Posts
I think that most of you would understand what I mean if
I said, “It’s been one of those weeks.”
You can probably identify with having that feeling at some point in the
recent past. In the midst of living
life, sometimes we prepare our best work, we pray our most beautiful and
confident prayers, we express ourselves in conversation as clearly as we can,
but nothing turns out as we expected. We
are hurt, people don’t understand, friends are angry, God is distant. I’m not good at hiding it. Students see me walk into class and ask if I’m
okay. Co-workers pull me aside to ask
what’s wrong. It was one of those weeks.
I
have made a career out of using words: reading, speaking, and writing. I read news, commentary, essays, and books a
large part of every day of my life. I
listen to preachers in church; I listen to radio news in the car. I write short, clever comments on what is
happening in the world. I write longer
reflections on social issues and the church.
I do my thinking with my fingertips on a keyboard. I must have written tens of thousands of
words as I have struggled to live with the illness and death of my beloved
wife. Sometimes what I write is simple and straightforward. Sometimes it is complex argumentation.
There are plenty of times when I can’t seem to get
started. Occasionally I begin, only to
find myself headed down a road to nowhere, making me have to start over. On some subjects, I have stored away many
long and complicated sentences and paragraphs in the recesses of my memory,
ready for me to pull them out on a moment’s notice to clarify a question or
drive home a point.
There is joy in crafting words. Constructing a strong first sentence or a
challenging final sentence in an argument can satisfy a thirsty soul. Framing a vivid metaphor or a lyrical turn of
phrase can give life to a project.
Employing the rhetorical skills passed down by a lively intellectual
tradition of preaching can lift an entire room of spirits together, or stir
them to anger, or challenge them to action.
I’m not the greatest wordsmith by any means. Too many of my sentences meander toward obscurity. Too often I make an argumentative leap that
leaves out important intermediary steps, forcing the listener or reader to wonder
why I suddenly changed the subject without clear warning. We all can look beyond our own achievements
toward the oratorical craft of another preacher we admire for her or his depth
of understanding, precision of vocabulary, and skill of delivery. We find ourselves returning to certain
writers whose ability to articulate and inspire on the printed page or on the
pixilated screen leaves us wanting more.
So for me, and perhaps for many of you, life unfolds in a
proliferation of words. It’s more than
words, but it still is a flood of words.
A few weeks ago, I sat down in a hotel room in New Orleans where I was
attending the Society of Christian Ethics.
I had been reading books and essays, contemplating an essay on the topic
of reparations in theological education.
Over a period of a couple of days, broken up by conference events,
meals, and a small amount of sleep, I wrote over thirty-two pages on the topic,
and still felt I had not quite covered all that I should say. I’m not really trying to brag here. It’s simply an illustration of how my writing
often gets done. I was only able to do
that because of habits coming from so many years of devotion to and immersion
in speaking and writing. It’s far from
clear yet whether all those words will make much of a difference in the world.
I
doubt that my three kids believe it, but there was a time in my life when I was
known as a person of few words. My wife,
who could outtalk me any day, used to laugh at me for the way I had something
to say about almost any subject, even those I knew little or nothing
about. She would tease me about being a “know-it-all.”
That’s probably not so hard for my
colleagues to believe. While I slip into
the quiet mode still some of the time, mostly nowadays I produce and spout and
swim in a sea of words. I have come to
trust in the power of words, especially when combined with the power of
communities organized for strategic action.
A
little over a year ago, our community organizing group, Durham CAN, was
struggling to see words turned to action on affordable housing in Durham. The City Council, leaders of the County
Commissioners, and of course the Durham Housing Authority all were on record supporting
affordable housing. It’s hard not to
think that more affordable housing is a good idea. But liking the idea and making change happen
are different things. We applied the
power of words by creating and conducting a Downtown Durham Subsidy Tour.
