This Week’s Sermon – Touching the Untouchable

Hi everyone! This week we had a representative in worship from the Week of Compassion, our denominational disaster relief organization. This week and next are designated for collecting offerings for the Week of Compassion. I thought this scripture was a natural tie-in to the work Week of Compassion does. May we all do the same!

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.” Filled with compassion, Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. “I am willing,” he said. “Be clean!” Immediately the leprosy left him and he was cured. 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
Touching the Untouchable
Mark 1:40-45
February 15, 2009

It’s hard to get bored reading Mark’s gospel. Not only is it the shortest of the four, but it is also the most fast-paced one. Mark hits the ground running in the first chapter with Jesus’ baptism and the action doesn’t stop until the disciples are peering into the empty tomb. In the movie version Jesus would be played by Jackie Chan or Matt Damon, but there would be fewer car chases.

With all this activity going on, the question to ask is: Why did Mark choose to include this story? We know that Jesus did a lot of healing in his ministry. There are 13 healing miracles mentioned in Mark’s 16 chapters. 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 as 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.” In fact, only a few months ago I was in Union Station downtown and walked past the staircase where they filmed the famous baby carriage scene. 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 crusade against the evil 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 aren’t sure what the actual disease is that this man suffers from, but we do know it was physically excruciating and a social death sentence.

If it was actual leprosy, the man could have had any number of symptoms. It begins with fatigue and pain in the joints. Then discolored patches appear on the skin. On those patches, little nodules form, turning pink, and then brown. The skin thickens, and the nodules gather in folds on the cheeks, nose, lips and forehead. The face changes drastically in appearance. The nodules continue to grow; they then ulcerate, omitting a foul discharge. The hair starts to fall out; the eyes become staring; the voice becomes hoarse and the breath wheezes because of ulcerations on the vocal chords. The hands and feet also ulcerate. Slowly and painfully, the sufferer becomes a mass of ulcerated growths.

The physical devastation of leprosy was tragic, but a leper’s suffering didn’t end there. 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. The leper was warning people to not 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. His arrival is unannounced, unexpected. 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.” This repulsive creature dares to break the law in order to gain an audience with Jesus.

So there we have it. A meeting of the untouchables. Clean and unclean. Holy and unholy. Sacred and profane. Divinity and humanity. All Jesus has to do is to walk away, to not risk his own health and reputation by acknowledging this hopeless case. After all, the leper gave him a choice, not an order, not a command. “If you choose…”

Verse 41 tells us Jesus looked upon this many with compassion or pity, but a more accurate translation of the Greek is that he looked at him with anger. Jesus doesn’t get angry often, so when he does we better take notice. He’s not angry at the leper for breaking the rules or interrupting his day. Jesus is angry because this isn’t how it is supposed to be. This isn’t way God intended people to live.

So he does something about it. Back then, if you touched a leper, you were considered as unclean as the leper was, and 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 looking 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.

There are endless examples in this world that this is not how it is supposed to be. Hunger. Loneliness. Disease. Organizations like the Week of Compassion are reaching out, trying to do something about it. 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 restoration is going to happen, it will come through us, the hands and feet of Jesus, the one who came to earth to dwell among us, 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. What are we going to do with it? 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?

This Week’s Sermon – Lifted Up

I should probably preach more from Isaiah because he has such amazing things to say. After the sermon in our later service we sang “On Eagle’s Wings” and several people commented afterward that it’s one of their favorite hymns. Have a great week!

SCRIPTURE – Isaiah 40:21-31
Do you not know? Have you not heard? Has it not been told you from the beginning? Have you not understood since the earth was founded? He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth, and its people are like grasshoppers. He stretches out the heavens like a canopy, and spreads them out like a tent to live in. He brings princes to naught and reduces the rulers of this world to nothing. No sooner are they planted, no sooner are they sown, no sooner do they take root in the ground, than he blows on them and they wither, and a whirlwind sweeps them away like chaff.

