This morning I read 1 Cor 11:2-16. This is a passage that we use a lot to talk about headship, because it puts Christ as head of all, and men as head of women. I don't really have a lot to add to the headship conversation except to say the topic makes me uncomfortable, and it's always seemed to me to be less about authority (what we try to make it) and more about responsibility, which we don't talk about much.
What caught my interest this morning was two things: First, the heading, which in the NIV is "Propriety in worship," and second is that the entire 15 verses is about hair. Hmmm . . . hair and worship. I'm not quite getting it.
Paul says (vv5-6), "Every man who prays or prophesies with his head covered dishonors his head. And every woman who prays or prophesies with her head uncovered dishonors her head–it is just as though her head were shaved."
Is there a play on words here? Having my head covered probably refers to my actual physical head, but am I dishonoring that head or Jesus, my spiritual head? Probably the latter, but then how does my wife dishonor me if she uncovers her head? And which is shaved, her skull or mine? That probably refers to her again. And why does it matter whether either one of us has a hat or not?
I guess that's why it's important to remember we're talking about propriety in worship. In that context, Paul could be saying, "Look, everyone accepts that this is the way to show respect in worship (v16 - "we have no other practice–nor do the churches of God."). If you don't act this way, others will see it as disrespectful."
I think the take-away probably is this: Since we don't worry a lot any more about hats or hair length, we should be thinking about worship that is respectful to God and others. In that context, we're probably OK substituting clothing and behaviors for hats. When we do that, we see a few standards here.
First, we should conform to accepted standards, because not to do so will be distracting and maybe disruptive. Second, there's an extra level of expectation for the dads and husbands: for whatever reason, God hung responsibility for priestly leadership on us. If our families don't seem to understand what's helpful and respectful, we probably failed somehow, maybe by our own example or maybe by our inattention to our leadership responsibilities.
It makes me thankful for a wife who makes the whole headship thing easy; she doesn't need much leadership but she also doesn't resent it when I try. That's probably why I've never had to sort out what I really think on the subject.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Freedom
A long time ago, when I was just in my teens and pushing all the boundaries, I think I about drove my dad crazy. Often, when I whined about why I couldn't do something, he would say, "You can do anything you want to. You just have to be ready to take the consequences."
Paul sounds a lot like that in 1 Cor 10:23: " 'Everything is permissible'–but not everything is beneficial. 'Everything is permissible'–but not everything is constructive." It's the early church version of the Spandex rule: Just because you can, doesn't mean you should.
The phrase "Everything is permissible" is in quotes because that's what a lot of Paul's followers were saying. They were free from the law, that crushing, 100+ volumes of rules against things like moving a lamp on Sunday. They were celebrating -- "Woohoo, I can move my lamp!"
Paul says, true, the old law is gone, but not the Godly standards behind the original Ten Commandments. You still need to think about whether your actions are beneficial or constructive. He adds (v24) "Nobody should seek his own good, but the good of others."
That's the key, isn't it? If I use my freedom just to make things easy or good for me, then I'm not doing much for God or His people.
So what's the point? Why have the freedom if I can't do what I want? What good is it if I still have to constrain myself all the time?
I think maybe it's that the law brings guilt; it's a requirement that sets me up for failure. Freedom is the opposite; it's the opportunity to make good choices. If I make one that's less good, that doesn't necessarily make me a lawbreaker, it just means I missed something. The freedom to choose what's beneficial and constructive is a penalty-free opportunity to act obediently out of love, instead of being compelled to obey by a law.
Sometimes I'm too obsessed by being free. I push boundaries because, well, I can. Sometimes I miss the evening service. Sometimes I drink. Sometimes I wear casual clothes to church. I use my iPad to take sermon notes. There's nothing wrong with any of those, except for my reason for doing them.
They're all permissible, Paul would say, but look around you. Remember, you're seeking the good of others. Are those choices beneficial for God's people? Are they constructive for the body? If so, good choice. If not, well, I didn't really do anything wrong, but I missed the chance to help a brother or sister with my behavior.
In some ways that's harder than being under the law, isn't it? But that's the new law, the law of love. We act according to the love we feel. If it's hard, well, maybe the problem is I don't love enough. Which brings us back to the fruits of the Spirit, which points us back to putting in the time on our own spiritual walk. Freedom takes a lot of work.
Paul sounds a lot like that in 1 Cor 10:23: " 'Everything is permissible'–but not everything is beneficial. 'Everything is permissible'–but not everything is constructive." It's the early church version of the Spandex rule: Just because you can, doesn't mean you should.
The phrase "Everything is permissible" is in quotes because that's what a lot of Paul's followers were saying. They were free from the law, that crushing, 100+ volumes of rules against things like moving a lamp on Sunday. They were celebrating -- "Woohoo, I can move my lamp!"
Paul says, true, the old law is gone, but not the Godly standards behind the original Ten Commandments. You still need to think about whether your actions are beneficial or constructive. He adds (v24) "Nobody should seek his own good, but the good of others."
That's the key, isn't it? If I use my freedom just to make things easy or good for me, then I'm not doing much for God or His people.
So what's the point? Why have the freedom if I can't do what I want? What good is it if I still have to constrain myself all the time?
I think maybe it's that the law brings guilt; it's a requirement that sets me up for failure. Freedom is the opposite; it's the opportunity to make good choices. If I make one that's less good, that doesn't necessarily make me a lawbreaker, it just means I missed something. The freedom to choose what's beneficial and constructive is a penalty-free opportunity to act obediently out of love, instead of being compelled to obey by a law.
Sometimes I'm too obsessed by being free. I push boundaries because, well, I can. Sometimes I miss the evening service. Sometimes I drink. Sometimes I wear casual clothes to church. I use my iPad to take sermon notes. There's nothing wrong with any of those, except for my reason for doing them.
They're all permissible, Paul would say, but look around you. Remember, you're seeking the good of others. Are those choices beneficial for God's people? Are they constructive for the body? If so, good choice. If not, well, I didn't really do anything wrong, but I missed the chance to help a brother or sister with my behavior.
In some ways that's harder than being under the law, isn't it? But that's the new law, the law of love. We act according to the love we feel. If it's hard, well, maybe the problem is I don't love enough. Which brings us back to the fruits of the Spirit, which points us back to putting in the time on our own spiritual walk. Freedom takes a lot of work.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Jealousy
Jealous people do drastic things. A few years ago, an accomplished professional woman threw her career away by driving non-stop from Texas to Florida to kill a rival for her lover's affection. Regularly we read of car windows being smashed, of damaging ads put in newspapers, of scenes in restaurants.
The people we love most can hurt us most. That's why jealousy can be so destructive - there's an element of payback involved.
Paul raises a frightening image in 1 Cor 10: 22: "Are we trying to arouse the Lord’s jealousy? Are we stronger than he?"
Paul writes this in the context of sacrificing to idols; he says that we can't drink the Lord's cup and the cup of demons too. The Lord will not tolerate it. He will become jealous.
Wow, if that happens, then what? What kind of damage could a jilted God do? Well, let's see, He could send enough fire and brimstone to wipe out the city (Sodom). He could send a disease (the golden calf) or an infestation of serpents (in the wilderness). Or he could send a conquering army to drag us all into captivity (Babylon). Or, being God, He could do something completely different, like squish this planet like a bug.
Too often, as with my earthly relationships, I push the boundaries because God loves me so much. I think I can get away with things because God is safe; He cares about me. Just like we think our spouse will never leave, however badly we behave, we tend to rely on forgiveness to get us through.
Paul points out the danger in thinking like that. If we're too blatant or intransigent in our sin, God could grow jealous; He has in the past. Who can stand against that?
The only way to prevent jealousy is unfailing faithfulness. That's whfriends partners and friends want. It's what God demands. And it needs to be our standard. Anything else is not only wrong, it's dangerous.
The people we love most can hurt us most. That's why jealousy can be so destructive - there's an element of payback involved.
Paul raises a frightening image in 1 Cor 10: 22: "Are we trying to arouse the Lord’s jealousy? Are we stronger than he?"
Paul writes this in the context of sacrificing to idols; he says that we can't drink the Lord's cup and the cup of demons too. The Lord will not tolerate it. He will become jealous.
Wow, if that happens, then what? What kind of damage could a jilted God do? Well, let's see, He could send enough fire and brimstone to wipe out the city (Sodom). He could send a disease (the golden calf) or an infestation of serpents (in the wilderness). Or he could send a conquering army to drag us all into captivity (Babylon). Or, being God, He could do something completely different, like squish this planet like a bug.
Too often, as with my earthly relationships, I push the boundaries because God loves me so much. I think I can get away with things because God is safe; He cares about me. Just like we think our spouse will never leave, however badly we behave, we tend to rely on forgiveness to get us through.
Paul points out the danger in thinking like that. If we're too blatant or intransigent in our sin, God could grow jealous; He has in the past. Who can stand against that?
The only way to prevent jealousy is unfailing faithfulness. That's whfriends partners and friends want. It's what God demands. And it needs to be our standard. Anything else is not only wrong, it's dangerous.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Sensible
It just makes sense. If we take communion together, doesn't that bond us together?
To Paul, that's perfectly obvious. (1 Cor 10:15-17) "I speak to sensible people; judge for yourselves what I say. Is not the cup of thanksgiving for which we give thanks a participation in the blood of Christ? And is not the bread that we break a participation in the body of Christ? Because there is one loaf, we, who are many, are one body, for we all partake of the one loaf."
