It's God's Project--June 2, 2022

It's God's Project--June 2, 2022

"For we are God's servants, working together; you are God's field, God's building.  According to the grace of God given to me, like a skilled master builder I laid a foundation, and someone else is building on it." [1 Corinthians 3:9-10]

It's hard to let go of control sometimes.  But when it comes to God's work, the humbling truth is that I never had control in the first place. 

I think that's the big shift we all come to make (or have to keep making over and over again in our lives of faith) as we grow in maturity: we come to see faith is less about getting God to help us bring our plans to reality, but about God inviting us to be a part of God's new creation, which has already begun.  God isn't the genie or spiritual power I tap into in order to accomplish my wishes, but more the other way around: God welcomes me, along with others, to be a part of the grand work of making all things new that God has set into motion.  And since it's not my plan or design, I am going to have to learn that God gets to choose who else to use and work with, in addition to whatever I bring to the table.

That's the difference: for projects of my own devising, I get to be the one in charge.  If I'm painting a painting in my free time, for example, I get to make all the artistic decisions--what colors, what size brushes, how to compose the scene, and when to do the work on the canvas.  I get to decide if I let anybody else see my work or contribute to it, or whether I'll just do it all myself.  Or, if I'm building a shed in my back yard, I get to decide if I will ask friends or neighbors for help, or whether it will all be my hands and my labor that does it all. My project, my rules.  But when it's someone else's project, I don't get to call the shots. If someone else has the vision and has let me be a part of their work, I have to admit I don't have control over what we're doing, how we're doing it, or who else gets to share in the work alongside me.

And when Paul thinks about the community called church, he reminds us that it's much the same.  The church isn't my (or anybody else's) personal project to create or build as we like it.  It's God's.  That means God reserves the right to let each of us have a part in creating the whole, but none of us gets to direct the entire production.  We are less like sprinters competing in the individual 100-meter dash, and more like teammates in a relay race.  Someone else was here before us, and they ran with the baton for their part of the course before handing it to us for our leg of the race.  And the time will come when we each hand the stick off to others who will carry on as well beyond what we can see or do.  That's not a failure on anybody's part--that's just how a relay race works.  And, again to hear Paul tell it, that's how God's handiwork happens, too.  

Recognizing what Paul means can be uncomfortable in a number of ways, though.  For one, it means that I don't get veto power over the people God chooses to use and work through.  If I'm doing a project in my own back yard, I get to decide who else I will allow to be in on the job.  But if the project we are a part of is God's creation, then God gets to decide who else is on board, and God doesn't have to run the list of other helpers past me for approval.  God gets to decide to use people and work through people that I don't like, or don't agree with, or don't get along with, or even don't think are worthy.  Not only that, I will find myself humbled to realize I don't get a vote or a say over questions of who else God uses, because I'm not the one in charge--God is. It reminds me of an insight I think I first read from Bernice King, daughter of Martin Luther King, Jr., and a theologian in her own right:  she point out that it's not even about me saying, "I should really let other people have a place at the table to make decisions," because even that framing suggests I have control of the table, and it's up to me to decide who else I will allow to have a stake in leadership.  Bernice King has helped me to understand a point I think Paul says here as well: it's God's table, God's project, and God's new creation--God gets to decide who has a place at the table and a voice in the conversation, and it's not really up to me to approve or not approve.  I'm just the help, along with everyone else God invites to be a part of God's universal restoration project. I don't get to overrule God's choices to call and work through others I might not approve of--it's not up to me.

Today is a day, then, for an honest look at how we contribute to God's "kingdom work."  I may get to play a part in it--sharing my faith with someone, serving a neighbor, showing mercy, practicing justice, or doing some other good in the world, maybe--but I don't get to direct the whole production.  My part is my part, and God is allowed to bring in others beyond what I can offer, who will also contribute their own talents, time, passions, and purpose to the project.  I can either delude myself into thinking God has left it all up to me and my designs, only to have a rude awakening later--or to recognize right now that it's God's baby, and we just get to be a part of the team who helps bring this new thing to birth. It's going to mean that I go beyond thinking I'm being charitable in "letting" others have a place at the table to voice their insights or offer their contributions, to instead realizing that it's actually God's table, and God has welcomed me along with others, without having to get my approval first.  

