As Two-Faced as Paul

“For though I am free with respect to all, I have made myself a slave to all…” (1 Cor. 9:19)

This is a powerful and tricky thing Paul is saying here. He declares his subservience, but this service is a gift of tutelage – in the logic of the gospel, Paul inverts the servant-master relationship, dissolving the domination factor, and mixing up who’s in charge, who is giving the orders, who has something to give the other.

But Paul is also declaring that he changes or adjusts himself to meet (at least some of) the expectations of those he speaks to. Sometimes radically. Paul goes on to give examples: to the Jew he became a Jew, to the Gentile a Gentile, to one “under the law” as under the law (though, he points out, he isn’t under the law), to one “outside the law” as outside the law (though, he points out, he is under God’s law). Paul’s examples are seemingly contradictory!

Not only is Paul open to the charge of being two-faced, but in fundamental ways, in ways that are foundational for other people’s identities and faith. He could have said: “To those under the law, I became as under the law (though I am not), and to those not under the law, I was just myself (since I’m not under the law, too).” But no. Paul goes to some trouble to point out that he does not “fit” in either exclusive category.

Paul is saying something terribly important about what it means to be a witness to the gospel of Christ: all other “identifications” or classifications fall by the wayside and are unimportant. And to drive the point home, he lifts up supposed “core values.” It is as if he said, in our day: “to the Believer I was as a Believer (though I am not a Believer); to the atheist I was as an atheist (though I am not an atheist). To the rich I was as if I were rich (though I am not); to the poor as though I were poor (though I am not). To the Conservative I was as if I were Conservative (though I am not); to the Progressive as if I were Progressive (though I am not that either).”

This is terribly uncomfortable for most of us – first of all that Paul could be so profoundly flexible in his self-identification as to meet all these different people on their own terms, as if he were one of them. But also because, if we are one “kind” of person, having Paul at once declare himself not one of us, and paling around with the other kind of person just a chummily as with us, we tend to get a little ticked off. Our friends are supposed to be our friends, on our side. Sure, they can be nice to other people, especially if they are trying to win them over to our side, but when push comes to shove our people should be with us. Even more disturbing is this dawning recognition that Paul isn’t “one of us” and is actually trying to convert us to something else. We’ve been betrayed.

Imagine the sense of betrayal Paul must have been answering in this letter. Presumably there were in the Corinthian congregation people of very different stripes. There were likely conflicts: what should the congregation do, how should they worship, what should they believe, what should they support, what should they discourage or not allow at all? And everyone – widely diverse people – were all appealing to their relationship with Paul as an authority. “Paul is my friend, and I say this.” “Well, Paul is my friend, and I say that.” “Paul converted me saying this!” “Paul converted me saying that!” Who knows the truth? Was Paul two-timing everyone? Was Paul just playing everyone the fool, just to get them to come to church? The jerk!

But rather than denying his duplicity, Paul lifts it up as the model gospel-revealing act. Paul says yes, I was different to each of you – and I’m not really one of any of your “groups.” My priority, says Paul, is sharing the gospel. And the gospel is shared first by meeting people where they are, and recognizing the sincerity, dignity and integrity of people in what they believe and how they see things. The gospel affirms what is best in us, and challenges what needs to be changed. One of the first things that needs to change is our self-identification as separate from others. One of the next things that needs to change is our belief that we are exclusively right, and that it is others who need to change to meet our expectations. (Can you see Paul’s example reinforcing itself here? Paul himself was a slave to all, though he did not need to be.)

Another profound change that needs to happen is that we must get over our death-grip on labels as being fundamental to our understanding of the gospel. Jew or Gentile, believer or atheist, Christian or Muslim – they are not what is most important when we are living out the gospel, when we are witnessing of the gospel in our actions. When we testify to the gospel in our lives, we must give up this fixation on triangulating people (as if labels ever really tell us about a person anyway).

The task of gospel-sharers is to love people where and for what they are. The gospel is shared in community, so welcome these divergent people into your community, into your heart and lives. They have as much to teach you, as you have to share with them. And we all have a lot to learn.

Perhaps we shouldn’t be as mad with Paul for talking to each of us as if he was “one of us.” Otherwise, we might not have listened to him.

1 Cor 9:16-23

"...I may make the gospel free of charge...” (v18)

This is something of a play on words for Paul, and differently for us. For Paul, the phrase “free of charge” has a double meaning: he is not paid by the people to be an apostle, and that the gospel itself is a free gift of the grace of God, not something of his giving or doing. The gospel is grounded in grace – the free-giving of God.

