Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up

This sermon was prepared for Wesley United’s Sunday service on January 28, 2018 (Year B Epiphany 4, 1 Corinthians 8:1-13).

When first approaching this text, the obvious thing is to preach a sermon about the idols we have in our lives. Since there’s ample fodder there for conversation.

We could talk about the devices that distract us… concerns that seem all-too-important in the short-term… We could talk about how social media puts us in an infinite loop of comparison, leading to depression and anxiety… We could also talk about how, sometimes, we get more caught up in the institutional church than the communion of believers (since last week was the Week for Christian Unity). Yes, there are lots of idols, big and small, we could talk about.

But, then would we be missing the point?

This epistle has a lot more to say about mature Christians supporting their immature siblings than it does about meat or idols. Paul assumes his readers know what to do when it comes to that issue—he’s not worried about diets.

You see, there was no confusion for this community of believers about what was an idol.  There were Roman temples where people would go and worship local and national Gods, and their idols. Now, we remember in the Hebrew scriptures that Yahweh made it very clear—there would be no idols, representing pagans Gods or the Israelite god. To Yahweh, the Israelite people were his representatives on earth–He didn’t need statues of wood or stone when he had idols made of flesh and blood.

This early Christian community knew all of this–they knew they weren’t supposed to worship other gods or idols. The issue, which it seems they wrote to Paul about in a previous letter we no longer have, was whether it was acceptable to eat meat which was bought from the local market and had been sacrificed at one of these Roman temples.

For Paul, though, this isn’t a question of whether eating that meat is problematic–it is the question of whether the house church in Corinth is caring for one-another in community.

This is one part of a longer section where he offers them instructions on how to worship together in Christian community. It culminates with the oh-so-famous section, which has been read at every wedding I’ve ever attended:

If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.


This text is not a prescription for marital bliss, but for healthy community. Paul, actually, isn’t a huge fan of marriage, he sort-of relents and says if you have to it’s better than falling into sexual immorality but he really wishes you’d just commit your entire life to evangelization and mission work. But I digress…

Returning to our text for today: “‘[All] of us possess knowledge.’ Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.”

This is a love that has empathy for where each of us is starting from, and the faith journeys we are taking in community.

Can you reflect on a time when you were “immature” in the faith? A time before you learned that idol meat was just meat?

Do you remember what a painful process it can be to work through the theology that’s been embedded inside of you, passed down by well-meaning family members and Sunday School teachers?

I remember—and it makes me feel embarrassed just to think about it. But, before I ever came to terms with my own sexuality, I was a homophobe. I grew up in a community that was certain about how Jesus, and God, felt about gay people (bisexual people weren’t even on the radar then)—and they passed those beliefs onto the children in the community—onto me.

Eventually, I met amazing people whose lives were inspirational, and they happened to be gay. They tricked me, by having me fall in love with who they were as people, as loving partners, as mentors to me in my own faith journey. That changed stuff for me, but it took a couple years and a lot of thinking before I became affirming. And, then it wasn’t until I was affirming that I could think about my own sexuality and come to terms with my orientation.

Thinking back makes me uncomfortable. I don’t have a lot of grace for that version of myself, and so I don’t have a lot of patience for people who are still in that place. I forget how hard it was to get from there to here. But, that means I sometimes make it harder for folks to work out their own feelings on the subject. I push them in my own arrogance and anger, and they push back, entrenching themselves further.

Now, I’m not saying we shouldn’t challenge one another and speak out against harmful ideas. But, I do think Paul speaks to a responsibility we have—to support one another on our journeys with love. It is an orientation of its own, to allow each of us to take the journey at our own speed, from our own starting point. It is a caution against arrogance; and, a call to patience, kindness and self-control. We want to support others, in their theological dilemmas and wonderings, so that they draw closer to God, instead of pushing them father into polarized factions.

We’re working to dissolve the boundaries of us and them—to make space within the we of Christian community. It is an exercise in seeing Christ within the other, and recognizing that their faith journey won’t look like our own.

The Creator made our world expansive, vibrant and diverse—God’s children, are just as varied; and God speaks to them all in different ways, according to their personalities and needs. What’s good for your journey may not be good for mine, and vice versa. We have an opportunity to support one another and to engage one another in conversation. What a gift to learn the different ways God is speaking and moving in creation. What a gift to have community members who share their struggles with one another.

May the experience of supporting one-another help you find a better way of journeying with God. Amen.

