The resurrection of Christ is the climax of the story of our bodies, but not the end of it. By resurrecting the body of Jesus, God made clear that God loves our bodies enough to resurrect them, too. That was the message that Paul was trying to preach, but he had a little trouble getting that idea across to the Greeks. They didn't have the Books of Moses. They had Plato and Socrates. They didn't think much of physical bodies. They called them cesspools of lust, prisons of pain and dungeons of decay. They didn't believe that God had ever created them or that God would ever want to save them. The Greeks yearned to live in a disembodied, purely spiritual world, and so they waited for death when they would be released from their bodies. You might think this is a very old-fashioned way of looking at things, but I'll have you know this way of thinking is still going strong today.
But what we can't get from a self-help book or a weekend seminar or a long silent retreat is the messy, noisy, life-saving grace of community. At its best, the communion of saints is a community of mutual support and accountability. We need the communion of saints to support us in our search for God and to hold us to a higher standard as we try to live for God. You see, we can’t be saints in single file. We can’t be holy on our own. Wesley said that “Christianity is essentially a social religion” and “to turn it into a solitary one is to destroy it.” [“Sermon on the Mount IV”] Me-Myself-and I is a pretty sorry substitute for the communion of saints.
I'm thinking that Paul, in his best moments, was able to write down truth that he had not yet lived. On rare occasions, like in his letter to the Galatians, he was able to glimpse a vision of a kingdom that had not yet come. The fact that he couldn't live there all the time only confirms what we already know about ourselves: that our vision is incomplete (we see as in a mirror dimly, I Corinthians 13); that our spiritual connection to God is intermittent at best; and that our culture usually has more influence on us than Christ does. So just because Paul couldn't grasp the full implications of the gospel and its radical vision of freedom and inclusion is no reason for us to dismiss him. Whether he knew it or not, Paul planted the seeds for that vision. Buried deep in his words was a Word about dignity and equality that has taken many centuries to begin to grow.
This transformation—from false self to true self—is made possible by the mystery of faith that we proclaim in the sacrament of communion: Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again. This is the mystery we have to participate in if we want to be made alive in Christ, the mystery that says that something in us has to die before we can really live, something in us has to break down before we can be raised up. That's why Paul is always boasting about his weakness, why he always seems to be savoring his suffering. It's not because he's a masochist, but because he's participating in the mystery, he is imitating the Messiah.
"I am what I am." These words had a different meaning for Paul and for God. For Paul, it was an expression of honesty: "I have been an S.O.B." For God, it was "Yes, but you are also an S.O.G., a son of God. And I'm going to give you the grace to believe it and the strength to live it." That doesn't mean that grace made him perfect or changed his personality. Paul was still there, flaws and all. But grace made him able to live with himself and less prone to project his problems on to somebody else. And when he accepted the fact that he was accepted as he was, he could become what God had always known him to be. And so he tells the Corinthians, "By the grace of God, I am what I am, and his grace toward me has not been in vain."
God's love has no good reason. But Paul fell for it anyway. To a people who wanted power, he preached death on a cross. To a people who valued reason, he preached the mystery of the resurrection. No wonder Paul got himself thrown into prison! All because the world doesn't know what to do with a paradox when it stumbles on one.
The danger here is that the beauty of your words can distract us from the power of your message: out of all the good things in life, the greatest thing is love. In fact, when all is said and done, the only thing that matters is love. You said it and I believe it. But that poses a problem for me and for many other people. A lot of us would rather read the Gospels, because when we read your letters, Paul, we wonder, "Where's the love?" After all, you tell slaves not to seek their freedom [I Cor 7:21] and women to keep their heads covered and their mouths shut in church [I Cor 11:1-16; 14:34]. You also tell folk to submit to authorities because all their authority comes directly from God. [Rom 13:1-7] Is that true of Hitler? Mussolini? Idi Amin? Don't get me wrong, but love is not the first thing I think of when I read these passages.
Today, I have shown you some of the many faces of Paul: Paul the Enforcer, Paul the Mystic, Paul the Apostle, Paul the Entrepreneur; Paul the Communicator; Paul the Prisoner; and Paul the Pastor. And it is my guess that at least one of these Paul's will speak to you. Perhaps that is how best to understand how Paul can be all things to all people: by being a big enough personality to offer something to everyone. Paul is a complex character. He is a mass of contradictions. It's hard to know what to make of him. But I invite you to listen, really listen, in the next several weeks, so that we can train our ears to hear the Word of God sneaking up on and slipping through the words of Paul to speak to us. That is my hope and my prayer. Amen.
I heard a commentary on NPR a while ago. It was about Google Maps and how it has changed the way we look at the world. We used to use paper maps and we could see where we were in relationship to the whole. And we could see that it was a big world and there was lots of it we had never seen. But now we look at a map on our cellphone or in our car and we are always in the center of everything. The world always revolves around our little blue dot. And we have no sense of what lies beyond our little screen.
My faith story today is about a very difficult time in my life in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Many of you will remember that this was a time of great turmoil in the country. Last week, we heard a 50th anniversary reading of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” a memorable plea for peace and brotherhood. In addition to the Civil Rights Movement, there was another significant source of tension and contention in America, namely the Vietnam War. Both the Civil Rights Movement and the Vietnam War weighed heavily on my generation, both when I was in high school from 1962 to 1965 and when I was in college from 1965 to 1969.