3rd Sunday after Epiphany: "One"

3rd Sunday after Epiphany: January 27, 2013

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

“One”

1 Corinthians 12:12-31

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

One of the unexpected consequences of being a preacher is that you start to walk around with Scripture passages running through your head. Not just random Bible texts, mind you, but generally the texts for the upcoming week’s sermon. When I was actively memorizing each week’s Gospel text (back when I was not a senior pastor), I also sometimes walked around mouthing Scripture passages to myself. This is not recommended—people tend to look at you funny.

In any case, when you walk around with Bible passages running through your mind, it’s amazing how the world starts to look a little different. Normal, everyday events seem to talk to me, calling out, “Hey, Carrie—look at me! Preach me, preach me!” Things that at first seem to have no connection at all to the Christian story begin to have almost biblical importance. Take, for example, Project Runway.

Project Runway is one of my favorite shows of all time, second only to Top Chef.  I know I should say my favorite television is hard-hitting, political commentary, or re-runs of “Touched by an Angel”, but the truth is—I love reality t.v. I love the competition and the crazy personalities and the predictable format. I especially love the snarky comments from the judges: “As they say in fashion—one day you’re in, the next day—you’re out!”

A new season of Project Runway started this week, but this time, things were not so predictable. As always, the designers are challenged to create beautiful fashion with a small budget and a ridiculously short amount of time. As usual, there will be a winner and a loser each week. But in this eleventh season, there is a twist: The sixteen designers are divided into two teams. They still must design and sew their own creations, and will be judged individually, but now each winner must come from the winning team and the loser must come from the losing team. This means that even if you have the very best design of the week—even if you are brilliant and talented and creative—if the others on your team are not as successful, you cannot win.

It’s probably safe to say that I was probably the only one in the television viewing audience who heard these new rules and immediately thought: “First Corinthians!”

For this was the Scripture passage populating my thoughts as I watched: “But God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member, that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another. If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.” 1 Corinthians 12:24-26

The Apostle Paul wrote this familiar description of what it means to be the church for the Christian community in Corinth long ago, and we have been struggling to live up to it ever since. If it’s hard for churches to be a unified body, honoring diversity while working for a common purpose, then it seems an incredibly bold move for a silly television show. Being yourself, while at the same time caring for the others around you (especially the weaker members) is no small thing to achieve, especially when we are so conditioned to fighting to be on top. Maybe Project Runway predicts more catfights, more drama, and therefore more ratings by trying this First Corinthians-style reality t.v.! Maybe they had a pastor on the creative writing team.

Or maybe, just maybe, there is something else going on in our culture. Maybe we’re tired of the competition, back-biting, and division, and are ready to give this First Corinthians thing a try. Maybe we are ready to recognize, as the Message Version of First Corinthians puts it, that a “body has many parts—limbs, organs, cells—but no matter how many parts you can name, you’re still one body. It’s exactly the same with Christ. By means of his one Spirit, we all said good-bye to our partial and piecemeal lives. We each used to independently call our own shots, but then we entered into a large and integrated life in which he has the final say in everything. (This is what we proclaimed in word and action when we were baptized.) Each of us is now a part of his resurrection body, refreshed and sustained at one fountain—his Spirit—where we all come to drink. The old labels we once used to identify ourselves—labels like Jew or Greek, slave or free—are no longer useful. We need something larger, more comprehensive.”

Maybe…I’m too optimistic.

But there does seem to be a different Spirit, a more excellent way, something larger and more comprehensive, that is struggling to emerge among us.

I saw a glimpse of it when I watched a different sort of reality television on Monday—the presidential inauguration. Amidst the pomp and circumstance, the speeches and the music (both live and lip-synced), I was incredibly moved by the inaugural poem, written by Richard Blanco. It was entitled “One Today”, and it speaks to the beauty of our country, which is immense, diverse, and complex, yet united under one sun and one sky. Once again, echoes of First Corinthians were hard for this preacher to miss. Listen, and maybe you’ll hear them too:
***

"One Today" by Richard Blanco

One sun rose on us today, kindled over our shores,
peeking over the Smokies, greeting the faces
of the Great Lakes, spreading a simple truth
across the Great Plains, then charging across the Rockies.
One light, waking up rooftops, under each one, a story
told by our silent gestures moving behind windows.

My face, your face, millions of faces in morning's mirrors,
each one yawning to life, crescendoing into our day:
pencil-yellow school buses, the rhythm of traffic lights,
fruit stands: apples, limes, and oranges arrayed like rainbows
begging our praise. Silver trucks heavy with oil or paper—
bricks or milk, teeming over highways alongside us,
on our way to clean tables, read ledgers, or save lives—
to teach geometry, or ring-up groceries as my mother did
for twenty years, so I could write this poem.

All of us as vital as the one light we move through,
the same light on blackboards with lessons for the day:
equations to solve, history to question, or atoms imagined,
the "I have a dream" we keep dreaming,
or the impossible vocabulary of sorrow that won't explain
the empty desks of twenty children marked absent
today, and forever. Many prayers, but one light
breathing color into stained glass windows,
life into the faces of bronze statues, warmth
onto the steps of our museums and park benches
as mothers watch children slide into the day.

