A Batman Community--November 9, 2022

A Batman Community--November 9, 2022

"Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it.  And God has appointed in the church first apostles, second prophets, third teachers; then deeds of power, then gifts of healing, forms of assistance, forms of leadership, various kinds of tongues." [1 Corinthians 12:27-28]

I've pretty much always been a Batman fan.  Even as a kid, even before the Caped Crusader was up on the silver screen in one gritty reboot after another, I've always thought Batman made for the most compelling superhero, even compared to the other big names like Superman, Wonder Woman, or the Flash.  Batman always captivated my attention, even though he's one of those rare comic book heroes who doesn't have any superpowers at all.  Or maybe, it's exactly because he doesn't have them.  Batman doesn't come from an alien planet or have super-speed, and he isn't from a mythical race of metahumans, either.  He's not a mutant, a demigod, or a cyborg.  He's a basically ordinary human being in a costume--a very cool-looking costume, with plenty of equally cool-looking gadgets, mind you, but still a human being, not terribly different from you or me in a lot of ways.

I mention my fascination with Batman on this particular occasion because I find it striking that the list of special roles and gifts Paul lists here in First Corinthians is also surprisingly... unremarkable.  The gifts and callings he mentions among the members of the "body of Christ" are, in large part, ordinary.  That is to say, they are not superpowers--they are very, very human.  In fact, the top three roles Paul mentions--apostles, prophets, and teachers--are basically jobs centered on talking.  The word "apostle" really just means "sent person," as in, "someone who is sent to bring a message."  Over time it came to be thought of as a title or formal office held by the original followers of Jesus who had witnessed his resurrection, but these were basically people who had been commissioned by the risen Christ to go and tell the story of Jesus.  Similarly, the role of "prophet" in the New Testament sense isn't so much about predicting the future as it is about speaking a message--whether it was preaching to a congregation, witnessing in public to share the Good News about Jesus, or speaking truth to power in the face of the Empire.  And pretty clearly "teachers" are also speakers--people who instruct and model for others a way of life shaped by the Gospel.  Those are all vitally important, as Paul tells it, but none of them require superpowers, magical rings or hammers, or radioactive spider bites.  The same with "forms of assistance" and "forms of leadership"--those don't arise from mutant powers, bolts of lightning, or inter-dimensional alien technology.  They look like servant-leadership, and a willingness to lend a hand or share resources.  They look like the capacity to inspire and challenge people, and to hold out a vision for people to step into.  Paul is right that they are all essential parts of the whole body we call "church," but they are surprisingly down-to-earth.  They are the Batman kind of roles, not Superman spectacle.  They might not dazzle, but they do deepen our discipleship. To be sure, Paul's list includes more miraculous-sounding things like "gifts of healing" or possibly "various kinds of tongues," but they aren't at the top of his rankings.  Paul envisions a community of disciples that doesn't have to put on a show or pull off a stunt to embody Christ in the world; rather, we are people who use ordinary things like words to shape a community in Christ's likeness.  

In a time like ours that is oversaturated with superhero storytelling, and that tends to assume that what really matters is power, money, status, and a large dose of armed force, Paul sees the church as a surprising alternative in the world--surprising in particular because we rely on such humble things as words to change the world.  Nowhere in Paul's letters do we find a call for Christians to push our agenda with force or weaponry.  Nowhere does the New Testament demand we need a certain amount of money or status to fulfill our mission.  And not once do the Scriptures insist that we mesmerize the world with supernatural feats.  Rather, we have been entrusted, from beginning to end, with the Gospel--with a message and a way of life that can be passed along, shared, and spread with the mere use of human language.  We tell the story of Jesus.  We speak the love that has captivated us.  We communicate, rather than dominate.  And yet the apostle Paul himself is convinced that these are precisely the tools we need for the work entrusted to us.

The Church is a Batman kind of community, it turns out--we do not need exotic alien origin stories or attention-getting powers, but the gifts that come with our own humanity.  Even mere words.

That means you, who are capable in some way of sharing the Good News with people around you, are equipped for the mission, too.  Speak it.  Tell it.  Write it.  Sing it.  Share it.  You don't have to go to Krypton or Asgard to get some magical power.  You've got the gifts already from God.

Lord God, open our eyes to see the gifts you have given us for your work right in our hands already, so that we can use our ordinariness for the sake of the world you so extraordinarily love.

Common Wounds, Common Good--November 8, 2022

Common Wounds, Common Good--November 8, 2022

"If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it." [1 Corinthians 12:26]

Look, I'm not gonna lie to you--we deal with a lot of "owwies" in our household.

