Who IS Jesus, Really?

In college, when it came time to register for classes for the next semester, we students would huddle together with the class list in front of us and compare notes on the different professors. What did we know about Prof. Smith or Prof. Jones? Was he nice? Was she a tough grader? Did he diligently take attendance? Does she accept incomplete assignments? We talked extensively about each professor even though we had never actually met them or taken her class. At the core of all of our questions was this: Will I like him? Will she like me?

That’s a little like how we come to know Jesus, isn’t it? None of us have ever actually met the man face-to-face. All we have to go on is personal testimony and circumstantial evidence. And yet, our questions are similar to what we wanted to know about our professors: Is Jesus nice? Is he a tough grader? Does he diligently take attendance on Sunday morning? Does he accept incomplete assignments? And, deep down, we have the same core questions: Do I like him? Does he like me?

Those are hard questions to answer when the most recent first-person account we have is a few thousand years old. The question, “Who is Jesus, really?” is one I’ve been wrestling with ever since I was introduced to him. Actually, I wasn’t literally introduced to him, or else this question wouldn’t be nearly as hard to answer. Instead, I was introduced to him through the pages of scripture, through sermons from a pastor and through the experiences of other people. That’s a quite nebulous way to start a relationship.

The journalist in me has never been quite satisfied with my level of knowledge about Jesus, so for Lent this year we’re going to spend some time getting to know Jesus on a more personal level. We’ll do this in two different forums. In our Sunday School series at 9:30 a.m. on Sunday mornings in Chalice Hall, we’ll get to know Jesus through the “I AM” statements he makes about himself in the gospel of John. Jesus isn’t much of a self-promoter; in fact, in most instances he tells people NOT to publicize anything about him. So when he does talk about himself, it’s worth listening. Your ministers will take turns exploring with you the different ways Jesus identifies himself.

In the sermons, we’ll take a completely different angle on getting to know our Savior. In our efforts to build a relationship with Jesus or to introduce others to him, we tend to emphasize the less controversial parts of his personality. It’s a lot easier to get to know “Jesus, meek and mild” than “Jesus, mean and wild.” So we don’t often hear about the stories where Jesus appears irascible, off-putting or even – gasp! – like a jerk.

But in Lent, we will. We’ll look at those stories and see what we can learn about Jesus. We’ll hear his harsh words and read about his divisive actions. We’ll wrestle with the fact that our Savior wasn’t always a nice guy and how that could impact what we believe about him. We’ll spend six weeks getting to know him all over again.

My hope is that by the time we get to Easter, we’ll have a fuller understanding of Jesus’ time on earth. The disclaimer I offer is that we can never fully know him, more than we can ever fully know any human being. In the end, there will still be much we don’t know about Jesus. But hopefully we will have a more complete picture of who this man was back then and who he continues to be for us now. At the end of these six weeks, will we like him more or less? Who knows? To be honest, I’m not even sure what to expect. But I hope the conclusions I draw about him are similar to the ones drawn about the lion Aslan in C.S. Lewis’ “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe”: “Safe? Of course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”

This Week’s Sermon – Glimpses of God

SCRIPTURE – Mark 9:2-10 – After six days Jesus took Peter, James and John with him and led them up a high mountain, where they were all alone. There he was transfigured before them. His clothes became dazzling white, whiter than anyone in the world could bleach them. And there appeared before them Elijah and Moses, who were talking with Jesus.
Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here. Let us put up three shelters—one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.” (He did not know what to say, they were so frightened.) Then a cloud appeared and covered them, and a voice came from the cloud: “This is my Son, whom I love. Listen to him!” Suddenly, when they looked around, they no longer saw anyone with them except Jesus. As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus gave them orders not to tell anyone what they had seen until the Son of Man had risen from the dead. They kept the matter to themselves, discussing what “rising from the dead” meant.

SERMON
Glimpses of God
Mark 9:2-10
Feb. 19, 2012

I was a very inquisitive young lad growing up. I had this thirst for knowledge which was so strong that it could be annoying. I remember one time when my mom, stepfather, and I were driving around Washington D.C., I peppered him with all kinds of questions about the monuments and presidents and American history. Finally, he turned around and shouted, “Do you do anything besides ask questions?” And I said, “What’s wrong with questions?” At which point he jumped from the moving car.

This natural curiosity is probably what led me into my first career of journalism. I had questions, I wanted answers, and I expected that every question had an answer. Journalism was fulfilling for me because I was getting paid to ask questions and to search until I find the answers. That’s about the time I started getting seriously involved in church, and a whole new realm of question-asking was opened up to me, especially when it came to the Bible. Here were all these wonderful stories and characters and teachings, and they were just waiting to be studied and analyzed and questioned. I assumed the answers to all my questions about faith were in there, just waiting to be discovered.

That’s one of the things I enjoy most about preaching. I love taking a biblical passage and diving into it, swimming around in the context and the metaphors and the author’s mindset. And most of the Bible lends itself to this kind of investigation, which is called exegesis. I love exegeting a passage and then sharing the results with you in the sermon. I enjoy exploring the background and the meaning of the original languages and seeing what emerges from that process. Sometimes I even feel like I understand it!

But then, there are other passages in the Bible that drive the journalist in me crazy, because there are no answers to be discovered, and trying to perform exegesis is like trying to dig a hole to China with a plastic spoon. These passages teach me that not every word in scripture exists to provide an answer. I once spend a year leading a Bible study on the book of Revelation, and nothing will cure you of your desire to understand the Bible faster than studying Revelation! Our motto in that group was, “Ultimately, we just don’t know.”

Today’s scripture is one of those perplexing passages. It is a story that is meant to be experienced, not picked apart. We are witnessing worship, and worship is simply a time to be still in the presence of God, not critique and analyze. But the journalist in me has trouble with that. I’m not good with scriptures that don’t provide answers. I want to pin this down and put it under a microscope, capture whatever truth is has for me, not let this moment pass before I extract something useful from it. What does it mean that Jesus was transfigured? What really happened up on that mountain?

In that respects, I’m a lot like Peter. Thank God for Peter! Peter gives me someone in the Bible to whom I can really relate, because Peter’s faith is almost as mercurial and as imperfect as mine. Peter must have been a journalist at some point in his life, because he also has a strong curiosity. Remember, he’s the one who ventured out of the boat and tried to walk on water to meet Jesus. On this mountain top, an extraordinary event was unfolding, and Peter, who was the vice president in charge of doing something, had to do something. Peter is never at a loss for words, and even when he is at a loss for words, that doesn’t stop him from saying something.

Upon seeing the transfiguration and the appearance of Elijah and Moses, a spectacular sight which would render most people speechless, Peter pipes up and says, “It is good for us to be here. So let’s capture the moment by building some dwellings so we can stay here a little while longer.” Although Peter’s words feel like an interruption to this holy moment, I can’t say that I blame him. After all, Jesus has been predicting his death, and this will end up being the last trip up the mountain before Jesus and the disciples start their descent to Jerusalem. The next mountain they will climb will be Golgotha, so Peter wants to make this moment last as long as possible.

