The Body of Christ

 I Corinthians 12:12-31a

January 23, 2022

 

            According to one of my resources, “the human body has 206 bones, 639 muscles, and about 6 pounds of skin, along with ligaments, cartilage, veins, arteries, blood, fat, and more.”[1] Our body is a great feat of engineering. I think about how I typed these words. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of different things were happening between my brain, my muscles, and everything in between to make my fingers take the words from my head and put them on this paper. I think that our bodies are created so well, so beautifully, that we don’t have to notice how they work until something goes wrong.

            In January 2008, I was living in Iowa. It had been typically bitter and cold for January in Iowa, but we had had what was known as a January thaw. That means the temps got up to the high 30’s and 40’s for a day or two. It had thawed just enough that the snow had gone from being snow to icy snow, and if there were any wet patches on the sidewalks and roads, they were also icy. I took my two dogs out for a walk, and just as we stepped on the sidewalk in front of our house, one of the dogs spotted other dogs across the street. She pulled at the leash – hard – and in trying to hold onto her, I stepped onto an icy spot on the sidewalk and started to fall. What do you do when you’re starting to fall? You try to catch yourself. I instinctively (instincts – another amazing part of our human self) put my hand out to catch myself, but when my hand hit hard sidewalk, my wrist bone said, “Nope.”

            I knew when I fell that something had gone very, very wrong. And I was right. I had broken my wrist, really broken it. But another amazing thing about our bodies happened when I broke my wrist, adrenaline kicked in. It was adrenaline that helped me get myself and the dogs back into the house. It was adrenaline that helped me call for help. I was in terrible pain and starting to go into shock, but I knew that I had to make sure the kids got picked up from school. I was in an adrenaline-pain-shock haze when I called my dad and managed to tell him what had happened and asked him to pick up Phoebe and Zach.

            By the time I got to the ER and to the front desk to check in, the adrenaline was wearing off and the pain was winning, and I almost passed out. But they got me back to a room, assessed my physical state, took x-rays, called the orthopedic surgeon on call, and, most importantly, pumped me full of morphine. That was Friday. I had surgery on Monday, and then the real fun began. For eight weeks, I wore a cast with an external fixator coming out of it. It was three metal rods keeping my wrist straight and in place. There were two rods that I couldn’t see doing the same thing. And the point I’m trying to make in all of this is that I didn’t realize all the things I did without thinking, until I couldn’t do them anymore. I relied on having both of my wrists functional to dress. For the first few weeks, I needed help dressing. I couldn’t open bottles or the tops of things one-handed. Of course, I broke my right wrist and I’m right-handed, so writing became a real problem. I was teaching community college at the time, and I learned that I could write with my left hand on the board, but all letters had to be huge, and I had to go very slowly. I couldn’t drive, not only because my surgeon said that if I did and had an accident, I could be sued if they saw this medical paraphernalia on my arm, but also because I couldn’t turn the key to turn on the car so I could drive.

            I did not realize until I broke my wrist just how much I depended on having both wrists functioning until they weren’t. Now, please don’t misunderstand me, there are lots of differently abled people in the world who have bodies different from mine who function marvelously. There are people who lose limbs, etc. and learn how to adjust and move forward. My broken wrist was a temporary setback, but it gave me pause when I thought about how my body worked, what I took for granted about my body working, and how much I missed what I no longer could use.

Of all the metaphors that Paul employs, his image of the body to see and understand the church is one of the most profound.

“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.”

Paul was writing to a church divided. The church in Corinth was struggling with many issues of contention. One that was especially divisive was the idea of superior and inferior members. In the first 11 verses of this chapter, Paul addressed the Corinthians on their understanding of spiritual gifts.

“Now there are varieties of gifts. But the same Spirit; and there are varieties of services, but the same Lord.”

When I read these words, I can’t help but picture the Corinthians pointing fingers at one another and saying, “My gifts are better than your gifts.” They seemed to think that there was a hierarchy when it came to spiritual gifts. Perhaps preaching and teaching were at the top. Or maybe they believed that the gift of healing outranked the gift of encouragement. Either way, Paul debunked their understanding. All spiritual gifts, whatever they may be, were given by the same God. The Corinthians were using their gifts against one another. But Paul told them, emphatically, that their gifts – all their gifts – were given to them to be used for the common good.