You know, boo-boos, bumps, bruises, scrapes, rug-burn, road-rash, and a mess of other small injuries. [Yes, I am a part of that high tally of injuries, just due to my own clumsiness, but we do have two elementary-school-aged kids who are always running, jumping, rolling, biking, climbing, and pogo-sticking on things. So that means we have to keep a pretty sizable stock of stick-on bandages--with characters ranging from The Mandalorian to "Forky" from Toy Story to Disney's Frozen--at all times.]

We are also in the phase (my goodness, I hope it is just a phase) where it is tempting for said children to treat these cartoon-covered adhesive bandages as fashion accessories. That means I have to be pretty vigilant with my daughter to make sure that she doesn't put on three or four band-aids all over her body for a single scrape on her knee. And I have to make sure my son doesn't try and go through our whole box opening bandages until he gets a character that is "cool" rather than "baby-ish". This is an ongoing issue we are working on in our house.

But the refrain that I keep telling my kids over and over again, whether it's a skinned-knee or a scratched elbow, is this: the bandage is for the part that is hurting. Makes sense, right? Seems obvious, right? Whatever the means of daddy-administered first aid might be, from Baby Yoda [I know that's not his name--it's Grogu] band-aids to ice packs to just taking a moment to acknolwedge, "I bet that hurts, doesn't it?  I'm so sorry you got hurt," you apply care to the part that's injured, and that makes the whole body feel better soon enough. That's not just a matter of trying not to go broke to pay for bandages, but it's really just basic biology: you don't need to put the bandage on the part that isn't injured, because the bandage isn't meant to be a prize or a fashion accessory, but a help for what hurts.

My kids have to learn that still, but grown-ups should get it: putting a band-aid on the scraped knee isn't meant to be a slight or disrespect to your elbow or your earlobe. It's just that the hurt is on the knee, and so that's where the attention goes for the moment. As long as your earlobe and elbow aren't also bleeding (and if they are, how did THAT happen?), you just need the one bandage, and you put it where the cut is. That's just how we are made.

Paul sees that, too. That's part of why the apostle found the imagery of the human body to be such a handy way of thinking about our life together in community. And the metaphor has a couple of important points to it: first off, we are all connected to each other. To be a Christian is to be in community; it is a contradiction in terms to imagine that you can be a follower of Jesus without being drawn into relationship with others. There may be many in your circle, or just a few; you may relate to them face-to-face, or, as so many of us learned to do during the worst of the pandemic, you may be connected through remote means like phone, letters, or the internet. But we are all inseparably connected to each other.

And as Paul sees it, that means that when one part of the body hurts, we all hurt. Just like in my body--when my daughter comes to me in tears because she's taken a tumble off her scooter, she is usually a hot mess of tears, and it takes a little while to see what part of her body is hurting, because in that moment, it's all hurting. In Christian community, we don't have the option of ignoring someone else's suffering because, "Hey, it's not my fault, and it's not my problem." We belong to each other, and so when someone else tells me they are hurting, I don't get to say, "Well, I'm not in any pain, so you must be fine." Just the opposite--we are called to show up and share the pains of others, because we are all part of something bigger than any one of us individually. And so just because things are feeling fine to me doesn't mean that someone else in the body of which I am a part isn't also suffering.

That's an important learning for me, day by day: you know what? It just isn't all about "me." If I am comfortable and unbothered, good for me--but if someone else tells me they are suffering, I don't get to ignore that because it doesn't affect me directly. And I don't have to make a big deal needing to get attention for myself when someone else gets the attention they need for what they are suffering. The band-aid--Star Wars logo or otherwise--goes on the part that is hurting; the rest of the body doesn't need to be covered in them.

And that leads to the second learning to get from this community-as-body metaphor. When you help the part that is hurting specifically, the whole body starts to feel better. When I have a headache, a couple of ibuprofen will help relieve the pain there... and before long I notice my temper isn't so touchy, and my whole demeanor improves. When you've got a knee or hip that's hurting, you get the help needed for that part of the body, and watch how your posture improves, your energy levels rise, and probably your amount of exercise increase because it won't hurt so much anymore to move the joint.

And it is the same in our life in community, too. In the course of my work, I may go to the hospital to see someone who is sick, and everyone else in the congregation understands that's where I need to spend my time. I don't get messages on the church machine from perfectly healthy folks saying, "I hear you visited Mr. Smith today before his surgery--well, what about me?" People know that you spend the time and energy where the hurt is. And when someone from the congregation makes a pot of soup and brings Tupperware containers of it to the church members who are either alone or not as able to cook for themselves, they don't get berated by other church-folks who are perfectly able to cook their own soup demanding a bowl of beef vegetable, too. This is so obvious that it doesn't need to be explained in ordinary church life, or in your family, or among your neighbors.  We share common wounds, and we seek a common good.  That's just how life is.