We
held a public teaching session about the millions of dollars in subsidies that
had gone into various commercially profitable projects. These were tax incentives and public-private
partnerships amounting to tens of millions of dollars from which private
developers and businesses would benefit greatly at taxpayers’ expense. A tiny fraction of those subsidy amounts
would be enough to get Durham moving toward more affordable housing. So we took citizens all over downtown and
hung up signs on various buildings, detailing the subsidies that went to
private developers and businesses. Those
spoken and written words made a difference.
Television and newspaper reporters’ words made a difference. Targeted, strategic words made a difference,
and progress quickly got underway on three different projects for affordable
housing.
A
public event like that or a powerful sermon or a groundbreaking book can
demonstrate to us the power and importance of words for human society. The Apostle Paul was clearly a man of words. He was a speechmaker, a preacher, and a teacher
who could adapt his style to the particular audience he was addressing. In the opening three chapters of 1
Corinthians he discusses this aspect of his ministry extensively. He reminds his readers of the good times they
have had in the past teaching and learning about the gospel of Jesus
Christ. He points out how people started
out not knowing much, and that God is able to use foolish people to shame the
wise. He insists that the wisdom of the
world may, in fact, not be worth much at times.
He
is setting them up. All these words, all
the things he calls to their remembrance, suddenly are challenged in this third
chapter. He says he wishes he could use
some of his big words with them, but he says he has to use words more suited to
infants than to adults. Apparently they
are stuck in the age of eating baby food.
They may have picked up some fancy words to use, but they have missed
the point of what they have learned. They might know how to pronounce propitiation
or concupiscence, but they haven’t let their training transform them adequately
toward God’s purpose for them. They are
dividing into camps and sects, picking and choosing among their teachers to
create factions. Some want to claim
Apollos, some Cephas, and some Paul. He
gets no satisfaction that some claim to side with him because he wants them to
recognize that all the teachers are contributing to the one unified message and
calling God has for them.
We’ve
seen it happen. Someone says, “Reverend
Smith never would have done things that way.”
One whispers, “Deacon Johnson never tried anything like that.” Another complains, “Sister Jones always knew
the right thing to do.” Soon it breaks
out into conflict in the committee and board meetings. Then small groups form in the parking lot to
continue the criticisms and complaints.
Church conferences heat up with angry words. People begin to impugn one another’s
integrity and doubt the truth of one another’s words.
We
take up sides. We resist leaders trying
to make a difference. We shut out
innovative ideas. Churches too often
work against our own best interests and our best opportunities for ministry.
Paul
argues in our text today that all the teachers the Corinthians have had were building
on a single foundation. That foundation
is Jesus Christ. All the teaching and
preaching had pointed back to this reference point—the ways and words of Jesus
Christ are the basis for all that the Corinthians or any other churches must
build. Yet for all the words that Paul
has loved sharing and has depended on to accomplish his work of building up the
church, it seems that little growth in grace and discipleship have
occurred. Words have failed. The people in the church have not remembered
what they learned, nor have they remembered who they are.
Paul
doesn’t give up. He starts again to
build his case with persuasive words.
Now he tells them that they are a temple. The second-person pronoun in these verses is
a plural. It’s hard to tell in
English. We use the same second-person
pronoun for singular or plural. “Y-o-u”
can mean one person, and the same word “y-o-u” can mean a group of people. In the South, we know how to translate it
differently than the English Bible usually does. Paul, in this case is saying “Y’all.” Y’all are a temple. This is not the same way he uses “temple”
elsewhere to refer to a human body. In our
text today, the temple is the community of faith envisioned as forming a
structure together. It’s similar to
Peter’s image of a building made of living stones. But the Corinthian church people have broken
up the building. It’s cracked, and there
are big gaps, broken down walls, and fallen roof timbers. For all the teaching, they have failed to
become united as God’s building, the family of faith, the body of Christ.
Paul
quotes from Job to remind them that just because a person can make a lofty and
wordy speech does not mean one has displayed true wisdom. They may be twisting their words to
manipulate a situation, to try to prove themselves superior, to try to put
someone else down. God knows the
difference, and Paul says he can tell the difference, too. Words are failing the Corinthian Christians
because they are willing to use them as weapons. They are abusing the power of words to
benefit their particular faction or camp, and the temple they are supposed to
be building is falling into ruin.