Paul pressed this point with his use of the body metaphor. Bodies are made up of many different members. But all these different members make up the whole body. Then, to make sure he got their attention, he added the words, “so it is with Christ.”

We are all baptized into one body. Whatever our differences of race, class, ethnicity, or status, we are baptized into one body through the same Spirit. Because of this, we need each other. Again, using the image of the body, Paul wrote,

“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.’”

To emphasize this, Paul stretched the analogy into the ridiculous, painting an image of a body made up of all ears or all eyes. Every part of the body, even those parts that seem to be weaker are needed and necessary. The parts of the body that seem lacking in honor are clothed with greater honor. The parts of the body that seem lacking in respect are given greater respect. If one member of the body suffers, all members of the body suffer. I used to get strep throat a lot as a kid, and believe me, when my throat hurt my whole body hurt. In the same way if one member of the body rejoices, all members rejoice. Every part of the body is needed. Every part of the body is necessary. This is not a competition. In Paul’s metaphor, no part of the body was dispensable. Not a toe, not a wrist.  

This is one heck of a powerful metaphor. I go round and round with Paul on many things, but this metaphor is brilliant. But let’s remember that Paul was not merely encouraging a group of disparate people to get along. He was reminding them and powerfully so that they were the church – the body of Christ.

I have preached on this passage several times over the past 20 years. I have read it even more. It is frequently used in other aspects of church life to address the issue that the church is supposed to be in unity. We are not called to uniformity, but we are called to unity. Paul’s metaphor is about living in community with one another; working together for the common good.

Yes, this is all true. The church needs all of us and all our gifts. But here is something I hadn’t really considered much before. Paul called the church the body of Christ. That’s one of those statements that is so well-known and familiar to us that I think we forget its meaning. We are part of the body of Christ in the world. In other words, we are part of the incarnation. Jesus was the incarnation of God into the world. It stands to reason then, that we as Christ’s body continue the incarnation. In this season of Epiphany, the church as the body of Christ should serve as revelation of God’s glory to the world.

But do we? What do we reveal to the world? Do we reveal unity? Do we reveal love? Do we reveal compassion and wisdom and kindness? There are times when the answer to these questions is, “Yes.” But there are also times when the answer to these same questions is a resounding, “No!” In this country, and around the world, many people look at Christians – Christ’s body in the world – and see nothing but enmity, injustice, intolerance, crippling pride, and cruelty rather than compassion. I think so many of us in the church talk about ourselves as Christ’s body, but we forget that a body is embodied. We are the visible sign of Christ in the world. We are part of the incarnation.

Yikes! That is tough to hear, because I know how often I fail in my call to be a part of that revelation and incarnation. I know I am not alone in this. The truth is that the church has always been made up of a motley crew of sinners. Jesus entrusted his gospel and good news to a band of followers who never really got it right while he lived. When the Holy Spirit came upon them, they found their voice and they found their courage. But even then, they were still a motley crew of outsiders and odd ducks. So, it continues to this day. We are a motley crew. We are a group of sinners who come together to be the church, not because we get it right, but because God is gracious. It is God’s grace that makes us the church. It is God’s grace that works through us despite ourselves. It is God’s grace that makes us the church. No matter how bad we can be at being the church, we are still needed and necessary to the ongoing incarnation of God’s love in the world. No matter how badly we fail at this, at being the church, God’s grace does not.

We need one another. That is the message of Paul’s words to the Corinthians and to us. We need one another. This is both the challenge and the good news. We need one another because we are the body of Christ in the world. We need one another, when each of us whole, and when one of us is broken. We need one another. We are the body of Christ in the world. We are the body of Christ. Thanks be to God.

Let all God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

Amen.

 

           

---

[1] Bartlett, David L. and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds., Feasting on the Word, Year C, Volume 1, “Homiletical Perspective” by Raewynne J. Whiteley, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 279.

Beloved -- Baptism of the Lord

 Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

January 9, 2022

 

            Somewhere in our house, there is a picture – or a slide, if you remember what those are – of me next to the Jordan River. And if I remember correctly, the picture shows me kneeling next to the river filling a bottle with that river water. Somewhere in our home, I still have that bottle of water. I think. I remember considering getting rid of it at one point, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, because it was actually water from the Jordan River, and when was I going to have an opportunity to get more – ever.