Like I say, that's humbling, because it means admitting I never had the control I thought I did.  But it's also beautiful and honest and true, because it means realizing the Kingdom is God's project, and God is the One who guarantees that it will all come together at the last.  And I can rest in that, even if I'm not in control of it.

Lord God, remind us that we are not the directors of your new creation--and let us be prepared for all the surprising faces you choose to include as your workers in this today's work, and your grand restoration of all things.

Adding Our Harmonies--June 1, 2022

Adding Our Harmonies--June 1, 2022

"What then is Apollos? What is Paul? Servants through whom you came to believe, as the Lord assigned to each.  I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth. So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth.  The one who plants and the one who waters have a common purpose, and each will receive wages according to the labor of each." [1 Corinthians 3:5-8]

We live in a culture that idolizes celebrity solo acts, but needs more symphony ensembles.

I don't mean that we only need more orchestras to play classical music (although I'm all for that), but more that our culture teaches us to long for the spotlight ourselves when we could really use more people willing to contribute their small part to a larger whole that brings a bigger beauty than any individual could have done alone.  Our TVs run a seemingly endless parade of reality singing competitions where solo voices compete for one prize, but there's no primetime programming that shows the hard work and dedication of people working together to let each person's gifts improve the others. We teach our kids to want to be rock stars, TikTok sensations, or internet celebrities, when there is something so much more powerful, so much richer, that happens when my abilities can be directed to enhance yours, and yours can bring out the best of someone else's, in a great chain of collaboration.  In short, we need an orchestra's worth of love, where violins are supported by violas, where flutes and clarinets each get their moments with the melody, and where cellos, basses, trombones, and timpani are glad to add their low notes underneath as well.

I say this with the recollection of years spent in the string bass section of the high school and college orchestra, and with the awareness that a lot of the time, my part didn't sound very good on its own, until it was combined with the rest of the orchestra.  There was something almost miraculous about rehearsals where we would put things together for the first time, and I would discover how my little runs of low notes fit into the larger piece.  I might have practiced my own part to play it as well as I could, but only when it was put together with all the other instruments could I experience the true beauty of the music.

If you ask a symphony musician what the point of their practicing is, they will gladly tell you that it's to create something bigger than any one musician can do alone.  The best orchestra members aren't trying to grab the limelight for themselves, but see their work as contributing to something more than the sum of their parts.  They find a joy and a purpose apart from how much attention they get for their own part, but for how the whole thing comes together.  It's the same with the audience--nobody goes to the symphony and says, "Wait til you hear how the bassoon player plays a B-flat!" or "I only come for the third trumpet  player on the right--he's gonna be a rock star!"  You go to listen to the way each individual contribution becomes gathered up in real time to create something more moving and more powerful than one lone musician can create by him or herself.  The music itself, and the opportunity to create something beautiful, is the reason to play--not the chance to become a diva or a star.

And if we can understand that same sense of the fullness that comes from each person contributing to the beauty of the whole, we can understand Paul's sense of why we each offer our abilities and labor to the community called church.  None of us is here to become a celebrity solo act.  We are here for the sake of something we may each add that makes the whole more beautiful.  Our individual abilities, talents, time, and work mean something, but the goal isn't to leverage them into status and to become a "star," but so that they can make something more beautiful that is worth creating, regardless of getting credit for it.  

There's something truly freeing about that perspective, too--it means we aren't trying to do something big or important for the sake of getting noticed, or to earn someone else's approval.  It's simply that we see the work of the Reign of God is so compellingly beautiful that it's worth each of us giving our lives to, without needing to be in the limelight for doing it.  When you live your life aiming to get the credit, attention, or approval of others, you're bound to be forever unsatisfied, and every bit of effort has to be thought of in terms of what it "gets" you.  But when you see yourself as a musician in an ensemble, you get a sense that it's a gift just to be allowed to participate and make your music.  You get a sense that you are blessed to be able to get to give what you have to offer, and to see how your pieces make the whole better, while others' additions enrich what you bring.  Rather like Walt Whitman offers in his poem, "O Me! O Life!" when he lays out the question, essentially, of why he (or anyone) should bother continuing on with life in the world despite its sorrows, toils, and weariness, the answer comes like this:  "That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse."