Words
fail us when we use them against one another.
Words as weapons tear down. They
deny the purpose of human living: to
love one another. Words that shade the
truth in order to try to win are failing words.
Words that construct alternative facts for the purpose of verbal battle
succeed only in crushing truth beneath our feet. Words fail in politics and in church when
they become our sledgehammers and crowbars to destroy what God wants us to
build up. We may end up like so much of
the world around us by choosing up sides and despising anyone who
disagrees. Paul was a couple of
millennia too early, but I’m sure if he had been writing today, the people he
was criticizing would be calling one another Nazis, fascists, and
communists. He tells them not to boast
about human leaders—if they are good leaders, then what each of them gives you
is good for all of you.
I’ll
have to leave this 1 Corinthians text to talk about other times that words
fail. Here, Paul spoke to the misuse of
words to divide, mislead, and destroy.
But sometimes words fail for other reasons. For instance, sometimes words fail because
they choke in our throats and drown in our tears. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve
had words fail me in this way. Sometimes
a hurt is so intense, the mind seems lost in a fog. Words spoken seem pointless. Things I’ve been able to say before no longer
make sense. I was so sure I understood a
situation, but now to have even thought those thoughts seems utterly
stupid. Or I had thought I knew the direction
my life would go, only to find out it will be impossible for those things to
ever happen. In these moments words fail
us. We try and fumble about to describe
what we are going through, but with little success.
In
those moments of pain and struggle, words can fail another way, too. For those of us reacting to someone else’s
pain, we may become like Job’s so-called friends and start tossing words about
in harmful ways. If I approach someone
going through the hellish pain of losing a loved one, and I offer platitudes
about their loved one being in a better place, or say it’s all going to be all
right, or claim everything happens for a reason, my words are likely to become
instruments of greater pain. The
compulsion to provide a solution to other people’s pain is really about my own
discomfort. If I can sum up the problem
with shallow theological-sounding clichés, I may assume my job is done. I’ve figured it out for them, and now they
will be fine. What’s needed in times of
pain, grief, and loss is fewer words, more presence, and humble service. Don’t make words fail by forcing your pile of
happy, crappy, empty theological banalities on someone in deep pain. They are struggling to put words to their
situation, and they don’t need useless and hurtful words to fill that void.
When
words fail us in the depth of pain, we can be thankful that we are not left
alone. In his letter to the Romans, Paul
describes the situation when our hurt and longing may be too deep for words. In that crisis, God has not abandoned us,
even if words have. Paul says the Spirit
cries out for us when we cannot handle it ourselves. We may not know what the meaning of our
situation is. We may feel only loss and
emptiness, loneliness that looks to be endless.
But God is present in the midst of our struggle. Remember this is the
same God incarnate who saw his friends sleep when he needed their prayers, saw
them run away when he was arrested, and ultimately cried out in the anguish of
abandonment when hanging by nails from a wooden implement of state-sponsored
torture. In the depth of suffering, God
knows the wordless void, enters it with us, and initiates the crying out and
healing that will restore us.
Here
in 1 Corinthians 3, Paul reminds us that when words fail, whether it is through
our arrogance and divisiveness or through our hurt and emptiness, we still have
a place to stand. There is one
foundation. That is the foundation of
Jesus Christ. He is the firm
foundation. He has come for us and never
deserted us. We belong to him, as siblings,
as joint-heirs, and members of one body, as living stones in a temple not made
by hands. To belong to Christ is to have
our lives surrounded by and embedded in God.
You belong to Christ, and Christ belongs to God.
To
know Christ is to walk in his way. In
word and deed, we take up his path. He
calls us to follow him. He says to
choose the narrow way that leads to life.
He reminds us that it is not merely following a road he walked, but that
he himself is the road, the gate, the life we must live. He is the Word, the logos, the dabar, the
essence of both God and humanity, in whom we live and move and have our
being. So words may fail, but the Word
of God, our Savior, the True Human and exemplar for our lives, will never fail. Thanks be to God.