Paul is confident we'll see the logic, because he says he's speaking to sensible people. That's a term my grandma used to use, to mean the same thing we mean by "common sense." She had her "sensible shoes," and said extravagant purchases "just aren't sensible."
What Paul is relying on is our common sense. He's sure that if we just listen for a minute and evaluate what he says, we'll come to the same conclusion.
What that does is make me feel the way I used to when my dad would say, "If you had brains you'd be dangerous." I feel anything but sensible.
Because I take communion regularly, yet sometimes I don't feel connected to the body. To a few close friends, yes. To a handful of men I've served on council with, yes. To the ones I work alongside on praise teams or committees, yes.
But the majority of my church is people I know and like whose paths I only cross leaving church. These are folks who bring meals, paint walls, make phone calls, drop off bulletins and do a hundred other acts of mutual care and fellowship that make the church work. They're the ones who quietly drop their tithe in the offering plate every single Sunday, and often add a little bit to it. They're people who work hard and sometimes play hard and then show up on Sunday to stay grounded.
My church is full of people I know but don't know about. I'm supposed to be "one body" with them yet I won't talk to most of them for months at a time.
But maybe that's part of the miracle. In the same way that I could sit in the back of a Korean church service, not understand a single thing beyond melodies, and yet belong, maybe the miracle of Jesus' blood is that it makes comrades out of a whole diverse range of people who have one simple thing in common: we know where our hope lies.
That way I'm "one body" with the stranger in the Promise Keepers T-Shirt. It's just common sense, Paul says. In this case, it really is Us and Them.
To Paul, that's perfectly obvious. (1 Cor 10:15-17) "I speak to sensible people; judge for yourselves what I say. Is not the cup of thanksgiving for which we give thanks a participation in the blood of Christ? And is not the bread that we break a participation in the body of Christ? Because there is one loaf, we, who are many, are one body, for we all partake of the one loaf."
Paul is confident we'll see the logic, because he says he's speaking to sensible people. That's a term my grandma used to use, to mean the same thing we mean by "common sense." She had her "sensible shoes," and said extravagant purchases "just aren't sensible."
What Paul is relying on is our common sense. He's sure that if we just listen for a minute and evaluate what he says, we'll come to the same conclusion.
What that does is make me feel the way I used to when my dad would say, "If you had brains you'd be dangerous." I feel anything but sensible.
Because I take communion regularly, yet sometimes I don't feel connected to the body. To a few close friends, yes. To a handful of men I've served on council with, yes. To the ones I work alongside on praise teams or committees, yes.
But the majority of my church is people I know and like whose paths I only cross leaving church. These are folks who bring meals, paint walls, make phone calls, drop off bulletins and do a hundred other acts of mutual care and fellowship that make the church work. They're the ones who quietly drop their tithe in the offering plate every single Sunday, and often add a little bit to it. They're people who work hard and sometimes play hard and then show up on Sunday to stay grounded.
My church is full of people I know but don't know about. I'm supposed to be "one body" with them yet I won't talk to most of them for months at a time.
But maybe that's part of the miracle. In the same way that I could sit in the back of a Korean church service, not understand a single thing beyond melodies, and yet belong, maybe the miracle of Jesus' blood is that it makes comrades out of a whole diverse range of people who have one simple thing in common: we know where our hope lies.
That way I'm "one body" with the stranger in the Promise Keepers T-Shirt. It's just common sense, Paul says. In this case, it really is Us and Them.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Common temptations
Paul taketh away (our excuses) but he also giveth. I especially like 1 Cor 10:13: "No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it."
Of course, the verses preceding it are a continuation of yesterday's passage about how most of God's people never made it out of the desert. Verse 12 says, "So, if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don’t fall!"
Both warning and comfort are rooted in the same thing: God's, and Paul's, awareness of our weakness. We can have good intentions, but when we rely on our own efforts, we're at risk all the time.
There are two things I like about verse 13. The first one is that my temptations aren't anything special; in fact they're common. It's tempting to think that I'm different, that no one would understand. For the same reason, it's comforting to know that others are facing, and beating, the same things I'm up against. Of course, it removes an excuse too.
Second, God is faithful. I almost get the feeling here of God close by, watching. It's like I'm the little kid on the bike, He's the attentive parent letting me figure it out but there to catch me if I look like I'm going to crash. Like that parent, God doesn't challenge me with more than I'm ready for, and if I listen, He also shows me the way through it.
Of course, the danger with any safety net is that we take unnecessary risk. I don't think this verse means I can flirt with temptation, or that in the name of ministry I can boldly take spiritual risks.
It's a little like it used to be going out on patrol; we had the training and equipment to do what we needed to do, and a ton of combat power just a radio call away. We watched out for trouble, but if we stumbled into any we knew what to do. And if we couldn't handle it, well, indirect fire support was maybe 120 seconds away and we could build from there.
Except God isn't 120 seconds behind, He's out ahead. He's already seen everything that gets to us. That's comforting.
Of course, the verses preceding it are a continuation of yesterday's passage about how most of God's people never made it out of the desert. Verse 12 says, "So, if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don’t fall!"
Both warning and comfort are rooted in the same thing: God's, and Paul's, awareness of our weakness. We can have good intentions, but when we rely on our own efforts, we're at risk all the time.
There are two things I like about verse 13. The first one is that my temptations aren't anything special; in fact they're common. It's tempting to think that I'm different, that no one would understand. For the same reason, it's comforting to know that others are facing, and beating, the same things I'm up against. Of course, it removes an excuse too.
Second, God is faithful. I almost get the feeling here of God close by, watching. It's like I'm the little kid on the bike, He's the attentive parent letting me figure it out but there to catch me if I look like I'm going to crash. Like that parent, God doesn't challenge me with more than I'm ready for, and if I listen, He also shows me the way through it.
Of course, the danger with any safety net is that we take unnecessary risk. I don't think this verse means I can flirt with temptation, or that in the name of ministry I can boldly take spiritual risks.
It's a little like it used to be going out on patrol; we had the training and equipment to do what we needed to do, and a ton of combat power just a radio call away. We watched out for trouble, but if we stumbled into any we knew what to do. And if we couldn't handle it, well, indirect fire support was maybe 120 seconds away and we could build from there.
Except God isn't 120 seconds behind, He's out ahead. He's already seen everything that gets to us. That's comforting.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Sandy bones
Sometimes Paul scares me.
This morning I read this: (1 Cor 10:1-5) "For I do not want you to be ignorant of the fact, brothers, that our forefathers were all under the cloud and that they all passed through the sea. They were all baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea. They all ate the same spiritual food and drank the same spiritual drink; for they drank from the spiritual rock that accompanied them, and that rock was Christ. Nevertheless, God was not pleased with most of them; their bodies were scattered over the desert."
This passage seems to be a reference to the Israelites wandering in the desert; besides the direct reference to Moses, there are allusions to the cloud (which led during the day) and passing through the (Red) sea. Spiritual food could be manna, spiritual drink could be the water from the rock. The reference to Christ puts the whole thing in a New Testament frame.
It's the last line that's scary. After 40 years of following, after 40 years of sinning and being forgiven, of learning and worshiping, most of them died in the wilderness because God was not pleased with them.
I wonder, did they know? Or did they just go along with the crowd, following along to the temple, going with them to collect manna, conforming to the group? They likely thought everything was fine; after all, they were just doing what everyone else did. You'd think if they had an idea that God was displeased, they would have changed something. After all, this was a group that had seen the fire and heard the thunder at Mt. Sinai.
That's why this is so scary. In a spiritual sense, I often think we're doing our 40 years of wandering here on earth, and then we get to enter the promised land. What if, like the Israelites, most of us will end up as the spiritual equivalent of dry bones slowly being drifted over by sand?
What if all the things I call worship and obedience aren't enough to outweigh the disproportionate amount of time I spend tending to my worldly affairs? What if the bit of my wealth I give disappoints God in light of everything He's blessed me with? What if the little scrap of scripture I put in my head each day is drowned in the ocean of worldly thoughts and images from all the media I consume?
There's nothing about me that's more special than God's chosen people. After being baptized, eating and drinking spiritual sustenance, and traipsing around this world in a crowd of God's people, I could still not please God. Then what?
This morning I read this: (1 Cor 10:1-5) "For I do not want you to be ignorant of the fact, brothers, that our forefathers were all under the cloud and that they all passed through the sea. They were all baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea. They all ate the same spiritual food and drank the same spiritual drink; for they drank from the spiritual rock that accompanied them, and that rock was Christ. Nevertheless, God was not pleased with most of them; their bodies were scattered over the desert."
This passage seems to be a reference to the Israelites wandering in the desert; besides the direct reference to Moses, there are allusions to the cloud (which led during the day) and passing through the (Red) sea. Spiritual food could be manna, spiritual drink could be the water from the rock. The reference to Christ puts the whole thing in a New Testament frame.
It's the last line that's scary. After 40 years of following, after 40 years of sinning and being forgiven, of learning and worshiping, most of them died in the wilderness because God was not pleased with them.
I wonder, did they know? Or did they just go along with the crowd, following along to the temple, going with them to collect manna, conforming to the group? They likely thought everything was fine; after all, they were just doing what everyone else did. You'd think if they had an idea that God was displeased, they would have changed something. After all, this was a group that had seen the fire and heard the thunder at Mt. Sinai.
That's why this is so scary. In a spiritual sense, I often think we're doing our 40 years of wandering here on earth, and then we get to enter the promised land. What if, like the Israelites, most of us will end up as the spiritual equivalent of dry bones slowly being drifted over by sand?