            Collecting that water happened on my seminary trip to the Middle East, a trip that has given me many stories for sermons ever since. But what I remember from our visit to the Jordan was not so much the river or standing beside it or kneeling beside it to gather water, but going back to the bus with the rest of my trip mates and going from person to person, dipping my finger into the water, and blessing the other folks while I made the sign of the cross on their foreheads,

            I’m not sure what prompted me to do that. That particular form of blessing was not something I grew up with. It wasn’t, as the kids say, in my wheelhouse. But we had all been on the road together for a while by then. And on an intense trip like that you bond with people. There was also bombing happening in that region while we were there, so maybe I thought we needed some extra sense of comfort and reassurance. Well, as all this was happening, Hartley Hall made his way back onto the bus. Hartley Hall was the president of the seminary, and he made that journey to the Middle East with us. When we first started our travels, I was nervous around him. He could be intimidating. He intimidated me. But by the end of the trip, I realized that underneath that gruff, blustering exterior, he was a kind, compassionate, endearing human being.

            Thank goodness that we were in Israel and at the Jordan River closer to the end of our trip. Because Hartley got on the bus, saying in a loud voice, that water is not magic. He had been watching many of us filling bottles with the water, so he wanted us to know, “That water is not magic. It’s water. It won’t do anything supernatural for you.” And so on, and so on.

            That’s when another traveler piped up saying, “Well, Amy has been making the sign of the cross on people’s foreheads with it.”

            Hartley looked at me, and I just gave him a big smile. He shook his head, and we went on our way.

            But Hartley Hall was right. The water of the Jordan River is not magic. It is not made up of some supernatural property. It is a river like the Mississippi or the Cumberland or the Harpeth. It’s a river, a natural water formation, and as I recall, it was not the prettiest of rivers. It was closer to the size of a creek, and it was muddy. But even though I agree that it did not have magical properties, I understood then and now that it was a sacred place. Maybe it was the sacredness of that river that inspired me to bless my fellow travelers. Maybe I was trying to preserve that moment in time, capture it somehow, so that it would be more than just a memory, but part of us, part of our whole selves.

            The Jordan River is a sacred place for us as Christians, not just because Jesus was there, but because he took part in a ritual that continues to shape and form our faith today. Jesus was baptized in the Jordan. And as Jesus was baptized, so are we, whether as infants or believers. It is one of our two sacraments. It is a sacred action, a sacred rite, and we do it because Jesus did it.

            We have reached the day on the church calendar when we celebrate Jesus’ baptism. Honestly, when the Baptism of the Lord Sunday rolls around, it feels like we’ve ziplined from his birth, and the coming of the Magi, to today when he was approximately 30 years old, and on the precipice of his ministry. But we are here, no matter how jarring it might feel to be here, and whenever I preach on this particular Sunday, I can’t help but think about the meaning behind baptism, and in particular why Jesus was baptized.

            To the early church leaders, Jesus’ baptism was an embarrassment. Why would the Son of God, the Lord incarnate need to be baptized? This is a question that theologians still wrestle with? He was supposed to be just like us but without sin. Isn’t baptism a cleansing from sin. Didn’t people go to John because they wanted to repent of their sins, be forgiven, and have that forgiveness sealed in the waters of baptism? And although we don’t read those earlier verses today, it was only back in Advent when we did, and we can still hear John calling the people, the sinners, who came to him a “brood of vipers.” Was Jesus in that category? Did Jesus get baptized just to model for us what we should do ourselves, even though he had no need for it?

            I don’t know the correct answer to these questions. I can tell you the accepted answers, but I don’t think that would add anything to our understanding today, to why we once again stop on this Sunday of the calendar and remember that Jesus was baptized in the River Jordan. But I do know that whatever questions Jesus’ baptism raises, it was a significant enough event in his life, that all four gospel writers reference it in one way or another. And each telling is different. Luke does not give us any description of the baptism itself. There are no direct conversations between John and Jesus. What we do read is this,

            “Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

            Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized. From the way Luke tells the story, it sounds like Jesus was just another person in the crowd, one of many, who waited their turn to go into the waters of the Jordan and get baptized. And yes, while Jesus was praying, he saw the Holy Spirit descend like a dove, and heard God’s voice calling him his Son, the Beloved. I don’t know that others who were baptized with him had quite that same experience. But, beyond his experience in prayer after the baptism, his baptism itself was not unique. The waters did not part. Others were baptized and so was Jesus.