So maybe we just need to take a moment to make the connections to other parts of our lives, too. Because other community-as-body connections are everywhere. And the same underlying idea applies: you put the bandage where the hurt is, and that makes the whole body more fully alive. It's obvious in so many places in our everyday lives:  Of course EMTs only go to the addresses of the 911 calls, rather than stopping to check on the neighbors across the street who are doing just fine. Of course the ones who need the shelter for the night are homeless people—the people with king-size beds and stainless steel refrigerators don’t need to stay in a church Sunday School room for the night. And of course firefighters are spending their time at the houses that are on fire—everybody’s house matters, but the ones that are burning are the ones that need the hose and ladder trucks.  And if they are hurting, then that's where the band-aid goes. You put the bandage where the wound is, so that the whole body can be brought fully to life and health again. The uninjured elbow doesn't need it, but the skinned knee does. It's not divisive to only put a band-aid where the cut is--that's exactly how you make the whole body feel well again.  Sometimes we just have a hard time recognizing that we are all made whole by helping the parts that are hurting the most, rather than each one of us fighting for "my share" of the benefits.  

That seems especially important to remember on a day like today, when many are going to polls and voting in mid-term elections.  And look, it's not my job to tell anybody what party or which candidates to vote for.  I will not pretend that I have any sway or influence on anybody but myself anyhow.  And I'll fully admit that I have been constantly disappointed and let down by every candidate I have ever voted for, in both parties, over the years.  I'm not here to rally for a party--but I am convinced that I have to ask a certain set of questions that I think are vital for all of us to ask on this day.  I can't outrun the question brought to us by today's verse from First Corinthians:  Who are the folks who are hurting, and how can I share their sorrows and burdens--even if they are not my own, personally--so that together, we may be made whole and well?  Where are wounds in our collective body, and how can we attend to healing them... so that all may be made well?  Because if all I can ever think of is, "What's in it for me?" or "What gets the most for Me and My Group?" then I am ignoring the unavoidable truth that we are all bound up together in this life, and that we share both common wounds and a common good.  Asking that question doesn't necessarily give me easy, pat answers for who to cast a ballot for, but it does reframe the question away from mere self-interest to a Christ-like way of using my privilege of voting to seek the good of all, rather than just myself.  It does compel me to see that you direct the relief to the parts that need it the most, because we are all one body, and helping attend to the wounded place will make the whole body well again.

If my kids can learn than about actual band-aids, so that they only apply first aid to the parts of their bodies that actually have been injured, maybe I can work on learning to do the same in the rest of my life. Maybe I can start every day looking for who around me in this vast community called the body of Christ is hurting, and even if I'm not affected by the things that are hurting them, maybe I am being called to stand with them... to listen to them and trust what they have to say... and to help apply the bandage where the wound is, so that all of us may be made fully alive.

Maybe then we will discover grace at the places we heal each other, and, like the old Persian poet said, that the wound is where the light enters.

Lord God, open my eyes to the pain of others, even if it is not my own, so that in healing others, we may all be made whole.

Breaking the Law of the Jungle--November 7, 2022

Breaking the Law of the Jungle--November 7, 2022

"On the contrary, the members of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and those members of the body that we think less honorable we clothe with greater honor, and our less respectable members are treated with greater respect; whereas our more respectable members do not need this.  But God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member, that there may be no dissension in the body, but the members may have the same care for one another." [1 Corinthians 12:22-25]

Here's more of that gospel foolishness--and I am here for it.

I don't know about you, but I keep finding myself surprised and delighted by the moves Paul makes in this letter.  Way, way back in the opening chapter, he had talked about how the news of the gospel sounds like nonsense and scandal to the watching world, but how the followers of Jesus can recognize in it the real power of God.  And over the course of this letter we've seen several instances where Paul took the world's usual expectations, especially about power and self-interest, and showed how the gospel turns them upside-down.  Over and over the community of Jesus is called to be something different, something inside-out, compared to the empire's Me-and-My-Group-First thinking.  We refuse to demand "our rights" at the expense of those who are struggling or fragile in faith.  We choose to bear the possibility of being wronged rather than fighting for our own self-interest.  We wait for the last, make room for the excluded, and show special concern for those regarded as of "least" importance.  It is absolutely radical, if you think about it, and it all flows from belief in a God who is specifically concerned with raising up the lowly and attending to the vulnerable.  In other words, it makes perfect sense in light of the God we have come to know in Jesus, the Crucified One.