What if all the things I call worship and obedience aren't enough to outweigh the disproportionate amount of time I spend tending to my worldly affairs? What if the bit of my wealth I give disappoints God in light of everything He's blessed me with? What if the little scrap of scripture I put in my head each day is drowned in the ocean of worldly thoughts and images from all the media I consume?
There's nothing about me that's more special than God's chosen people. After being baptized, eating and drinking spiritual sustenance, and traipsing around this world in a crowd of God's people, I could still not please God. Then what?
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Running
Paul's speaking my language this morning (1 Cor 9:24-27) when he talks about running and training. "Run in such a way as to get the prize," he says. "Go into strict training."
I started running in junior high, and I'm still at it. That's about 35 years of running. Some of it was competitive, track and cross-country. In the Guard, it was semi-competitive; we had to pass our PT tests, of course, but there was a lot of pressure for officers to do well, to lead by example.
But here's my problem: A few years ago, I retired from the Guard. At that point, after more than three decades of racing the clock, I decided I would never again look at time and distance on the same run. In other words, I can never know how fast I'm going. My thought was to take the pressure out of running, and make it fun again.
Paul might call that running aimlessly. Since the only role for running in my life right now is fitness, that's probably OK.
In those matters of faith, though, which is always what Paul is really talking about, that seems like less of a good thing, but I do it anyway.
It's easy for me to think that I don't have to work as hard at my own sanctification as I used to. I used to spend 30-45 minutes in devotional reading, poring over a passage, making copious notes in the margins. I used to keep a prayer journal. I used to post reminders all over my office, wear a cross, all to keep me focused so I would continue to work hard. I used to, in Paul's words, "Beat my body and make it my slave" in matters of growing holy.
Now, though, Sunday worship can easily seem like enough. Throw in a committee assignment or two, a few conversations about the sermon, and the occasional sermon I write myself, and I think why make it any harder than that? Dinner table devotions, enough space in my day for reflection . . . those things seem to take too much effort.
That's one reason I started blogging my devotional reflections - it's a form of discipline. It's also why I've taken to carrying a camera almost everywhere I go. I figure if I'm actively looking for things to photograph, it will help me to see the many blessings around me, all the ways God is at work.
That probably still isn't enough, but it's moving me in a direction I want to go. It's making me slow down and think about what I'm reading, and how it applies to my life. It's making me be more aware of God's revelation and common grace. Is it enough to win the prize? Is it ever enough?
I started running in junior high, and I'm still at it. That's about 35 years of running. Some of it was competitive, track and cross-country. In the Guard, it was semi-competitive; we had to pass our PT tests, of course, but there was a lot of pressure for officers to do well, to lead by example.
But here's my problem: A few years ago, I retired from the Guard. At that point, after more than three decades of racing the clock, I decided I would never again look at time and distance on the same run. In other words, I can never know how fast I'm going. My thought was to take the pressure out of running, and make it fun again.
Paul might call that running aimlessly. Since the only role for running in my life right now is fitness, that's probably OK.
In those matters of faith, though, which is always what Paul is really talking about, that seems like less of a good thing, but I do it anyway.
It's easy for me to think that I don't have to work as hard at my own sanctification as I used to. I used to spend 30-45 minutes in devotional reading, poring over a passage, making copious notes in the margins. I used to keep a prayer journal. I used to post reminders all over my office, wear a cross, all to keep me focused so I would continue to work hard. I used to, in Paul's words, "Beat my body and make it my slave" in matters of growing holy.
Now, though, Sunday worship can easily seem like enough. Throw in a committee assignment or two, a few conversations about the sermon, and the occasional sermon I write myself, and I think why make it any harder than that? Dinner table devotions, enough space in my day for reflection . . . those things seem to take too much effort.
That's one reason I started blogging my devotional reflections - it's a form of discipline. It's also why I've taken to carrying a camera almost everywhere I go. I figure if I'm actively looking for things to photograph, it will help me to see the many blessings around me, all the ways God is at work.
That probably still isn't enough, but it's moving me in a direction I want to go. It's making me slow down and think about what I'm reading, and how it applies to my life. It's making me be more aware of God's revelation and common grace. Is it enough to win the prize? Is it ever enough?
Monday, August 22, 2011
Slave to all
Strikes me this morning that it takes a lot of self-confidence, or trust, to give up freedom.
That's not our nature. We chafe at restraints. We push boundaries. We resent anything that limits us. We wish we had blank calendars and unlimited bank accounts because then we could do anything we want to.
I know some people who have willingly given up freedoms in pursuit of a higher ideal: our servicemen and women. They volunteer for a life of restrictions because they see the possibility to become better, and to be part of something way bigger than they could ever do on their own.
Paul says in 1 Cor 9:19ff that he has made a similar choice, but for much different reasons. "Though I am free and belong to no man, I make myself a slave to everyone, to win as many as possible." He describes how he conformed and became like every group he ever tried to minister to: Jews, those under the law (he means followers of the Old Testament law here), those not having the law, the weak . . . in all examples he followed the rules and expectations of the group.
Why? (vv22-23) "I have become all things to all men so that by all possible means I might save some. I do all this for the sake of the gospel, that I may share in its blessings."
Hmmm . . . I can think of a time when I skipped church because I didn't like a certain worship leader. I can also think of a time when I said a dissatisfied member should just go find another church. I have also on occasion decided to skip a service project because I don't feel comfortable around those people at the Gospel Mission.
I guess I'd have to say that I struggle even giving up my own preferences, much less a freedom. What if, in order to witness to someone, I had give up TV? What if I actually had to limit myself in some way? Would I do it?
It would be hard -- I'm as jealous of my freedoms as the next guy.
The ultimate question: Am I willing to be a slave to Christ? Am I willing today to do only those things that he wants me to, to only work for his goals? Sadly, many days I can't even claim that.
That's not our nature. We chafe at restraints. We push boundaries. We resent anything that limits us. We wish we had blank calendars and unlimited bank accounts because then we could do anything we want to.
I know some people who have willingly given up freedoms in pursuit of a higher ideal: our servicemen and women. They volunteer for a life of restrictions because they see the possibility to become better, and to be part of something way bigger than they could ever do on their own.
Paul says in 1 Cor 9:19ff that he has made a similar choice, but for much different reasons. "Though I am free and belong to no man, I make myself a slave to everyone, to win as many as possible." He describes how he conformed and became like every group he ever tried to minister to: Jews, those under the law (he means followers of the Old Testament law here), those not having the law, the weak . . . in all examples he followed the rules and expectations of the group.
Why? (vv22-23) "I have become all things to all men so that by all possible means I might save some. I do all this for the sake of the gospel, that I may share in its blessings."
Hmmm . . . I can think of a time when I skipped church because I didn't like a certain worship leader. I can also think of a time when I said a dissatisfied member should just go find another church. I have also on occasion decided to skip a service project because I don't feel comfortable around those people at the Gospel Mission.
I guess I'd have to say that I struggle even giving up my own preferences, much less a freedom. What if, in order to witness to someone, I had give up TV? What if I actually had to limit myself in some way? Would I do it?
It would be hard -- I'm as jealous of my freedoms as the next guy.
The ultimate question: Am I willing to be a slave to Christ? Am I willing today to do only those things that he wants me to, to only work for his goals? Sadly, many days I can't even claim that.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Working for free
When I was a boy, I wondered if there was such a thing as magic. After all, magicians did a lot of things that seemed like magic. Maybe my parents were just too close-minded to see what was really going on.
Now, of course, I know that stage magicians use misdirection. I wonder sometimes if Paul doesn't do that too.
In the first part of 1 Cor 9 he makes a big point out of the support he has a right to expect from the Corinthian church. Then he goes on like this (v12), "But we did not use this right. On the contrary, we put up with anything rather than hinder the gospel of Christ."
First thought: Why go on about it if you don't want it anyway? And Paul doesn't: (v15) "But I have not used any of these rights. And I am not writing this in the hope that you will do such things for me. I would rather die than have anyone deprive me of this boast."
Is Paul just a show-off? I don't think so - he says he can't really boast of his preaching, because he is simply discharging the trust God laid on him. I think the build-up, the misdirection, was just to make his point more powerful; because you expect him to ask for money, you're surprised when he doesn't, and want to figure out why not.
I think Paul may be trying to make this point: That even though he has a right to expect food and lodging and maybe a little pocket money from the church, he doesn't want it because he wants everyone to clearly understand his motivation.
Paul isn't empire-building, he's a faithful servant. He's not making a living, he's sharing a passion. He's a man on a mission, a holy quest. And his refusal to take money helps in his mission in two ways.
First, Paul isn't trying to get something, so people won't refuse the message because of the cost. It's sometimes easy, isn't it, to question the motives of an organization like the Barnabas Foundation because we know they'd like some of our money. Paul wants to take that dynamic out of play.
Second, Paul sets a sterling example of selflessness. No one can say to Paul, "You ask too much." Paul never asked anyone to live a more self-sacrificial life than his.
Examine Paul's motives all you want, but there's not even a hint of self anywhere. Can I say that?
Now, of course, I know that stage magicians use misdirection. I wonder sometimes if Paul doesn't do that too.
In the first part of 1 Cor 9 he makes a big point out of the support he has a right to expect from the Corinthian church. Then he goes on like this (v12), "But we did not use this right. On the contrary, we put up with anything rather than hinder the gospel of Christ."
First thought: Why go on about it if you don't want it anyway? And Paul doesn't: (v15) "But I have not used any of these rights. And I am not writing this in the hope that you will do such things for me. I would rather die than have anyone deprive me of this boast."