            Maybe this is just the way Luke chose to tell it. Maybe Luke wanted to put more emphasis on the prayer rather than the baptism, but the baptism preceded the prayer, so he quickly included it. Like, oh yeah, the others were baptized and so was Jesus and then he prayed and then it got really interesting!

            But maybe it is in these quick words about Jesus and others being baptized that we find our meaning, our own point of reference. Debie Thomas from the Journey with Jesus blog, wrote that in Luke’s telling, Jesus’ baptism was an act of solidarity. Jesus stood in those muddy, cold waters with all the rest of the folks and was baptized. He was there, with them, doing what they did, experiencing what they experienced.

And when Jesus also had been baptized.

Yes, Jesus modeled this sacrament for us. And it is absolutely vital that in a moment of prayer, he heard God’s voice and saw the manifestation of the Holy Spirit. This will prepare him and confirm him for the time to come, the time in the wilderness. But also in this moment, he was with the people, one of them, experiencing what they experienced. They were baptized, and so was he.

He was with them. As we move into another year of this pandemic, as we struggle to live in a turbulent present and wonder how much more of that the future will throw at us, it is more than okay to find comfort in this knowledge. It is more okay to see this sentence in Luke’s gospel, which reads almost like a throwaway line, as actually being an inbreaking of grace – just as much of an inbreaking as the dove descending and the voice of God speaking. Jesus stood in those waters, those non-magical but sacred waters, with the people. He was with them, and he is with us. He is the Beloved Son of God, but in these words, we are reminded that we are also God’s beloved children. God created us out of love and for love. God calls us back into relationship no matter how many times we wander off the path. God became one of us, because we are beloved. And that incarnate God, that Son, Jesus, stood in the waters with us. Jesus stands in the waters with us now, not only to model what we should do and how we should live, but because he is with us. God is with us, and we are beloved. And this is good news indeed. This is the word of hope that we long for, that we cling to, in these troubled and rough waters in which we live. God is with us. We are beloved. Thanks be to God.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

Amen.

           

Drawn to the Light -- Epiphany

 Matthew 2:1-12

January 2, 2022

 

            Two notes of music. Just two notes, and many of you immediately recognized those notes, the movie they are from, and what they represent. Two notes. The music goes on, but all you need to hear are those two notes, and you know that it is the theme from the movie Jaws.

            Jaws premiered when I was a little kid, so I was not allowed to see it. But I knew those two notes, because the radio station that I listened to played the trailer for Jaws over and over again the summer it premiered. And the trailer always started with those two notes. I may have only been a kid, but I knew enough about what those two notes of music meant that just hearing them scared the fool out of me. Those two notes scared me so badly, that I ended up not sleeping an entire night, because I was afraid of the shark in a movie I wasn’t allowed to see. Those two notes scared me so badly that I refused to watch Jaws even after I was old enough. I didn’t watch Jaws till I was convinced to by friends when I was in college.

Those two notes told me everything I needed to know. They meant that in the movie danger – the shark – was close and getting closer. They meant danger and fear and bad things about to happen. Two notes.

            Now, I use those two notes as one of my alarm settings. Those two notes scare me into waking up. But just those two notes are all it takes. Those two notes made me afraid. I suspect they made others afraid too. Those two notes were composed to spark anticipation, dread, fear. And they were brilliant at it.

            Fear is a funny thing. It can be a great motivator. For example, think about someone who has a health scare. Something happens, like a potential heart problem or the risk of diabetes, and that makes you realize you have to take better care of yourself, so you work harder at eating healthy and exercising.

Or fear for someone else makes you act to help before you can even think about it.  A dear friend of our family chased gang members away from a neighbor boy with nothing but a souvenir baseball bat. Without thinking, a man in New York jumped onto subway tracks to rescue a woman who had fallen. Fear can motivate you to act heroically, to help another in need, to change course and do better for yourself and others.

