Two men

Remember Saturday morning cartoons, back in the days before cable and Nickelodeon? We'd get up so early that the off-air screen was still showing (that was before 24-hour broadcasting too). One staple plot line of a lot of episodes was the evil twin who showed up and caused all kind of havoc. That was such a common theme that in high school we would claim, "That was my evil twin Skippy."

Reading 1 Cor 15:45-49 this morning, I though of those old episodes. In these verses Paul describes the two men who shaped our spiritual journey: Adam, the earthly man, and Jesus, the man from heaven. "And just as we have borne the likeness of the earthly man, so shall we bear the likeness of the man from heaven," Paul's says (v49).

Paul points out that earthly people are like Adam, and heavenly people are like Jesus. Our hope is that one day, as citizens of heaven, we will be like our Savior.

There are two sides to my nature. There's the earthly side, attracted to the comforts of this world, attracted by the temptations of fleshly living. That's the guy who doesn't always like to go to work, who enjoys popular books and movies, who sometimes wonders, "What if they're right? What if there is no God?"

Then there's the side of me that looks at the clouds and thinks of the Creator, who looks at my wife and thinks of the church, the bride of Christ. That Greg finds beauty in the Gospel and joy in toiling in the Master's fields.

The problem is, I don't think I have an evil twin. More like I have a good twin out there, a better, more holy man who shows up fewer days than I wish he would. Like Paul said somewhere else, too often I do the evil that I hate, and can't seem to do the good I long to do.

It's a good thing it isn't up to me, isn't it. I need to keep trying, but Jesus did and will continue to do the work. I just need to keep my hope in him and put in honest effort. That's comforting.

Flesh

Are we Americans too obsessed with our bodies? Maybe.

On the one hand, we Christians think too much attention is paid to physical beauty. But Paul notes in 1 Cor 15:40 that it their own way our earthly bodies are as splendid as the heavenly bodies. God made our bodies beautiful.

We also often wish for a different body. We think if we were taller, or more muscular, or had smaller feet, we'd be more beautiful. But Paul points out that God gives the body He thinks best; Paul talks about the way human and animal bodies are different, but I think the same principle applies between human body types.

Paul got onto this discussion of bodies as a tangent to his discussion of the resurrection of the dead. In answer to what he calls the foolish question of what kind of body we will have when raised, Paul points out first that God decides that and second, that the earthly body will serve as the seed of the heavenly body.

We don't know what the fully mature spiritual body will look like once it's grown from the seed, but Paul gives us a few hints (vv42-43): it will be imperishable, meaning it won't decay or age. It will be glorious - that could mean beauty, it could mean capability, probably it means both. It will be powerful, and it will be spiritual.

I think this means that I need to take my body seriously, but not too seriously. I need to take care of my physical self because it's one of the tools God gave me to do His work. My body isn't a genetic accident, it's been carefully designed to enable me to be who God wants me to be. That makes it an important part of who I am.

But I shouldn't take it too seriously because it's just temporary. Like a fat caterpillar who will one day be able to fly on gossamer wings, I'm going to live in this body for a short while and then it will be the seed for a new ageless, beautiful, powerful one.

God's plan for me, both here on earth and for eternity, is an amazing one, and I'm frequently awed at the detail He put into the planning. And I'm sobered by the reminders that He links the two; what I do in my earthly body has implications for what I'll do with my spiritual one.

Bad company

These days, being bad is good. We say that girls like bad boys, we like songs about being bad to the bone. And what kid doesn't want to be the baddest player on the field?

Paul reminds us that our attraction to bad is flirtation with the world. In 1 Corinthians 15:33 he says 'Do not be misled: “Bad company corrupts good character.'"He's referring especially to those Christians who are saying, "Let's live it up, because tomorrow we die."

Like us, the Corinthian Christians were easy prey to any argument that let them stay in the church yet live in the world. A good Christian excuse to party was just what they wanted to hear. But Paul won't tolerate that sort of nonsense. "Come to your senses and stop sinning," he says (v34).

It's easy to miss the obvious implication here: Good character is important to God. He wants His people to wear His colors, to proclaim allegiance to Him as proudly as we do to a school or sports team. God's people are good people; love is the distinguishing characteristic of a Jesus follower.