Is Paul just a show-off? I don't think so - he says he can't really boast of his preaching, because he is simply discharging the trust God laid on him. I think the build-up, the misdirection, was just to make his point more powerful; because you expect him to ask for money, you're surprised when he doesn't, and want to figure out why not.
I think Paul may be trying to make this point: That even though he has a right to expect food and lodging and maybe a little pocket money from the church, he doesn't want it because he wants everyone to clearly understand his motivation.
Paul isn't empire-building, he's a faithful servant. He's not making a living, he's sharing a passion. He's a man on a mission, a holy quest. And his refusal to take money helps in his mission in two ways.
First, Paul isn't trying to get something, so people won't refuse the message because of the cost. It's sometimes easy, isn't it, to question the motives of an organization like the Barnabas Foundation because we know they'd like some of our money. Paul wants to take that dynamic out of play.
Second, Paul sets a sterling example of selflessness. No one can say to Paul, "You ask too much." Paul never asked anyone to live a more self-sacrificial life than his.
Examine Paul's motives all you want, but there's not even a hint of self anywhere. Can I say that?
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Support
Who serves as a soldier at his own expense? I was a soldier for a while; I loved it but I wouldn't have done it for nothing. I sure wouldn't have paid to do it.
Who plants a vineyard and doesn't eat the grapes?
These are questions Paul asks in 1 Cor 9:1-12, as he makes his case that he has a right to expect some support from the churches he plants. You have benefited a lot from my work, Paul says, and asks (v11) "Is it too much if we reap a material harvest from you?"
It's a good question. Nowhere else but the church are services expected for nothing -- that's Paul's point with the soldier and the vineyard. In any other endeavor, the first thing we ask is what something costs. In the church we're reluctant if people want to be paid. We can be very grudging with things like mileage, and even more so when it comes to wages and benefits. We wonder why the pastor needs a cell phone, or how the missionary can afford to come home so often, or whether the janitor is really working that much.
Really, Paul is challenging our reaction to the offering. A man said to me recently, "I figure you have time and talents, and you have money. The church doesn't care which you use to get the work done." The whole reason we have a church budget is to pay for things that we can't or don't want to do ourselves. Can't in terms of things like electricity and preaching. Won't for things like playing the organ, evangelizing, or doing service projects.
When Paul says don't be stingy with your support, he's poking us a little bit about our priorities. Most of us have enough money, we just don't want to waste it in the collection plate -- after all, that doesn't gain us anything. Paul reminds us of all those diligent planters and waterers and harvesters out there who need to be supported by those of us they serve.
In fact, Paul claims material support as a right. That means we have an obligation. We like to call our donations "gifts" because it makes us sound generous. Maybe if we thought of what we give to the General Fund as paying off a bill, we'd be less ready to get behind. Of course that would require some accountability for our giving, and we can’t have that.
Who plants a vineyard and doesn't eat the grapes?
These are questions Paul asks in 1 Cor 9:1-12, as he makes his case that he has a right to expect some support from the churches he plants. You have benefited a lot from my work, Paul says, and asks (v11) "Is it too much if we reap a material harvest from you?"
It's a good question. Nowhere else but the church are services expected for nothing -- that's Paul's point with the soldier and the vineyard. In any other endeavor, the first thing we ask is what something costs. In the church we're reluctant if people want to be paid. We can be very grudging with things like mileage, and even more so when it comes to wages and benefits. We wonder why the pastor needs a cell phone, or how the missionary can afford to come home so often, or whether the janitor is really working that much.
Really, Paul is challenging our reaction to the offering. A man said to me recently, "I figure you have time and talents, and you have money. The church doesn't care which you use to get the work done." The whole reason we have a church budget is to pay for things that we can't or don't want to do ourselves. Can't in terms of things like electricity and preaching. Won't for things like playing the organ, evangelizing, or doing service projects.
When Paul says don't be stingy with your support, he's poking us a little bit about our priorities. Most of us have enough money, we just don't want to waste it in the collection plate -- after all, that doesn't gain us anything. Paul reminds us of all those diligent planters and waterers and harvesters out there who need to be supported by those of us they serve.
In fact, Paul claims material support as a right. That means we have an obligation. We like to call our donations "gifts" because it makes us sound generous. Maybe if we thought of what we give to the General Fund as paying off a bill, we'd be less ready to get behind. Of course that would require some accountability for our giving, and we can’t have that.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Freedom
There's a flipside to freedom, which is responsibility. Freedom means choice, and we're accountable for the outcomes of our choices. So actually our choices are limited by how outcomes effect others. Lawyers say that my freedom to swing my fist ends at the tip of the other guy's nose.
Paul warns of a possible bad outcome in 1 Cor 8:9: "Be careful, however, that the exercise of your freedom does not become a stumbling block to the weak." He's still talking about meat sacrificed to idols, adding to his point that God really doesn't care. We're free to eat or not eat, as we choose. But, Paul warns, if we use our freedom in a way that makes obedience harder for a weaker brother, we sin, against him and Christ.
That makes me wonder how often I've sinned just by exercising my freedoms. When I pass on evening worship, has that encouraged someone to think that church is unimportant? When I drink a beer, have I tempted someone who struggles with alcohol abuse? When I express my opinion, have I encouraged someone to gossip? Maybe I've done all these things. Maybe such sins only number in two digits, but maybe it's more.
It goes back to that old problem of self-centeredness, of seeing my choices only in light of my needs and wants. Selflessness, that ability that some have to always see the impact on the other guy, is a struggle for me. It takes some thought to understand one person's situation, much less everyone in my day. Dawn has an instinct for this; I don't.
Paul does. He was willing to go vegetarian if that helped keep one person from wavering. I'd have to know first who the person was; meat, after all, includes bacon.
I wonder if I can develop such an instinct. How many days of asking "What would help this person the most?" would it tke before I just naturally thought like that? I'm not really all that interested in the experiment, but I need to figure something out if I'm to be obedient.
Paul warns of a possible bad outcome in 1 Cor 8:9: "Be careful, however, that the exercise of your freedom does not become a stumbling block to the weak." He's still talking about meat sacrificed to idols, adding to his point that God really doesn't care. We're free to eat or not eat, as we choose. But, Paul warns, if we use our freedom in a way that makes obedience harder for a weaker brother, we sin, against him and Christ.
That makes me wonder how often I've sinned just by exercising my freedoms. When I pass on evening worship, has that encouraged someone to think that church is unimportant? When I drink a beer, have I tempted someone who struggles with alcohol abuse? When I express my opinion, have I encouraged someone to gossip? Maybe I've done all these things. Maybe such sins only number in two digits, but maybe it's more.
It goes back to that old problem of self-centeredness, of seeing my choices only in light of my needs and wants. Selflessness, that ability that some have to always see the impact on the other guy, is a struggle for me. It takes some thought to understand one person's situation, much less everyone in my day. Dawn has an instinct for this; I don't.
Paul does. He was willing to go vegetarian if that helped keep one person from wavering. I'd have to know first who the person was; meat, after all, includes bacon.
I wonder if I can develop such an instinct. How many days of asking "What would help this person the most?" would it tke before I just naturally thought like that? I'm not really all that interested in the experiment, but I need to figure something out if I'm to be obedient.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Idol food
I’ve often thought that we believers make too much of the wrong things. I thought that again this morning as I read 1 Cor 8:4-8, where Paul addresses the question of food sacrificed to idols.
Paul’s bottom line answer: It doesn’t matter if you eat it or not. The only reason it’s a problem is because some of you think it is. God really doesn’t care. “But food does not bring us near to God; we are no worse if we do not eat, and no better if we do.” (v8).
If you have a weak conscience you might have a problem with idol food, Paul says. God doesn’t. It’s really a question of your own motivations and attitude.
It raises the question: How many of the things I emphasize in faith or worship really make no difference? It’s easy for me to point things out in others: Those who assume raised hands are the only accurate indicator of heartfelt worship. Those who think a pipe organ is the only instrument magnificent enough to praise God. Those who believe absence at the evening service indicates a decaying faith. All of these things involve choices that are not specifically addressed in scripture, but we debate them passionately.
But what about my own false beliefs? Which of my best-loved dogmas are actually idol food? Could it be my pride in Kuyperian Calvinism? Could it be my suspicion of charismatic gifts? Could it be my scorn for those who won’t serve on Council?
I think I need to start paying closer attention to those things I speak out for, or against. How many of them would God respond to by saying, “That doesn’t bring you nearer to Me; you are no worse if you don’t do that, and no better if you do.” I think maybe I spend too much time trying to turn gray into black or white.
Paul might say, “Stop haranguing the brothers and sisters. It will give you more time to spend with God.” Because drawing closer to God is the whole point.
Paul’s bottom line answer: It doesn’t matter if you eat it or not. The only reason it’s a problem is because some of you think it is. God really doesn’t care. “But food does not bring us near to God; we are no worse if we do not eat, and no better if we do.” (v8).
If you have a weak conscience you might have a problem with idol food, Paul says. God doesn’t. It’s really a question of your own motivations and attitude.
It raises the question: How many of the things I emphasize in faith or worship really make no difference? It’s easy for me to point things out in others: Those who assume raised hands are the only accurate indicator of heartfelt worship. Those who think a pipe organ is the only instrument magnificent enough to praise God. Those who believe absence at the evening service indicates a decaying faith. All of these things involve choices that are not specifically addressed in scripture, but we debate them passionately.