James and John and Peter are about to get a glimpse of something extraordinary. They’re going to get a sneak peek at the end of the book, where Jesus will be revealed in all his glory. In the Celtic tradition, these moments are called the “thin places,” experiences in which the veil between heaven and earth is made see-through for just a moment. In the Hebrew Scriptures it’s called the Shekinah, the radiance of God shining through into this dark world. I think about my wedding day, the birth of my children, the day of my ordination, my grandfather’s funeral. Paul says in 1 Corinthians 13 that in this life we see God as if we are seeing through a glass dimly. Thin places are moments when God takes out the Windex, and for just a fleeting moment we see the world as God created it to be. These are divine moments, they are moments that defy classification or description, and they are simply breath-taking. And we don’t want to let them go.

Based on that knowledge, I think Peter’s response is perfectly human in both its eagerness and in its bone-headedness. Peter sees Jesus, Moses, and Elijah before him and says, “Wow, this is great! I’ve got an idea. Let’s capture the moment.” There’s a scene in the sitcom “Modern Family” where the very type-A personality Claire is trying to get her whole family together for a picture. They’re all dressed in matching white shirts and Claire has organized the picture down to every lock of hair and hand placement. But as each picture is taken, inevitably somebody is blinking, or looking the wrong way, or putting up bunny ears over someone else. Finally, Claire gives up her efforts to control things, the family starts slinging mud on their white shirts, and they end up with a messy, funny, fully authentic family photo. Like Claire, Peter tries to control and organize this holy moment, but God’s voice doesn’t come out of the cloud and say, “You all go stand by that tree so I can take your picture.” The voice says, “Listen to him!” In other words, don’t worry so much about preserving the moment that you miss the moment.

We all do this, don’t we? Our technological age invites this kind of behavior. Leigh and I honeymooned in Florida, and one day we went to the Universal Studios theme park. They had this great new ride there based on the Terminator movies. We stood in line for about an hour, and while waiting, I decided I wanted to videotape the entire ride so that we would remember it. So when we got into place I started the video camera and filmed the entire thing. And now, when I watch that videotape, do you know what I remember? I remember videotaping the ride, but I don’t remember the ride itself.

Like Peter, I wonder if we don’t get so concerned about keeping the moment from passing that we pass the moment. The story of the Transfiguration is meant to be enjoyed, to be wondered about, to be relished with delight rather than picked apart and meticulously interpreted. That same goes for all the precious moments in our lives where God breaks into the mundane and gives us a glimpse of the holy. I wrote about one of those moments in my newsletter column this week, a hospital visit I had with an elderly lady. Where have you seen God in your own lives? What are some thin places you have experienced?

What I’m encouraging is something that I myself have difficulty with: the acceptance and appreciation of the mysteries of life. Christianity is a revealed religion. We learn by what is revealed to us, not by what we think up or discover on our own. That’s what the voice from the cloud tells us: “This is my son, whom I love. Listen to him!” There are times in life where it’s appropriate to ask questions, but then there are other times, transcendent moments that defy explanation, when what we need to do is to listen to what God is saying to us through this experience.

I’m not denouncing the asking of questions and the seeking of explanations, but sometimes the limits of our human intellect demand that we stop seeking answers and instead honor the sacredness of the moment before us, abide in the thin place, bask in the Shekinah. Every once in awhile we are blessed to experience a moment, whether joyous or tragic, that is so God-filled that all we can do is simply be there. And I bet there are more of them than we think, if we have the eyes to see them. Because once we’ve been up the mountain, once we’ve experienced this kind of moment, we won’t come down the same. We begin to see glimpses of God everywhere. They may not be much; they may feel fleeting.
But those holy moments in God’s presence are enough to carry us through the valleys we have yet to walk.

We’re about to walk through one of those valleys, a period of time called Lent, when we take a step back and examine our lives. In doing so, we are made aware once again of our utter humanness, our glaring brokenness, and our desperate need for a Savior. As we prepare to start Lent on this coming Wednesday, let us take this sacred moment that God has given us simply to be in God’s presence.

Here’s my hope for us: Don’t work so hard to preserve the moment that you miss the moment, whether it’s with God or your family or in the act of worship. I believe there are moments all around us where God is being revealed to us, through grandmothers and grandchildren, through sunsets and snowfalls, through songs and prayers and scripture, through the simple act of breaking bread and pouring the cup. Please don’t miss them. Lord, it is good for us to be here! Stop, listen, enjoy, and give thanks.

This Week’s Sermon – The Untouchables

SCRIPTURE – Mark 1:40-45 – A man with leprosy came to him and begged him on his knees, “If you are willing, you can make me clean.” Jesus was indignant. He reached out his hand and touched the man. “I am willing,” he said. “Be clean!” Immediately the leprosy left him and he was cleansed.
Jesus sent him away at once with a strong warning: “See that you don’t tell this to anyone. But go, show yourself to the priest and offer the sacrifices that Moses commanded for your cleansing, as a testimony to them.” Instead he went out and began to talk freely, spreading the news. As a result, Jesus could no longer enter a town openly but stayed outside in lonely places. Yet the people still came to him from everywhere.

SERMON
The Untouchables
Mark 1:40-45
Feb. 12, 2012

Did you know that of the 678 verses in Mark, 198 of them are about miracles. Go ahead, count ‘em! I’ll wait. That’s about 30 percent of the whole book devoted to miracles. There are 18 different miracle stories in Mark’s 16 chapters, and 13 of those are healings. Obviously, Mark was fascinated with this aspect of Jesus’ ministry. Of all the things he could report, and we have to imagine there was an endless supply of stories about Jesus, Mark chose to focus on the miracle stories.

But why this one? Remember, Mark is by far the shortest gospel, so we have to pay attention to every word and story choice. If it’s in there, it must mean something. We know that Jesus did a lot of healing in his ministry. He raised people from the dead, restored sight to the blind, made the lame walk. In fact, just a few verses prior to our story, Mark writes, “That evening after sunset the people brought to Jesus all the sick and demon-possessed. The whole town gathered at the door and Jesus healed many who had various diseases.” If that’s true, if Jesus is as busy as Mark says he is, why single out this story? Is there something special here we’re supposed to see?

One of my favorite movies of all time is “The Untouchables.” Much of it was filmed in Chicago, where I used to serve, and I can still remember the first time I was in Union Station and walked past the staircase where they filmed the famous baby-carriage -pushed-down-the-stairs scene. I had stepped onto holy ground! I was tempted to find a stroller and push it down the stairs to see if I could recapture the moment, but I couldn’t find any babies will to participate.

In case you aren’t familiar with the film, Kevin Costner plays Elliott Ness, who goes on a Prohibition-fueled crusade against the evil gangster Al Capone, played by Robert DeNiro. Because Ness was so successful at thwarting Capone’s mob business and avoided several assassination attempts, he and his gang were called “The Untouchables,” people who were larger than life, who seemed to be above the natural pecking order. The not only upheld the law, they were the law. You don’t mess with “The Untouchables.”