It may seem harmless to me to hang out for a couple hours with some old Army buddies, or to go out with un-churched business associates when I'm out of town. But Paul is warning me here that those people will eventually rub off on me, Notice his language is direct and un-mistakable: bad company corrupts. No maybes, no waffling or caveats. Bad company will do that every time.

Of course, if my good character is important to God, I must attend to it in more than just the negative. While I'm guarding it from being corrupted, I should also be working on increasing the goodness of my character.

There's a reason for Paul's concern with the point, which he tells us in verse 34: "for there are some who are ignorant of God –I say this to your shame." The fields are waiting for God's harvest and you're partying with your worldly friends, Paul says. Shame on you. His guidance to me is clear: stop fooling around and get back to work.

Firstfruits

Ever think, "Man, if Adam just hadn't taken that apple?"? I have, frequently. I wonder what it would be like, all of us living in an Edenic earth, walking and talking with God. Of course, maybe we'd all still be naked, which would make it less fun.

Ever think, "It doesn't really matter?" No, I never did either, until today, reading 1 Corinthians 15:20-28. There Paul says, "For since death came through a man, the resurrection of the dead comes also through a man." Meaning Jesus of course, the risen Christ who Paul calls here the firstfruits.

Of course it matters in the sense that I struggle daily with sin. It would really be nice if I didn't have to.

But it doesn't matter in the sense that God took care of it anyway. As long as I belong to Jesus, the end result will be the same. God worked it out so that Adam's apple-eating, that act of making a choice that turned him (and us) from God, was taken care of. Jesus paid the price I was supposed to: death. But as we saw yesterday, death was a comma, not a period. Jesus rose, and in so doing became the firstfruits, the first of many sons and daughters to be welcomed back home by the Father.

Paul says there's a period of time when Jesus will be busy conquering his enemies. I think that's now, although I've never made a study of the end times. But whether that is done, is ongoing, or is still to come doesn't matter either. The point is, in this passage belonging to Jesus means eternal life. That's the good place to be.

Judgment Day is coming. When I stand at the gates, I'm eager to hear Jesus say, "He's with me."

Pitied

We have a lot of questions about death. The mysterious truth is that somehow death ends our existence here on earth, but it doesn't end us. Typically, the world has gotten this all twisted up, and so we see the current fascination with vampires and ghosts and zombies.

As far-fetched as those ideas are, they recognize a kernel of reality that is sometimes hard for us to grasp: death isn't it. As Paul points out, we have to believe people rise from the dead, because if we don't believe Christ did, we're pathetic. in 1 Cor 15:19 he writes, "If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are to be pitied more than all men."

For that reason Paul says those Christians who deny resurrection from the dead have it all wrong. There has to be resurrection from the dead; if there isn't any, then we have no hope.

One thing that means to me is I have to stop thinking of death as a final punctuation mark; it's really a comma more than a period. I don't know what goes on after death, but there's going to be a lot more time spent living after I die than before it. So I need to get over my short-sightedness that I'm working for retirement, or to help my kids. That's like thinking the point of life is kindergarten.

It also suggests that in some pretty specific ways I'll still be me in heaven. I'll have this body, perfected; I wonder what that will look like. I'll probably still like to run, and I hope I can write and take photos. Even if I can't do those things, the creative urge that drives them will probably still be there. Other folks will be able to recognize me.

Somehow that makes heaven and serving Christ for eternity a lot more exciting. When I was a kid I though heaven just meant we all made concert choir, and I wasn't all that eager to get there.

So if death isn't final, and I'm still me afterward, maybe I should think a little bit about what that means. How can I spend my time here as an investment, so that the Greg who is resurrected is a better servant in whatever heaven turns out to be. I'm not sure what that means, but I suspect in the end a life lived here on earth simply as preparation for heaven is going to be more about effort and focus than it is about talent.

First importance

You can tell people who are excited about something - they talk about it all the time. And you can tell what people think is important, because it gets their time, their money, and they talk about it all the time.

Based on that, Paul was both excited about the gospel and thought it was important. Actually, most important. "For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance." That's 1 Cor 15:3. Unlike a lot of the world, who would have said, "Since this is so great, I'm keeping it to myself," Paul passed it on. He was excited.