To be a Christian means learning to let go of the celebrity solo-act mentality, and instead to see that it is worth spending our lives building others up, strengthening one another's gifts, and playing our parts of the sheet music, regardless of getting credit or becoming a sensation.  The music we create together is worth giving our energy and time for.  Or, in Paul's gardening imagery, it's worth it, whether you're the one planting or watering, to spend yourself in growing something good and worthy and beautiful, even if you don't get to be the hero at harvest time.  The goal isn't to point to ourselves, but to contribute a verse to the great play, to add our harmonies to the symphony God is conducting.  And when we can ditch the tired culture of celebrity for that kind of life, we are not only free--we are fully alive.

Lord God, enable us to offer what we have and what we are to the new song you are bringing about while the watching world listens.

"They" Are Us--May 31, 2022

"They" Are Us--May 31, 2022

"...for you are still of the flesh.  For as long as there is jealousy and quarreling among you, are you not of the flesh, and behaving according to human inclinations?  For when one says, 'I belong to Paul,' and another, 'I belong to Apollos,' are you not merely human?" [1 Corinthians 3:3-4]

It is deeply immature--and at the same time disappointingly common--how frequently we human beings only know how to define ourselves in terms of who doesn't belong in our little group.  We fracture so easily along different fault lines--family, tribes, and clans; language groups and ethnicities; political ideologies and party affiliations; and denominational or theological sub-groups.  And quite often, we define those group identities in the negative--who we aren't, or who we don't want to be associated with.

Spend any time at all in the institutional church and you'll see it with terrible speed and clarity.  There was a time, for example (and for some it hasn't changed), when Lutherans would tell you their Lutheran-ness basically meant, "Well, we're NOT Catholic!"  Not a positive statement of what DOES matter about the Lutheran way of being Christian, but only a negative--a line making it clear who DOESN'T belong.  And to be perfectly honest, Lutherans today are just as likely to do the same now, but against other Lutheran groups.  You'll hear things like, "Oh, we're Lutheran--but not THAT kind of Lutheran, don't worry!"  and then you'll hear some straw-man criticism of whatever Lutheran group you don't like.  "THOSE Lutherans over there are too liberal," or "THAT group of Lutherans isn't welcoming at all," or "THESE Lutherans won't let you take communion if you come there," or "YOU can't be a REAL Lutheran if you don't also have some German or Scandinavian heritage in your family tree."  

It's not just my tradition, of course--although Lutherans have been playing this "us-versus-them" game for five hundred years, so we're quite good at it.  An awful lot of Christian groups, denominations, and labels owe their existence to one group deciding they didn't want to associate with THOSE people anymore, and then starting their own little club.  The Southern Baptist Church as a denomination was formed when white Baptists in the American South wanted to preserve the institution of slavery in their states.  The African Methodist Church (AME) was formed because white Methodists wouldn't let Black Methodists sit with the rest of the congregation, and so they were forced to start their own congregation where their dignity could be upheld.  In the 20th century, you had denominations split over whether it was permissible to consider the scientific data about evolution, whether it was permissible to use the study tools of biblical criticism when reading and interpreting the Scriptures, as well as whether women were allowed to serve as pastors and leaders.  We are still splitting and fracturing today, with new issues threatening to fragment Christian groups even further--whether it's about the question of inclusion of gay or lesbian Christians, the political leanings of a denomination, how churches responded to the COVID pandemic, or what style of music will be offered in their worship.  And so much of it, regardless of what the presenting issue is, ends up becoming an "us" versus" them sort of thing.  So many times, one group leaves (or is forced out) because one group doesn't want to be associated with the other anymore... or even doesn't want to be associated with people who can tolerate being around "those people," however they are defining it at the moment.