Jesus is the Elliott Ness of our story today, a one-man crusade against evil. In the span of the first 45 verses of Mark, Jesus calls his supporting cast of disciples to help him, rebukes a demon, heals Simon’s mother-in-law, cures a whole crowd, preaches in Galilee, and then cleanses our leper, managing to mix in some downtime for prayer. Those who saw Jesus in action must have thought he was larger than life, that he was above the natural pecking order they knew, that he was the law. You don’t mess with Jesus.

But there’s another untouchable in this story, and he in no way bears a resemblance to Jesus or Elliott Ness or any other hero. The unnamed leper is untouchable for a completely different reason. We don’t know if the disease he had was actually leprosy or some other skin ailment, but we do know his disease would have been visible to others: discolored patches on the skin, hair falling out, rashes and infected folds on the skin.

We also know how people with skin diseases were treated in those days. The law in the book of Leviticus spends two whole chapters, 116 verses, detailing how to deal with leper, including the intense and lengthy purification rituals that must be endured for a cured leper to be considered clean. While they were sick, lepers were the scourge of society. Because leprosy was highly contagious, some people threw rocks at lepers to keep them at a distance. The leper had to announce his approach with the cry of “Unclean, unclean!” so people would know he was coming. By doing this, the leper was warning people not to come in contact with him, to stay away. The best way to deal with a leper was to not have to deal with a leper. You don’t mess with the untouchables.

But notice in our passage, we don’t hear the leper’s cry. He ignores the laws he is commanded to obey, not keeping his distance, not announcing his approach. He simply strides right up to Jesus, falls to his knees, and says what he knows to be true. “If you choose…you can make me clean.”
So there we have it. A meeting of the untouchables. Clean and unclean. Holy and unholy. Sacred and profane. Divinity and humanity. How will Jesus respond to this intrusion, this seemingly hopeless case? Verse 41 is an interesting little word study. In the translation we read this morning, it says Jesus was “moved with pity” by this man. But other translations vary widely, because the Greek word used here could either mean pity or anger. Some translations try to capture both sentiments, like the one that said Jesus look upon the man with “warm indignation.” Sounds like a dessert, doesn’t it?

I understand his pity. But why would Jesus look upon this man with anger? Jesus had just gotten away from a crowd of people wanting healing, so maybe he was angry to be confronted with yet another case. Maybe Jesus was upset that the leper didn’t follow protocol when approaching him. Maybe he was mad because the leper was putting Jesus in harm’s way by potentially contaminating him. Or maybe Jesus was angry because this man represented society’s unwillingness to touch those who most needed help.

So he does something about it. Back then, if you touched a leper, you were considered as unclean as the leper was, and you were treated the same way. If you reached out to them, you became one of them. By touching this man, Jesus was in effect putting himself alongside the leper, taking on the same humiliation and limitations the law placed on the leper. Jesus was willing to risk his own health, his own status, even his own life, for this man. And what happens when the divine in Jesus touches the humanity in the leper? Healing happens.

And it’s not just a physical healing. The leper wanted more than a change in skin texture. He wanted to be made whole, to be restored in society, to be welcomed back into the world as a human being, not an untouchable. Even though he still must undergo the ritual purification, which Jesus instructs him to do, Christ has taken his brokenness, his physical and spiritual incompleteness, and made him whole.

Let me look around here. No, I don’t see any lepers with us this morning. No ulcerating skin, no nodules with foul discharges, some loss of hair, but I’ll write that off as natural. Physically, we all look to be leprosy-free. Of course looks can be deceiving. What looks on the outside like a disfigured, disgusting leper could really be a decent human being yearning for a chance to be whole. And what looks on the outside like a normal, healthy person could be someone suffering from emotional or spiritual leprosy. We all have those discolored patches, the ones that omit a foulness that seeps into and infects the rest of our lives. There’s something in our life that keeps us from being whole before God. There’s someplace where we are incomplete. Broken relationships, hasty judgments about people, addictions, infidelities, pride, hatred, racism – all these things make us unclean, and we all suffer. Part of being human is admitting that we are less than perfect and that we need healing.

And that’s what we have been offered. Through his death and resurrection, through the gift of bread and cup, through the gathering of this body, Christ has reached out his hand to us and offered a healing touch. When Christ’s divinity meets our humanity, healing begins again. Regardless of the afflictions and the seriousness of the symptoms, each week at the table we are told over and over again, “I choose. Be made clean!”

The irony here is that the leper is made clean by a touch, when such a thing is usually thought to spread uncleanliness. At the church I served in seminary, when the time came for communion, people didn’t pass bread trays. They passed the bread. The picked up the loaf, tore off a piece and handed the loaf to the next person. So the cold germs from the person in the first row were shared with everyone else in their section. I don’t think that’s what is meant by “spreading the gospel.”

Reaching out makes us vulnerable. It puts us at risk. Jesus could have walked right by this person, ignored this need, not put his own freedom at risk. The man simply could have stayed sick. You don’t mess with the untouchables. And yet when Jesus looks at him, he gets angry at what he sees. And he does something about it.

Are there still untouchables today? I asked that question to the folks at the Sermon Talkback and we made this list: people with AIDS, child molesters, the homeless, Muslims, people of different races, Hispanic immigrants, the mentally and physically disabled. Each of us has our own list of untouchables. Who is it for you? Jesus shows us that behind the labels and stereotypes and our own fears are real human beings who are yearning for a chance to be whole. And it’s our job to show them the healing touch of Christ.

But in order to bring healing, we have to get involved. We can’t just walk by and ignore the need while people go on being sick. If they are going to experience God’s healing love, it will come through us, the hands and feet of Jesus. We live out what we have received from Christ, the one who came to earth to dwell among us, who dared to touch us untouchables, bringing us hope and love and healing. Pastor Will Willimon says, “Jesus got what we got so that we may get what he has.” We’ve got it, thank you Jesus. But now what? Do we not risk getting our hands dirty and just walk on by? That’s safer, you know. Cleaner. More convenient. Or do we reach out our hand, touch the untouchable, dare to make a difference in the life of someone this world has discarded? We’ve got what Jesus has given us – love, forgiveness, compassion, the resources to help. So what are we going to do with it?

What Makes Us Unique?

A few weeks ago, we had our annual Ministry Council retreat. For those who don’t know, the Ministry Council is the group formerly known as the Cabinet. At this retreat, we help all the Team Chairs get to know each other, learn more about their responsibilities, learn about their budgets, and ask questions. It’s always a great time of fellowship and formation.