And what was this thing that was so important? (vv314) "That Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures . . ." and then that he appeared to a bunch of people.

Paul's most important thing was this old piece of news about a dissident rabbi who was executed in Jerusalem. So what?

Well, for starters, there was this whole hassle and expense of taking livestock to the temple,, or buying some there, an then the smelly, bloody, noisy business of cutting it, bleeding it out, and burning it. Worship back then had a lot in common with packing plants.

And then, there's this business of no longer needing the priests as intermediaries. You could now talk to God wherever you were, no matter who you were.

But best of all was the reason behind this visible changes: No more guilt! Sacrifices were no longer necessary because the blood price and been paid for all of us, for all time, in one single bloody, torturous event. The priests were no longer needed because our relationship with God had been restored. The law had been fulfilled, and God's people had entered the time of the rule of love and grace.

First importance to be sure! Yet, for us,, sometimes pretty ho-hum. In fact, since we've lived with it all our lives, it's easy for us to cheapen grace. God will forgive us anyway, so why worry about it?

Maybe if we got a little blood-and-burnt-flesh stink (that's probably what hell smells like) in our nostrils we'd be as excited as Paul was. And maybe we'd be more eager to tell people about it.

If

Does the gospel have the power to save? 

Paul says it does, IF we hold firmly to it. If not . . . 

That seems obvious; it's part of our Christian jargon. "Stand firm!" we say. "Hold fast to the faith." 

But with the consequences clearly pointed out by Paul in the first few verses of 1 Cor 15 ("Otherwise you have believed in vain"), it's worth asking, what exactly does it mean to hold firmly to the word? 

I remember the first time I rappelled. Stepping off the top of the 80-foot training tower meant trusting in the rope and harness I was wearing. It also meant trusting that what my instructors had told me about rappelling was true. But most of all, I had a death grip on the rope. 

In a spiritual sense, maybe holding firm means those three things. Maybe I need to have faith in the gospel writers like Paul, and in the Spirit who inspired them. Maybe I need to trust that the gospel itself, with which I have been equipped, will keep me safe. But those two mental commitments won't do a thing if I don't actually hang on to the word. 

Do I always do that? I'm not sure. I know sometimes I can live a day or days without giving God much thought. I know that often I try to live in my own strength, and turn to God only when that's not working. So maybe I don't. 

I need to think about that. To let go of a rope on a cliff face would obviously be a stupid thing to do. Wouldn't it be just as stupid to let go of the gospel while I'm here on earth? The threats to my soul are just as real as death by gravity, with longer-term consequences. 

Good order

OK, this morning it's going to be hard to keep my bias from showing, so I'm just going to state it right up front. I'm a diehard Calvinist, which means that I tend to approach my faith first of all from an intellectual angle. It also means that I want things to be done "in good order," as our Church Order says.

Paul seems to agree with me in 1 Cor 14:26-33. In those verses he describes a controlled, orderly way for prophesying and speaking in tongues to be done in worship. If someone speaks in tongues, a few (but not too many) should interpret; if there is no interpreter present, the speaker should keep silent. Two, maybe three prophets can prophesy. If someone has something to say, the speaker gives way. The reason? "For God is not a God of disorder but of peace." (v33).

See, that's what I hated about the charismatic services I've been in: They seemed so chaotic. All those spirits moving everywhere, people babbling over here, dancing over there, falling down in the aisles. OK, that's probably exaggerated, but it felt that way to me. So I want to point to verse 32 and say, "Hey! The spirits of prophets are subject to the control of prophets -- says so right in 1 Corinthians. So control yours, please!"

But before I get too smug, there's something I need to make sure doesn't go overlooked: Paul is describing a worship service where people are going to speak in tongues, complete with interpreters, and there are going to be prophets prophesying. Paul doesn't banish the Spirit from worship, he simply points out that the Spirit isn't going to be disruptive because by nature He's orderly.

In the end, I think we still have a lot to learn from Pentecostal Christians. I don't like saying that, because I don't like their brand of worship. But I have to admit I'm mostly talking preference when I say that, not Biblical conviction.

What I'm really saying is I don't want to be stretched that far. I don't want to draw attention to myself, I don't want to lose control of my mouth (do enough of that already), and I sure don't want to be slain. I like worshiping with my brain - it's calm.