In English, the translation itself has an additional meaning: to deliver the gospel in such a manner that it is free from accusation or charge of inconsistency, falsehood, duplicity or ulterior motive. To give the gospel integrity with/through my own living out of the gospel I preach. To make the gospel free of any charge that could be laid against it (because of my actions or representation of it).

This is important. We inevitably represent the gospel to people who are unfamiliar with us or the gospel. We as “believers” show what we believe both in what we say and in what we do – and perhaps most importantly, we show our truest selves in the relationship between what we say and what we do. We are the gospel to the world. So if we bring it couched in fear or loathing, it is a gospel of fear and contempt. If we bring the gospel at the point of a sword or gun, it is the gospel of violence and domination. If we bring the gospel through vindictiveness, gossip, condescension, vanity, self-righteousness, aggressiveness, surety, then the gospel we bring is those things.

Perhaps this is what the gospel-writer John was talking about when he meant that God is love – our gods are whatever we do, how we treat others reveals our truest god, and the God of the gospel is revealed in loving.

When Paul writes a few verses later: “I have made myself a slave to all, so that I might win more of them,” the word translated as “win” is an economic term akin to “make profit.” Another way to phrase this might be: I have met everyone on their own terms as a servant to their best selves, so that I could be profitable to them. Being of service to others – especially others who see themselves as quite different from you – is a gospel-bearing act.

It adds flavor to Paul’s declaration of being all things to all people, so that he may save some. Save, too, is an economic term – and saving for the sake of saving is a poor economic plan. But saving for some future, better use is wise indeed. Maybe this has something to do with Paul’s word choice. We aren’t saved from something, but for something, for an act, for acts of loving. That we might also make the gospel free of charge.

Getting Back In the Saddle

Acts 2:42-47

This should be an easy one for me to meditate on – so harmonious with my own thinking, so bold in its vision, so clear in its conviction, so powerful in its example. Perhaps I’m out of practice, but although many sermons come to mind, new insight is not burning within me. Perhaps I should take the scripture’s advice: devote myself to the apostles’ teaching, break bread with others, pray often, share my material wealth with the poor.

I am struck by the words devoted to the apostles’ teaching, and the difference between my job and my discipleship comes into focus. As a minister, my job is the devotion of the saints to the gospel of Jesus Christ. But my discipleship, my personal devotion, does not come with the title or in the 60-hour work week. Over the past two months or so – my first on the job, filled with new responsibilities and stress – I have focused on the job, and even lost site of the big picture there. I have been sucked into the details, the administrativa, the responsibility, the pressure. I need to remember to let myself breathe, and breathe intentionally with the Spirit sometimes, in order to be a good minister and a good disciple.

I am grateful for the patience of those around me: my wife, my co-workers and neighbor on whom I depend so, the congregants and church members who want to meet and welcome me. Surely, I am not done with the transition process – to European thinker, to Dutch resident, to regional president of the church, to supervisor, and so on. But I am hearing the need within me for more devotion. Prayer, breaking bread, sharing possessions (and time?), and returning to the scriptures as a tool for devotion. (I get too academic about scripture, sometimes.)

All the spiritual gifts and community proceeds from devotion to the apostles’ teaching. That’s where it all starts. At least for me. At least for this morning. I’m sure I’ll have more to learn tomorrow.

The Work of the Day

John 9:1-5

It is interesting, first of all, that Jesus should say that neither the blind man nor his parents sinned. I am assuming that implied is "that he was born blind," because the liklihood of three people living sinlessly is pretty low - even lower that Jesus wouldn't find such examples worth commenting further on. But there is hope here, too, that we might be genuinely capable of living without sin in certain contexts - on our best behavior, if you will. Or, even if we can't live without sin, one aspect of the Grace of God is God's willingness to overlook or forgive sin - particularly sin in spite of our best intentions or actions.

Notice, though, that Jesus does not dwell on the issue of sin. A short, dismissive answer to the disciples saying in other words that sin isn't the concern here, and Jesus zeroes in on the real issue: "As long as it is day, we must to the work of him who sent me." (NIV) All this talk of sin and deserving is a distraction - the real issue is for us to be at God's work while we are able.

For Jesus, the work of God is healing those blind without fault - in other words, healing injustice and relieving suffering. It isn't so much that Jesus is a miracle-worker - there were plenty of miracle-workers across the Roman Empire. Even for the Gospel writer John the miraculous plays second-fiddle to the purpose and commentary of Jesus surrounding his works, what we are supposed to learn from the story or walk away from this reading believing.