This year, as a way of breaking the ice, I asked each person present to answer two questions: (1) What is something about Crestwood that you think makes us unique? and (2) What is something we as a church can do better? As the group mulled over those questions, I gave them a caveat to the first one. They were NOT allowed to say, “We are so friendly!” Realize that EVERY church in America thinks it’s friendly. When asked what they like about their church, you never hear anyone say, “Oh, I love how rude and crass we are. No one is welcome at our church!” So right away, I took that answer off the table (although a few non-conformers still said it). So, what did our group of leaders come up with? Here’s a list:

• People at Crestwood genuinely care for one another (awfully close to “we’re friendly” but I allowed it)
• We allow women to serve in leadership roles (several respondents mentioned this)
• We accept a variety of backgrounds and opinions
• There’s a strong focus on families
• We have an outstanding staff
• The members are diverse in their beliefs
• In spite of the diversity mentioned above, there is still a healthy respect for each other
• We are very active in local outreach opportunities
• There’s a great energy within the congregation
• We have a wonderful facility that we share with the community
• When one person came, the nursery was the biggest draw for her because of her young children
• We have an active Disciples Women’s Ministry
• Our Children, Worship and Wonder program is a blessing
• We have a large amount of programs and ministries that vary in diversity
• We have strong ties to our community, especially through our Mission Center
• We have strong relationships with Lexington Theological Seminary and Transylvania
• Crestwood has a number of retired ministers who are welcomed and who contribute

I really appreciated all of these wonderful responses. I think people captured the spirit of Crestwood in these answers. How about you? What would you say makes us unique?
So what about the second question? What did people say Crestwood could do better? Ah, you’ll have to wait for next week for that one. What do YOU think they said?

This Week’s Sermon – Are You Talking to ME?!?

SCRIPTURE – 1 Samuel 3:1-10
The boy Samuel ministered before the LORD under Eli. In those days the word of the LORD was rare; there were not many visions. One night Eli, whose eyes were becoming so weak that he could barely see, was lying down in his usual place. The lamp of God had not yet gone out, and Samuel was lying down in the house of the LORD, where the ark of God was. Then the LORD called Samuel. Samuel answered, “Here I am.” And he ran to Eli and said, “Here I am; you called me.” But Eli said, “I did not call; go back and lie down.” So he went and lay down. Again the LORD called, “Samuel!” And Samuel got up and went to Eli and said, “Here I am; you called me.” “My son,” Eli said, “I did not call; go back and lie down.” Now Samuel did not yet know the LORD: The word of the LORD had not yet been revealed to him. A third time the LORD called, “Samuel!” And Samuel got up and went to Eli and said, “Here I am; you called me.” Then Eli realized that the LORD was calling the boy. So Eli told Samuel, “Go and lie down, and if he calls you, say, ‘Speak, LORD, for your servant is listening.’” So Samuel went and lay down in his place. The LORD came and stood there, calling as at the other times, “Samuel! Samuel!” Then Samuel said, “Speak, for your servant is listening.”

SERMON
Are You Talking to ME?!?
I Sam. 3:1-10
Jan. 29, 2012

I was doing a wedding back in the fall in downtown Louisville, and to make sure I didn’t get caught in rush-hour bridge traffic I arrived a couple hours early. I had some time to kill, so I made my way over to the Louisville Slugger museum. I had never been before, so I was like a kid in a baseball bat factory as I look at the displays. I moved around the room in hushed reverence as I looked at the memorabilia from some of the game’s most legendary players.

And then I heard it. “Kory.” “Kory.” I got goosebumps! It was a real “Field of Dreams” moment. I thought to myself, “This is it! God is finally recognizing my hidden talents and encouraging me to try out for the Reds!” But when I turned around, I realized the voice was coming from a mom whose toddler son – named Kory – was waddling behind me.

Have you ever had that happen to you? Have you ever heard your name being called, only to realize it wasn’t really you that was being called? Or on the flipside, have you ever NOT heard your name when it WAS being called? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been waiting for a table at a restaurant, and I’m so spaced out that they have to call my name three times before I realize the are talking to me.

That’s what happened to Samuel in our story today. It took him three times to figure out what was going on, and even then it took a little help from Eli. The story of Samuel is an important one in Israel’s history because it marks a crucial transition in leadership for God’s people. Up until this time, the Israelites had been governed by a series of judges. But as the people looked around them and saw that other nations were ruled by monarchs, they decided they wanted a king, too. So Samuel will be the last of the judges and will be the one who anoints the first king, which will be Saul.

But before Samuel can follow God’s lead, he first has to hear God’s voice. Samuel was dedicated to God’s work at an early age, after his mother Hannah promised that if God ended her barrenness and gave her a son, she would give him back to God. So as soon as he was weaned, Samuel was taken to the temple and left with Eli, the temple priest, who raised the boy to follow in his line of work.

In our passage today, Eli has grown old, weak and infirm, and the time has come for Samuel to hear the voice of the Lord, for the Lord to be revealed to him, and for him to assume his role in the priestly vocation. Except for one problem: there’s a disconnect between the transmitter and the receiver. If you’re trying to use a GPS around a lot of tall buildings or talk on a cell phone in the mountains, you know what I’m talking about. For communication to work, you have to have someone who’s sending the message and someone on the other end who’s receiving it. In the story, the message is sent by God but not received by Samuel.

Instead, Samuel thinks Eli is calling him, so we have this Laurel and Hardy routine where Samuel is called by God three times and all three times he goes to Samuel and says, “Here I am!” After the third time, Eli figures out what’s going on and instructs Samuel to pay attention to the source of the signal: “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”

If we were to identify with one of the characters in this story, it would probably be Samuel. Rarely does God’s call come to us in a crystal-clear, interference-free fashion, and even when it does, we don’t always respond to it faithfully. Samuel moves from misunderstanding (“Yes, Eli?”) to recognition (“Oh, that wasn’t you?”) to response (“Speak, Lord”). Our journeys in faith aren’t marked by consistent steps forward, but are more like staggers, a step backward, two steps forward, a step off to the side. For many of us, we have to work our way through responses like “Surely God isn’t talking to me” and “God would you please leave me alone!” before we can get to, “Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.”

And even when we do believe God is calling us, that doesn’t mean we always understand what God is saying. I may have told you before that I had a seminary colleague who was talking in our theology class about God’s call and how when God was truly calling him to do something he felt this restless movement deep down inside of him. And our crotchety theology professor peered over his glasses and said, “How do you know it’s not gas?” How do we know? How do we know it’s really God? Samuel didn’t.

So if Samuel didn’t recognize God’s voice, what changed? What happened that allowed Samuel to tap into God’s signal and respond? What prepared the way for one of Israel’s greatest leaders to receive God’s word? Was it a brilliant shaft of light and a chorus of angels? Maybe it was a thunderbolt and a divine smack on the head? No quite. It was an old, blind, wise priest saying, “You know, God might be calling your name.”

Do you realize what this means for us? Here’s the thing: I read this story and I identify with Samuel. Why? Because he’s the young guy. He’s the one with his future ahead of him, just beginning to live into this call God is placing in his hearts. But I’m afraid to admit that my statute of limitations for identifying with 10-year-old prophets is running out for me. So what if I’m not Samuel; what if I’m Eli? What if this story isn’t about me hearing the call of God, but about me helping someone else hear the call of God?

This doesn’t discount the fact that God can still call us, no matter what our age. Realize that God called Abraham when he was 75. Moses saw the burning bush when he was 80. We’re never too old to be called by God. There is no expiration date on our ability to serve God. But I want us to consider that once we reach a certain age and level of experience in our lives, one of our primary roles is to name what we see in those who are coming after us.

That might be tough for some of us to accept. For years, this church ran on the incredible generosity of its volunteers, people who gave countless hours to the ministry and programs and leadership of this church. But there comes a time when the movers and shakers become the creakers and groaners, and it’s time for someone else to step up and serve. I believe Crestwood is going through that kind of transition now. We are a church full of Elis and Samuels, and it’s important for us to know our role in helping this church move forward in serving God.

