1.
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| Paul of Tarsis |
You see, Paul knows—without question—that the Corinthians
are feuding, that they’re choosing sides, judging one another sharply and
jockeying for control. Members are
passionate, but their loyalties are divided.
They’re devoted to public worship, but also defensive around personal
preferences. The Corinthian pot has been
stirred and stirred up good. And Paul’s
worried for the young church’s future; for the strain on its mission and damage
to important relationships. From simple
start to glorious finish, First Corinthians pulls no punches in this
regard. Speaking to conflict in the
church, imagining healing and reconciliation, and building to his urgent call for
compassion and love. And almost all of
us—I think—know these words by heart.
“Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures
all things. Love never ends.” It’s Paul’s love song, the thirteenth
chapter, for a divided church.
So what do we know about the Corinthian church, the
Corinthian experiment, in the years around Paul’s writing the letter? Well, we know that it’s been just a few years
since he planted this church on the Corinthian isthmus; a few years since he mentored
their new leaders, since he loved the church into being. And we can imagine, I know I can, the
excitement of their beginnings. There’s
nothing like the church, not really, in the ancient world. And Paul’s vision of male and female, slave
and free, Jew and Greek in communion together, sharing joys and suffering as
one: it defies so many cultural conventions, anticipates a whole new world of shalom
and grace. The vision in Corinth (as
elsewhere) is edgy and purposeful. The
church is nothing less than the in-breaking of holy peace, the world-to-come in
the here-and-now. A celebration of
incarnation. Thrilling stuff.
But edgy visions provoke competing priorities. We know that they do. And purposeful churches strain against the
usual anxieties. It turns out that the
in-breaking of holy peace tests just about everything we hold dear. Pushes us to new limits. Our own experience—right here at Peace
United—tells us that this is true, that edgy visions disturb the status quo and
test the bonds between us. Community’s
not for the faint of heart.
And Paul’s getting reports of conflict and chaos in
Corinth. He’s moving around the
Mediterranean basin, nurturing new churches; and from a distance he keeps up
with news from old friends and colleagues. Loyalties in Corinth are divided. Personal preferences are tested. Questions around social ethics and
responsibilities. Questions around
leadership in the church. Questions around
the meaning and practice of worship. The
church there is tested. Paul’s friends
wonder if the center can hold.
And we get a feeling for the turbulence, the turbulence in
the Corinthian church, in the early chapters of this first letter to leaders
there. “For as long as there is jealousy
and quarreling among you,” Paul writes, “are you not of the flesh, and behaving
according to human inclinations?”
Nothing particularly obtuse here.
Paul speaks to their choosing sides, to divided loyalties and the cost
to their mission and purpose. Instead of
birthing something new, something daring and revolutionary, the Corinthians are
demonstrating more of the same. Jealousy
and quarreling and competition for control.
“For when one says, ‘I belong to Paul,’ and another, ‘I belong to
Apollos,’ are you not merely human?”
Again, nothing too obtuse here.
The Corinthians are missing the mark.
We also know that one of the key conflicts in Corinth
revolves around worship and the controversial practice of speaking in
tongues. The fancy word is
glossolalia. We know that some in the
Corinthian church are proudly enthusiastic and comfortably fluent in this
practice—in which members are freed from convention and decorum to speak the
Spirit’s own language in worship. And
it’s a language unlike and often unrelated to any known by others in the
congregation. In an ecstatic moment, in
worship, some speak it aloud, and others interpret so that the church can listen
in.
In Corinth and other first century churches, and in some 21st century churches as well, speaking in tongues is a sign of the community’s liberation: the Spirit frees the believer to speak a language beyond the empire’s language of domination, shame and control. It’s a powerful expression of the world-to-come in the here-and-now. Intimate and revolutionary.
In Corinth and other first century churches, and in some 21st century churches as well, speaking in tongues is a sign of the community’s liberation: the Spirit frees the believer to speak a language beyond the empire’s language of domination, shame and control. It’s a powerful expression of the world-to-come in the here-and-now. Intimate and revolutionary.
But.
We also know that this powerful practice has come to
divide the community in Corinth and sort it out according to different
loyalties and beliefs. Those with the
gift—the gift of speaking in tongues—are claiming a kind of authority and spiritual
standing above the others. They’re
insisting that they’re closer to God than other believers, that their
remarkable gift reveals this closeness, and that they’re due some kind of
ultimate respect for it. And this, this
has Paul deeply concerned: that some in Corinth could create a kind of elitist
theology, an elitist ecclesiology, precisely out of a gift that destroys every
elitist position. And Paul’s frustration
shows. Throughout this first letter to
the Corinthians.