“To whom will you compare me? Or who is my equal?” says the Holy One. Lift your eyes and look to the heavens: Who created all these? He who brings out the starry host one by one, and calls them each by name. Because of his great power and mighty strength, not one of them is missing. Why do you say, O Jacob, and complain, O Israel, “My way is hidden from the LORD; my cause is disregarded by my God”? Do you not know? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

SERMON
Lifted Up
Isaiah 40:21-31
Kory Wilcoxson

Did you see the movie “Signs?” It stars Mel Gibson as a priest who lost his wife in a car accident and then lost his faith, as well. He and his three kids live on a farm, and one morning a crop circle appears in his fields, which we learn were caused by alien spacecraft. As Gibson contemplates what this could mean, he has this fascinating conversation with his oldest son about fate and uncertainty. I want to share with you a rather long quote from Gibson’s character and I want you think about it in terms of how you make sense of the good and bad things that happen your life. When something good or bad happens, how do you explain it? Gibson says:

People break down into two groups. When they experience something lucky, group number one sees it as more than luck, more than coincidence. They see it as a sign, evidence, that there is someone up there, watching out for them. Group number two sees it as just pure luck. Just a happy turn of chance. I’m sure the people in group number two are looking at those fourteen lights in a very suspicious way. For them, the situation is a fifty-fifty. Could be bad, could be good. But deep down, they feel that whatever happens, they’re on their own. And that fills them with fear. Yeah, there are those people. But there’s a whole lot of people in group number one. When they see those fourteen lights, they’re looking at a miracle. And deep down, they feel that whatever’s going to happen, there will be someone there to help them. And that fills them with hope. See what you have to ask yourself is what kind of person are you? Are you the kind that sees signs, that sees miracles? Or do you believe that people just get lucky? Or, look at the question this way: Is it possible that there are no coincidences?

Talk about a great question! It’s one I believe we all wrestle with at some point in our lives. Why do things happen the way they do? Is this part of God’s plan or just luck? You know, the Greeks believed in the Fates, women who sat at their spinning wheels in heaven, each spinning a person’s life thread, and when the thread broke, the person died. Can we chalk up the circumstances in our lives, the good and the bad, to things like fate or luck or coincidence? Or is there something more?

I believe Isaiah in our passage today Isaiah was helping the Israelites think through this very question. At the time of Isaiah’s prophecy, the Israelites were aliens. Not the outer space kind, but the exiled kind. Babylon had invaded Israel, ransacked the nation, and taken its people as prisoners back to Israel, where they remained for a generation. So the people to whom Isaiah was speaking had only known captivity their whole lives, the despair of yearning for a homeland you’ve never known. Psalm 137 says: By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion. There on the poplars we hung our harps, for there our captors asked us for songs, our tormentors demanded songs of joy; they said, “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!” How can we sing the songs of the LORD while in a foreign land?

Sometimes it feels like we are living in a foreign land, doesn’t it? Sure, we’re still residents of the good old US of A, but things are changing so fast around us that sometimes I barely even recognize it. At our youth Super Bowl party I was watching some of the boys play a video game and I realized for the first time in my life I had no idea what was going on in the game. I grew up with video games and now they are so sophisticated they’ve passed me by. What happened to Pacman?

Seriously, our life changes in ways we least expect or can predict. Technology blows past us, our bodies begin to fail us, our trusted institutions begin to falter, and all of a sudden we’re trying to sing a song in the foreign land of a hospital room or a funeral home or a loan office. What happened to our comfortable home land? How did we get here?

And more importantly, where is God? Isaiah warns the captive Israelites against mouthing complaints like, “My way is hidden from the Lord; my cause is disregarded by my God.” In other words, “Hello? God, remember me? You may not have noticed, but things aren’t so great here. This wasn’t what I signed up for. Hello? Anyone there?”

Isaiah’s words today are a reminder to the Israelites and to us that someone is there. He says, “Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is an everlasting God.” Or as The Message translates it, “God doesn’t come and go. God lasts.” Through the capriciousness of life, through the good and bad events, through the so-called coincidences and twists of fate, God lasts.

To help the Israelites remember this, Isaiah gives them some of God’s resume. “He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth. He stretches out the heavens like a canopy.” This would have been a big deal to the Israelites, because in the land of Babylon where they were living, the celestial bodies were worshipped. The stars weren’t just glowing balls of hydrogen; they were gods. But the Israelite God points to the stars and says, “See those things you worship? I put those there.”