But what about my own false beliefs? Which of my best-loved dogmas are actually idol food? Could it be my pride in Kuyperian Calvinism? Could it be my suspicion of charismatic gifts? Could it be my scorn for those who won’t serve on Council?
I think I need to start paying closer attention to those things I speak out for, or against. How many of them would God respond to by saying, “That doesn’t bring you nearer to Me; you are no worse if you don’t do that, and no better if you do.” I think maybe I spend too much time trying to turn gray into black or white.
Paul might say, “Stop haranguing the brothers and sisters. It will give you more time to spend with God.” Because drawing closer to God is the whole point.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Knowledge
I don't think I'm bragging when I say I know a lot. That's a reflection of God-given gifts, not anything inherently great about me, but I like to learn and for some reason I remember things. But there's a down side to knowledge: Sometimes (often?) I don't listen, because I think I already know.
Paul wrote a warning about knowledge to the Corinthian church. He's getting started on the question of whether it's OK to eat food sacrificed to idols, and he says this (8:1-3): "We know that we all possess knowledge. Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up. The man who thinks he knows something does not yet know as he ought to know. But the man who loves God is known by God."
Knowledge puffs up. When we know more, or know better, we speak up in a hurry, don't we? We're not bashful in pointing out, from a position of superior knowledge, where a brother or sister has it wrong. We like the way it feels to be right.
Not always good, Paul says. In fact, often not. He suggests another way: Love. Love builds up. Love doesn't care so much about right and wrong in the empirical sense, because love is focused on how people are really doing. Love just wants to help.
Knowing the causes of addiction, as well as the solutions, isn't helpful to the addict, but concerned questions, drop-by visits, rides home and prayers are very helpful. The addict knows he or she has a problem, although admitting it may be hard, so that preachy sharing of knowledge doesn't add at all.
I was in a conversation not too long ago where I wound up asking the other guy, "What's more important to you, being right or being effective?" This person was in a dialogue with another man about marriage, and he really wanted to be acknowledged as right; he wanted to win. I thought he'd already made his point, that the other man was thinking things through, and that the seed of knowledge needed to be watered and fertilized with love.
That's what Paul means, I think, when he says that when I think I know something, that's evidence that I don't "know" the way I ought to. In God's kingdom, knowledge is simply a tool that helps us love others better. Knowledge isn't to gain respect for myself, it's not to win arguments. The purpose of knowledge is to enable me to serve God and His people better.
That's why often it's better if I let a factual error slip by without correcting it. That's why before I point out a better way, I need to think about the behavior that annoys me to see if there's a Biblical direction there or just my own preference.
We Calvinists pride ourselves on head knowledge. We're getting better at serving with our hearts, too, but most of us could work on just using what we know to do better, rather than speak so much.
Paul wrote a warning about knowledge to the Corinthian church. He's getting started on the question of whether it's OK to eat food sacrificed to idols, and he says this (8:1-3): "We know that we all possess knowledge. Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up. The man who thinks he knows something does not yet know as he ought to know. But the man who loves God is known by God."
Knowledge puffs up. When we know more, or know better, we speak up in a hurry, don't we? We're not bashful in pointing out, from a position of superior knowledge, where a brother or sister has it wrong. We like the way it feels to be right.
Not always good, Paul says. In fact, often not. He suggests another way: Love. Love builds up. Love doesn't care so much about right and wrong in the empirical sense, because love is focused on how people are really doing. Love just wants to help.
Knowing the causes of addiction, as well as the solutions, isn't helpful to the addict, but concerned questions, drop-by visits, rides home and prayers are very helpful. The addict knows he or she has a problem, although admitting it may be hard, so that preachy sharing of knowledge doesn't add at all.
I was in a conversation not too long ago where I wound up asking the other guy, "What's more important to you, being right or being effective?" This person was in a dialogue with another man about marriage, and he really wanted to be acknowledged as right; he wanted to win. I thought he'd already made his point, that the other man was thinking things through, and that the seed of knowledge needed to be watered and fertilized with love.
That's what Paul means, I think, when he says that when I think I know something, that's evidence that I don't "know" the way I ought to. In God's kingdom, knowledge is simply a tool that helps us love others better. Knowledge isn't to gain respect for myself, it's not to win arguments. The purpose of knowledge is to enable me to serve God and His people better.
That's why often it's better if I let a factual error slip by without correcting it. That's why before I point out a better way, I need to think about the behavior that annoys me to see if there's a Biblical direction there or just my own preference.
We Calvinists pride ourselves on head knowledge. We're getting better at serving with our hearts, too, but most of us could work on just using what we know to do better, rather than speak so much.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Passing away
Warning: This morning, I have way more questions about things than answers. There are probably some smart guys out there who've figured it out, but these posts are my initial reflections: No research, no getting someone else to explain it to me, just me and scripture the way most folks read their devotions.
I read 1 Cor 7:25-31, a passage where Paul says (v26), "I think that in view of the present distress it is good for a person to remain as he is." If you're single, don't marry, if married, stay that way. He goes on to say that the appointed time is coming, so we should live as though we had no earthly entanglements. No marriage, no mourning or rejoicing, no buying, no dealings with the world, he says, "For the present form of this world is passing away."
How would you do what Paul is advising? You sure wouldn't want to do it for very long. Any man who has a wife but acts like he doesn't is going to get a visit from the elders. Anyone who just stops dealing with the world is going to go broke and starve. Those are actions you take when the end is in sight, when there really isn't a long term out there. These verses are reminiscent of some of the Old Testament Minor Prophets who foretold the Babylonian captivity.
Since Paul wrote these words centuries ago, and we're still marrying and rejoicing and buying and dealing, I wonder what he meant. What was the "present distress?" What present form of the world was passing away? Unless Paul was just wrong about things or about the timing, something was going on that would now be ancient history.
Maybe if we knew, we could somehow develop a template from these verses for handling tribulation. More likely, if knowing was important to understanding the point, there would be a lot more detail. Since scripture is sufficient by itself, the lesson is all there.
One thing seems certain: When things of cosmic significance are happening, all that earthly stuff won't help us. Everything that we think gives our lives meaning, like relationships and wealth and those milestone events that make us rejoice or mourn, will be meaningless at some point.
So it behooves us to spend some time on the things that will have value in the end. Maybe even to spend as much time investing for eternity as we do making today and tomorrow comfortable.
I read 1 Cor 7:25-31, a passage where Paul says (v26), "I think that in view of the present distress it is good for a person to remain as he is." If you're single, don't marry, if married, stay that way. He goes on to say that the appointed time is coming, so we should live as though we had no earthly entanglements. No marriage, no mourning or rejoicing, no buying, no dealings with the world, he says, "For the present form of this world is passing away."
How would you do what Paul is advising? You sure wouldn't want to do it for very long. Any man who has a wife but acts like he doesn't is going to get a visit from the elders. Anyone who just stops dealing with the world is going to go broke and starve. Those are actions you take when the end is in sight, when there really isn't a long term out there. These verses are reminiscent of some of the Old Testament Minor Prophets who foretold the Babylonian captivity.
Since Paul wrote these words centuries ago, and we're still marrying and rejoicing and buying and dealing, I wonder what he meant. What was the "present distress?" What present form of the world was passing away? Unless Paul was just wrong about things or about the timing, something was going on that would now be ancient history.
Maybe if we knew, we could somehow develop a template from these verses for handling tribulation. More likely, if knowing was important to understanding the point, there would be a lot more detail. Since scripture is sufficient by itself, the lesson is all there.
One thing seems certain: When things of cosmic significance are happening, all that earthly stuff won't help us. Everything that we think gives our lives meaning, like relationships and wealth and those milestone events that make us rejoice or mourn, will be meaningless at some point.
So it behooves us to spend some time on the things that will have value in the end. Maybe even to spend as much time investing for eternity as we do making today and tomorrow comfortable.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Just gotta be me
Who hasn't wished they were someone else? Maybe not a specific person, but a type: If only I could play basketball. If only I could be an FBI agent. If only I had money.
That's natural. Today, Paul has me wondering if it's Biblical. 1 Cor 7:17-24 is an appeal to us not to change; he starts by saying, "Only let each person lead the life that the Lord has assigned to him, and to which God has called him. This is my rule in all the churches."
Paul goes on to talk about circumcised vs. uncircumcised (religious standing) and slave vs. free (social standing). In both cases, he says whatever your condition when you come to the faith, accept it and live it out. He does say that if a slave can gain freedom, "avail yourself of the opportunity," but if not he says don't be concerned about it. It's not a big deal from a spiritual perspective.
I wonder why that is. Belief in the ability and opportunity to transform ourselves is core to the American way of life. We invented the rags-to-riches story, after all. Anyone can grow up to be President.
One point Paul is trying to make could be simply that anyone can serve God anywhere. Don't get hung up on preparing yourself or putting yourself in the right place to serve. Just start obeying God and helping people and telling your story right where you are. Everyone can serve and evangelize immediately.
Another point, I think, is that God designed each one of us to be unique. Our wishes to be something different ignores the wonderful truth (and amazing blessing) that there is something special about us that God intended to be helpful to His people.
All of this is not to say we shouldn't improve ourselves. Developing healthy habits, learning a language, building a business all are ways of using what God has made us to be. Just think a little bit about your motivation.
And consider this: It may be more God-honoring to ignore weaknesses and focus on developing your talents, improving your strengths -- after all, those areas are probably intentional areas of giftedness. If you struggle to be an athlete when God made you a musician, or to try to build wealth when God wired you for teaching, you run the risk of rejecting God's plan for you and trying to go your own way. The obvious exception to that is working on character flaws -- things like anger or addictions are not part of God's will for us and need to be corrected.