One group breaks away from another and then basically defines themselves in terms of who or what they are NOT, and to read Paul here, it sounds like we've all been doing it since the beginning.  It's not that Paul doesn't care about theological precision or that there are no boundaries at all for what constitutes Christian community.  But Paul is really disappointed when we let our core identity be rooted in division--when we draw lines of "us" and "them" and define "our" group solely in the negative terms of who we are NOT, or who CAN'T come to our club house.  In the first century at First Church of Corinth, they were drawing lines based on which pastor they aligned with:  "I'm a Paul-kind of Christian," or "I'm Team Apollos," or what-have-you.  We're still doing the same twenty centuries later, but we've just made the names or rationales sound more sophisticated.  "We can't be in fellowship with people who are like THAT," you'll hear.  Or "If you're going to include THOSE people, or if you're going to include people who are willing to include THOSE people in their own congregations, well I'm going to take my offering check elsewhere." We all insist that OUR splitting is for good acceptable reasons, but so often they all just sound like the old "HE-MAN Woman Haters Club" from the Little Rascals--a group only defined by who can't come.

Of course, in the old comedy bits of Spanky, Alfalfa, and the rest of the "Our Gang" kids, it was meant to be ridiculous.  We were supposed to understand that defining your group solely in terms of who doesn't belong is childish, immature, and embarrassingly foolish.  The tragedy is that we don't seem to have learned to see how immature--or to use Paul's language, "fleshly"--that kind of thinking is.  If you keep trimming away all the people you see as "them," before long there's nobody left to belong to your "us."

I know these are days when it is so terribly easy to be polarized, or to talk about getting along in only naive and empty kinds of ways.  I don't think Paul wants to gloss over disagreements or pretend it's easy for us to find ways to get along.  But I also think Paul would warn us very strongly about the dangerous road we have already set ourselves on once we accept the terms of defining "my" group in terms of who doesn't fit in.  Jesus, after all, has a way of going and standing on the other side of the line any time we draw lines between "us" and "them."  Or maybe, to Paul's point, Jesus has a way of showing us that "they" are a part of "us," too, whether we realize it, acknowledge it, or like it.  It's Jesus claim that makes us belong, not whether anybody else says so.

Maybe today's a day to do some honest reflection on how each of us understands our identity--what is it that makes you you, or us us?  What positive traits, commitments, or traditions do we hold onto, and why?  And how can we move beyond the immature thinking that defines in terms of division and creates an identity based on who doesn't belong?  Those are questions worth thinking about, and then maybe today is a day to reach across the lines we had accepted for too long as permanent.

Lord Jesus, ground us in your love, your way, and the identity we find in you.

The Good of Growing Up--May 27, 2022

The Good of Growing Up--May 27, 2022

"And so, brothers and sisters, I could not speak to you as spiritual people, but rather as people of the flesh, as infants in Christ. I fed you with milk, not solid food, for you were not ready for solid food.  Even now you are still not ready..." [1 Corinthians 3:1-2]

The thing is, some matters in life are not questions of "right" versus "wrong" so much as they are of "mature" versus "immature."  

For example, while we might say it is always morally wrong to sell crystal meth to children, steal money from an orphanage, or poison the town well, some things are actions you grow out of or grow into. When a baby or a toddler acts selfishly or only wants their own needs taken care of, it may be annoying, but you chalk it up to age-appropriate childishness.  But when you become a parent or caregiver, you have to grow out of a "Me-and-My-Wants-First" mindset.  You learn as you mature that other people matter as much as you do, and that your needs and wants are not the only ones to be considered.  So while you might not fault a baby for being fussy about getting fed first at meal time, you would expect an adult to know better, and sometimes to make sure others are served first, and then to wait for their own plate to be filled.  It's not a shame for a preschooler to be immature or childish, but it is when a grown-up cannot act like a grown-up.

I think that perspective is important as we read Paul here, or else we'll misunderstand his point.  Sometimes we draw a rigid line between the categories of "spiritual" and "fleshly," like one is good and one is evil, and we end up with all sorts of terrible theology (and practice).  You end up painting yourself into the corner of saying all physical reality is bad, or sinful, or wicked, and some sects over the centuries have gone off the deep end there and taught that even being physically embodied beings was the work of some lesser, "evil" god, and that our goal should be to aspire to the purely spiritual realm of thought, ideas, and beliefs.  That ends up taking the position that it was a mistake on God's part to make the smell of rain, or the taste of raspberries, or the refreshing peace of a good night's sleep.  