When I taught public speaking at a community college in Illinois, most of my students were second-career folks who were taking classes at night after work to further their education. These weren’t bold, fearless teens; these were worn-down, struggling adults. And the last thing they wanted to do after eight hours of work was stand up before a group of strangers and give a speech. As the first speaking assignment approached, they would line up at my desk or pull me off to the side and say, “I don’t think I can do this. I’m too nervous. I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure this is for me.”

One of the joys I got from teaching was being able to look those students in the eye and say, “I see something in you. I see a wisdom. I see a quiet confidence. I see a teaching spirit. I believe you can do this.” It was amazing to watch these people grow during the semester, and often times the most unsure students ended up after 16 weeks being the best speakers. I don’t take any credit for that. I didn’t give them something new. I simply named what I saw they already had.

Has someone in your life ever told you, “I see something in you?” Maybe a teacher or a coach or a parent or a pastor. I hope someone has said that to you. Those are life-changing words. But sometimes we don’t speak them when we should. There are some churches in our denomination that are minister-making machines. They pump out seminary students like an assembly line. Then there are other churches – long-established, healthy churches – that have only had one or two ministers come out of their congregation. And I refuse to believe there were only one or two people in that church’s entire history who had the gifts for ministry.

I think each church, Crestwood included, is brimming with potential servant leaders, people who can do amazing things in God’s name as ministers or Elders or team chairs or Sunday School teachers. But there’s one thing missing: a nudge of encouragement, a word of affirmation, someone to take interest in them and say, “I see something in you.” It’s amazing how when someone names a gift they see in us, we actually start to believe it. “I see something in you.”

We are Samuel, our name being called, responding with misunderstanding then recognition. We are Eli, called to help others hear and respond to who God is calling them to be. In both cases, may we remain open to the ways God is moving in our lives, to the places God is calling us to go, to the people God is calling us to be, even if we are called to move from being young Samuel to not-so-young Eli. And in all those situations, may we have the faith and the grace and the courage to respond, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”

Jesus Looks Like…

At our Men’s Group Breakfast on Saturday, we watched a documentary called “Easter in Art,” in which we saw some of the more famous paintings and sculptures depicting Jesus’ last week on earth. One of the main pieces under discussion was Leonardo DaVinci’s iconic work “The Last Supper.”

Inevitably, conversation among the men turned to the issue of the depiction of the disciple John in the painting. Fueled by Dan Brown’s fictional conspiracies in “The DaVinci Code,” our group wondered about the accuracy of DaVinci’s work in rendering the scene. If you look closely enough, you could conclude that the character thought to be John the Baptist is actually a female. And once you start down that slippery slope, every painting or sculpture is open to reinterpretation and speculation.

The works of art in the documentary showed a number of different images of Jesus, from a soft, cherubic baby to a muscular, lean adult. Jesus is depicted as an effeminate, light-skinned rabbi and a dark-skinned, furrow-browed prophet. And that’s not including painting of Jesus on the cross, which are filled with blood and anguish. Which one of those is the most accurate? Or is the answer “none of the above”?

The documentary highlighted for me a truth I have always known, but which has become even starker for me in recent months: we simply don’t know Jesus. Even with four gospels, a bunch of Paul’s letters and approximately a zillion sermons, we still don’t truly know Jesus.

But that doesn’t stop us from drawing conclusions, does it? In his book American Jesus, historian Stephen Prothero traces the shifting identity of Jesus in our country, from the Enlightened Sage of Thomas Jefferson’s era to the Superstar of the 1960s and 70s. In each era, believers tended to cast Jesus in an image that spoke most to them, whether it was as a Sweet Savior or Manly Redeemer.

That tendency is not unique any certain group of believers. In the absence of a digital photograph or YouTube video of Jesus, our human nature is to draw our own pictures. In “Christ, the Universal Savior“, Hsu San Ch’un shows Jesus as an Asian. African-American artist Fred Carter paints Jesus as a black man in “Jesus Praying in the Garden“. And in probably the most famous painting of Jesus, Warner Sallman’s “Head of Christ“, Jesus is a light-haired, blue-eyed man surrounded by a soft glow of angelic light. So who’s right? Will the real Jesus please stand up?

This issue moves from a curiosity to problematic when we see Jesus being portrayed in ways that allow the portrayers to draw dividing lines between “us” and “them.” As we move deeper in this political season, in which we know religion will play a pivotal role, it will be interesting to see how the major players will maneuver to show that Jesus is on their side or, more powerfully, that Jesus is NOT on the other side.
When we move into Lent, we’ll be taking a closer look at what the Bible tells us about Jesus. I suspect we’ll end up with a much different picture of Jesus than we expect. Until then, pay attention to all the ways Jesus is portrayed in your life: through scripture, through personal conversations, and in our culture. Then be ready to see Jesus in a new light. Who is Jesus for YOU?

This Week’s Sermon – Something’s Fishy

SCRIPTURE – Jonah 3:1-5, 10
Then the word of the LORD came to Jonah a second time: “Go to the great city of Nineveh and proclaim to it the message I give you.” Jonah obeyed the word of the LORD and went to Nineveh. Now Nineveh was a very large city; it took three days to go through it. Jonah began by going a day’s journey into the city, proclaiming, “Forty more days and Nineveh will be overthrown.” The Ninevites believed God. A fast was proclaimed, and all of them, from the greatest to the least, put on sackcloth. When God saw what they did and how they turned from their evil ways, he relented and did not bring on them the destruction he had threatened.

SERMON
Something’s Fishy
Jonah 3:1-5, 10
Jan. 22, 2012

Ah, Jonah! Jonah has a very special place in my heart. My very first sermon that I ever preached, 15 years ago, was on the book of Jonah. I had just started seminary and my home pastor asked me if I would like to preach one Sunday. I said, “No.” He said, “You know, if you’re going to be a pastor, you might want to rethink that decision.” So in January 1997, I stood in the pulpit of First Christian Church in Jeffersonville, sharing one thing in common with the prophet Jonah – I also wanted to run the other way!

When you ask people what they know about the Bible, the story of Jonah is usually near the top of the list. Most people know that Jonah was swallowed by a whale (although the scripture just says “a large fish”). This story is also the source of a lot of biblical skepticism. Did Jonah really get swallowed by a fish? How could he survived three days? We must remember that the bible is about theology, not ichthyology (the study of fish), so we’d do well to take this story as it is told rather than try to turn the Bible into a scientific textbook. Some folks try to do that, you know, but their motivations are a bit fishy.

So we know Jonah was swallowed by…a fish, a whale, Nemo, something like that. For most people, that’s where they’re knowledge of Jonah begins and ends. And that’s a shame, because this short book is one of the most interesting and humorous books in the Bible, and we risk missing out on the fun if we’re not willing to dive into Jonah. Jonah spent three days in the belly of a fish, but as is true with most fish stories, there’s more to it than that.