But it also runs completely counter to the kind of thinking the world takes as "common sense."  The world's kind of crooked logic goes by all sorts of names: call it "the law of the jungle," "the principle of the survival of the fittest," or whatever else, but it's all just repackaging the notion that might makes right, that the strongest and most powerful get positions of prestige and privilege, and that the weakest die off or get eaten.  "It's every man for himself," they say, along with the old cliche, "It's a dog-eat-dog world out there."  And it is utterly easy to find ourselves just nodding along and agreeing, arranging our lives to get as much as we can for ourselves and to decide that whoever is left out or empty-handed just doesn't have what it takes to get ahead in the world.  I've heard that same tired old thinking every day of my life from one voice or another, and I'll bet you have, too.

And that's why it just floors me to see Paul pushing against the current here and saying just the opposite for the community of Jesus--and really for all of humanity as God has meant for us to live.  Paul notes that in our literal physical bodies, the things we often think of as weak or useless turn out, quite often, to be indispensable.  Your brain, after all, doesn't "look" like it does anything to the naked eye, but clearly it's running the show inside our bodies.  Internal organs like the pancreas or liver might look like they're just sitting there taking up space inside our guts, but they each perform vital tasks we couldn't survive without.  And similarly, Paul says, the parts of our bodies we generally think of as "less honorable" [think bathroom functions here, among other things] are the parts we make sure are clothed and not exposed to public gaze or the elements, while the parts of our bodies that are more "respectable" can go around uncovered and bare.  It's a creative reading of the way our bodies and sense of modesty work, but the point is to say that even in our bodies, we don't play by the rules of "the survival of the fittest."  Rather, because our bodies are whole entities, each part supports the rest, and there is always greater care given to what seems weakest, least important, or most vulnerable.  It is a deliberate breaking of the "Law of the Jungle," which turns out to have been entirely made-up in the first place by people looking to justify their desire to conquer and take.

But think about what Paul is saying here: by connecting this concern for the lowly and marginalized to the workings of our bodies, Paul is saying that we are actually designed to function as living beings by means of caring most for the most in need and showing special honor and protection for those who are seen as least honorable.  Paul says that God's intention in creating us, even down to the arrangement of these bodies of ours, is not mere "survival of the fittest" or "might makes right," but rather the care of the whole by lifting up the lowly, for no other reason than that they are lowly.  It is exactly the same kind of reordering of the world that Mary sang about in her Magnificat and that Jesus announced in the Beatitudes, but taken even further.  Paul says that God has woven this special focus on the last, the least, and the left-out into our own physiology, almost as a tell-tale sign that the Creator of the universe has a thing for underdogs and outcasts.  It just stands to reason, then, that the people of this God will seek to arrange our lives in the same way--specially looking out for those who are deemed weakest and least honorable, rather than dominating or overpowering them because we can.  So in our life together as the Christian community [or, as Paul will keep saying, "the body of Christ,"] we are particularly called to attend to the needs of those who are put in the most vulnerable situations, rather than looking to prop up our own bottom line.  We are called to give away the bonuses, blessings, and abundance lavished on us rather than to hoard them.  And we are called to look for ways specifically to lift up those who are most stepped-on.  Paul says our own bodies are telling us the same, if only we pay attention.

How would it rearrange our actions, priorities, and choices today to dare to live in tune with our bodies that way today?  How can we specially seek the good of the ones around us who are treated as least, lost, or left-out, because at last we realize that their well-being is our well-being?

That's the challenge for today.  And I am here for it.

Lord God, rearrange our priorities today to align with the way you have arranged these bodies of ours--so that we give special care to what is deemed weak or unimportant, as you grace us with love and care in our weakness too.

The Courage to Celebrate--November 4, 2022

The Courage to Celebrate--November 4, 2022

"If all were a single member, where would the body be?  As it is, there are many members, yet one body.  The eye cannot say to the hand, 'I have no need of you,' nor again the head to the feet, 'I have no need of you'." [1 Corinthians 12:19-21]

As hard as it can be to acknowledge that we ourselves have value and gifts that are worthy of being welcomed--and it can be--it can be even harder to admit that we have needs which can only be met by the gifts that others offer, too.

Yesterday, we looked at the first of those two: we saw how Paul reminded the folks in Corinth that their gifts were important and valuable, even if they didn't seem to measure up when compared with someone else's gifts.  And yeah, it is so easy to start comparing ourselves to others and then to be disheartened when our abilities, talents, and gifts are different from someone else's.  We do have a way of assuming "different" means "inferior," after all.