Maybe I need to pay more attention to those stirrings of emotion I sometimes feel in church, and not squelch them when I feel them. Even if it means a tear or two, or maybe even my hands go up. Some people might even look at me funny. But there must be something there, or Paul wouldn't be so matter-of-fact about it. 

For him, it was normal. For me, it ought to at least be worth thinking about.

Prophesy

I love Paul's bluntness. Continuing his train of thought regarding spiritual gifts (remember, he said try to prophesy because it helps others more than speaking in tongues?) he says if you just speak in tongues, people might think you're crazy.

Really. 1 Cor 14:23: "So if the whole church comes together and everyone speaks in tongues, and some who do not understand or some unbelievers come in, will they not say that you are out of your mind?" 

As usual, Paul puts his finger right on the tender spot. Speaking in tongues is one of those gifts that doesn't really help others in worship. In fact, Paul says it's a sign for outsiders, to convince them that something special is going on. It's not a sign for believers (v22).

That doesn't mean tongues is an undesirable gift. Paul spoke in tongues, more than anyone else, he says, and he was greatly blessed by it. But in the context of loving others, he says that some spiritual gifts are more helpful in group settings because they are understandable.

He makes this point: Worship with your spirit, but also with your mind. Your mind lets you know what's going on, explain it, make it understandable. Your spirit makes things real to you, helps you to feel them, makes you passionate. We need both.

I need to think about that. I'm pretty cautious about emotions, especially in church. It's not so much a concern for propriety as maybe I'm worried people will see me for the weak person I really am. That's why all this Spirit stuff is threatening. 

That, too, needs to be considered in the context of loving those around me. What serves them best? How does it help them if I try to seem invincible? How are they edified if I show no passion? What is there for them to relate to if I don't admit my weakness and need?

I don't want people to think I'm crazy. But I do what them to be able to sense my need, and to be comfortable acknowledging theirs. I do want to be joyous, and maybe act that way once in awhile. 

Jacen used to have a happy dance, and I used to do it with him. Maybe that's a spiritual gift; after all, what church wouldn't be better with a happy dance?

Edify

When you read the Bible through, you see things you don't notice a piece at a time. For example. in Paul's first letter to the Corinthians, he follows the end of the Love Chapter ( ". . . the greatest of these is love.") with this from the start of chapter 14: "Follow the way of love and eagerly desire spiritual gifts, especially the gift of prophecy. For anyone who speaks in a tongue does not speak to men but to God. Indeed, no one understands him; he utters mysteries with his spirit. But everyone who prophesies speaks to men for their strengthening, encouragement and comfort."

After his great essay on love, Paul turns to spiritual gifts by saying, "You should want spiritual gifts because they will help you follow the way of love." If I want to be all those things Paul says love is in chapter 13, it will be easier for me if I have a spiritual gift. I need to think about that, because I'm one of those Calvinists who gets a little skittish at overt displays of the Spirit's power.

Then, it's interesting to note that Paul seems to be saying that prophecy is a better gift to have than speaking in tongues. I'm glad; speaking in tongues is exactly the kind of thing that makes me uneasy, although I can't dismiss it because he does say (v5), "I would like every one of you to speak in tongues . . ." 

Paul's reason is very simple: Prophesying helps everyone. Speaking in tongues (unless translated) is just between God and the speaker. 

The reason we have spiritual gifts is to edify (lift up, help, educate) fellow Christians. That makes sense if they're to help us love, because love is focused on others, not ourselves. 

That means a couple of things. First, since the purpose of our gifts is to edify the body, we have an obligation to use them whether we feel like it or not. Second, since the purpose of our gifts is to edify the body, there may be times the body doesn't need them, and our role is to be silent.

Both of those things can be hard, at times. That's probably why Paul spent so much ink explaining love to us before he got into it. Otherwise we might think the purpose of our gifts is to gain glory for ourselves. Or maybe I'm the only one who does that.

No failure

Failure is part of life. I fail at things all the time; often I get it right the second or third attempt, but I don't expect 100% success. And my things fail me: bike tires go flat, car batteries drain, old bungee cords lose their elasticity, fruit left in the fridge too long spoils. Nothing lasts forever.