The writers of the Scriptures don't take the position that this physical existence, with these bodies of flesh and blood, are bad or wicked or evil.  What they do want us to see is that a life lived solely for our animal needs and impulses is terribly immature.  The difference between being "spiritual" and being "fleshly" then, isn't that the "flesh" is bad, so much as it is a terrible shame for your body to be an adult but your soul to still be stuck in childish immaturity.  If I'm stuck in petty squabbling, immature divisions, or childish self-centeredness, it's a sign I'm immature.  To be sure, immaturity needs to be addressed, corrected, and outgrown--but that's different than giving up on me because I'm irredeemably evil.

And as Paul writes to the folks at First Church of Corinth, that's where he's coming from.  He's not writing to damn anybody to hell, but to point out where they are still acting like spiritual toddlers--or even infants, really!  They are still so stuck in childish and self-centered ways that Paul can't really dig into the deeper, more complex richness of the Good News--at least not until he's addressed the very basic things they still have to grow into.  He has to still feed them milk, like a nursing mother, because they aren't ready for solid food yet.  And again, that's not a condemnation--after all, it's appropriate for babies to be fed milk.  But part of being human means growing up into maturity, and eventually you discover that you need to get nutrition from other sources.  And at the same time, it means continuing to get the nourishment you need from milk all the way into adulthood--after all, we may stop nursing when we grow out of infancy, but we still need the calcium, protein, and other nutrients we get from milk and dairy all our lives long.  In a similar way, we never outgrow our need for the sheer basic essentials of the Good News of Jesus--but as we grow up in that faith, we come to discover a richness and a fullness that we could not have appreciated earlier in our faith journeys.

Just like we can say it's a shame to stay childish in things like manners or personal responsibility, it's a shame if I stay immature in my faith--say, only ever seeing the Gospel as a post-mortem life insurance policy, or as a gimmick to earn heavenly rewards.  But at the same time, when we see those differences as degrees of maturity rather than one person being "good" and one being "evil," it allows us to give the grace to let people grow, rather than writing them off as forever lost.  

Sometimes I wonder if that's not a bad posture these days, especially when it is so easy to become polarized with scorn for people whose faith leads them in different directions or to different conclusions.  Perhaps instead of seeing me as right and good (we always want to see OURSELVES as in the right, after all) and others as evil and sinful, we might do well to ask if it's a matter of maturity in faith.  Perhaps they--or we... or both of us--have some growing up to do in some area, and instead of being hopelessly lost and reprobate we may need some deeper growing up in our faith.  That still allows us the room to offer and to receive critique from one another, just like I would critique and correct my kids from being childish at the dinner table, or like I can use correction and redirection from mentors to me as well.  But it also means we see in one another the possibility of growing out of our childishness and growing into maturity.  That's a strategy we're not always mature enough to attempt... but maybe it's worthy a try.

Lord Jesus, lead us from childishness to maturity as you will, and give us the grace to bear with one another as we all grow up in faith.

A Lesson from Who-Ville--May 26, 2022

A Lesson from Who-Ville--May 26, 2022

"Those who are unspiritual do not receive the gifts of God's Spirit, for they are foolishness to them, and they are unable to understand them because they are spiritually discerned. Those who are spiritual discern all things, and they are themselves subject to no one else's scrutiny.  'For who has known the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him?' But we have the mind of Christ." [1 Corinthians 2:14-16]

It's kind of like the Grinch.  You know the story, whether you first knew the storybook, the classic animated short with the voice of Boris Karloff, or any of the various reboots of more recent decades.  The Grinch is Dr. Seuss' Christmas-hating creature who plots to "steal" Christmas from the citizens of Who-ville by taking their trees, toys, and treats on Christmas Eve.  And when Christmas morning dawns, the rotten, mean ol' no-good Grinch expects to hear cries of anguish and sorrow from little Cindy Lou Who and all the rest of her village... only to discover the Whos are all singing joyfully to welcome Christmas without any of the loot the Grinch pilfered in the night.