But fear can also do the opposite. Fear can be paralyzing. And fear can make someone do the wrong thing, the very wrong thing. Fear can drive someone to hurt and harm in terrible ways. We don’t often associate Epiphany with fear; we usually think of God’s light coming into the world, God’s revelation of glory through the coming of Jesus, the wise men following the star of light to where this newly born king was lying. And all of this is true and correct. Matthew’s story contains all of that and more. But there is also fear.

There was fear, because God’s epiphany, God’s light and manifestation was not necessarily welcome to everyone. Herod did not welcome it. The first person that the wise men go to see when the reach Jerusalem was the King. They went to Herod and asked,

“Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.”

Matthew recounts that not only Herod was frightened by this, but all Jerusalem with him. In all the years that I have read this story, I have not given much thought to the fear that the people of Jerusalem felt. I have always assumed – when I have thought about it however briefly – that Jerusalem was scared of the light that was being revealed too. The people of Jerusalem shared the same fear as Herod. But a commentator on WorkingPreacher.org made the point that maybe the people were scared because Herod was scared. Perhaps they realized that Herod was not particularly stable. Maybe they understood that when Herod was afraid bad things happened. It is possible that they understood that Herod’s fear could cause trouble for them or people around them.

And it certainly did. While we lift up the Light of God on this day, the revelation of God, how we are called to live in the Light of God from now on, we often leave out the story that follows this one. Herod was so afraid of this new king, this potential usurper, this person who might bring down the wrath of Rome on his head, that he had all the baby boys aged two and under killed in order to protect himself and his throne. It was Herod’s fear and his brutal response in turn that sent Joseph, Mary, and Jesus fleeing to Egypt as refugees.

            Fear is palpable in our world. It probably always has been, but it feels more acute these days. The latest surge of cases with this new variant is a fearful thing. The terrible and extreme weather that seems to be more frequent is a fearful thing. The rise in violence here and around the world, inflation here and around the world, all of this and so much more are fearful things. The world seems like a pretty scary place. Like I said, it always has, but each generation has to contend with it anew.

            So, why all this talk about fear when we should be talking about light? Herod was a cruel tyrant. His kingship was dominated by fear and causing fear in others. I have not found anything about him, either from scripture or historically, to like. But contrast his kingship to the kingship of Jesus. One is a tyrant. One is a servant. One uses brutality and murder to remain in power. One knows that true power comes through self-sacrifice. One is so afraid that he will do anything to alleviate that fear, including massacring children. One is so trusting that he will go the cross because he knows that the kingdom of God will not be defeated by the powers and principalities of this world. One rules out of fear and with fear. One leads with love.

            The coming of the Light reveals these differences. But what is even more wondrous and amazing is who is drawn to the Light. The light brings foreigners and outsiders. It draws the lowly and the least. The light shows that God is with them, that God is still doing glorious things in their midst, that God is calling them, over and over again, to live in the Light.

            This Christmas I read a story about a neighborhood in Maryland. Christmas of 2020, when people were still in strict lockdown, one man strung Christmas lights from his house to this neighbor’s. The neighbor was an older woman who lived alone, and the man wanted her to know that even in a pandemic they were still connected, she was not truly alone. The string of lights crossed the street and other neighbors took notice. When they discovered the reason for the lights stretching from one house to the next, they began to string their own lights, connecting each house with bands of lights. Some neighbors got even more creative and strung brightly lit words of love and hope and encouragement along with the twinkling lights. Up and down the streets of this one neighborhood, lights connected house to house, neighbor to neighbor. It only took one person and others were drawn to the light of this loving act.

            The coming of the Light reveals the good and the bad. It revealed Herod’s fear even as it also revealed the Incarnation of God into the brokenness of the world. And just as the lights strung throughout that neighborhood revealed that none of them were alone or without connection, so too does God’s Light. It is a light shining in the darkness, a light strung from heaven to the earth below. When we let go of our fear and allow ourselves to be drawn to the Light of God, we are reminding that we are not alone. We are not alone. We are connected to God and to one another. What good and glorious news this is. We give thanks and praise to the God of Light.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.