The first thing to note about Jonah is that it is different than all the other prophetic books. While a few of the others contain some narrative description of the prophet, most of them are the proclamations of the prophet himself. So the book of Isaiah contains Isaiah’s prophecies. But not Jonah. In its four chapters, there is only one prophecy from Jonah, and it’s pretty basic: “Forty days more, and Nineveh will be overthrown!” That’s it. The rest of the book is a story about the prophet and his attempts to run away from God.

The book starts with a very dangerous sentence: “Now the word of the Lord came to Jonah.” That usually means trouble is brewing. God tells Jonah to go to Nineveh and cry out against it, warning them to repent from their evil ways or else be destroyed. This command isn’t a lot different than what God tells the other prophets to do: go to a place and tell them that through their thoughts and deeds they have sinned against the Lord, and they better repent or else.

The only difference here is that most other prophets were called to go to the Israelites, God’s people. But not Jonah. God calls Jonah to go to Nineveh, which would be the equivalent of telling a Christian to preach to the lions in the Roman coliseum. Nineveh was the capital of Assyria, an empire that was a constant threat to the Israelites. They were the merciless and violent enemy. And here was God asking Jonah to go the heart of their territory and tell them they needed to shape up. But Jonah wants nothing to do with that, so instead of heading to Nineveh, which was 500 miles east of his hometown, he hops a ship to Tarshish, which was 2000 miles west of his hometown.

Why did Jonah run? Was he lacking in self-esteem and not up to the challenge of being God’s prophet? Was he scared the Ninevites were going to harm him when he shared his prophecy? If those were true, it might make his running a little more understandable. But there’s another reason. Think about what that might be and I’ll come back to that in a minute.

So Jonah tries to run from God, forgetting that God has a pretty good tracking system. While on the boat, the Lord sends a storm that threatens to sink the ship, and the pagan sailors do everything in their power to keep afloat, including praying to their various gods. Finally, they wake up Jonah, who had fallen asleep, telling him to start praying and bailing, and not necessarily in that order. The sailors discover that Jonah is actually the cause of the storm, and Jonah tells them to throw him overboard so that their lives may be saved. The sailors balk at first, but when they realize that is their only hope, Jonah walks the plank, the sea immediately calms down and all the sailors do what Jonah doesn’t – they worship Jonah’s God.

Meanwhile, Jonah is swallowed by the fish and spends three days and nights in there, during which he says a prayer of deliverance and presumably rethinks his original plan to disobey God’s command. I would suspect spending time in a fish’ gastrointestinal juices would make you rethink A LOT of things. The fish spews Jonah onto dry land and then we come to our reading for this morning, when God comes to Jonah and says, “Let’s try that again.” Jonah goes to Nineveh, makes his prophecy, and lo and behold, the whole city of Nineveh believed in God and repented. Hurray, right?

Not for Jonah. For him, something’s fishy. In the translation The Message, the first verses of the fourth chapter says, “Jonah was furious. He lost his temper. He yelled at God, ‘God! I knew it—when I was back home, I knew this was going to happen! That’s why I ran off to Tarshish! I knew you were sheer grace and mercy, not easily angered, rich in love, and ready at the drop of a hat to turn your plans of punishment into a program of forgiveness!”

Now we’re getting at why Jonah ran way. He wasn’t insecure. He wasn’t afraid. He knew that God was true to God’s word, he knew that God was a God of mercy and forgiveness, and Jonah didn’t believe the Ninevites were worthy of receiving God’s grace. Jonah says, “So God, if you won’t kill them, kill me! I’m better off dead!” How ironic, isn’t it, that Jonah wasn’t worried God was going to be too hard, but that God was going to be too soft!

It’s tempting for us to tsk-tsk Jonah for his hard-heartedness. Surely he believed that everyone was a child of God and deserved God’s grace, because that’s what we believe, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Do we believe that’s true of everyone? Puppy kickers? Parking space stealers? Child molesters? People who steal from the elderly? Are we really that different from Jonah? It’s not a question of if we have our Ninevites; it’s a question of who they are.

Jonah’s selfishness was also fueled by nationalistic concerns. This book was thought to have been written during a time when Israel was returning to their homeland from exile and were in the process of clearing their territory of all the foreigners, the illegal immigrants who didn’t have a right to be there. So in the midst of that turf war and the exclusion of foreigners comes Jonah’s message of radical inclusion. Everyone deserves God’s grace.

The truth that Jonah’s story reminds us about is that we have no control over how God is in relationship with others. We may think that the prodigal son doesn’t deserve a welcome-home party or the thief on the cross doesn’t deserve a place in heaven or the death-row inmate doesn’t deserve a last-minute conversion. And when those things do happen, because we worship a God who welcomes those kinds of things, we may want to respond like Jonah and a lot of older siblings we know: “That’s not fair!” Isn’t it funny how it can be a real challenge to draw close to God when God doesn’t love who we love and hate who we hate?

Here’s the fundamental difference between Jonah’s view of the Ninevites and God’s view of the Ninevites. For Jonah, these people who live in a far –away land are not individuals or spiritual brothers and sisters or even human beings. They are the capital-O “Other.” And as long as they remain the “Other,” it’s easy for Jonah to hate them and wish destruction upon them. The Ninevites are not God-fearers; they don’t believe what Jonah believes; they don’t deserve the blessings he’s enjoyed. So when they repent and turn to God, Jonah’s whole rationale for hating them is turned on its head. There’s no more “Other” to hate.

For God, the Ninevites were never an “Other.” While they don’t figure prominently in the biblical narrative, we can assume each one of them was just as much a child of God as Jonah. Jonah is so quick to cry “Not fair!” when God doesn’t destroy them, not acknowledging that the “Other” have now become one with him. Sometimes it’s really hard to acknowledge that those who are different from us have a lot more in common with us than we want to admit, and they are no more outside of God’s realm of grace than we are.

Before we give into the temptation to label someone else as the Other, on the other side of the aisle, on the opposing ends of an issue, from a different place, speaking a different language, living a different way than us, we’d do well to remember that we are absolutely, incredibly, undeniably undeserving of God’s grace, and yet God gave his only son for us. For us! If we are willing to buy into God’s radical inclusion and to see everyone as worthy of God’s grace, it’s amazing how the label of “Other” is no longer useful, and the hate and animosity and resentment that comes with that label dissipates.

Jonah didn’t want to Ninevites saved. He wanted them judged, because in his narrow perspective, that’s what they deserved. Thank God – and I mean thank God! – we don’t get what we deserve. Instead, we are recipients of God’s grace. That’s the message we can humbly share with the Ninevites in our lives. And by doing so, we might just find that the ones we thought were “Others” aren’t actually “Others.” They’re us.

The Why Question

Once a year, the Christian Church Foundation, a general unit of the Disciples of Christ, sponsors a gathering for the pastors of the 100 largest Disciples churches. This event is designed for networking and relationship-building, continuing education, and learning about how larger churches are surviving and thriving in our denomination. This year’s gathering was last week in Columbus, OH. I always look forward to these events, not only because I enjoy reconnecting with my colleagues, but because I need to step back regularly from the day-to-day demands on ministry in order to spend time focusing on some of the big-issue questions.

