Last year, after worship on Passion/Palm Sunday, a member wondered what happened to Palm Sunday. I appreciated this person’s question and I approached Worship Ministry Team and session with an idea. Beginning this year, our worship would alternate between Palm Sunday and Passion/Palm Sunday. This year, on Palm Sunday, March 28, we celebrate Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem on Sunday. Worship will begin with a processional with the palms. All of our choirs will provide music for this day. Our youth will have a drama and I will preach on the events of that first day from Luke 19:28-48, “A Day in the Life.”
During Holy Week, on Monday and Wednesday, we will have a brief service of Evening Prayer at 7:00 p.m. On Tuesday at 6:00 p.m. the Discipleship Ministry Team will have a Seder meal. Please watch your bulletin for more information about these worship experiences.
On Maundy Thursday, April 1, our liturgy will come from Lyn Reith, a pastor in the United Church of Christ. She writes, “This service was designed to be a full service of Word and Sacrament. It was also designed to allow worshipers to share in the intimacy Jesus experienced with his disciples through foot washing and during the meal in the hours prior to his arrest and crucifixion.” While the ritual of foot washing will only be shared by one other person and me, it will raise a question whether there may “Another Sacrament?”
Finally, on Good Friday, April 2, our worship will come from Mary Kortman and Daniel Mouw. Mary serves as worship director at South Grandville Christian Reformed Church in Grandville, Michigan, where Dan is pastor. “Beneath the Cross” uses first person narratives from Judas, Simon of Cyrene, a Soldier, Mary, the dying thief, and the Centurion to tell the story of the Passion of our Lord.
Continue reading about Holy Week Worship at Kenmore Presbyterian Church
Women Keeping the Message Alive
On the Third Sunday in Lent, March 7, our worship will celebrate the gifts of women, using resources from Horizons Magazine, the publication of Presbyterian Women. Celebrate the Gifts of Women Sunday honors women who contribute their gifts to the church and community, and lifts up issues of women’s rights. March 7, 2010, is Celebrate the Gifts of Women Sunday, the day before International Women’s Day on March 8.
This year’s theme is “Women Keeping the Message Alive.” From Eve, the mother of all living, through the tears of Esther, through an angel to Mary, through Mary and Martha at their brother’s death, through the women who came to the tomb, through Priscilla during the time of Pentecost, through women in the church today, God’s word is kept alive. From sermons preached to lessons taught, from emails sent to text messages received, from inscriptions on papyrus to internet blogs, the message is still being sent and received by women. We rejoice in and celebrate God’s message to women, along with the way women continue to keep God’s word alive.
We will welcome to our pulpit our own Marilyn Koszarek, who serves as Moderator of Presbyterian Women in the Presbytery of Western New York. Women will provide leadership in every facet of worship, except for the celebration of the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.
Continue reading about Celebrate the Gifts of Women Sunday, March 7, 2010 at 10:00 a.m.
Luke 4: 1-13
A Sermon Preached by the Reverend Howard W. Boswell, Jr.
First Sunday in Lent, February 21, 2010
Kenmore Presbyterian Church
Kenmore, New York
Whenever I hear the story of Jesus’ temptations in the wilderness, the American spiritual, “Jesus Walked This Lonesome Valley” always comes to mind. It arose out of poor rural white communities in the South, where people worked hard in the fields. You can almost hear them singing, as they plowed and picked,
“Jesus walked this lonesome valley, He had to walk it by Himself;
O, nobody else could walk it for Him, He had to walk it by Himself.”
I imagine those folks in the field found comfort when they considered Jesus being tempted and tried, just as they were. It fit well with what they read in Hebrews 4: 15, “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin.” It made it easier to believe Jesus knew what they were going through, as they encountered hardships and loss, as all of us do.
Since Jesus went ahead of them, it made it easier to sing that second verse,
“We must walk this lonesome valley; we have to walk it by ourselves;
O, nobody else can walk it for us, we have to walk it by ourselves.
We can believe Jesus knows our lonesome valley, because he’s been there before us, and come out the other side, to save us and strengthen us for all of life’s trials.
You see, Jesus’ temptations in the wilderness were not new. They were not unique to him. They were as old as the Garden of Eden, where the serpent tempted our first parents, with the promise to be like God. They are an ordinary as the temptations you and I encounter everyday.
The Spirit led Jesus to the wilderness for forty days. The wilderness is where God’s people always go to wrestle with who they are and who God calls them to be. Moses and Elijah, the greatest prophets Israel ever knew, did wilderness time. The entire people of Israel spent forty years in the wilderness, working out who and whose they were. From the waters of the Jordan, with the voice of God still ringing in his ears, Jesus came to the wilderness to figure out what God meant, when God said, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” I wonder whether Jesus ever wondered what God meant, as he walked his lonesome valley, without food for forty days.
Now, we may not see how Jesus’ temptations relate to ours, but I believe they do. In his book on Christian leadership, In the Name of Jesus, the late Henri Nouwen called Jesus’ first temptation to turn bread into stones, “the temptation to be relevant.” You see, the devil not only tempted Jesus to fill his hunger, it would have been way too easy. Instead, the devil offered Jesus the quick fix to being the Messiah by meeting the real needs people have, by giving them what they really want. How often have we thought that everything would be alright, if we could just give people what they wanted? Yet, isn’t there a difference between what people want and what they need? Besides, only God can provide us what we really need.