But it can be even more challenging for us to admit we need others and their gifts, because that also means admitting our need in the first place.  And none of us like doing that.  To make matters worse, a lot of conventional wisdom says it looks "weak" to admit your needs; we are taught to hide our needs, deny we have any weak places, and instead point out the failures, flaws, or struggles of others to keep attention off of our own Achilles' heels.  It is just plain hard to say to someone else, "You have a talent or a gift that I don't--your ability makes me more complete."  It's hard to say, "We need your time, passion, and skill here--we can't do it without you."  And sometimes, it is just tempting to tell others, "We don't need you," rather than face our own shortcomings.

Again, so much of what makes it difficult is when we think we are in a competition.  It is hard to admit that someone else excels in an area I struggle with if I think there will be a winner declared... and a loser to be sent home sulking.  It is difficult to acknowledge that others are particularly talented if I am insecure about my own gifts, because I'm afraid that I'm not worthy on my own.  But what Paul does here is to break the power of that insecurity--if we dare to believe him, and to remind one another of what he has to say.  He reminds us that we do need others, and that it is not a sign of weakness to say that out loud, but rather a sign of honesty and strength--and therefore, of courage.  It is a brave thing to be able to say, "I can't do this on my own, but I need the help and strength you contribute."  It is a courageous thing to stop pretending any of us is self-sufficient or invincible, and instead to accept that we have needs that others can meet. Once I'm no longer afraid of saying that, I can honor and welcome your gifts, because I'm no longer ruled by fear of not measuring up.  Once we are done with treating the life of faith like a competition, we can joyfully welcome and honor the gifts others bring, rather than needing to put others down for lacking the particular strengths you might have.

Too many folks have heard exactly what Paul insisted we cannot say to one another:  "I have no need of you." Too many people have been told their gifts do not matter, their talents are not wanted, or their contributions do not have a place among the people of God.  And it is an utter shame when that happens.  But it doesn't have to be that way.  The only thing keeping those with Spirit-given gifts from using them to benefit all is our willingness to get out of the way and to quit blocking them.  When we are no longer insecure about the gifts of others, or how we measure up, we can celebrate the gifts the Spirit has chosen to give them and let them be fully tapped for serving God's people.  All it takes is our willingness to be brave enough let them.

If you have ever been in that place, of being told your gifts were not needed, or that your contribution was not wanted among the people of God, I'm sorry.  I'm sorry it happened, and I'm sorry it still happens.  I'm sorry when I have been the one shutting the door, too, whether I realized I was doing it at the time or not [I can be very dense].  But sorries don't have to be the last word, either.  Paul calls us to that new courage, the courage to welcome and celebrate the gifts others bring, even if those gifts reveal needs or lacks in my own set of skills and talents.  Today, let us be so brave.  Find someone today to tell, "We need exactly the gifts you bring," and make the room for their gift to be shared and honored.

Lord God, make us brave enough to honor the gifts you have placed in others, even when they are not like our own.

Against Impostor Syndrome--November 3, 2022

Against Impostor Syndrome--November 3, 2022

"Indeed, the body does not consist of one member but of many.  If the foot would say, 'Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,' that would not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear would say, 'Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body,' that would not make it any less a part of the body.  If the whole body were an eye, where would the hearing be? If the whole body were hearing, where would the sense of smell be? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose." [1 Corinthians 12:14-18]

You belong because God says so, not because you say so.

Think about that--it's kind of humbling and empowering at the same time.  Each of us belongs in the community we call the body of Christ, not on the grounds that we each see our purpose and recognize our contributions to the whole, but because God see our worthiness and chooses to include us.  

Presumably, that also means I can't lose my belonging just because I go through a season of struggle, or face a time of depression, or wrestle with burning out or feeling useless.  Because my place in the body was never really up to me or my achieving it, and it certainly doesn't depend on how I compare to somebody else. It has always been God who says I belong, and who says the same of you.

So much of the world we inhabit operates like everything is a competition--like there are only so many spots on God's "team," and if you don't make the cut you're out.  So much of the way we operate in the "grown-up" realms of business and marketplace, of politics and power, and of academic achievement assumes that if you don't measure up to someone else by some particular metric, you don't have value.  The more we hear that, the more we end up believing it, until the echo chamber convinces us that we are impostors just waiting to be found out. But from Paul's vantage point, it was never up to someone else, and it was never even up to you to decide if you "think" or "feel" like you are worthy of belonging to the people of God.  

Part of the problem, of course, as Paul points out, is we so easily use one set of criteria to determine who belongs.  When ears start using "vision" as the criterion for worthiness, of course, they are going to fall far short of the eyes.  When feet assume that the determining factor for worthiness is having opposable thumbs, they will never measure up.  But maybe that's just it--when we use someone else's gift and turn it into a standard by which to judge ourselves, we will always find ourselves disappointed and dejected. Mozart was an amazing composer--but I'll bet his skill at laying brick was less than mediocre.  Einstein revolutionized physics in the 20th century, but I'd wager he couldn't perform a triple-lutz in a figure skating program on the ice.  Your grandmother might well have known how to write in shorthand or make a pie crust from scratch without a written recipe, but she is likely to have some trouble installing new software on her computer or configuring a wireless router for her internet connection.  You will not be a virtuoso in some area, but you'll have skills and excellence in others.  It's a losing game to try and measure up to someone else's gifts when you have different ones, and yet we keep telling ourselves we have to play it.  But we don't.

