1 Corinthians 13
It's too bad this reading from 1 Corinthians 13 didn't come up in the lectionary a couple of weeks from now on Valentine's Day. But it's close enough. Maybe by thinking about love and what love really is now, a couple of weeks ahead of time, you can get Valentines Day right. Because, more often than not, Valentine's Day gets love all wrong.
Let me demonstrate that with some cards.
This one isn't too bad. "Love makes life alive" is kind of a weird line. It assumes you know the difference between "life" and being "alive." And I hate to be the Grinch who stole the heart right out of this sentimental card, but the truth is, you can live without another person. All the widows and widowers in the world certainly know that you can, and you have to—you have to find a way to go on with life and love after a saddening death.
This card is testimony to the fact for the need of a good proofreader: "yo just come into..." And I'm sorry again for being the Grinch who stole romance, but that last line is just a little creepy: "Yo(u) just come into my life and made it YOURS!" Letting someone, including your spouse, come into your life and totally taking it over, so you have no more individuality is pathological at worst, and at the least, co-dependent." And the fact that you would allow someone to come in and totally dominate who you are as an individual says a whole lot more about you than them--and it's not good.
This one is a bit funny to me. "You are always in my thought.” Not “thoughts” plural. Because, you know, I only have one thought. There's only one thing on my mind. And you're involved with that one thing. But wait, there's more! What this person is excited about is that the other person is "madly in love" with them. This says one of two things: first, the person is so full of shame they can't believe someone would actually love a schmuck like them; or, secondly, it's all about me, and love is a one way street. It's not about our mutual love, or my love for you; it's about you loving adorable, narcissistic me!
This one's kind of funny to me, also. It all sounds mildly romantic in the top part. But then there's a jab in the last line. "Try to respect it." You can just hear the tone change, and the facial expression change in that line. There’s almost this unspoken, “Jerk” at the end of that line. “Try to respect it…jerk.”
And then the last one:
Here we’re getting a lot closer to the true humanity, humor and pathos behind what love really is, and what love has to do with. Love isn’t about sloshy sentiment. It’s about the humorous truth of an ever changing and growing view of love, that involves our changing bodies and personalities.
So, let’s turn to someone who will tell us what love really is and all about. The apostle Paul. When you first think about Paul telling us about what human love is, you are almost wondering, “Really? Paul? The guy whose personality is often abrasive, and whose personal style is in-your-face? Crusty, hard-bitten Paul? Push and shove, type A personality? That guy?” I mean, how many of you women, if you were unmarried, would go on a date with Paul? Not the kind of guy who would remember anniversaries or give you roses. And yet he writes some of the most profound words about love ever written here in 1 Corinthians 13.
I’m not going to get into the list of what love is and what love is not. What caught my attention was the opening verses. Paul opens up this part of his letter with some rather provocative choices. They are choices, between both good and admirable ways of being.
First, Paul wrote that if you had to choose between speaking like an angel or a theologian/philosopher; or, being a loving person, it would be better to choose being a loving person.
Just before Presidential advisor, Lee Atwater died back in 1990, he wrote in an article in LIFE magazine:
What was missing in society is what was missing in me: a little heart, a lot of brotherhood…I don’t know who will lead us through the ’90’s, but they must be able to speak to this spiritual vacuum at the heart of American society, this tumor of the soul.
What a great thing it would be, to be able to “speak to the heart of American society” and address the “spiritual vacuum” with eloquence. What an unbelievable gift it would be to touch the American populace with that kind of angelic speaking. But what Paul said was, as wonderful as that would be, and as worthwhile, if you had to choose between that and being a loving person, choose being a loving person.
The second choice Paul highlighted was similar. If you had to choose between being a profound and powerful preacher, a person who could answer any and all religious questions, or, be a person who loves, choose to be a person who loves.
There was a very popular preacher in Scotland by the name of Thomas Guthrie. People who were critical of him said he was not a very logical preacher, nor very profound. “But,” said one admirer, “the people thronged to hear him because they knew he would warm their hearts. And that’s what people long for.”
How great would it be to be such a preacher! Your style may be a little quirky, but you would be able to warm the hearts of your listeners. As wonderful as that kind of ability would be, if you had to choose between that and being a loving person, Paul said, choose being a loving person.
Thirdly, Paul wrote, if you had to choose between being a miracle worker or being a loving person, choose to be a loving person. In a TIME magazine article about miracles, author Lance Morrow wrote:
A miracle is a wonder, a beam of supernatural power injected into history. For an instant, Up There descends Down Here. The world connects to a mystery—a happening that cannot be explained in terms of ordinary life.