And for a moment, the Grinch is absolutely befuddled. He just cannot understand the Whos' behavior, and it seems like utter nonsense that they can still be celebrating Christmas, which as Seuss put it, "came without ribbons, it came without tags. It came without packages, boxes, or bags."  He just doesn't "get" it, but meanwhile, there are the Whos in Who-ville, who do not care at all whether the Grinch thinks they are foolish, and who understand that Christmas means more than the decorations, food, or presents.

The lesson is a bit obvious, and by now it's been made and re-made so many times that there's no surprise to the ending for most folks.  But that moment of sheer dumbfounded confusion on the Grinch's face--in whichever version you're looking at--is close how Paul describes the watching world and its confusion over the community of Jesus.  We've been brought, not just into a new organization or institution, but a whole new way of life and thinking.  We are called to see the world differently, and it will look like nonsense to an outside observer who doesn't "get" it.  For people who have been indwelt by the Spirit of God, that means we'll celebrate it when we see things like love, joy, peace, gentleness, patience, kindness, goodness, and self-control take shape in us (you know, the "fruit of the Spirit" as Paul will call it elsewhere).  The world looks at those things and may just dismiss them as nonsense, or as traits that make you look "weak" or like a "loser," rather than as the gifts of the living God.  And that means we'll have to decide if we will let the world's scoffing or mockery poop our party, or whether we'll continue to sing regardless of what any Grinchy voices think or do.

A great deal of the life of faith is learning to see the world differently because of Jesus--sometimes in a way that looks completely upside down, to be honest.  And then as we learn to see things through the lens of Jesus (and to act differently in light of the way of Jesus), the next challenge is to learn to be comfortable enough in our own belovedness that we are OK with being seen as foolish, weak, or like losers in the world's eyes.  Once we no longer care how the world's Big Deals judge us for loving others, for seeking the good of all, and for being people of peace and justice, we are free.  

And you never know--it might just be our willingess to look foolish by loving like Jesus that finally gets through to someone else who has been stuck in the world's "Me-First" selfishness and obsession with violence.  After all, once the Grinch sees what has happened with the Whos and that his worst attempts to wreck Christmas could not stop them from receiving its truest joys, Dr. Seuss says that his heart grow three sizes that day.  Maybe your and my willingness to look foolish or weak regardless of anyone's approval or understanding will be what draws someone else into the way of Jesus themselves.  

What do we have to lose?

Lord Jesus, give us the courage to look foolish to the watching world as we seek to love with your vulnerable, generous, courageous goodness.

Aliens and Oddballs--May 25, 2022

Aliens and Oddballs--May 25, 2022

"Now we have received not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit that is from God, so that we may understand the gifts bestowed on us by God. And we speak of these things in words not taught by human wisdom but taught by the Spirit, interpreting spiritual things to those who are spiritual." [1 Corinthians 2:12-13]

Every so often, the United Federation of Planets teaches me some good theology.

I came of age in the era when "Star Trek: The Next Generation" was on the air, so in addition to having seen the original Star Trek series, with Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock and Lieutenant Uhura and the rest, I tuned in regularly to watch Captain Picard and his crew aboard the Enterprise meeting new species and exploring, as they say, "strange new worlds."  But to me, it was always interesting to watch how those new life forms tried to make sense of the crew of the Enterprise, and the principles of the Federation they represented.  That show wasn't just about "us" meeting "aliens," but about what happens when the aliens discover "us"--and about how strange we might seem to them.

In particular, I was always taken when the new aliens-of-the-week would be surprised that the crew of the Enterprise didn't use money or work for paychecks.  In the future imagined by Gene Roddenberry and company, the United Federation of Planets has attained a level of technological advance where there is enough food and resources for all, so there is no more need for currency or trade.  They "replicate" their food, they have all their needs met, and they share abundance.  But to alien cultures who are still bent on acquisition of wealth, it seems like nonsense.  They are puzzled that the crew of the Enterprise isn't more interested in making money, selling their technology for a profit, or creating scarcity to make their resources more valuable.  And when you see a scene like that play out, it becomes obvious that the differences between these different alien cultures aren't merely a difference in language, but in the basic assumptions of their way of life.  The Enterprise crew sees the cosmos from their own vantage point--that there is abundance for all, resources can be shared, and they can respect and partner with others they meet.  And the aliens they meet come with their own different view of the universe--some more war-like and bent on conquest, some more market-minded and looking to make themselves rich, and others with more mysterious agendas.  

