lose heart. We throw up our hands and walk away.[1]

The people of God have always had to live in deceptive times. In every age, there’s somebody out there trying to dominate us or deceive us or twist us out of shape. It leads the apostle Paul to say, “Take off the masks.” It’s OK to play dress up for fun, but it’s better to be real. Better to be honest. Better to think and reason and stay true, rather than manufacture noise and nonsense that lead others and ourselves astray.

The truth is that Jesus is the truth. He is the truth that God rules over us all and waits for us to wake up and claim his rule. Jesus is the Perfect Light who dispels all the shadows. To be bathed in his light is to never need to hide. We stand tall, we claim our dignity and everybody else’s dignity. And Jesus is the Spirit of True Freedom. To know his love is to never be ashamed. To step into his freedom is work for everybody else’s freedom. For God created us for truth, light, love, and freedom. There is no need to hide from him. We can take off the masks.

Yesterday, a minister friend in New Jersey shared a poem. I don’t know if he composed it spontaneously, like a jazz poem, but it sounds like he’s been thinking about it for a while. For it sounds like he knows what it looks like to live in truth, light, love, and freedom. He calls it “Make America Good Again.” Goes like this:

Make America good again—

The wiser, more faithful path.

Greatness isn’t necessarily goodness,
It’s often an excuse to stay small,

To be stuck in adolescence.

Winning at all costs isn’t winning at all—

Not if we trample others on the way.

Securing our comfort,

Ensuring our privilege

May be the norm,

But it’ll never be true greatness,

Not for those who bear Christ’s name,

Who take Jesus to heart.

Jesus is crystal clear—

Goodness is the narrow way,

The harder, more righteous path.

So, be like Jesus again—

Choose purpose over power,

Solidarity over isolation.

Confront the oppressors,

Lift up the oppressed,

And let goodness reign.[2]

This is God’s world, and the world is always ready for more goodness. Goodness and honesty and freedom and love and joy. Above all, joy. So, let’s have some fun today. Tap our feet, clap our hands, and do what we can to look a little bit more like Jesus. Take off the masks and be who God has created us to be.

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

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[1] As suggested by Eugene Peterson’s translation of the text, https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2%20corinthians%204&version=MSG

[2] Marc Oehler, “Make America Good Again,” 1 March 2025.

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