In fact, if you read this text the wrong way, God could come across as a bit arrogant. At one point God seems to challenge the Israelites by saying, “To whom will you compare me? Or who is my equal?” Well, when you put it that way, I guess no one is. It reminds of me Ron Burgundy in “Anchorman” when he says, “I don’t know how to put this, but I’m kind of a big deal. People know me.” That will be the last time I compare God with Ron Burgundy!

I don’t think arrogance is what God is going for here. To be honest, considering the Israelites’ current plight, they may not be too impressed with God. They may take up his challenge and say, “Well, since we’ve been in captivity for a few decades, I would say Nebuchadnezzar, the Babylonian ruler, is your equal. Or maybe Marduk, the Babylonian deity, is your equal. At least they are around. Where are you?”
But I don’t hear God’s statement as a “make my day” challenge. I hear it as an invitation. “Give it a try. Engage in dialogue. Do some soul-searching. Get to know me and see if you kind find someone as equal in compassion, in mercy, in love.” Nebuchadnezzar and Marduk and cancer and addiction and life come and go, but God lasts. Don’t let your present circumstances make you think that God cannot see you. You may be far from home, you may be in a place you don’t want to be, but God is present with you. And if we are willing, God can help us run and not grow weary and walk and not grow faint.

But in order to soar on wings of eagles, we have to realize our need to be lifted up. The paradox of faith is that to be strong, we must be weak. To soar we must stumble. When our last resource is tapped, then we are ready to rely on God’s resources. To be saved, we must see our need for a savior. The more we try to be stubbornly self-reliant, the more we give in to the persistent human temptation to believe we are God’s equal, that we know better, the less we are able to see God at work in and around us.

Isaiah doesn’t provide easy answers here. He’s not trying to solve the Israelites’ problems with three points and a poem. He’s not into solutions; he’s into experience. He’s encouraging the Israelites to embrace the mystery of God as something bigger and grander than we can ever comprehend, and to let that mystery provide the wind for the sails in our souls or provide the melody for their hearts that would encourage them sing a song of joy in a foreign land.

I can’t blame the Israelites for being less than model believers. Can you relate to where they were? They were far from home, physically and spiritually, and their old religion wasn’t working. The answers didn’t cut it anymore. God did not seem present. Doubts crept in. Their faith had serious holes in it. They felt like they were sinking.

But look at the stars! Look at the earth! Look at your friends and family! Look at your church! Look at your house! Look at your car! Look at your blessings! Where did those things come from? Was that just coincidence? Dumb luck? Or is it evidence, a sign, of someone greater at work?
Remember that first group of people Mel Gibson described? “Deep down, they feel that whatever’s going to happen, there will be someone there to help them. And that fills them with hope. What you have to ask yourself is what kind of person are you? Are you the kind that sees signs, that sees miracles? Or do you believe that people just get lucky?” When I think about my life, when I look at you, when I stop a minute to take a deep breath, I know what I believe.

The Blog about Thinking Biblically

I just finished reading a very intriguing book called, “The Year of Living Biblically.” The author, A.J. Jacobs, tried to follow the Bible literally for one year. No haircuts, a full, bushy beard, dietary restrictions, observance of all the religious holidays. He even followed the command to “be fruitful and multiply.” During the year, he and his wife found out they were pregnant with twins. I’m not sure Jacobs was completely successful in his quest but it made for an entertaining read.

One of the things I enjoyed most about the book was Jacobs’ slow transformation during his biblical year. His initial approach to this endeavor was a bit tongue-in-cheek. Jacobs, a self-proclaimed agnostic, is never disrespectful or mocking, but he starts out with a healthy skepticism about this revered and authoritative book.

But over the course of the year, as he spends more time studying and following the scriptures, Jacobs gradually begins to see the benefit of living a religious existence. At one point Jacobs found himself saying little prayers of “thank you” throughout the course of the day. He admits he’s not sure to whom he was praying, but he remarked this shift in his outlook changed him as a person.