We were hosted by First Community Church of Columbus, a large DOC/UCC church that is doing some creative things in ministry. Their pastor, Dr. Richard Wing, started us off on Wednesday morning with a thought-provoking homily, in which he asked us this question: in our effort to make sure everyone feels welcomed and no one is offended or pressured to serve, do we coddle people too much? I’m not quite sure how I would answer that, but I appreciate him asking the question.

Our main presenter for the day was Dan Hotchkiss, a senior consultant at the Alban Institute. Alban is an organization that is dedicated to building up congregations and their leaders through books, workshops and online seminars. I have made use of many of Alban’s offerings and have found them all to be top-notch and incredibly helpful.

One of the Alban books I read was Hotchkiss’ “Governance and Ministry.” I found the book quite enlightening, so I looked forward to his presentation on the same subject, and he did not disappoint. He started off by reminding us that our job as leaders of congregations is to ask the right question. Our question is not “What are we going to do?” or “How are we going to do it”? The question we should be asking is, “Why are we doing it?” The How and What questions are important, but they should be driven by the Why question. How would you answer that question? Why do we do what we do at Crestwood?

We then spent some time talking about change in congregations, which is a great source of conversation but usually not very productive, because we almost always end up lamenting how hard it is for a church to make changes. Hotchkiss helped us see that the level of change tolerance in a congregation is driven by many factors, including resources available and age of the church. The more established a church becomes, the harder it is to promote change. The challenge in a church is to keep both resources and change tolerance high, and Hotchkiss said the more churches are willing to continually ask the Why question, the more open they are to change.

Hotchkiss then turned to the issue of governance in the church, which he said is basically the work of asking the Why question. In other words, a church’s governing body (in our case, the Administrative Board) exists for one main reason. It’s not to hear and receive reports (although we do that a lot) or to vote on budgets and policies (although that is a function of what the board does) or to give people another meeting to attend (although that is a reality). Instead, the Board exists to do the work of asking and answering the Why question, and how you constitute the Board and structure Board meetings should be dictated by this purpose.

Then Hotchkiss really stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. He asked us, “What would happen if your Board voted tomorrow to dissolve and no longer exist?” And he wanted us to answer that! Sadly, several pastors said, “Not a whole lot would happen.” In other words, the Boards at their churches didn’t have much of an impact on the church’s life and mission. So what would happen at Crestwood? Anything? Nothing? Hotchkiss’ question really got me thinking about why we have a Board and what it should be doing.

I’m going to spend more time on this issue as we look at the role of the Board in the life of the church. I appreciated my time in Columbus and the opportunity to be away from Crestwood for some big-picture thinking. My prayer is that what I learned will help us be more effective witnesses to the gospel of Jesus Christ, changing lives in his name. After all, that is why we do what we do.

Are Churches Innovators or Laggards?

My big present for my birthday was an iPad. Being the technology geek that I am, I was thrilled to get this newest gadget. I already have an iPhone, so I was familiar with the capabilities and uses of the iPad. I knew what apps it could run, what information I could track and – most importantly – what games I could play.

But since using this new device I’ve discovered that not only does Angry Birds look even better, the iPad also has a number of uses for my work here at church. I’m really enjoying learning how I can use my iPad to track budgets, take notes in meetings and stay current on religious blogs and websites. It’s becoming increasingly apparent to me that the iPad and other devices like it will have grow in their usefulness for churches.

Is that exciting or scary for you? How would you feel if, on Sunday morning, instead of being handed a paper bulletin you were handed an electronic tablet with the order of worship on it? How would you react if you saw a pastor leading a wedding from an iPad or reading scripture from an iPhone? How you answer those questions will help you determine your comfortable level with the proliferation of technology in our society.

While I don’t expect these above scenarios to happen at Crestwood anytime soon, they do make the point that churches need to figure out the role of technology in their purpose and vision. Some churches have already embraced this to the fullest extent; others have stood steadfastly against the encroachment of technology. I would say Crestwood is somewhere in the middle.

What we’ll need to decide as we move forward is how we can best use technology to share the good news. In some cases, it’s a no-brainer. For example, a church without a website is on its way to the grave. Websites are crucial for reaching new people and connecting with the community. We have a wonderful website at Crestwood that will continue to get better as we think about how we can use it effectively.

Other uses of technology in the church are not nearly as universally agreed upon. The presence of audio-visual technology in the sanctuary? The ability to pay your pledge online? Churches are divided over whether or not technology should be incorporated in these ways, and each church must figure out for itself how technology fits into its overall structure and purpose. That’s what I’m continuing to learn here at Crestwood.

In his theory on the diffusion of innovations, professor Everett Rogers describes five different groups of people based on their willingness to adopt new developments. The first people to jump on board are the Innovators, followed by Early Adopters, Early Majority and Late Majority. The last group to adopt new things are the Laggards. These are the folks who are skeptical of microwaves and whose phones all have cords attached to them.

So where does the church fall in relation to technology? Too often the church has been Laggards, which has put us woefully behind the culture in our ability to communicate and connect with people. But I don’t think it’s good stewardship for us to be Innovators of new technology that may be very expensive and not useful. We should probably fall somewhere in between.

I love technology and am excited about the different ways it can be used in the church, but I’m also sensitive to the fact that not everyone is as comfortable with it as me. So my promise to you is that we will continue this conversation so that we can figure this out together as we move forward. You’re not going to show up one Sunday and have robots leading the service!

If we are going to stay relevant in our culture, technology will be an important tool to help us do that. But our technology should serve us, not the other way around. I look forward to exploring how we can adopt new advancements while staying true to the timeless message of the gospel. And just so you know, this article was not written on my iPad!

This Week’s Sermon – What Do I Know?

SCRIPTURE – I Corinthians 8:1-13
Now about food sacrificed to idols: We know that “We all possess knowledge.” But knowledge puffs up while love builds up. Those who think they know something do not yet know as they ought to know. But whoever loves God is known by God. So then, about eating food sacrificed to idols: We know that “An idol is nothing at all in the world” and that “There is no God but one.” For even if there are so-called gods, whether in heaven or on earth (as indeed there are many “gods” and many “lords”), yet for us there is but one God, the Father, from whom all things came and for whom we live; and there is but one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom all things came and through whom we live. But not everyone possesses this knowledge. Some people are still so accustomed to idols that when they eat sacrificial food they think of it as having been sacrificed to a god, and since their conscience is weak, it is defiled. But food does not bring us near to God; we are no worse if we do not eat, and no better if we do. Be careful, however, that the exercise of your rights does not become a stumbling block to the weak. For if someone with a weak conscience sees you, with all your knowledge, eating in an idol’s temple, won’t that person be emboldened to eat what is sacrificed to idols? So this weak brother or sister, for whom Christ died, is destroyed by your knowledge. When you sin against them in this way and wound their weak conscience, you sin against Christ. Therefore, if what I eat causes my brother or sister to fall into sin, I will never eat meat again, so that I will not cause them to fall.

