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.

Death and Resurrection

1 Cor. 15:12-20 (esp. v 19)

To be honest, this is a very difficult passage for me. I'm not of the Corinthian faith that the dead are "raised" (at least in the sense that I have of the traditional notion of rising dead). Paul is calling me out on this - if I do not believe the dead have been raised (or are being raised), then I do not believe Jesus was raised; and if I do not believe Jesus was raised from the dead, then my faith is futile, he says. And I am almost convinced of the futility of my faith.

If we read a little further, however, in the following verses Paul expands on what he means - since death came through a human being, the resurrection of the dead has also come through a human being (v 21). Now, we who have accepted a generally scientific worldview (as opposed to a "literal" interpretation of the Genesis story) are rarely convicted that "death" was a result of Adam's (and Eve's) actions. Death is just a fact of living in this universe. So if the physical death of the body isn't what we're talking about in interpreting the Adam story in our lives, then is the "resurrection" of physically dead bodies necessarily what we must talk about in interpreting the story of Jesus in our lives?

I don't want to dance around the issue - and it seems Paul is pretty clear what he believes here. I don't want to play semantic games to squirm my way out from under Paul's condemnation. But at the same time, I want to be faithful to the best that I know, all the best that I know. And confidence in dead people's bodies rising to life again doesn't speak to me that way. By invoking the Adam story as the beginning of the journey of which Jesus signals the start of the end, Paul opens up (for post-modern readers) an entirely different read of the point he is trying to make.

Verse 19 says: "If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied." This verse jumps out at me. In the traditional reading, Paul is talking about this life as this first living-and-dying, as opposed to the next living-again ushered in by Jesus. But read the verse again - "this life" being our short-term ideas, our narrow focus on our own priorities and experiences. If we have hoped in the transformative power of Christ merely for our own individual sakes, we are indeed pitiable. If, however, we have hoped in that transformation for the greater transformation of the world - not necessarily within our lifetime, or within our limited scope of knowledge or experience - then we are closer to deserving that transformation. If Christ means to us merely the reinforcement of our own ideas or preconceived notions, then we are indeed pitiable. If, however, Christ means to us a new life, bold and loving, then we see Christ in our selves and world. If we have hoped in Christ only within the context of our-lives-as-they-are, or sought Christ to be a soothing balm to heal our own wounds exclusively, then we are of all people most to be pitied. But in fact, Christ is not for us alone, for only our sins or only our redemption.

If the preservation of this right here, right now, is the only reason we hope in Christ, we are in for a big shock and disappointment. The life, death and continuing resurrection of Jesus is a challenge to the status quo, and changes those in whom Jesus would be resurrected.

For me, however much I enjoy this embodied existence, there is something more important than just this-my-life. If my hope in Christ has only been for this-my-life, then I've gone down the wrong road. But if my hope in Christ is for the greater good, the greater transformation, the greater redemption of the world, for the Kingdom of God, for Zion, for the peaceable Kingdom, then at least I'm pointed in the right direction, and can feel Christ urging me on.

for

1 Corinthians 15:1-11

In this passage, we have one of the earliest crystalizations of (Pauline) Christianity in the first century - small, condensed summaries like this would become for the early church like creedal statements and rules of faith. Selections like this would be read or recited at baptism, and formulas like this start to become common in Christian literature within the first hundred years.

Also, we see developing here an atonement understanding of the cross - an idea that is largely absent from the gospels, and so must be developing independently from the communities that produced those texts. This theology of the cross holds that our sins must be accounted for - a debt to be paid - and since humans in our smallness are unable to pay the debt, and because God loves us regardless, God took it upon Godself (in Jesus) to pay the debt with a blood sacrifice on the cross. (This idea actually dates back to medieval Christianity, and as such is somewhat grafted on Paul's theology, but it fits so well that Christians today can hardly imagine Paul saying anything else.)

Paul certifies that "Christ died for our sins" (v 3), and "for" will come to mean "in the place of". The preposition "for" (Gk: huper) in the genitive case can indeed mean "for (the sake of)" in a causal sense. Another meaning, "instead," also leans toward atonement - Jesus suffered instead of us. Yet another meaning, "regarding," is a little more slippery.

When George Bush says he is waging war for me - does that mean I forced him, or that he is doing it because of something I've done or am? Or, rather, does it mean that he is doing partly as a result of how we live, a somewhat direct result of our lifestyle and values?

Might Jesus have been crucified regarding our sins - our lifestyle and values as a backdrop and context for his death? It certainly seems reasonable: we make decisions every day that condemn the gospel to death (and thankfully it continues to rise again, as Paul confesses). Many of us have chosen our allegiances - Nation, Profit, Comfort, Prestige, Money-as-Security, Exclusive-notions-of-Family, and so on. Especially we North Americans, we crucify Jesus a thousand times a day, in our homes and businesses and commutes, and all over the world - we export crucifixion with our greed, guns and terror-power. But the gospel keeps on rising, and meeting us here again.

In one sense, Jesus died for us so we wouldn't have to - and in effect, we don't have to do much of anything at all to be received into the Kingdom. Atonement theology, in other words, seems like cheap grace.

In another sense, Jesus died because of our lifestyle, our decisions, our misplaced loyalties, because we are not willing to make the sacrifices necessary to see the Kingdom thrive - in our own lives and in our world. That is costly grace, because it doesn't come cheap.

So much depends on a preposition.

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.