Except love, Paul says. Well, and faith and hope. 1 Cor 13:8 starts with a simple, three-word declarative sentence:" Love never fails." And verse 13 says "And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love."

He goes on to note that other spiritual gifts, like prophecy and speaking in tongues, have a shelf life. Even knowledge isn't permanent. But faith, hope and love always remain.

There are times when it doesn't feel like it. When relationships fall apart or life seems to hit and kick more than play nice, and no matter how hard we try to make things better they just keep getting worse, it can seem like no one's keeping the faith anymore, and there's not much hope.

But that's only because we give up, not because faith, hope and love do. We decide to focus on human faithlessness instead of looking at God's faithfulness. We give up hope because we see life in the context of our own strength, not His. And we, out of hurt most of the time, let our love turn to anger and lash out. But that's us. Those are choices.

The challenge is to let faith, hope and especially love do their work in our lives, changing us and making us more like Christ. We give up too soon. But God never does, and that's why love never fails.

Love is . . .

Sometimes I wonder if I ever love at all. Listen to Paul in 1 Cor 13:4-7: "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."

Oh, I can be patient and kind. Sometimes. If I think about it. Envy? Not as much as I used to. I don't think I'm boastful and proud, but that's really for others to say. 

But rude? I can be rudest to the people I love best; it's ironic that I'll say things to my wife I would never say to a stranger. Some days I'm the most self-seeking guy in Orange City, and I can get angry at the smallest things, although (getting back to rudeness) often only my wife will know.

I'm probably no worse than the rest of us in keeping a record of wrongs, but that's not saying much. Like the old joke says, we tend not to get hysterical, but historical. Most of us can recite the failings of others from memory, stretching back to high school. 

Based on all of that, do I love? Paul's ideal, like most of his ideals, seems far beyond my reach. But then I remember that Paul is always talking about life in Christ; I can't do much myself but if I team up with Jesus . . .

The hope is in verse 7. I think those I love most will attest that I always protect, and I (almost) always trust. I do those well enough that I always hope, and I'm pretty good at persevering. Dawn might call it stubbornness, but there's an element of that in all good perseverance. Those things all come by God's grace; it's like He gives enough success to show that success is possible.

It's a challenge to show this kind of love at home. It can be even trickier in the context of church, which is where Paul's primary focus is. Do we love our pastor, the people we chat with over coffee, and the singers who lead us in worship the way Paul describes? Do we love the people we meet on the street? Even those clueless drivers in the other cars?

Like I was told in marriage counseling, love is hard work. It's a life's work. But seldom will we ever see as great a return for our efforts as if we do this.

Guest post: Memories

[Note: Kristin Brouwer is a daughter of my home church. She's currently in Pella, IA, teaching if memory serves (if not, sorry, Kristin). She graciously granted permission for me to repost this devotional she wrote on 9/11, which I found to be especially thought-provoking.]

Friends- 
Deuteronomy 4:9 Only be careful, and watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them slip from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them.

 Why did God create memories?  God isn’t one to do things haphazardly, or to be surprised that something turned out the way it did.  It stands to reason, then that he created our memories for a purpose.  I believe that one of God’s greatest gifts to us is the gift of memory or recollection.  We all have so many amazing memories of our trip to Israel together last summer.  Memories can bring to mind pleasant thoughts of things we have done and remind ourselves how far we have come.  But, not every memory is pleasant; in fact some are horribly painful.  This weekend we are remembering 10 years ago the tragedy and terror of 9-11.  Even a memory like this steeped in sorrows serves a purpose because we experience God’s healing, past hurts take on a precious ache instead of an outright pain.  They are evidence of God’s gentle, personal touch that tells us he knows what we’ve been through and the thoughts that are forever imprinted with us. We need to make all of our memories—all of them, positive and negative---purposeful by letting his forgiveness and healing remind you of his Spirit working in you.  Take joy in knowing your memories with God let you know you are continually changing to reflect HIS likeness. 

So this weekend with 9-11 I am not asking where was I when it happened or where was God but rather asking where am I now on 9-11-11?  What God moments have we seen?  What grace have we given or experienced?  Do I love well? I personally have a love and passion for Muslims (thanks to my professor) that I have never had before.   I myself have come to the realization that the world is place of amazing beauty and awe-inspiring love.  But, the world is also a fortress of unspeakable and disgusting evil.   In light of this my prayer and hope is that we all realize that we have the highest calling and responsibility in the universe- to make disciples who make disciples.            