Murder, Divorce, Adultery, and a New Ethic

This sermon was prepared for the community of Wesley United for their Sunday morning service on February 12th, 2017. The Lectionary readings for the day were Deuteronomy 30:15–20, Psalm 119:1–8
1, Corinthians 3:1–9, and Matthew 5:21–37 (Epiphany 6).

When seminarians dream of their first pulpit supply, this is not the passage they think of.  Murder.  Divorce.  Adultery.  And oath keeping.  Our gospel passage today is a difficult one.  And, it seems to be such a different tone to last week’s Gospel reading, where Jesus proclaimed that we are salt and light.

This passage is a teaching on Jewish law, covering topics that were hotly debated by different Jewish sects who were Jesus’ contemporaries.  In fact, the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew is the largest section we have of Jesus’ teaching on Torah and gives us the greatest insight into Jesus as a rabbi–as a Jewish teacher.

Now to understand Jesus’ teaching on Torah we must also understand the basis of Jewish law.  Our lectionary helpfully pairs a passage from Deuteronomy with this gospel passage, shedding light on the purpose, or ethos, the Law.

At this point in the story of Deuteronomy, Moses has gathered all of the Israelites at Moab: the leaders of the tribes, elders, and officials, all the men of Israel, their children, women, and the aliens who live in the camp, and the slaves.[1]  He is renewing the covenant God made with Israel and is explaining to the people what is required of them.

If you obey the commandments of the Lord your God that I am commanding you today, by loving the Lord your God, walking in his ways, and observing his commandments, decrees, and ordinances, then you shall live and become numerous, and the Lord your God will bless you in the land that you are entering to possess[2]

Moses calls the Israelites to embrace the Law not just as a legal document but as a way of life.  It is also a call to follow it by virtue of a deep and abiding love of God.  We hear a call to live out the Commandments, but also a call to right-living.  “By loving the Lord your God” and” walking in his ways.

The Hebrew word for Law is Torah, which means “the way”.  To follow God’s Law is to follow God’s way.

Now, returning to our Matthew passage, we hear Jesus discussing some of the Laws of Torah.  However, he moves beyond mere legal precedent and shares some pretty outlandish instructions, and they can be hard to swallow.

Jesus suggests that meditation on a sinful action is as bad as completing that action.  Let me tell you, friends, this particular teaching used to haunt me as a child.  Churches have succeeded in terrifying people, in convincing them that they are bad, sinful, people because an unkind thought, an angry response, or a primal urge has fluttered through their mind.

So. Why does Jesus seem to insist that a sinful thought is as damning as committing a sinful action?

I would suggest to you that the dramatic language of Jesus speaks to the concept we read about in the prophetic writings.  Isaiah 57 speaks of those who are humble with contrite hearts.  It is in the prophetic writings we see a movement that advances the concept of not just obedience to the Law but also a shaping of our inner self to God’s ethic.  Jesus, then, does not allow his listeners to get away with merely following the rules.

Last week we heard Jesus said, “I have not come to abolish but fulfill the Law”.  He did not come to reject the teachings of the Hebrew Scriptures but to re-orient the children of God back toward the heart of God.  As he tells us later in Matthew 22:

“‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.[3]

To love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. And, to love your neighbor as yourself.  With this lens, we hear the words of our gospel passage as instructions to commit ourselves, to commit our lives, to the love of God and to love of God’s creation.

In the first few verses in our gospel passage, we read that he calls us not to simply pat ourselves on the back because we have not murdered, but to seek reconciliation within our community.

He calls us not to merely live lives where we honor our vows, but to think seriously about the things in our lives that prevent us from honouring those vows.  He encourages us to actively remove those barriers, or to question our motives before we enter into contract with one another.

Jesus calls us to take responsibility for our own sinfulness.  The Greek word for sin is Hamartia, meaning a “turning away of the mind”.  He calls us to take responsibility for our own desires, our greed, our anger.  Jesus doesn’t say if you lust after a woman tell her that her skirt is too short!  No, instead he calls us to take responsibility for our own lust.

The Law of Moses was always more than just rules.  It was, and is, about living a life of integrity.  Certainly, this is what Jesus calls us to; to live with our minds turned towards God’s way.

And, today is the first week of Black History month in North America and our Church.  For Black folks in our communities, this month is one of remembrance and celebration.  For those of us who are White, whose past and present realities benefitted from the centuries of subjugation of Black people, it is also a time of confession.

White society, our ancestors, my ancestors, did not live their lives with integrity when it came to their Black siblings.  We did not take responsibility for our own greed, anger, and fear.  And, now, though we don’t commit the same actions of racism that our ancestors did, our hearts are still hard.  We continue to live in a world where systemic racism is a present reality.