It's hard to know what's right, so I guess what I'm really saying is I need to be more thoughtful about it. I can be a great Greg, maybe the best Greg in town; but I'm never going to be more than mediocre if I try to be someone else. More to the point, unless I focus on leading the life that the Lord has assigned, I'll never be more than a mediocre servant to God and his people.
That's natural. Today, Paul has me wondering if it's Biblical. 1 Cor 7:17-24 is an appeal to us not to change; he starts by saying, "Only let each person lead the life that the Lord has assigned to him, and to which God has called him. This is my rule in all the churches."
Paul goes on to talk about circumcised vs. uncircumcised (religious standing) and slave vs. free (social standing). In both cases, he says whatever your condition when you come to the faith, accept it and live it out. He does say that if a slave can gain freedom, "avail yourself of the opportunity," but if not he says don't be concerned about it. It's not a big deal from a spiritual perspective.
I wonder why that is. Belief in the ability and opportunity to transform ourselves is core to the American way of life. We invented the rags-to-riches story, after all. Anyone can grow up to be President.
One point Paul is trying to make could be simply that anyone can serve God anywhere. Don't get hung up on preparing yourself or putting yourself in the right place to serve. Just start obeying God and helping people and telling your story right where you are. Everyone can serve and evangelize immediately.
Another point, I think, is that God designed each one of us to be unique. Our wishes to be something different ignores the wonderful truth (and amazing blessing) that there is something special about us that God intended to be helpful to His people.
All of this is not to say we shouldn't improve ourselves. Developing healthy habits, learning a language, building a business all are ways of using what God has made us to be. Just think a little bit about your motivation.
And consider this: It may be more God-honoring to ignore weaknesses and focus on developing your talents, improving your strengths -- after all, those areas are probably intentional areas of giftedness. If you struggle to be an athlete when God made you a musician, or to try to build wealth when God wired you for teaching, you run the risk of rejecting God's plan for you and trying to go your own way. The obvious exception to that is working on character flaws -- things like anger or addictions are not part of God's will for us and need to be corrected.
It's hard to know what's right, so I guess what I'm really saying is I need to be more thoughtful about it. I can be a great Greg, maybe the best Greg in town; but I'm never going to be more than mediocre if I try to be someone else. More to the point, unless I focus on leading the life that the Lord has assigned, I'll never be more than a mediocre servant to God and his people.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Stay single or marry?
Some things would be hard to take from anyone but Paul. His routine calls for self-sacrifice are almost too much.
In 1 Cor 6:6-16 Paul makes two points that to me at first didn't seem related. The first is that he thinks being single is better than being married; in fact he suggests that marriage is just for those who lack self-control. I kind of resent that, but it implies that sex has more of an earthly function than a spiritual one.
His second point is that, once married, we should stay that way. I'm not one who uses this passage to forbid divorce, because certainly his point about being single isn't a divine command. Paul is saying, though, that we should stick it out if we can.
That doesn't seem to make sense: if it's really better for me to be single, why should I stick with a poor marriage? That had me wondering until I remembered who's talking here.
Paul was all about serving God by spreading the gospel. He let nothing get in the way of that mission. So of course, his position on marriage is going to be based mostly on the best way to serve God, not the best way for me to be happy.
He seems to be saying that a single person can be more effective in serving because being married takes a lot of time, money and focus. Married folks get wrapped up in the day-to-day of pleasing each other and raising their families.
Once married, though, the best way to serve God is to honor His rules about marriage. Being in such an intimate relationship gives us the chance to figure out and then model the best ways to serve one another.
Paul's position on marriage is the same as his position on everything else: It's not about you, it's about God. That's why he isn't very sympathetic to our normal issues with singleness or bad marriages. I guess if you think being homeless, beaten and jailed aren't too much, then being lonely or broke or nagged at or living with a drunk seem tolerable too. Paul would call those things just another day at the office.
I think if Paul were here to ask about our relationships, he'd say, "Depends on how it effects your ability to serve God." He would probably think spending resources on something as trivial as our own comfort or happiness is a waste of time.
Like I said, coming from anyone but Paul . . .
In 1 Cor 6:6-16 Paul makes two points that to me at first didn't seem related. The first is that he thinks being single is better than being married; in fact he suggests that marriage is just for those who lack self-control. I kind of resent that, but it implies that sex has more of an earthly function than a spiritual one.
His second point is that, once married, we should stay that way. I'm not one who uses this passage to forbid divorce, because certainly his point about being single isn't a divine command. Paul is saying, though, that we should stick it out if we can.
That doesn't seem to make sense: if it's really better for me to be single, why should I stick with a poor marriage? That had me wondering until I remembered who's talking here.
Paul was all about serving God by spreading the gospel. He let nothing get in the way of that mission. So of course, his position on marriage is going to be based mostly on the best way to serve God, not the best way for me to be happy.
He seems to be saying that a single person can be more effective in serving because being married takes a lot of time, money and focus. Married folks get wrapped up in the day-to-day of pleasing each other and raising their families.
Once married, though, the best way to serve God is to honor His rules about marriage. Being in such an intimate relationship gives us the chance to figure out and then model the best ways to serve one another.
Paul's position on marriage is the same as his position on everything else: It's not about you, it's about God. That's why he isn't very sympathetic to our normal issues with singleness or bad marriages. I guess if you think being homeless, beaten and jailed aren't too much, then being lonely or broke or nagged at or living with a drunk seem tolerable too. Paul would call those things just another day at the office.
I think if Paul were here to ask about our relationships, he'd say, "Depends on how it effects your ability to serve God." He would probably think spending resources on something as trivial as our own comfort or happiness is a waste of time.
Like I said, coming from anyone but Paul . . .
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
My body isn't mine?
OK, I'm ready for Paul to get off the topic of sex. I think he keeps hammering on it, though, because it's so hard for us to get right. It's hard for the same old reason: we're too often self-centered.
This morning I read this (1Cor7:2-5): "But because of the temptation to sexual immorality, each man should have his own wife and each woman her own husband. The husband should give to his wife her conjugal rights, and likewise the wife to her husband. For the wife does not have authority over her own body, but the husband does. Likewise the husband does not have authority over his own body, but the wife does. Do not deprive one another, except perhaps by agreement for a limited time, that you may devote yourselves to prayer; but then come together again, so that Satan may not tempt you because of your lack of self-control."
My first thought was, "Lord, how counter-cultural do you think we can really be?" It's things like this that make others think Christians are radical whackos.
First, there's the statement that our spouses get authority over our bodies. What happens to autonomy? What about, "It's my body so it's my business?" But Paul is clear, and I can only think that he is reminding us that within the marriage partnership, some things become joint decisions. My wife has a right to expect a vote in what I do with my body, certainly in sexual activity. It raises the very difficult question of whether she has a right to expect me to work at maintaining a reasonably attractive body.
But then there's this whole thing about conjugal rights, and the idea that I can't deprive my wife, or she me, unless we both agree to it. Really? That would mean that cutting your spouse off as a power tactic is off limits. So is letting your spouse live without because you've lost interest.
The core issue is probably this: With sex and our bodies as with everything else, we mayn't be selfish. When we're deciding how to behave, we must think first of the needs of others, and of God's guidance.
There's also the admonition not to lead others astray. Paul says our behavior can induce our spouses to sin. Our behavior can also induce another's spouse to sin, if we make ourselves more attractive to him/her than his/her partner.
What God wants from us married folks is this: Within the framework of mutual agreement, we're to love our spouses with our bodies. Doesn't seem like it should be that hard. Why is it?
This morning I read this (1Cor7:2-5): "But because of the temptation to sexual immorality, each man should have his own wife and each woman her own husband. The husband should give to his wife her conjugal rights, and likewise the wife to her husband. For the wife does not have authority over her own body, but the husband does. Likewise the husband does not have authority over his own body, but the wife does. Do not deprive one another, except perhaps by agreement for a limited time, that you may devote yourselves to prayer; but then come together again, so that Satan may not tempt you because of your lack of self-control."
My first thought was, "Lord, how counter-cultural do you think we can really be?" It's things like this that make others think Christians are radical whackos.
First, there's the statement that our spouses get authority over our bodies. What happens to autonomy? What about, "It's my body so it's my business?" But Paul is clear, and I can only think that he is reminding us that within the marriage partnership, some things become joint decisions. My wife has a right to expect a vote in what I do with my body, certainly in sexual activity. It raises the very difficult question of whether she has a right to expect me to work at maintaining a reasonably attractive body.
But then there's this whole thing about conjugal rights, and the idea that I can't deprive my wife, or she me, unless we both agree to it. Really? That would mean that cutting your spouse off as a power tactic is off limits. So is letting your spouse live without because you've lost interest.
The core issue is probably this: With sex and our bodies as with everything else, we mayn't be selfish. When we're deciding how to behave, we must think first of the needs of others, and of God's guidance.
There's also the admonition not to lead others astray. Paul says our behavior can induce our spouses to sin. Our behavior can also induce another's spouse to sin, if we make ourselves more attractive to him/her than his/her partner.
What God wants from us married folks is this: Within the framework of mutual agreement, we're to love our spouses with our bodies. Doesn't seem like it should be that hard. Why is it?
Monday, August 8, 2011
Good sex, bad sex
Sometimes it's easy to see Godly values displayed in society at large (take philanthropy, for example). Often it isn't.
I thought that this morning as I read Paul's admonition against sexual immorality in 1 Cor 6:12-20. Key verse: "The body is not meant for sexual immorality, but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body."