Today, maybe it's enough to stop playing the old games like that.  Today maybe it's enough of a revolt against impostor syndrome to hear these words from Paul that tell us our worthiness does not depend on how we measure up.  Today, just let the words hit you and sink in: your belonging in the body of Christ isn't up to you--it isn't up to your own self-evaluation or how you compare to someone else.  It is up to the God who first chose you to belong and calls you forever beloved.  

What we can do in this day is to believe what God says about us.

Lord God, help us to believe in the belonging you have given us by your choosing, and to trust your promise that we do not have to compare ourselves to anyone else to be worthy of a place.

Sharing the Water--November 2, 2022

Sharing the Water--November 2, 2022

"For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body--Jews or Greeks, slaves or free--and we were all made to drink of one Spirit." [1 Corinthians 12:13]

Sometimes revolutionary events of grace happen with a subtlety that hides their magnitude.  Sometimes the world changes, and sometimes for good, with quiet clarity rather than bombastic noise.  But don't mistake the unassuming humility of those moments for unimportance--sometimes they bring about seismic shifts underground.

One of those moments, for example, unfolded on a public television show for kids in 1969, when Fred Rogers famously invited his TV neighbor "Officer Clemmons" [played by Francois Clemmons on the show from 1968 on] to cool his feet on a hot day in a kiddie pool together with him.  I can remember seeing that episode, years later of course, in re-runs on our local PBS station, and thinking it was perfectly ordinary and forgettable.  It was hardly entertainment, after all, just watching two grown men roll up their pant-legs and stick their bare feet in a few inches of water and then dry them off with a shared towel.  At first blush to me, that hardly seemed like anything eventful.  And of course, Mr. Rogers had that famously calm demeanor that seemed to lower the collective blood pressure of a generation when they heard his voice.  This child of the 80s didn't realize what a radical thing our neighbor with the sweater vest was doing in that moment on television.  I didn't realize until I was much older what a provocative stand Fred Rogers was taking there, nor what a powerful statement he was making by sharing the water with a Black man--and doing so without making any fuss about or treating it as a scandal. In a time when many public pools were still segregated [in defiance of the official law of the land with the 1964 Civil Rights Act] and there was plenty of unofficial opposition and unspoken bigotry about Black and White people sharing public spaces with equal treatment and status, Fred Rogers just acted as if none of that mattered at all, and he went ahead and asked Officer Clemmons to join him in the pool, and to share his towel.  And Francois Clemmons, for his part, responded with graciousness as well, only pausing to note, "I didn't bring a towel," rather than asking fearfully, "But what will people think?"  It was a moment of powerful impact exactly because both Rogers and Clemmons acted like there was absolutely no reason they shouldn't both share that towel or wading pool for their feet.  And by playing this out in front of children, they were sending a powerful message precisely by the lack of drama in it--this was not something to rile children up, but rather it was exactly the casual tone that sent the unspoken message, "This is normal. This is okay. In fact, this is good."  And of course, that was the whole point--by having this play out subtly and nonchalantly, the hope was that children watching would also see racial integration as normal, acceptable, and good, rather than something to be afraid of or upset over.  And as a teachable moment, that made it brilliant... and radical.

In a lot of ways, reading the apostle Paul is a lot like being the 80s kid watching Mr. Rogers and Officer Clemmons in the kiddie pool.  We might realize at first blush just how radical Paul's perspective is here, both because of how far removed we are culturally from his world, and also because of just how nonchalantly Paul makes his move here.  We saw yesterday how Paul introduced the imagery of the members of the body, and how each of us individually is a part of a larger whole in the community of Christ.  But it's still easy to take that "body" metaphor and make it into an image of uniformity, that we all have to be identical in a body, like all the cells in a liver are liver cells, or all the cells in a bone are bone cells.  It would have been easy to use that metaphor as an argument for homogeneity in the church--that we should all look, act, speak, and think the same.  And indeed, there were certainly voices in the early church insisting that Christianity was supposed to be ethnically "the same"--they wanted to insist on Jewish custom, practice, and culture as mandatory for all Christians, rather than allowing Gentiles to belong as Gentiles.  And for that matter, those Greek-encultured Christians were likely to think of themselves as superior to Jewish and other non-Greek Christians because they looked down on other cultures as "barbarian" and "uncivilized."  Paul writes this letter within a few years of a pretty significant debate within the early church over whether Gentile Christians would be accepted as Gentiles, and after having to call Saint Peter himself out for practicing a sort of anti-Gentile segregation when certain folks were around. 