You see, at the heart of Paul’s theology, is this notion
that every one of us is saved—or made whole—not by our own wisdom or works, but
by the grace of God. Only by the grace
of God. Once we assign spiritual value
to our own wisdom, our own works, all kinds of mayhem may follow. This is Paul’s deepest conviction. Instead, in Jesus, he’s discovered a grace
that wells up in every human heart, a grace that touches every broken and
not-so-broken life, a grace that is lavished equally and generously on every
member of the church. There can be no
hierarchy in the church—because there is no hierarchy in God’s grace. And only when we grasp this, only when we
embrace it, by faith, are we really and meaningfully saved. Made whole.
Fully alive in our own skin. And
capable at last of being the church.
Paul’s a complicated cat—but he has a lot to say about
anxiety and hope, about brokenness and wholeness. And a good bit of it is right on target.
3.
But I want to switch gears here—and speak to our own
experiences in worship over the past year.
Because we too know something about turbulence in community. And we too know something about purposeful
churches, competing priorities, even conflict around the ways we worship. (By the way, Paul doesn’t believe that
conflict itself is sinful; that’s hardly his point. Conflict comes with community. Conflict is simply part, an inevitable part,
of the human experience. What Paul wants
us to look at is how we move in conflict, how we dance with our differences,
how we reconcile around new realities and possibilities.)
Over several years now, we’ve wrestled with temptations around
choosing sides, sorting ourselves out according to aesthetic values, dividing
the church according to musical and liturgical tastes. If you’ve been around over the past ten
years, I imagine you know just what I’m talking about. As lively a place as this is, as progressive
as we are, I’ve had this sense that our mission’s been diminished somehow,
compromised just a bit—as we’ve struggled with competing visions, legitimate
but competing sensibilities in worship every week.
But I want to suggest this morning that something’s
shifting. Something in you, in me. Something in our life together. Over this past year, we’ve tried one more time
to explore, to trust, to experience our common purpose. We’ve worshiped together, like this. We’ve accommodated one another, maybe just a
bit at first, but more and more every week.
We’ve stretched, built some new bridges, and come even to appreciate
styles, songs, liturgies we once dismissed.
What I’m seeing in the church these days is a powerful
movement of the Spirit. I’m seeing new
and courageous energy for mission, for witness, for taking the gospel message
beyond our doors. I’m seeing deeper
relationships all around, a willingness to risk collaboration and partnership
for the good of the church and the joy of our life together. And I’m experiencing, almost every week, the
kind of worship that evokes praise and hope, the kind of worship that imagines
healing and reconciliation in a world hungry for both. And I believe—I really do believe that all
this movement is related to our coming together, to our finding common purpose
together in this lovely, light-bathed place.
The Spirit is alive here!
I want to get back to Paul. But first I want to acknowledge Cheryl and
Vlada and Lori and Art, and their particularly important roles and ministries
in making this happen. Over the past
year, they have stretched publically and spiritually and musically. And, in so many ways, their stretching
creates all this space—all this spiritual, human space—for us to stretch as
well. And Cheryl, Vlada, Lori, Art: we
thank you for this gift and for the privilege of your leadership. We honor the hard work, the patience and the
struggle of this work. We want you to
know—and all of our amazing musicians to know—that it’s a blessing to all of us
and an inspiration to the dozens of loving ministries that flow from this place
into the wider community. Something very
good is going on here. It’s the Spirit’s
doing—but she’s leaning heavy on you.
And we give thanks for your courage.
4.
So back to Paul for just a moment. I want you to see that Paul’s teaching this
morning intends not to demean, not to diminish, but only to build up the
church. So that we might follow through
on our radical, world-flipping calling: to be midwives for the in-breaking of a
new kind of peace, a new kind of justice.
Paul sees conflict as inevitable and human and
expected. The church can’t be anything
other than a human institution. But how we
face conflict, and grow through conflict, and resolve that conflict: this is Paul’s
concern and his passion. It’s not enough
to claim “Paul” or “Apollos.” It’s not
enough for half of us to worship in here, while the other half worship in the
Fellowship Hall. It’s not enough to head
home on Sunday afternoon grousing about the ways other members pray or sing or
dance. No, to live in the freedom of
baptism and grace is to die to the need for such control and reach instead for
new membership in the body of Christ. “Where
members have the same care for one another,” Paul says later in his letter. “If one member suffers, all suffer together;
if one member is honored, all rejoice together.” Grasping grace—and grasped by grace—we are
capable of a whole new community, a very different mission. We are powerfully inspired to take new risks
in everyday relationships and public life.
We are radically free of all the usual anxieties and resentments. Grasping grace—and grasped by grace—we are
midwives of the Spirit.
So in the timeless words of my teenage daughters: It’s all
good in the body of Christ. Paul plants,
Apollos waters, and it’s all good. Some
speak in tongues, some sing from their hymnals, and it’s all good. Cheryl orchestrates, Lori deviates, and it’s
all good. Some visit jails, some visit shelters,
some visit the sick, and it’s all good in the body of Christ. We are bound together only by grace, stitched
together in compassion and love. The
love that bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all
things. The love that never ends.
Amen.