It's that difference of fundamental operating principles that strikes me as helpful for our conversation here in First Corinthians.  Paul sees the Christian community as guided by something essentially different from the logic of the world around.  The "spirit" of the world brings its own reasoning and way of doing things, and quite often that's the "way" of empire, of violence, of domination, and of hoarding.  The logic, or "spirit," of the world says things like, "Might makes right," or "Everyone has to look out for their own interests first!" or "There's only so much to go around, so you've got to grab as much as you can for yourself." You know the litanies of the world's liturgy.  We hear them all the time.  But from Paul's vantage point, we who follow Jesus have been given a different source of guidance--one which is not a "what" but rather a "Who"--the very Spirit of God.  And God's own Spirit has a different kind of logic, one which often runs counter to the ways and assumptions of the wider world.  

That means sometimes we are going to be like Captain Picard and his crew on the Enterprise, looking odd to the watching world who find our ways strange and nonsensical.  Like meeting aliens who are only interested in making profits or stoking wars, we are going to have to explain to others that our animating power is not the quest for more money or empire-building, but the Spirit of God.  And that means we'll have to be prepared to look weird, like we are the aliens and oddballs, because we are no longer driven by the logic of the world of money and militarism.  And instead of demanding that others recognize that "we" are right and "they" are wrong, it will mean that we learn to live as a sort of scandal or puzzle to others who can't quite figure us out.  It's like the old insight of Emmanuel Cardinal Suhard, who wrote, "To be a witness does not consist in engaging in propaganda, nor even in stirring people up, but in being a living mystery.  It means to live one's life in such a way that one's life would not make sense if God did not exist."

The characters on the Enterprise can share their resources and technology, labor without thought of getting rich, and show concern for others in need because they are living within a system where there is enough for all and things like money are no longer necessary.  That makes them look strange and even foolish to beings who don't understand.  The only way it can possibly make sense in the Star Trek universe to live with such generosity is if you really do have a way of life (in this case, provided by technology) that allows you no longer to worry about scarcity and to be free to share.  And for the followers of Jesus, the only way our lives of generosity and love can make sense is if there really is a God whose graciousness to us allows us to share abundantly with all, too, without needing to slide into the world's endless quest for "more."

Today, then, it's OK if our lives look weird to others who watch our choices and wonder why we aren't constantly driven to get "more" or why we're committed to compassion and goodness for others.  Let the world wonder, "What's in it for them?"  Let them ask, "Why would they do this if they don't get something out of it?"  Let them puzzle over the living mystery of our lives, which will only make sense in the end if God not only exists, but has given us a Spirit with a different way of living than the old routines of the world.

Go ahead, be different today as the Spirit leads you to be.  Be blessedly weird.

Spirit of God, direct our lives and our actions in light of who you are, rather than the ways of the world systems around us.

It Takes One to Know One--May 24, 2022

It Takes One to Know One--May 24, 2022

"For what human being knows what is truly human except the human spirit that is within? So also no one can comprehend what is truly God's except the Spirit of God."  [1 Corinthians 2:11]

They can program a computer to play chess like a master, even to beat the best human players.  But beneath the rules of logic, lines of code, and computerized algorithms, the computer doesn't really know what it is to be human.  And while they are also quite good at making computer-generated images that look like real people, or can even simulate natural conversation, it's still all just a set of artificial responses.  There is something quintessentially different about the experience of being human and the programmed outputs of your smart speaker, your digital assistant on your phone, or the bot accounts on social media.  Corporations may want us to start to think of these products of theirs as living beings, even with giving them names like, "Alexa," or "Siri," or trying to fool us with profile pictures that look like real people, but there is something unique about being human that just can't be programmed or coded.