The memories of 9-11 were some of the darkest days many of us have lived through in the United States.  Let the dark memories of this great tragedy remind of us the incredible promise we have in Jesus: “I am the light of the world. If you follow me, you won’t have to walk in darkness, because you will have the light that leads to life” (John 8:12)” 

Our nation, our cities, our schools, and so many people need this light that leads to life. We must SHINE and CARRY  the light with us wherever we go. Whether that is at a volleyball game, the grocery store, our workplaces, Haiti, or our own homes.  So that when others find themselves or we find ourselves in a dark place may others say those Jesus followers (disciples) were here when I needed them most.  
Blessings!  
Kristin Brouwer

Love motive

It's all about our motives.

Paul starts his famous Love Chapter in 1 Corinthians (13) by making that point. (vv1-3)"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing."

Wow, really? Speaking in tongues, prophecy, knowledge of all mysteries, faith than can move mountains, complete material sacrifice? Those are some impressive capabilities and actions. Those ought to be worth something regardless of motive.

But Paul says without love, those capable Christians are just clanging cymbals, who are nothing and gain nothing.

Harsh? Not really, because the love motive makes our actions all about other people. Without love, we do things for our own gain, and what person on earth isn't ready to use all his talents and gifts to promote himself? Noting special about that.

Our actions, especially in service to God's kingdom, only have significance if we do them selflessly. That's why Paul calls it "the most excellent way."

That suggests that a kind word and a smile, done in love, is better than roofing an entire house after we argue about whether that person deserves it, or whether her family could afford to have it done for her. It means that a cup of coffee as a loving gesture from my wife means more than an entire meal slammed on the table (I think, that's never happened to me.)

It means that church leadership done grudgingly and only out of compulsion doesn't help people or honor God. It means all the things we do to check boxes are a waste of time if we don't love the people we're doing them for.

Love as an action verb. How inconvenient. How like Paul.

Needed

There are no unnecessary body parts. I once had my bowel stop working; I can tell you that all of those disgusting body functions we don't want to acknowledge are huge blessings.

Thumbs and big toes are tiny, but warriors in ancient times had a simple technique to render any captured foe harmless: Cut off the toes (can't run, hard to walk) and thumbs (can't grip a weapon). Those four tiny digits amount to a fraction of a percent of a person's body mass but without them, we're helpless.

Paul makes the same argument in 1 Cor 12:21-26. Continuing his analogy of the church as a body, he says, "Hey, every single one of you is necessary. We can't get by without you."

He notes some truths about our physical bodies: weak parts, like thumbs and toes, are indispensable. Some parts are un-presentable, some parts (bowels?) we see as less honorable, and those parts we give special treatment. The parts that are presentable need no particular consideration.

After this extended analogy, Paul says this, "But God has combined the members of the body and has given greater honor to the parts that lacked it, so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other. If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it." 

God is concerned that we have no divisions, that all parts are treated respectfully as necessary to the whole. We discussed that yesterday. But what does that look like? Paul says if any one of us suffers, every one suffers with him or her, while if a member is honored, all of us rejoice.

Some of us do that very well. I confess that unless I focus and make some deliberate effort, I can be indifferent to the sufferings of many in the church. I also confess that sometimes it's easy to resent the success of others, instead of rejoicing when they are honored.

But I should nurture those who hurt in the same way I nurture a pulled muscle. And I should celebrate the successful in the same way I'm happy when I can add a few more push-ups. 

After all, the reason is the same: A healthy, balanced body is more capable of working or playing. For my physical body and for the church, that honors God.

The body

I love it when Paul writes about the church as body in 1 Cor 12. When I was a child, I was greatly amused by the idea of the ear saying, "I quit, because I'm not an eye."

We're familiar with this passage, and the idea that it takes all the parts to make an effective body. What I like most about the verses I read this morning is verse 18: "But in fact God has arranged the parts of the body, everyone one of them, just as he wanted them to be."

There's a word of comfort there, and a couple of words of warning.