I found Jacobs’ exercise both fascinating and revealing. I think many people think of the Bible, especially the Hebrew Scriptures (what we know as the Old Testament) as a bunch of laws and regulations and repeated commands of “thou shalt not.” And, to a certain point, that’s what it is. One way of understanding the Bible is that it provides guidance for how to live our lives in a way that will please God and honor our neighbor.

But, as Jacobs found out, the Bible is so much more than that. If we only look at it as a giant Miss Manners book, we miss the meaning behind the law. God didn’t want the Israelites to live a certain way because God is a strict disciplinarian. God wanted the Israelites to grow closer to God through a sacred lifestyle that set them apart from the surrounding pagan cultures.

In other words, the Bible is a means to an end – living a life in relationship with God. I don’t know if Jacobs got that far, but I hope he learned along the way that there’s something more to scripture than just following the rules. There’s the faith and relationship which undergirds and informs our decisions.

I give Jacobs a lot of credit. At least he picked up the book and cracked the spine. I believe a lot of Bibles go unread because people see them as archaic, inaccessible documents. And even if they are brave enough to give it a go, as soon as they hit the first list of “begats” the Bible goes back on the shelf.

I can’t say I blame them. I did the same thing the first time I tried to read the Bible. But what I learned about this dynamic book is that it wasn’t meant necessarily to be read from cover to cover. Instead of thinking of it as one big book, I saw it as a collection of smaller books and letters – a holy library, if you will. Different books were written for different reasons and serve different purposes.

So if someone were to ask me where to start, I wouldn’t say Genesis. I would start with a gospel. Luke is a good choice. Then I would recommend reading the book of Acts, which is the story of the spreading of the good news after Jesus’ resurrection. Then read another gospel, maybe Matthew this time. Then read Romans, Paul’s letter that lays out his understanding of following Jesus.

Regardless of where you start, just reading something in the Bible is the first step. Now that I read it daily, I can’t imagine what life was like without it. It has changed me in ways I couldn’t even have imagined. Yes, we are called to live a lifetime of faith, but the best way to accomplish that is not committing to a year, like Jacobs did. I think we can start with just one day at a time.

This Week’s Sermon – Knowing and Loving

Happy Monday, everyone! I hope you all have a fantastic week. I had fun studying this scripture and contrasting knowledge with love. It was a bit self-condemning since I have a few letters after my name, but I hope it comes across as more “pro-love” than “anti-knowledge.” Let me know what you think!

SCRIPTURE – I Corinthians 8:1-13

Now about food sacrificed to idols: We know that we all possess knowledge.Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up. The man who thinks he knows something does not yet know as he ought to know. But the man who loves God is known by God. 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 knows this. Some people are still so accustomed to idols that when they eat such food they think of it as having been sacrificed to an idol, 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 freedom does not become a stumbling block to the weak. For if anyone with a weak conscience sees you who have this knowledge eating in an idol’s temple, won’t he be emboldened to eat what has been sacrificed to idols? So this weak brother, for whom Christ died, is destroyed by your knowledge. When you sin against your brothers in this way and wound their weak conscience, you sin against Christ. Therefore, if what I eat causes my brother to fall into sin, I will never eat meat again, so that I will not cause him to fall.

SERMON
Knowing and Loving
I Corinthians 8:1-13
Feb. 1, 2009

I read a fascinating book recently called “The Know-It-All.” The author, A. J. Jacobs, 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 smarter 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 this – 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, “Beig 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 about the freedom that belief in Christ brought the believer, 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 basically 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 for us in this passage, just as there is truth for us in every passage in the Bible. You may be tempted at times to discard a part of the Bible because it doesn’t seem to have anything salient to say. To that I would answer, “Come to Bible study!” We’ve been studying Deuteronomy, which could at first glance be considered insignificant to our Christian faith. But there is truth in there, just as there is truth in this passage from Paul. Nothing in the Bible is irrelevant. Some of it just needs more interpretation and contextualization than others.

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 idolatry. For the mature Christians – those “in the know” – this was a non-issue. But for the spiritually weak, eating this meat was akin to committing a sin.

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 these issues out 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 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 to be the smartest person in the world.

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 affluent, highly intelligent area, 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 apart 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.” We will do well if we strive to be fully known.

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.