One ground. Our ground, rooting us to every stalk
of corn, every head of wheat sown by sweat
and hands, hands gleaning coal or planting windmills
in deserts and hilltops that keep us warm, hands
digging trenches, routing pipes and cables, hands
as worn as my father's cutting sugarcane
so my brother and I could have books and shoes.

The dust of farms and deserts, cities and plains
mingled by one wind—our breath. Breathe. Hear it
through the day's gorgeous din of honking cabs,
buses launching down avenues, the symphony
of footsteps, guitars, and screeching subways,
the unexpected song bird on your clothes line.

Hear: squeaky playground swings, trains whistling,
or whispers across café tables, Hear: the doors we open
for each other all day, saying: hello, shalom,
buon giorno, howdy, namaste, or buenos días
in the language my mother taught me—in every language
spoken into one wind carrying our lives
without prejudice, as these words break from my lips.

One sky: since the Appalachians and Sierras claimed
their majesty, and the Mississippi and Colorado worked
their way to the sea. Thank the work of our hands:
weaving steel into bridges, finishing one more report
for the boss on time, stitching another wound
or uniform, the first brush stroke on a portrait,
or the last floor on the Freedom Tower
jutting into a sky that yields to our resilience.

One sky, toward which we sometimes lift our eyes
tired from work: some days guessing at the weather
of our lives, some days giving thanks for a love
that loves you back, sometimes praising a mother
who knew how to give, or forgiving a father
who couldn't give what you wanted.

We head home: through the gloss of rain or weight
of snow, or the plum blush of dusk, but always—home,
always under one sky, our sky. And always one moon
like a silent drum tapping on every rooftop
and every window, of one country—all of us—
facing the stars
hope—a new constellation
waiting for us to map it,
waiting for us to name it—together.

***

Did you hear it? Can you hear the Word of God, fulfilled in Jesus Christ, echoing in this poem, in the world, in nature, in your neighbors? Can you sense the beautiful oneness that God intends for the world, and hopes to see Christians exemplify in and through the church of Jesus Christ?

Our children can.

On Wednesday night, when we gathered for worship in Luther Hall, I asked the congregation (mostly Confirmation students) what this week’s First Corinthians text means to them.

One young lady said, “It’s like our country. We’re made up of lots of states, with all different resources, and we’re better together, because if one state has a hurricane or something, we can all pitch in and help.” Wise words! I might send her to talk to Texas!

Another offered, “It’s like those Christmas lights, where if one goes out, the whole string stops working. We need to take care of all the lights.”

Then I asked: What would it be like if we were missing parts of the body of Christ here at Bethany?
What would it be like if we were missing our most “mature” members—the 80 and up group?

And right away, they called out: COOKIES! And then: Hugs. History. Our memory and traditions. And offerings…these are some of the most generous saints among us.

What if we didn’t have any babies in the church? After all, they make noises during my sermon and wiggle during communion.

And we all agreed: We would be missing joy, and smiles, and our future! Earlier this week I met with a new member couple, Courtney and Phil, and while I enjoyed talking with them, I couldn’t stop staring at Baby Nolan’s amazing cheeks and dimples. He made my entire day.

And what if we were missing the Confirmation students?

First of all, Wednesday night worship would be quieter! Our Wednesday evenings would be easier in general, come to think of it.

But we would miss the questions and the challenges. Confirmation students are the ones who read and interpret Scripture in fresh ways, and who help us find new ways to live out our faith in Jesus Christ in the world. They move us forward.

And then…what about all the middle aged people? If they were gone, what would we be missing?
Someone chimed in right away: the pastor! Ha, ha!

But then, we decided, not much would get done around here. These are the folks who bring the kids to Sunday School, who teach Sunday School, who greet and usher, read and assist, and who serve on Council. These are the men and women who make time for church when they barely have time for sleep, because they want pass the Good News of Jesus Christ to the next generation.

And…what if we didn’t have any new members?


This is pretty clear: the church would become a museum, and eventually would close. And we would be missing all those gifts that new members bring, gifts like: songs we’ve never sung. Voices, accents, and interpretations of Scripture we’ve never heard. Perspectives and life experiences that change the way we understand the Gospel. Talents and time to share.
Sisters and brothers, the world teaches us to claw our way to the top, to fight for attention, and to assert our own point of view as ultimate truth. Our political leaders tell us we have to be on one side or the other, and we should keep talking so no one else gets a chance to speak. Our own fears gnaw at us, and make us believe that the church can only hold so many people, can only accommodate so many differences, or can only meet the needs of so many hurting souls.

But Christ has come to show us a more excellent way. He has freely given to us, insignificant as we are, his own body on the cross, and in doing so has made us into one body in the world. “The way God designed our bodies is a model for understanding our lives together as a church: every part dependent on every other part, the parts we mention and the parts we don’t, the parts we see and the parts we don’t. If one part hurts, every other part is involved in the hurt, and in the healing. If one part flourishes, every other part enters into the exuberance. You are Christ’s body—that’s who you are! You must never forget this.” Amen.