We must do the work of that which sends us. The nature of our God is revealed by our actions. Even if we Christians sing devotedly one hour a week but live the rest of our lives as if that one hour meant nothing, then we reveal our personal god to be shallow, untransformative, soothing for us but insensitive to the cruelties of the world, and unable to move us to action and sacrifice on others' behalf.

We must do the work of that which sends us. If our God is one that has the power to move mountains or redeem sinners or make us want to do things that do not serve our own interests or pleasures, then where are we in relation to that power? If we believe that God can - and have every expectation that God will - be active in the world, in the hearts and minds of people; or that God can and does work in our world to end injustice, transform people, redeem individuals and societies, use every opportunity to transform what is to what should be, then why are we not just as actively engaged?

Night is coming! When no one can work! We have only so much time, people! We do not live forever. Our work for good or ill will not survive forever. The structures and mechanisms - governments, laws, cultures, economic systems, personal relationships - they will not last forever. We have to get to work in them now, before we have lost our chance. (Even then, though, we'll have the chance to work in our new situation - there is Grace even in our failure to act.)

Night is coming - the sun will set on opportunities before long. You will pass someone on the street needing to be reached out to. You will pass the opportunity to give your money to places where it is being put to the work of God. You will not stop from being angry, when gentleness and patience would be better called for. You will lose a friendship to time or distance. You will spend your money on silly things. You will move homes, change neighbors, change jobs and co-workers. Night is coming! Things will change - and you will have lost the opportunity to do the work of that which drives us.

Where are you in your day? What opportunities are at hand for you?

God cares deeply for us and for our world. Where Marxism and Capitalism fail - believing that people are merely products of their environment on the one hand, and that people's environment is a commodity to be purchased or crafted without regard to their spiritual condition - Jesus succeeds: the world is transformed and redeemed by the transformation and redemption of individuals, who then build a new world within the old, seed communities of Zion.

While it is yet day, what seeds are we planting?

A Lovesong

Isaiah 5:1-7

Anyone who walks away from reading the Bible with less than a conviction for social justice, peace and mercy, hasn't read enough.

That's how I feel coming off this week's lectionary scripture from Isaiah.

Isaiah paints us a picture - an object lesson, if you will - in the voice of God. God has great hopes and plants a vineyard on a hill of fertile soil. The vintner removes all the stones, plants the finest vines, and is so confident of the glorious harvest to come the gardener builds ("hews") a wine press. This is truly a love song.

But the love turns sour.

The vines do not yield choice grapes, but wild grapes - unsuitable for cultivation and useless for good wine-making. At any rate, they aren't what the Vintner was hoping and working for. Something has gone terribly wrong.

Isaiah expresses God's disappointment as the destruction of wrathful vengeance, as a clearing-away of the garden, as the Gardener's abandonment of the garden to the threats of the wild.

But the threat of imminent doom stands only to emphasize the source of God's disappointment: God expects fairness among the people, and finds only injustice (NRSV: "bloodshed"); expects righteousness, but finds only cries of distress. The people's failure to live a zionic lifestyle, to live in right relationship with each other, to treat each other and foreigners with compassion and fairness. Injustice is the real plague of the vineyard! And it is already bearing its fruit - useless to God.

From a rhetorical point of view, this poem is amazing. It was likely written at the time of the annual wine harvest, when such songs were common entertainment and praise in the streets. Isaiah plays on this. Typically, women would be primarily responsible for singing during the wine harvest, singing love-songs where they themselves are the vineyard and their lover is the vintner, their fruit children. Hearing a grizzled man singing this must have been a sight. (Perhaps the crowd might have listened to hear the story an old man's tryst in younger days, or the sexual imagination of a supposed man of God.)

The song's replay of working the fertile soil, clearing and planting the vineyard, would all have been heard as references to love-making. But at the end of verse two, Isaiah turns the tables, and declares the fruit unsuitable. The term "wild grapes" is literally "noxious fruit."

Even the wordplay in the final stanza would have impressed listeners: Isaiah poetically juxtaposes justice (Heb: mishpat) with bloodshed (mishpakh), righteousness (tsedaqah) with a cry of distress (tse'aqah).

Beautifully composed, the wine-harvest festival poem shows a genius of marketing - taking the occasion of the day, even a successful harvest (presumably a sign of God's favor and pleasure), and artistically turning it on its head to highlight the shortfall of the people in their (true) worship of God: social justice.

This is a love song that we need to sing again.

Outgrowing the Disciplinarian

Galatians 3:23-29 (esp. v24)

The Law was a disciplinarian, a pedagagos: an educated, trusted and benevolent slave whose sole task it was was to watch the little children of the house and make sure they didn't get into trouble, and provide some basic moral guidance. This slave was still ultimately a servant of the children, even though she commanded them in their infancy and childhood.