Paul starts this verse talking about food, so it's tempting to decide the passage is about appetites in general. I think Paul is pretty specific in talking about sex here, though, since the next seven verses are specifically directed to that topic. As uncomfortable as it is, we need to think about sex sometimes, and what God's will for it may be.
Paul isn't against sex, he's against immoral sex. We get a little queasy discussing what may be appropriate in the bedroom, but I think Paul just wants to point us back to the basic fact that unless sex is in the context of marriage, it's wrong.
For many of us, that isn't a problem. However, there are two elements of living obediently to God: the internal and the external. It's not enough just to say, "Well, I don't do that." We need also to stand for the right things in the world.
At a minimum, I must never appear to condone what God has forbidden. When the topic comes up in conversations or TV shows or in someone's behavior, I need to at least make my position known so no-one thinks I'm OK with it.
Sometimes my role will be to actively work against sexual sin, maybe in the life of someone I know, or maybe to protect a neighborhood or school zone from exposure to the sex business. I hate having to do things like that, but I must be willing to stand against evil as much as I stand for good.
Those who are called to live without sexual expression can be especially effective, since their faithfulness in this area is proof that we need not be driven by our hormones.
Sex is one of those areas where, to the rest of the world, Christians seem hopelessly out of touch. We just need to remember that we're the only ones who really know about great sex. What the world has is Satan's twisted substitute.
I thought that this morning as I read Paul's admonition against sexual immorality in 1 Cor 6:12-20. Key verse: "The body is not meant for sexual immorality, but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body."
Paul starts this verse talking about food, so it's tempting to decide the passage is about appetites in general. I think Paul is pretty specific in talking about sex here, though, since the next seven verses are specifically directed to that topic. As uncomfortable as it is, we need to think about sex sometimes, and what God's will for it may be.
Paul isn't against sex, he's against immoral sex. We get a little queasy discussing what may be appropriate in the bedroom, but I think Paul just wants to point us back to the basic fact that unless sex is in the context of marriage, it's wrong.
For many of us, that isn't a problem. However, there are two elements of living obediently to God: the internal and the external. It's not enough just to say, "Well, I don't do that." We need also to stand for the right things in the world.
At a minimum, I must never appear to condone what God has forbidden. When the topic comes up in conversations or TV shows or in someone's behavior, I need to at least make my position known so no-one thinks I'm OK with it.
Sometimes my role will be to actively work against sexual sin, maybe in the life of someone I know, or maybe to protect a neighborhood or school zone from exposure to the sex business. I hate having to do things like that, but I must be willing to stand against evil as much as I stand for good.
Those who are called to live without sexual expression can be especially effective, since their faithfulness in this area is proof that we need not be driven by our hormones.
Sex is one of those areas where, to the rest of the world, Christians seem hopelessly out of touch. We just need to remember that we're the only ones who really know about great sex. What the world has is Satan's twisted substitute.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Disputes
I read 1 Cor 6:1-8 again this morning -- it's that passage about believers taking each other to court. Paul expresses his disappointment this way (vv 5-7) "Can it be that there is no one among you wise enough to settle a dispute between the brothers, but brother goes to law against brother, and that before unbelievers? To have lawsuits at all with one another is already a defeat for you. Why not rather suffer wrong? Why not rather be defrauded?"
This is interesting to me for a couple of reasons. First, Paul argues that the church is a better place to settle disputes, and his reason seems to be that a church solution will focus on love and justice from a spiritual perspective.
Second, Paul says the very fact that you enter into a lawsuit means you've already been defeated. I think he means more than just that we've lost fellowship with another believer. Our value system has become skewed because the material benefit we hope for will be gained by confrontation and antagonism; in pursuit of earthly benefit we're willing to compromise our own spiritual growth, that ongoing process of growing more like Jesus that we call sanctification.
It makes you wonder, doesn't it, what life would look like if we all valued the fruits of the spirit more than stuff? A lot could change if we would rather be good than wealthy, if we would rather have joy than a new car, if we would rather be patient and kind than get the last iPad2 on the shelf.
In fact, what if we looked at our wealth as a tool we use to progress toward our sanctification? What if we thought the reason for money was to enable us to be loving, joyous, peaceful, patient, kind, good, faithful, gentle and self-controlled?
Even if we didn't go that far, it would be refreshing to see church members in dispute sit down with pastor or elder to work things through. The spiritually-wise are the only ones qualified to judge matters between spiritual people, Paul says.
We don't want to do that because we're still confused about what's really valuable. We chase after worldly things because we think they'll buy us happiness, and in a way it does. Happiness is a response to an external stimulus -- we say, "That made me happy." The causes of happiness are many and fleeting.
We forget that God promises something better than happiness, which is joy. Joy is a character trait based on something internal: an intimate relationship with the Holy Spirit. The source of joy is singular but permanent. That's why true joy cannot be erased by a bad day. That would be worth, in Paul's words, "suffering wrong."
This is interesting to me for a couple of reasons. First, Paul argues that the church is a better place to settle disputes, and his reason seems to be that a church solution will focus on love and justice from a spiritual perspective.
Second, Paul says the very fact that you enter into a lawsuit means you've already been defeated. I think he means more than just that we've lost fellowship with another believer. Our value system has become skewed because the material benefit we hope for will be gained by confrontation and antagonism; in pursuit of earthly benefit we're willing to compromise our own spiritual growth, that ongoing process of growing more like Jesus that we call sanctification.
It makes you wonder, doesn't it, what life would look like if we all valued the fruits of the spirit more than stuff? A lot could change if we would rather be good than wealthy, if we would rather have joy than a new car, if we would rather be patient and kind than get the last iPad2 on the shelf.
In fact, what if we looked at our wealth as a tool we use to progress toward our sanctification? What if we thought the reason for money was to enable us to be loving, joyous, peaceful, patient, kind, good, faithful, gentle and self-controlled?
Even if we didn't go that far, it would be refreshing to see church members in dispute sit down with pastor or elder to work things through. The spiritually-wise are the only ones qualified to judge matters between spiritual people, Paul says.
We don't want to do that because we're still confused about what's really valuable. We chase after worldly things because we think they'll buy us happiness, and in a way it does. Happiness is a response to an external stimulus -- we say, "That made me happy." The causes of happiness are many and fleeting.
We forget that God promises something better than happiness, which is joy. Joy is a character trait based on something internal: an intimate relationship with the Holy Spirit. The source of joy is singular but permanent. That's why true joy cannot be erased by a bad day. That would be worth, in Paul's words, "suffering wrong."
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Double standard
God says we should have a double standard.
That sounds bad to us; it seems unfair. But Paul explains part of it in 1 Cor 5:9-10, when he says we're to look at a sexually immoral Christian differently than an unbeliever who commits the same sin. He concludes by saying, "For what have I to do with judging outsiders? Is it not those inside the church whom you are to judge? God judges those outside."
That's too bad, because it's way more fun to judge outsiders. I just want to get along with the insiders. I don't want to have to challenge their behavior; I don't want to risk the relationships. Far better to concern myself with the sins of those outside my church.
God says, not your job. I want you to show love to those outsiders. I want you to show them what joy there is in following. Holding them accountable isn't necessary.
I think that's true because of a very simple fact: the unbeliever hasn't bought in yet. (I know, theologically that's not how it works, election and God calling and all that, but I mean something different here.) There is nothing that can possibly be gained by calling someone out for something they don't think is wrong. That's why vegans can seem so obnoxious to us carnivores.
That guy or gal who has professed faith is another story; we have a responsibility to them to hold them accountable. We can't let them hurt themselves spiritually any more than we would let them put a gun to their own heads.
I'm not always sure how to sort out this admonition with the "do not judge" directive, so I tend to lean toward love over judgment if there's doubt. Paul says here that with the unbeliever, there isn't a choice. Love is all they should see from us.
That sounds bad to us; it seems unfair. But Paul explains part of it in 1 Cor 5:9-10, when he says we're to look at a sexually immoral Christian differently than an unbeliever who commits the same sin. He concludes by saying, "For what have I to do with judging outsiders? Is it not those inside the church whom you are to judge? God judges those outside."
That's too bad, because it's way more fun to judge outsiders. I just want to get along with the insiders. I don't want to have to challenge their behavior; I don't want to risk the relationships. Far better to concern myself with the sins of those outside my church.
God says, not your job. I want you to show love to those outsiders. I want you to show them what joy there is in following. Holding them accountable isn't necessary.
I think that's true because of a very simple fact: the unbeliever hasn't bought in yet. (I know, theologically that's not how it works, election and God calling and all that, but I mean something different here.) There is nothing that can possibly be gained by calling someone out for something they don't think is wrong. That's why vegans can seem so obnoxious to us carnivores.
That guy or gal who has professed faith is another story; we have a responsibility to them to hold them accountable. We can't let them hurt themselves spiritually any more than we would let them put a gun to their own heads.
I'm not always sure how to sort out this admonition with the "do not judge" directive, so I tend to lean toward love over judgment if there's doubt. Paul says here that with the unbeliever, there isn't a choice. Love is all they should see from us.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Unleavened bread
The recent recession has been called a watershed event, one of those points in time that marks a strong difference in how things get done. A watershed, of course, is a geological way of defining how water flows: at certain places it no longer flows one way but instead, due to changes in the landscape, flows somewhere else.
Paul points to the ultimate watershed event in all of history in 1 Cor 5:7&8: "Cleanse out the old leaven that you may be a new lump, as you really are unleavened. For Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed. Let us therefore celebrate the festival, not with the old leaven, the leaven of malice and evil, but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth."