The comfort is this: When it comes to our giftedness for God's work, we can stop fretting about what we can't do. It's easy to devalue our ability to contribute because we can't sing, or teach, or speak fluently. It's easy to consider ourselves second-class citizens when our gifts seem to be more mundane. Paul would say, "Stop that. God did it on purpose; you need to start thinking about why He gave you the gifts you have."

First warning: Along with that comfort, I lose my excuse for not doing. There is a specific reason why God included me in the body with the gifts He gave me. If I opt not to use my gifts to serve the body, then I'm of no more use than a deaf ear or a blind eye, and the body suffers accordingly.

The other warning relates to my attitudes toward others. If God arranged the parts of the body just the way he wants them, then I have to be careful about church membership. God knits congregations together so that all the gifts needed are present. If I decide to "encourage" a member to take his gifts elsewhere, I compromise God's intent. And when we become dissatisfied and start looking for a new home, we'd better be pretty sure of our motives. The outcome of either of those things could be the body has to function with only one eye or ear.

The key point, though, is this: I exist to serve as a part of something bigger than me. I'm a piece of the organism God designed to do His work. Maybe I need to pay more attention to what the body is doing, and join in.

Common good

Paul won't leave me alone; he keeps chipping away at my self-centeredness.

This morning, in 1 Cor 12:7-11, I read this: "Now to each one the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good. To one there is given through the Spirit the message of wisdom, to another the message of knowledge by means of the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healing by that one Spirit, to another miraculous powers, to another prophecy, to another distinguishing between spirits, to another speaking in different kinds of tongues, and to still another the interpretation of tongues. All these are the work of one and the same Spirit, and he gives them to each one, just as he determines."

What? All these gifts are for the common good?

I'd prefer to think that my gifts are for my own good. My gifts should help me get ahead in life; they should help me compete against my peers for advancement, to win in the marketplace, to gain me recognition in my community and prestige in my church. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there, after all, and my gifts are all I have to give me an edge.

As for other people's gifts, I like it when those are for my benefit too. I guess I don't mind sharing a little bit, but for the most part, if you could please perform music I like, and be interesting and not to long when you preach, and serve causes that I like, and teach things I want to push, that's best. And those gifts I don't understand, the ones that make me uncomfortable, like prophesying and speaking in tongues? Those are just too weird for me, so could you go use them for someone else's good in someone else's church?

In my head, I get Paul's point: God gifts us because other believers need what we can provide with our gifts. It's his way of making sure churches have everything they need to work and live obediently to Him. There should be no hint of self in it.

That doesn't let me be the center of the universe, though. Which is why I struggle with it.

One Spirit, many gifts

One of my drill sergeants liked to call us ignorant. To him, it was a significant character flaw, one that he existed to stamp out of us. His version of ignorant was a lot like stupid.

But ignorant really means you just don't know. Maybe there's a connotation that you don't know because you haven't found it important, so maybe there's some choice involved, but basically it's not that you're stupid. Ignorance is a correctable condition.

In 1 Cor 12 Paul tries to correct the ignorance of the Corinthians regarding spiritual gifts. He remembers that they previously believed that their lives were guided and blessed by idols, so he knows they may be susceptible to being led astray.

In the first six verses, Paul makes a couple of key points. First, he gives a simple test to use when you wonder if someone is speaking by the Spirit: Do they acknowledge Jesus or not? If they do, that's of the Spirit. If they don't, it can't be.

The second point is more interesting to me: He points out that the same Spirit grants all of our spiritual gifts. That's interesting because it suggests that all of our gifts have a single purpose. All the variety in our churches, of musicians and speakers and cleaners and cooks and teachers and chatters exists for a single purpose. And that purpose is set by God (vv5-6): "There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit. There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but the same God works all of them in all men."

My gift is no more or less special than anyone else's. Together, all of our gifts make the church what God wants it to be.

The body of Christ

Here’s another passage that we use in our communion services (1 Cor 11:27-29): “So then, whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of sinning against the body and blood of the Lord.  Everyone ought to examine themselves before they eat of the bread and drink from the cup.  For those who eat and drink without discerning the body of Christ eat and drink judgment on themselves.”