So for Paul to say, not only "we were all baptized into one body," but to push further and say explicitly that includes "Jews or Greeks, slaves or free" was a deliberate and provocative choice.  And then to double down on that same inclusion by saying, "we were all made to drink of one Spirit" when eating and drinking out of the same vessel was a HUGE social taboo and breaking of rules for the anti-Gentile contingent, well, that was just radical.  But notice how Paul makes his point--he pulls a Fred Rogers.  He just casually mentions that the Spirit has chosen to include both Jewish and Gentile people, the "cultured" Greeks and the "barbarian" outsiders, the lowly enslaved and the higher-status free people, all in one community--and then he describes us as drinking out of the same cup. It's Officer Clemmons in the kiddie pool all over again: it's revolutionary exactly because it is presented so nonchalantly.  It's Paul taking a clear [and yes, still provocative when he wrote it] stand on the issue of including Gentiles without making them pretend they were not Gentile, but doing it with such casual ease that he is saying between the lines, "This is normal.  This is ok.  In fact, this is not just acceptable: this is good."

For Christians who have grown up reading Paul's letters now for almost two millennia, the question of including Gentiles was a non-issue for us.  We have learned from Paul's teaching--not just by what he said, but by the way he said it--that Gentile Christians are to be accepted without being treated as second-class disciples, or being segregated, or being told they need to "try stop being Gentile."  In fact, now the overwhelming majority of Christians in the world trace their ancestry from families and backgrounds outside of Judaism.  That has happened, in large part, because of voices like Paul's who said that including Gentiles was good--and then acting in ways that normalized it.

Sometimes I think we forget how scandalous it was in Paul's day to take the stand he did, and just how artful he was in normalizing the inclusion of the ones deemed unacceptable or second-class by treating the issue as obvious and clear [because to him it was].  And maybe we miss how radical his actions were because he found a way to be subtle and nonchalant about them--in the hopes that all who saw and heard would get the clear message, "Including the Gentiles is not up for debate, and it is not an open question to me--they are included, as they are, and we will treat them with the grace and dignity owed to people who have every right to be here with us at Christ's table."  After all, they had already drunk of the same Spirit--they were already sharing the water, like Fred Rogers and Officer Clemmons.

If we can see just what a genius move Paul makes here, then maybe we will see the tremendous power we have as well in the same kind of small and quiet actions that come from a place of clarity and confidence.  It was because Paul was clear--God has done a new thing and deliberately created a new kind of community where people who used to be deemed unacceptable "outsiders" were now sharing tables with "insiders"--that he could speak and act in ways that let that truth come to the surface.  And by presenting the inclusion of those formerly marginalized people as not only "normal" but actively, positively "good," Paul both took a stand and made it easier for the next generation to do the same.  Fred Rogers made a point of casually sharing a towel for his feet with Officer Clemmons to model for kids watching at home that this wasn't the big deal their racist uncles all thought it was, in the hopes that those kids would grow up and embody a world where Black people were no longer kept out of spaces deemed "White." And while that cause is absolutely still a work-in-progress, part of what taught at least some of a generation of kids to break with the old norms of segregation was seeing people like Mr. Rogers address it so matter-of-factly like it wasn't controversial at all.  By treating it as a non-issue, he modeled for us that we shouldn't make someone's skin color a reason to marginalize them.  We may still struggle with doing that well or consistently [okay, we do still struggle with it] but it was examples like Rogers that pointed us on the right trajectory and made it clear we weren't supposed to see ourselves as "heroes" by sharing our towels or pools--it was just baseline common decency.

So today, we have great power to foster the gospel's revolutionary re-ordering of things--where outsiders are welcomed in, the last are first, and the lowly are lifted up--not by angry shouting, but by the ways we normalize the love that brings us all together and reveals our equality.  When we include people who have often been left out, and do so without pointing back at ourselves like we are heroic for doing it but rather like it is just obviously the way to act, we are normalizing their acceptance.  When we deliberately listen to people whose experience of God is different from our own rather than immediately trying to make them fit our molds, we are acknowledging, like Paul, that people from very different backgrounds and perspectives have been made to drink from the same Spirit.  And when we intentionally [but still subtly] make the choice to welcome folks too long treated as unworthy or unwelcome, we are carrying on Paul's noble [and brilliant] work of normalizing love.  That's how revolutionary change happens and takes root--not with the noise and bluster of a rally or a riot, but with the grace and clarity of sharing the water.