Then he went on to write:
Miracles take the form of lives. Abraham Lincoln was a miracle. Divinity poured almost spontaneously out of Mozart. Surely when it is time for the Catholic Church to make Mother Teresa a saint it will seem redundant for a panel of theologians in Rome to ask for proof of miracles she performed. She herself is the miracle.
What a wonderful power it would be to be not just a miracle worker, but to embody in yourself the miraculous. To be a spark of the Divine in the everyday. Even as great as that might be, says Paul, it would be greater to be known as a loving person.
And speaking of Mother Teresa, Paul wrote if you had to choose to be like her, to give everything away to the poor so you had nothing, or, be a loving person, choose to be a loving person.
One time a bunch of reporters were following Mother Teresa around on her daily rounds. One reporter was overwhelmed by all her mission did, and the kinds of people they worked with. He said, “What is one thing I can do to support your work in this mission?”
She looked at him and replied, “Go home and love your family.”
That is what Paul meant. If you don’t know how to love, even your ability to be charitable will be suspect and tainted.
Then, fourthly, Paul made the claim that if you had to choose between being a martyr for what you believe, and witnessing to your faith by making the ultimate sacrifice, or being a loving person, choose to be a loving person.
There was a famous regiment of the Roman army called The Forty Wrestlers. They were some of the best and bravest soldiers in the army. They were loved in the arena for their athletic abilities. They were also all Christians.
During one campaign in the high mountains of Armenia, in Asia Minor, winter had set in. The Roman Emperor issued a decree that all of his armies on a given day were to pay homage to the statue of the emperor by offering a cup of wine, bowing and burning incense. The 40 Wrestlers refused. They told their general, “For Rome we will fight on any field and under any sky in the service of the Emperor. If necessary, we will die. But we worship no one save our Master, Jesus Christ.”
Because they wouldn’t worship the emperor’s statue, the forty soldiers were stripped of their armor and their clothing. They were forced naked out on to the surface of a frozen lake. When night came, the temperatures dropped below zero. The other soldiers, by their warm campfires, heard the forty soldiers singing,
Forty wrestlers wrestling for thee, O Christ,
claim for thee the victory
and from thee the crown.
The song grew fainter as man after man died in the cold on the ice. There was one who was yet alive. He came up to the general’s tent and said to the guard, “I will recant and bow to the emperor’s image.” The guard, who was a non-believer, but had been moved by the heroism and faith of the other 39 wrestlers said to the man, “Since you have proved to be a coward, I will take your place.” Right then and there he stripped off his clothing and went out in the night upon the ice. He too sang the song of the 40 Wrestlers. After a while his voice also went silent. When the morning sun arose over the mountain tops, it shined down upon the 40 Wrestlers who had refused to bow to another, who died for Christ, and from Christ received the crown.
What a powerful story. What an inspiration. I don’t know if I’d be able to do that. But as heroic as that was, Paul said, “If you had to choose between dying a heroic death and being a loving person, choose to be a loving person.
And lastly, Paul wrote if you have the chance to be a real somebody, or be somebody who loves, choose to be somebody who loves. Dr. Albert Schweitzer was the surgeon who gave up a lucrative practice in London to go to Africa and be a missionary surgeon. One time when he was in the United States, a group of reporters had cornered him in the Chicago railway station. As they were talking, a woman carrying a couple of heavy suitcases struggled by. Schweitzer excused himself for a moment and taking the woman’s suitcases, helped her board her train. When Schweitzer returned to where he had left the reporters, not a single one was there. They were each trying to find some lady they could help with her suitcase.
There was Dr. Schweitzer, the world famous missionary surgeon. He was a real somebody. He was a big somebody. But he choose to be somebody who loves. That’s what Paul was trying to say.
Now if you’re like me, when you look down that list of things that you could choose to be, there are a lot of great things. A miracle worker. A great speaker. A person of great insight and intelligence. A self-sacrificial person who is even willing to give up your life for what you believe in. But without a single ingredient, all those are worthless.
As Paul wrote at the end of the chapter, most of those things will pass away and become unremarkable. Inspiring speech will have its day. Miracles will one day be unnecessary. There is a limit to what one person can know. Everything has its limits. There is only one thing that is lasting and limitless, that will never become unnecessary, and will never see its day. That one thing is love. There is no limit to how much you can love others, or how much you can be loved.
So, as Paul wrote at the end of this chapter, “…love extravagantly.”
No comments:
Post a Comment