I’ve always understood this passage, taken out of context, to be a reference to any un-repented sin. That’s probably a good understanding of the sacrament, but in the context of the verses that started Chapter 11, one phrase kind of jumps out: “discerning the body of Christ.” All of Paul’s talk about divisions in the church makes that seem like a specific reference to fellowship.

Could it be that Paul meant to give us a specific warning about taking communion if we’re in breach of fellowship with another believer? Could it be that what he’s really saying is something like, “Hey, don’t claim communion with the saints, don’t claim the body of Christ, if you’re guilty of shredding the body of your own church.”

Maybe that’s reading too much specificity into this passage, because that’s not how it’s usually explained. Probably this reference to body is instead to the body of Christ, sacrificed for us. But I don’t think Paul would object, given his frustration with the self-centeredness and divisiveness of some of the Corinthian Christians.
It’s a warning to me. I’m usually pretty courteous to people, but it’s pretty easy of me to think bad things about them in the privacy of my own mind. It’s pretty easy to become disgusted with church members who do things I don’t like. And I don’t very often repent of those mean-spirited thoughts, even though I’d be horrified if anyone ever heard them.

So maybe I ought to examine myself, not just before communion but before every worship service or fellowship opportunity. Maybe I should look at those around me and try to discern the body of Christ in them.

Remembrance

The 11th chapter of 1 Corinthians is all about communion. Yesterday I read the first part, where Paul talks about how dysfunctional the sacrament had become because of divisions in the church. That part ended with Paul scolding them for behaving poorly.

The section I read this morning starts with the word, "For." That's a word that means a reason is coming. The reason for Paul's redirect to the Corinthians was this: "For I received from the Lord what I also passed on to you: The Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, 'This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.' In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, 'This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.' For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes."

Paul was upset because the Lord's Supper has a sacred purpose, one that was being degraded. It's a holy remembrance of Christ's sacrifice on our behalf, the event that changed everything about being a God-follower in this world.

Why do we need this sacrament? Because we forget. We begin to take the cross for granted, we begin to take forgiveness as license, we begin to take God's providence as our entitlement. The Corinthians maybe got to it a little quicker that we do, but we too are guilty of trying to make Christ's lordship about our position in this world instead of our reassurance for the next.

"This cup is a new covenant in my blood." That new covenant is the covenant of love, not law. The law, though good, has been fulfilled. We now obey out of gratitude, not fear of penalty. But we mustn't become complacent just because our penalty has been paid; it was paid in blood, after all, and that blood should have been ours.

It feels like Paul is DiNozzo-ing me -- you know, like on NCIS when Gibbs slaps DiNozzo on the back of the head to refocus him when he's being stupid. Sometimes in matters of faith I need to be Gibbs-slapped.

Divisions

"Your meetings do more harm than good," Paul charges the Corinthian church (1 Cor 10:17). Ouch. Ever feel that way about your church?

Paul explains a little bit more: "In the first place, I hear that when you come together as a church, there are divisions among you, and to some extent I believe it. No doubt there have to be differences among you to show which of you have God’s approval. When you come together, it is not the Lord’s Supper you eat, for as you eat, each of you goes ahead without waiting for anybody else. One remains hungry, another gets drunk."

OK, that sounds a little dysfunctional. I have to admit, though, that I can remember times when Sunday worship was affected by divisions. Sometimes I chose a side, and then there were people I avoided in church. And I'm pretty sure I thought my side had God's approval, and the other side maybe didn't.

That's especially not good, Paul says, in connection with communion. That's the sacrament that's supposed to bind us together as one at the foot of the cross, after all. The Corinthians didn't even eat the meal together, nor did they share.

We're more proper than that, of course. We keep up appearances, at least during the actual service. But there's an attitude here that I don't think I completely avoid.

The attitude is this: In some way, I'm more deserving of this than some. I'm more involved, or I give more, or I understand more -- somehow, when you say "church," you mean me more than you mean some other folks. After all, we even have a name for them: fringe.

That's a subtle division that we don't think of much because we don't fight with them. We think they've opted out; they probably can't find a way to plug in. They feel different, less talented, less smart. Because we make them feel that way.

God's sacrament, and the worship of his church, is just as much about them as it is about me. That division, like all others, is artificial. I wonder if God even notices it. After all, compared to Him, we're all black as sin.