Paul is being literary here (he takes the analogy and runs with it in following verses), but it serves his point well. The Law (or religious laws) was (were) set up to guide us, to serve us, not us to serve it. The holiness of the Law was not holy in itself, but in the moral guidance it provided and the devotion it nurtured within us. It was an instrument of God, not God godself. And in Christ we have seen a glimpse of God-godself. Once we have outgrown the pedagagos, we have no use for such a disciplinarian - we can continue to honor her service and advice, but we will never go back under her charge. And sometimes, we may see fit to violate her once-helpful commands and rules. Part of becoming an adult, after all, is recognizing the complexity of moral choices, and the multiplicity of possible actions and consequences - far beyond the face-value simplicity of children's stories, and more layered and contradictory than children's strategies for resistance, justice, fairness and so on. (Even though those principles and lessons are still valuable, and continue to inform our choices and ideals.)

I wonder if most Christians realize what Paul is saying here - that the Law is superceded by Christ. We can no longer use the Levitical or Deuteronomical laws to exclude people or beat people up inside themselves. Christ is the rule; Christ is the law. And Jesus said precious little about "homosexuality" or cohabitation or premarital sex. If anything, Jesus' ethic of radical love and inclusion of the marginalized (by us?) should command our embrace of these troublesome (to us) populations. The Law no longer commands Christians - but some Christians haven't gotten the memo yet. Some Christians believe the Law still serves to further exclude people already on the margins. At the same time, these Christians ignore the commands of Jesus for economic and social equity and justice, protection of the widow and orphan, hospitality to the poor and the foreigner. It is as if they take the worst - most petulant - of the Law and abandon the best - the grace and mercy - of Jesus. (While at the same time singing hymns that repeat "grace and mercy" - but what they mean is grace and mercy for me, continued aspersion to them.)

Paul here is breaking all that away. In Christ there is no Jew or Greek, no heterosexual or homosexual, no black or white, no rich or poor, and so on. ... Or is there? To the extent that these divisions still exist, our community does not reflect that of Christ.

But it isn't too late.

What Nourishes the Body...

I Corinthians 12:12-31

"... and we were all made to drink of one spirit." (v13)

It is a strange and beautiful image to link baptism with drinking - this is the drink, after all, after which we will never thirst again. But so closely linked, it is almost as if during the baptism we are supposed to take a big gulp of water! Drink in the Spirit - be transformed inside and out, totally remade new. Drink of one spirit, breathe in the spirit, clothe yourself in the spirit - how many ways can we say it? But the important part mustn't be lost on us - we drink of one spirit. We breathe one air and clothe ourselves with one garment. For better or for worse, we are united, and what one of us does affects the taste in everyone's mouth.

I wonder if this is where Augustine might have started his ideas of the corporate or social nature of sin (and conversely righteousness?). We never sin in a vacuum, and the ripples of our actions do not stop before they hit another person. Take global warming, for example - I may sin a little by not carpooling, but absolutely everyone is affected by that decision. Likewise, if I reduce my personal greenhouse gas emissions, everyone is affected. (And typically, even strategies to conserve energy themselves use energy to be created or implemented - buying a fuel-efficient car or adding new insulation to a home - revealing how inmeshed we are in sin, there are few ways to genuinely escape it.)

For better and for worse, however, we're in it together. The scripture reminds us forcefully that a person cannot say they are not a member - or that even if they do say that, it doesn't change the fact that they still are. Also, and perhaps more importantly (because it is less intuitive), a person cannot be told by another that they are not a member. Paul here is writing about the church and the community of Christ, which many Christians would do well to remember when we speak too sternly of denominations, authority, membership in Christ, and so on. We cannot say with any hope of accuracy that someone else is not a member of the community of Christ, that someone is beyond the redemptive and loving arms of Christ and those who would follow him. And as Jesus accepted everyone at his table, it may be fair to extend this sentiment to the world beyond the Church as well: we Christians cannot tell Muslims or Jews or Buddhists, for example, that they are not members of the body. We have no rights of exclusion from the embrace of the Spirit, and have no grounds to make such claims or distinctions. (I feel I'm treading on a universalism that is very postmodern and not just a little dangerous for doctrine and dogma.)

I am also struck by the language in verse 26, coming so close to the beloved labor mantra: An injury to one is an injury to all. The noblest sentiments of the labor movement are rooted in a radical Christianity.