May we embody such Spirit-inspired change among us today.

Lord Jesus, enable us to love in ways that don't look heroic, but take place in the ordinary.

Because You Are Not An Amoeba--November 1, 2022

Because You Are Not An Amoeba--November 1, 2022

"For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ." [1 Corinthians 12:12]

It's an adjustment in this life, isn't it, when you come to realize that your life isn't really just "yours"?  It's hard moving from that youthful sense of invincibility that dares risky and foolish things with the justification that "I'm the only one who will have to deal with the consequences if I get hurt--which I'm sure won't happen," to realizing that my choices never just affect me alone, because I am always inescapably a part of something bigger than myself.  

Sometimes it comes in life when we get our first "real" jobs and see how much others depend on us being present, focused, and able to do our tasks.  Sometimes it comes from being married and seeing that your choices send ripples through the lives of others who have vowed to share the effects of those choices with you, for better or for worse.  Sometimes it's the presence of children in your life that makes you see how your habits affect their habits, and your example becomes their first templates for how to "do" life.  Sometimes it's when we come to care for aging adults in our lives, especially if it means the tables of caregiving have turned, and we realize how much our time, ability, energy, and patience belongs to others--just as theirs belonged to us when we needed them to tie our shoes, make our lunches, or sit with us when we were sick.

So often those moments of recognition that we are bound up with each other happen in family relationships, but to hear Paul the apostle tell it, it's not just in biological family groups or nuclear households that we share those connections.  Our belonging to one another isn't the exception--it's the rule.  We are always more than just lone individuals, without any responsibility to one another.  And we are always the recipients of the benefits that come from being connected to others who give us their time, love, energy, and ability.  It is always a dance, this giving and receiving, like breathing out and breathing in, so that we are forever the givers of grace and the graced, always both loving and beloved.  

I think that's what makes the metaphor of being a body as the Christian community so apt, and so powerful.  Each of our bodies operates together, with organs and appendages performing functions that benefit the whole, regardless of stopping to inquire "What's in it for me?"  We'll get more of the way this extended analogy works in Paul's mind in the coming days, as you may already know, but for now it's worth just sitting for a moment with the fundamental shift that the image represents:  we are not lone believers, whose faith and life and choices are "just between me and Jesus."  In fact, we are not primarily isolated individuals, but parts of a whole, much as the separate cells in my skin or heart do not function alone, but always as part of a larger organism.  And the fact that my heart cells do their work of contracting and releasing [as they are directed to by the electrical impulses that get sent to them by a different set of cells in a different system of the body] for the sake of the need in my kidneys, toes, ears, and fingertips is a powerful reminder for us about the purpose of our existence both as humans and as Christians.  None of us lives for "just me," or even "Me and My Group," any more than a brain cell exists just for its own survival or just for the brain.  We exist with each other, and for each other--always.

In a culture with so many voices teaching us to ask, "Why should I help somebody else out--it's not MY problem?" or "Why would I take THOSE people into consideration when I make my own choices?" Paul is really doing something subversive: he is daring us to see that we are not lone amoebae in a petri dish, grabbing whatever we can for ourselves as our sole purpose, but rather we are permanently parts of a bigger reality, and our thriving is caught up in the thriving of all. Just as Desmond Tutu says, "My humanity is caught up, is inextricably bound up, with what is yours.... Far too often people think of themselves as just individuals, separated from one another, whereas you are connected and what you do affects the whole world. When you do well, it spreads out; it is for the whole of humanity.”

Look, I know that it is not ours to silence those loud voices that insist on selfishness as a virtue and pretend it is possible to live your life without causing ripple effects on the whole sea of humanity.  Nor can we expect those who don't share our faith in Christ to automatically agree with Paul's view of being parts of a body rather than isolated individuals.  But we can at least keep each other honest, especially when it is tempting to baptize that "It's not my problem, so I don't have to care" thinking or pretend it is just the way the world works.  We can remind each other that we belong as members of a body, which means that we will always take into consideration how "my" choices affect someone else, how "my" gifts and abilities might meet someone else's need, and how "my" need might be met by the gifts that someone else offers.  And maybe then part of our witness to the rest of the watching world is the ways we can be honest and humble enough to admit our needs for the help of others, as well as our willingness to give what we can offer for the benefit of others, too, because we can tell the truth about ourselves: we are members of a body, not self-sufficient cells.

Today, whatever you face, you do not face it alone.  And today, whatever strengths or good you have, you do not have them just for yourself.  It turns out both of those are the good news of being in a body.

Lord God, give us the courage to be honest with ourselves about how we belong to one another.