SERMON
Knowing and Loving
I Corinthians 8:1-13
January 15, 2011

A.J. Jacobs has quickly become one of my favorite non-fiction authors. He’s the guy who wrote “The Year of Living Biblically,” where he tried to follow all of the biblical laws for one year. His first book was “The Know-It-All” in which he set out to read the entire Encyclopedia Britannica, all 33,000 pages of it. He read it from a-ak – an ancient East Asian music form – to Zywiec – a town in south-central Poland – and wrote about the experience. The subtitle of the book was “One man’s humble quest to become the smartest person in the world.” I don’t know if he achieved that objective, but I’m sure he’s a lot more intelligent than when he started out.

And that’s a good thing, right? Becoming smarter is a commendable goal for us. In fact, much of our lives are spent doing just that – trying to get smarter. Why else would we send our kids to school for 12 years, then off to college for another four or five or six? The more degrees you have, the more letters you have after your name, the more you are rewarded. Knowledge is power. We revere intelligent people and make fun of not-so-intelligent people. A smart person is “in the know” or looks at someone “knowingly.” Knowledge is a good thing.

If you read this passage from Paul in I Corinthians too quickly, you might think Paul is running an anti-Mensa campaign. “Knowledge puffs up,” Paul says. Or as the Living Bible translates it, “Being a know-it-all makes us feel important.” Paul says the person who thinks they know something doesn’t really know what they think they know.
In other words, the more you think you know, the less you actually know about what you should know. What do you think about that? Should you know or not know? You know what I think? I don’t know.

Paul is not arguing here against being intelligent. He’s not condemning the kind of knowledge one gets from reading the Encyclopedia Britannica or watching “Jeopardy.” Instead, he’s condemning knowledge that makes the knower feel superior or arrogant, which was an issue in the church in Corinth. That church was an affluent congregation made up of some of the Corinthian upper class. When Paul started the church, he preached that belief in Christ offered the believer a new kind of freedom, and some of the Corinthians were taking that to an extreme. They acted as if they were free to do whatever they wanted without considering the consequences for others, especially those who weren’t as intelligent or sophisticated as they were. They were practicing spiritual elitism.

The presenting problem here was eating meat that had been sacrificed to idols. Now, I know our world today presents us with a lot of moral dilemmas. Do I fudge a bit on my taxes? Is it OK to lie to my boss? How many chocolate chip cookies can I eat before I am considered a glutton? But I’m guess that you don’t sit around all day wondering if that Whopper you just ordered was originally a sacrifice to Zeus or Thor. Eating idol meat probably doesn’t make our top 100 list of spiritual dilemmas, so this passage may appear irrelevant to us. But it’s not. There is truth here for us, just as there is truth in every passage in the Bible. Sometimes we have to work a little harder to get to it.

Here’s the deal with idol meat. Worshippers were required to sacrifice the best animals to their gods, which means the choicest cuts of beef started out as sacrifices. Some of that meat was burned on the altar, some was eaten in a temple feast, and the rest was sold to local butchers in the marketplace. If you bought a leg of lamb or rib roast, that meat could have started out as an offering to a pagan God.

For mature Christians, this wasn’t a problem. They knew the others gods didn’t exist, so the source of the meat didn’t matter. But many fledgling Christians grew up with pagan religions and still strongly associated meat with idol worship. For the mature Christians – those “in the know” – this was a non-issue. But for the spiritually weak, eating this meat was akin to breaking a commandment and committing the sin of idolatry.

We have our own forms of this controversy today. We don’t deal with issues related to idol meat, but we do have religious conflicts around things like whether Christians should drink alcohol, dance, gamble, cuss, watch R-rated movies, read “Harry Potter” books, celebrate Halloween, and so on. And we don’t have the benefit of Paul writing us a letter saying, “You can read ‘Harry Potter,’ but you must not watch reruns of ‘Bewitched.” So we Christians are left to work out these issues for ourselves, and in case you didn’t notice, we don’t always do this peacefully or come to the same conclusions.

So what Paul tells us here is that when there is disagreement over a non-essential issue, love trumps knowledge. Eating idol meat or watching “Die Hard” or doing the Macarena isn’t a matter of life or death for our faith. Through Christ, we have been freed from legalism and oppressive restrictions. But just because we know it’s OK to do certain things doesn’t mean we should do them. Love trumps knowledge.

When Sydney was a toddler we loved to take her to play miniature golf. She always won, because her technique was to hit the ball once, then pick it up and drop in the hole. She got a hole-in-one every time, and each time she did this Leigh and I would clap and make a big to-do over it. Now, being the competitive, law-abiding person I am, I could have scolded Sydney and told her the correct way to play miniature golf. I could have given her a two-stroke penalty for illegally moving her golf ball when the “lift-clean-and-place” rule wasn’t in effect. I could have had the teenager working the counter throw her off the course for cheating. And according to the laws on miniature golf, I would have been right.

But love trumps knowledge. When we are faced with a conflict over a spiritual or social issue, a wonderful guiding question to ask ourselves is, “In this situation, is it better to be right or to be compassionate?” In our efforts to show how much we know and provide what we believe to be the “correct” way of thinking, we may inadvertently become a stumbling block to someone else in their faith journey. I’ve heard well-meaning Christians bludgeon their opponents with arguments about why true believers speak in tongues or why real churches don’t let woman serve in leadership. And I walk away thinking, “No wonder non-Christians don’t like us!” There’s nothing loving about trying to show everyone how “in the know” you are at someone else’s expense.

I don’t think many of us have to worry about that. If you’re like me, you’re much more aware of all that you don’t know instead of all you do know. Even so, Paul has a word here for us, because even as we seek to learn more about Jesus Christ and our faith and the Bible – which is something we should never stop doing – what truly matters is not what we know, but that we are known. In other words, I would rather be known by God through an intimate, personal relationship, than be a know-it-all.

This has implications for how we live our lives and live out our faith. If we define ourselves by what we know, we run the risk of using knowledge as a benchmark for how we evaluate others. And in this off-the-charts intelligent and sophisticated congregation, we may be tempted to think that our knowledge gives us an advantage over people who don’t have what we have. We may be tempted to use our knowledge to focus on what separates us.

But if we use love as our benchmark, then we are more likely to focus on our similarities instead of our differences. Puffed-up knowledge tells me I’m superior to people in certain neighborhoods or ethnicities or socioeconomic classes. But love tells me that I am a child of God, and they are a child of God, and that we are all a part of God’s good creation. We are all in the same boat, and we’re not going to get anywhere if I try to show that I can row faster than everyone else. We’ll just end up going around in circles.

The truth is no one has a monopoly on the truth. No one truly knows. Some people may think they do, but Paul says that just shows how much they don’t know. Later in I Corinthians, speaking about his earthly life, Paul says, “Now I know in part.” But when he meets Christ face to face, he says, “Then, I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” Forget about reading all 33,000 pages of the encyclopedia. We would do well to make it our life’s goal to be fully known by God.

People don’t need more knowledge. But they do need more love. So many people around us are stumbling through life. They don’t need their theological doctrines corrected. They need a hand. They may not look like us, they may not live where we live, they may think differently than us, they may not be as far along on their spiritual journey as us. But there is so much more that connects us than divides us. Love trumps knowledge. I may not know much, but I know that.