And, speaking of radical Christianity, note that "forms of assistance" is counted among the gifts of the spirit, and ranked among the acts of apostles and prophets. Do those Christians who promote gifts like the speaking of tongues also recognize the gift of the spirit that manifests itself in helping other people? This is incredible! Paul is virtually declaring social justice work and compassionate action as a gift of the Holy Spirit, worthy of prophets and apostles... and you and me.

I must say that I found the closing of this scripture passage comforting. Are all apostles? Are all prophets? Are all teachers? No. There are different kinds of testimonies to give. Just last night, I was talking with my wife on the phone and joking about learning all this doctrine and dogma development in Christian history and how so many people took it so seriously, and for me (showing my postmodern stripes again) what these people considered essential beliefs for salvation are really not that important at all. I find myself driven, rather, by the social gospel, the vision of a new world possible, of changed relations (power, economic, social, personal, international), the imperative to creatively resist the Powers and Principalities, to stand up to oppression and forces that denigrate humanity. This is what for me is redemptive and necessary for salvation - working to transform oneself and one's world radically and creatively. This is what I feel is required to be a faithful Christian.

And that is, essentially, a prophetic testimony - social justice as the true worship of God. Apostolic witness, I imagine, is something more along the lines of getting people to declare that Jesus is Lord - change their allegiances, give them a new heart. That's important, of course. But the scripture here allows me not to have to do everything - I can recognize that some people are apostles, some teachers, some prophets (in the Old Testament sense of someone who critiques the status quo and calls the faith community to reify their faith declarations in the lived world).

And, this scripture affirms, that is a voice that also needs to be heard in the body. I can't pretend I'm not part of the body (although sometimes part of me wants to). And others can't tell me I'm not part of the body (as has happened more than once). The gospel will taste differently coming from my hand, but we're all drinking from the same spirit.

"Jesus is Lord", eh?

I Corinthians 12:1-11 (esp. v. 3)

When the writer of I Corinthians says: "...no one can say 'Jesus is Lord' except in the Holy Spirit," surely he (?) can't be absolute in this. All kinds of people might be able to utter the sounds "Jesus is Lord" without being under the influence of the Spirit. Televangelists, for example, claim this regularly, but only wish to climb on the cross so that they can be better seen by others, often trampling on the One already up there. Just a person saying "Jesus is Lord" doesn't necessarily express anything.

The author can't be literal with this - if he were, is this claim then limited to the original Greek words? Obviously not. The author must be writing about the meaning of the words. And the meaning of the words is a whole different ballgame.

What does this phrase do in an individual? We're not just talking about a person, a first-century Palestinian Jew, here. This phrase is meant to work in us or express between us a conviction greater than that a man called Joshua (Gk = Jesus) existed and was executed by the Roman Empire around 33CE. The phrase "Jesus is Lord" must express a conviction of the sovereignty of something greater than worldly powers in the world. Whatever one might mean by "Jesus" and whatever one might mean by "Lord" (and there are several possibilities for either), this phrase must confess that something in the Spirit of that ancient, young, rebellious, deeply caring man is, in fact, ruling over this world in a way that "lords" cannot. There is a Power at work in us and in our world that is far beyond the Powers That Be, beyond their control, beyond their manipulation, and not serving their needs. Nations and Leaders of all kinds will claim a hold on this Power-we-know-not-What, but the confessional of Jesus being Lord is (among other things, surely) a confession that these things (nations, presidents, armies, ideologies, denominations, money, greed, debt, lifestyles of consumption, and so on) do not have the ultimate claim on us. We pledge our allegiance to something above and beyond them, and must keep our eyes fixed on that point beyond the horizon.

And That, my friends, IS, the Holy Spirit working in us. We cannot confess that "Jesus is Lord" without making a resounding distinction between what our world tells us should be ruling our lives. When Americans say "Jesus is Lord," they are making a bold claim that flies in the face of nationalism, self-interest, labels like "terrorism" and "freedom" and "patriotism". This is a huge thing, and comes about through a Spirit of something greater working in us.

If it is possible for someone to profess Jesus is Lord without confessing this (like, for example, the televangelist), might it also be true for someone to confess this underlying conviction without professing that "Jesus is Lord"? I would think so.

Oftentimes, in fact, I think Christianity is a stumbling block to people seeking to follow Jesus. All too often, it is a community of hypocrites and self-righteousness. I've said several times to friends that they'd be better off not joining a particular denomination. But of course, that's only half true. We need each other - flawed and faulty as we are - to help learn about the Spirit. We need to practice Grace in order to learn about it more; practice forgiveness in order to learn it.

But must one finally profess "Jesus is Lord" in order to confess the Spirit in their lives? I don't know. The bulk of me says no. But there is a small portion of me that wonders if I am merely allowing myself an indulgence in saying this.