The watershed event, the one that started everything flowing in a new direction, was the sacrifice of Christ, our Passover Lamb. As a result, Paul says, it's out with the old (leaven) and in with something new.
Keep in mind that this is in the context of the man in an incestuous relationship with his step-mother. The old leaven Paul refers to is the old sinful ways that we used to do church, with no accountability for what he calls "malice and evil."
I find it interesting that Paul doesn't say put in new leaven, he says worship with unleavened bread. A couple of thoughts here: First, coupled with reference to the Passover lamb, this is a deliberate reference to the use of unleavened bread at the original Passover and every celebration since. In this way Paul still honors Jewish history, reminding us that Old Testament principles endure even if practices don't.
The second thought: We don't need to add anything to what Christ has done. His work is sufficient, and the best way to honor it is with "sincerity and truth;" that is, accurately reflect what has been done, rather than trying to embellish.
It would be interesting sometime to review our worship to see how much embellishment is there. Even more, what about church life as a whole? Is there still some old leaven, some tolerance for malice and evil? Or do we serve one another in sincerity and truth?
Remember the reason: the amazing sacrifice of Jesus means we're free of all that. If we still do it, that's our choice, but it's not a choice that honors the sacrifice
Paul points to the ultimate watershed event in all of history in 1 Cor 5:7&8: "Cleanse out the old leaven that you may be a new lump, as you really are unleavened. For Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed. Let us therefore celebrate the festival, not with the old leaven, the leaven of malice and evil, but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth."
The watershed event, the one that started everything flowing in a new direction, was the sacrifice of Christ, our Passover Lamb. As a result, Paul says, it's out with the old (leaven) and in with something new.
Keep in mind that this is in the context of the man in an incestuous relationship with his step-mother. The old leaven Paul refers to is the old sinful ways that we used to do church, with no accountability for what he calls "malice and evil."
I find it interesting that Paul doesn't say put in new leaven, he says worship with unleavened bread. A couple of thoughts here: First, coupled with reference to the Passover lamb, this is a deliberate reference to the use of unleavened bread at the original Passover and every celebration since. In this way Paul still honors Jewish history, reminding us that Old Testament principles endure even if practices don't.
The second thought: We don't need to add anything to what Christ has done. His work is sufficient, and the best way to honor it is with "sincerity and truth;" that is, accurately reflect what has been done, rather than trying to embellish.
It would be interesting sometime to review our worship to see how much embellishment is there. Even more, what about church life as a whole? Is there still some old leaven, some tolerance for malice and evil? Or do we serve one another in sincerity and truth?
Remember the reason: the amazing sacrifice of Jesus means we're free of all that. If we still do it, that's our choice, but it's not a choice that honors the sacrifice
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Radical solutions
Sometimes my world view is so different from other people's, even other Christians, that I don't dare speak up. And sometimes I blame the Apostle Paul.
The verses I read this morning are one reason. In 1 Cor 5:1-5 Paul writes to the Corinthian Christians about a specific case of sexual perversion. He reproves them for tolerating it, and then writes this (vv4-5): "When you are assembled in the name of the Lord Jesus and my spirit is present, with the power of our Lord Jesus, you are to deliver this man to Satan for the destruction of the flesh, so that his spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord."
The drastic solution in these verses seems shocking at first, but Paul is prescribing radical sacrifice to save a soul.
I get that, because all soldiers get it. Soldiers sometimes throw themselves on hand grenades or stay behind to hold the pass. And soldiers also accept that a certain number of casualties is an acceptable price for victory. They do those things because they know there are more important things than their own lives.
The reason I can't have conversations about that: People think life and health are more important than anything. In fact, don't we often assume that God wants long life and good health for His people? We think that because our focus is life here on earth.
However, we can all name one or more saints who don't get both of those things, because that's not what's important to God. To Him, there is only one thing about us that is really significant, and that's the relationship we have with Him. He's willing to put us through all kinds of badness in order to get that right.
Give that man to Satan, Paul says. Cut him off from the blessing of fellowship with the body. Two things will result: He will no longer contaminate the whole church, potentially causing others to sin. And after Satan has gleefully wrung everything good from his life and left him a wreck, he may turn again to God. That chance of a renewed relationship with God is worth whatever the man suffers.
Blunt truth: Following Christ, though a guarantee of eternal life, is no guarantee of health or even happiness here on earth. Why, then, should an unrepentant sinner get a better deal? Why should I, if I don't repent?
The verses I read this morning are one reason. In 1 Cor 5:1-5 Paul writes to the Corinthian Christians about a specific case of sexual perversion. He reproves them for tolerating it, and then writes this (vv4-5): "When you are assembled in the name of the Lord Jesus and my spirit is present, with the power of our Lord Jesus, you are to deliver this man to Satan for the destruction of the flesh, so that his spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord."
The drastic solution in these verses seems shocking at first, but Paul is prescribing radical sacrifice to save a soul.
I get that, because all soldiers get it. Soldiers sometimes throw themselves on hand grenades or stay behind to hold the pass. And soldiers also accept that a certain number of casualties is an acceptable price for victory. They do those things because they know there are more important things than their own lives.
The reason I can't have conversations about that: People think life and health are more important than anything. In fact, don't we often assume that God wants long life and good health for His people? We think that because our focus is life here on earth.
However, we can all name one or more saints who don't get both of those things, because that's not what's important to God. To Him, there is only one thing about us that is really significant, and that's the relationship we have with Him. He's willing to put us through all kinds of badness in order to get that right.
Give that man to Satan, Paul says. Cut him off from the blessing of fellowship with the body. Two things will result: He will no longer contaminate the whole church, potentially causing others to sin. And after Satan has gleefully wrung everything good from his life and left him a wreck, he may turn again to God. That chance of a renewed relationship with God is worth whatever the man suffers.
Blunt truth: Following Christ, though a guarantee of eternal life, is no guarantee of health or even happiness here on earth. Why, then, should an unrepentant sinner get a better deal? Why should I, if I don't repent?
Monday, August 1, 2011
Servant, not service
Boy, this apostle business doesn't sound like a lot of fun. Listen to Paul (1 Cor 4:9-13). "For I think that God has exhibited us apostles as last of all, like men sentenced to death, because we have become a spectacle to the world, to angels, and to men. We are fools for Christ's sake, but you are wise in Christ. We are weak, but you are strong. You are held in honor, but we in disrepute. To the present hour we hunger and thirst, we are poorly dressed and buffeted and homeless, and we labor, working with our own hands. When reviled, we bless; when persecuted, we endure; when slandered, we entreat. We have become, and are still, like the scum of the world, the refuse of all things."
Wow: Spectacle to the world . . . weak, held in disrepute . . . hunger, thirst, poorly dressed . . . buffeted and homeless . . . and labor. Why would anyone do that?
Paul's point, I think, is that he isn't out building an empire for himself, he isn't doing this for Paul. Paul's not getting much out of it. Instead, in the truest sense of servant-hood, he and his fellow apostles are spending themselves in pursuit of the Master's goals.
I can't honestly say I do that. I'm comfortable -- like my job, make decent money, nice house, good food, some leisure time. I'm not looking for ways to make my life harder; more like the opposite. I'm willing to serve, sure, in fact I look for ways every day. But I tend to pick and choose.
Make myself a spectacle? I'll pass (although Janie VD has gotten me a couple times.) Hunger and thirst? I'm not at my most graceful that way. Buffeted and homeless? I don't think so.
No, give me service opportunities I can do on my own schedule, in ways that are comfortable to me, someplace where it's not too inconvenient. Otherwise, give someone else a chance to be blessed.
This train of thought reminds me how much time I spend working toward the wrong goals. I live as though life here on earth was the point. I forget that anything I build here I build for me, and it won't last. What has value is the time and effort I put into God's kingdom; I'll spend a lot more time there than here, and whatever I build there, God promises, will last.
We like the idea of service -- that sounds noble, and gives us choices. I get less excited about servant-hood. That sounds like fewer options and no time off. But I think we're called to be servants, not to provide a service. It's worth thinking about the differences.
Wow: Spectacle to the world . . . weak, held in disrepute . . . hunger, thirst, poorly dressed . . . buffeted and homeless . . . and labor. Why would anyone do that?
Paul's point, I think, is that he isn't out building an empire for himself, he isn't doing this for Paul. Paul's not getting much out of it. Instead, in the truest sense of servant-hood, he and his fellow apostles are spending themselves in pursuit of the Master's goals.
I can't honestly say I do that. I'm comfortable -- like my job, make decent money, nice house, good food, some leisure time. I'm not looking for ways to make my life harder; more like the opposite. I'm willing to serve, sure, in fact I look for ways every day. But I tend to pick and choose.
Make myself a spectacle? I'll pass (although Janie VD has gotten me a couple times.) Hunger and thirst? I'm not at my most graceful that way. Buffeted and homeless? I don't think so.
No, give me service opportunities I can do on my own schedule, in ways that are comfortable to me, someplace where it's not too inconvenient. Otherwise, give someone else a chance to be blessed.
This train of thought reminds me how much time I spend working toward the wrong goals. I live as though life here on earth was the point. I forget that anything I build here I build for me, and it won't last. What has value is the time and effort I put into God's kingdom; I'll spend a lot more time there than here, and whatever I build there, God promises, will last.
We like the idea of service -- that sounds noble, and gives us choices. I get less excited about servant-hood. That sounds like fewer options and no time off. But I think we're called to be servants, not to provide a service. It's worth thinking about the differences.
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