We must continue to question, challenge, and most importantly listen.  To listen, to reconcile, and work to reshape ourselves, and our society, from the inside out.

In the following weeks we will hear the continuation of this sermon, and the instructions Jesus gives on how to shape our lives to be an inward reflection of a God-inspired ethic.  Thereby shaping our actions to be an outward reflection of this same God.

And, I challenge, as you go about your week.  To reflect on the ways you invite God into your daily life.  How you allow God to mold your inner self in God’s ways.  Ask yourself:  Where do you feel Jesus’ words challenging you?  Who do you need to reconcile with?  Where, do you need God’s redemption and strength. For, I assure you, friends, that this God of justice and love: waits for you to draw, as God waits to draw close to you.

[1] Deut. 29:10-11 NRSV

[2] Deut. 30:16 NRSV

[3] Matt. 22:37-40 | Igor Ovsyannykov

Have we lost our saltiness?

This sermon was prepared for Chapel at the United Theological College / La Seminaire Unie for February 1st, 2017 (based on the following Sunday’s lectionary, Epiphany 5). This was the Wednesday following the shooting at le Centre Culturel Islamique du Québec on January 29th, 2017, in Québec.

I had another sermon prepared, that is, until 10pm Sunday night. I had another service prepared until Zack called to me down the hall.

After I had heard about the events at the Centre Culturel Islamique de Québec, I laid awake in bed, knowing it was my turn to lead chapel on Wednesday. And, I thought to myself, there was no way I could lead you in the songs and prayers I had planned. Then, I asked myself: If I change the songs, and the prayers, should I also change the scripture reading? Does this reading, from Matthew, speak to the tragic loss of life, perpetuated by fear, ignorance, and hatred?

And, the next morning, I turned back to the passage and asked: Where is God in this? Where was God on Sunday night, when God’s children knelt in prayer?

I thought about how today is the first day of Black History month. I thought about Christianity’s bloody history of discrimination and exploitation against Muslims and People of Colour.

I read and reread the Gospel passage, and this is what I heard…

You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot.

And, I wonder, have we lost our taste? As a Christianized nation, a nation built on Biblical ideas, for better or worse. Have we, as a society, lost our saltiness? Have we shrouded our city on the hill? Have we hidden our light?

And I was overwhelmed by grief because the answer seemed so clearly to be yes, and the passage seemed to say that our saltiness could never be restored.

If we are the “light of the world,” and we have been called to “let our light shine before others, so that they may see our good works and give glory to God,” how do we undo what has been done? How do we rewrite the horrific Gospel we have been proclaiming?

But, salt doesn’t lose its taste. A city built on a hill cannot be hidden. And, light leaks through the cracks.

No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house.

Last week, when we heard Jesus say: blessed are the poor, the meek, the marginalized… We imagined that he was speaking to the people in front of him: trades people, parents, widowers, orphans, slaves, and all those others who gathered on the hillside.

To these people, Matthew’s Jesus proceeds to say “you”. You, who are blessed and marginalized, are salt and light.

You are salt. You are light.

He calls these blessed people to live their lives as a testament to God’s work, a universal work of love that we see lived out in Jesus.

When the world seems to lose its taste, when it overwhelms us, we look for those “salt of the earth” people. Folks whose words and actions flicker like a light in the darkness. These people quietly and loudly proclaim the Gospel message. They act out their testimony to the Living Word, the Gospel message of Jesus.

Fred Rogers once said: “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’”

People like Mohamed Belkhadir, a 29-year-old engineering student at Université Laval. Who, when hearing gunfire, returned to the mosque he had just left. Who provided First Aid to a friend who was shot. Who fled when he saw a man with a gun, thinking it was the shooter, not the police. Who said, “I understand, I respect, that they caught me. They saw me flee, they thought I was suspicious, that’s normal. For them, someone who flees is a suspect.”

Where were you God, on Sunday night? In the hands and feet of people who reached out against fear, ignorance, and hatred in acts of love.

In the following weeks we will hear the continuation of this sermon, and the instructions Jesus gives on how to shape our lives to be an inward reflection of a God-inspired ethic. Thereby shaping our actions to be an outward reflection of this same God.

This is a crash course in being salty and bright; in being a “salt of the earth” kind of people.

And, we will hear more about how being salt and light is a call to live a revolutionary life, a radical life of justice and of love–a call to demonstrate the Gospel message.

But for now? We mourn, we respond, and we care for one another. For now? We look for the helpers and hope to find that we, too, are one.