Plenty of ancient and medieval philosophers have taken a shot at explaining that fundamental difference about being human.  They drew up complex diagrams and concocted ontological schemes differentiating a "soul" from a "spirit," and setting apart both from the physical part of us, like they were organs you could dissect on a frog in high school biology.  I'm not so sure that it's quite that cut-and-dry, but I do think that there's something... essential... to us as creatures that makes us qualitatively different, not only from rocks and trees and clouds, but also from birds and rabbits and lions--and also from whatever unseen beings there are out there, and whatever simulations we create on a computer.  I don't know how best to express it, other than saying the "you-ness" of you is something special, distinct, and unique to you, and that maybe all of us human beings have something that makes us "us."  The peculiar mix in humanity of physicality--we eat, we sleep, we love, we labor, and we suffer--as well as our capacity to think, imagine, feel, dream, and wonder--makes us different from a chess-playing computer and a flowing river.  That particular stuff about us is what I think we have in mind when we talk about "the human spirit."

And for our purposes today looking at First Corinthians, it seems that Paul is saying there are some things that it takes another human to really understand about being human... so he can make a parallel point about how we come to understand anything about God.  There are some things that your smart speaker, "Alexa," just won't understand--it can tell you tomorrow's weather or play back to you the last ten songs you requested over the last month, but it doesn't really understand what it is like to be human.  There are times your dog can tell if you are sad or excited, but your dog doesn't really understand it if you are feeling unfulfilled in your job or having strains in a friendship.  Some things just take another human to understand.  And by the same token, there is something that seems just about universal in being human across times, eras, and cultures.  So while my dog, who is just in the other room right now, doesn't understand human heartache or complex moral questions about good and evil, I can read the thoughts of other humans from centuries in the past who lived thousands of miles away, and can share something of their common humanity as they share their insights, questions, and thoughts.  There are some things about being human that take another human being to understand, that you just can't get a rock or a tree or a dog or a computer to understand.  That's not meant to be an insult to rocks, trees, dogs, or computers--just that we are distinct in some ways. It's more just a way of saying, like the old cliche, "It takes one to know one."

So, here's the rub.  How can anybody claim to know anything true about God if God is fundamentally "other" to us?  If I can't reasonably ask my dog to help me work through my grief or identify dysfunctional patterns in my family system, because my dog isn't human, then how can I possibly think that I could understand the ways of God, when by comparison I'm a whole lot further away from being God than my dog is from being like me?  Like the old line from the book of Isaiah puts it, "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord."  If I can't expect a robin outside in the tree to understand my small talk as I walk past, what makes me think that I have a chance at understanding the depths of who God is?

Paul has an answer, of sorts.  Paul says that just like there is some shared reality we might call the "human spirit" that allows me to understand the feelings, thoughts, and insights of another human being, even if we are separated by time or distance, that God's own Spirit can search the depths of God.  And this same Spirit relates to humans, reveals the heart of God, and, we could even say, inspires.  Without the Spirit making known what is deep in the heart of God, we could only be guessing about how God operates in the universe.  And we humans do get ourselves into trouble (and some pretty bad theology) when we make the mistake of assuming that God is just a "big" human, with our same human insecurities, fears, greed, shortsightedness, and limits of linear thinking.  Read the old myths of gods like Zeus and Jupiter for those kinds of deities, and you'll see they basically took us at our most capricious and imagined ornery humans with superhuman powers.  If we just take human logic and assume that God must be like us, we'll only ever recognize a god of our own construction.  That's like confusing a mirror for a window and assuming the face you see is someone else rather than your own reflection.

But God has a way of getting through to us.  God's own Spirit makes God knowable.  God's own Spirit can speak to our hearts about the heart of God.  God's own Spirit can show us the things we never would have figured out for ourselves, like the preposterous sounding news of a God who saves the world from a cross, or a Lord who reigns in serving.  God's own Spirit makes it possible for us to say, "Here's news that we never would have come up with on our own or invented with our own faculties--God has redeemed the world with suffering love that dies for us!"

So yeah, I can't expect my smart phone, my dog, or my houseplant to really understand me--and yet I can dare to believe that we can understand something deep and true about God.  That's not because I'm so smart, but because God chooses to reveal something about God's deepest self through the Spirit.  And that's good news.

Lord God, show us yourself by the gift of your Spirit today.