As I said, Jesus faced a temptation as old as Eden and ordinary as everyday. He countered the devil with Deuteronomy 8:3, wilderness words, “One does not live by bread alone.” Only God gives life! Nouwen says for you and me the answer to this temptation lies in prayer, but not prayer where we tell God what we want. Instead, we resist this temptation, as Jesus did, by listening long and hard to what God desires for us, as God’s beloved. We need to contemplate who and whose we are.
Nouwen calls the next temptation, to accept authority over all kingdoms of the world, “the temptation to be powerful.” The devil held out to Jesus’ another quick fix for his mission. If he ruled over all people, he could govern with peace and justice, if he’d just bend the knee and bow the head. We may not think we face this temptation, but we do. Whenever we think, “If only I could control this situation… If only I could make her see, make him do…” the devil whispers in our ears, offering to make us like God.
Yet, Jesus knew the answer, Deuteronomy 6: 13. Moses told his people in the wilderness, “Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him” Earlier, in the same chapter, Moses called them to prayer, as Jews continue to be called to worship to this day, “Hear, O Israel: The LORD is our God, the LORD alone. You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.”
Nouwen suggests that theological reflection serves as the tool for resisting this temptation. Now, lest you think theology is only for those who has been to seminary, God calls all of us to reflect upon our relationship with God, which is the basic meaning of theology. Nouwen means that we need to stop and think about the God to whom we belong in life and in death, the God whom we love with our whole being, before we do or say anything, which may cause us to settle for something less than God.
By now, I imagine some of you may wonder whether I believe in the devil. Well, to borrow from C.S. Lewis, I’m not particular about the hoofs and horns and red cape, but yes, I believe the devil is real. Now, even if you don’t, you need to believe me when I tell you, there is a force at work within our lives, in our world, that is against God. It comes to us, like the devil came to Jesus, and attempts to make us prove how much we love God. You see, I believe the devil has a Ph.D., maybe even from Princeton, because he knows the Bible. When he tempted Jesus to throw himself down from the temple heights, he quoted Psalm 91: 11-12, “He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you. On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.”
I think this temptation may be one that we wrestle the most nowadays. Nouwen calls it, “the temptation to be spectacular,” and churches and individual Christians fall prey to it in many subtle and not so subtle ways. I know people who refused medical treatment, because they believed God would heal them. I know people who worked themselves to death, serving God or so they thought, because they believed God would bless them. I know preachers who preach that if we name it, we can claim it. Yet, Jesus looked the devil in the eye and he shouted, “No! Do not put the Lord your God to the test!”
Nouwen’s antidote for this temptation may be hard for us to swallow: Confession and forgiveness. It means that we need to admit to God and one other person, how we have failed, how life has broken us, how we are not fine, unless fine stands for “Freaked out… Insecure… Neurotic… and Emotional,” as I once heard. When we confess to God and other person, we can accept forgiveness, which means we are loved by God, no matter what, which means we can be fully human, like our brother, Jesus.
Jesus knows our lonesome valley, maybe even better than we ever knew. He walked it long before we did, all the way to the cross, and came out the other side, up from the grave. Because he did, we can live with confidence that nothing in life and in death can separate us from the one who knows us through and through, and loves us still and all. He did it all to save us and strengthen us, so we can finish the song,
“You must go and stand your trial, you have to stand it by yourself,
O, nobody else can stand it for you, you have to stand it by yourself.”
Yet, since Jesus walked this lonesome valley, we are never alone, when we face our trials. He stands alongside of us, stands in our place, and supports us every step of the way.
©2010 Howard W. Boswell, Jr.
Philippians 3:17-4:1
A Sermon Preached by the Reverend Dr. Howard W. Boswell, Jr.
Second Sunday in Lent, February 28, 2010
Kenmore Presbyterian Church
Kenmore, New York
Growing up, it would not be much of an exaggeration to say there were two types of music in our home, Country and Western. My father preferred the classic performers, like Hank Williams, Sr., Patsy Cline, Bill Monroe, Loretta Lynn, and, of course, Johnny Cash. Nearly every album had at least one gospel song on it, usually an old hymn, sung with deep reverence.
I read recently Johnny Cash made a vow to God, when he began his career. He would tithe every album: At least one song out of ten would be a gospel song. On American Recording III: Solitary Man, that song would be “Wayfaring Stranger,” which starts,
I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger,
A trav’ling through this world of woe;
But there’s no sickness, toil or danger,
In that fair land to which I go.
I’m going there to see my father,
I’m going there no more to roam;
I’m just a-going over Jordan,
I’m just a-going over home.
Like many folk songs, we have no idea who wrote “Wayfaring Stranger.” Like many folk songs, no one sings it the same way, and everyone uses different words. Yet, the song speaks of a nearly universal longing, reflected in many spirituals and gospel songs, like, “I Am a Pilgrim,” “I’m Bound for the Promised Land,” or “I’ll Fly Away.” This longing stretches back to Abraham, as he left his home, following God’s promise of a land, and continues down through the people of Israel, whether wandering in the wilderness or waiting in exile.
Paul echoes this longing, when he says, “I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.” This longing resounds when he reminds his readers, “But there’s far more to life for us. We’re citizens of high heaven!” With full confidence and courage, “Wayfaring Stranger” speaks of living this life as a pilgrim journey, traveling through this world with purpose, toward a place that has expected our homecoming for years.
Of course, most people don’t speak this way, nowadays, not even many of us who claim Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior. We don’t “begin with the end in mind,” as Stephen Covey suggested in The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. We live in a culture that encourages us to experience life to the fullest, but the fullness it promises is hollow at best. It encourages us to focus on what we consume, rather than finding a passion worthy enough to fill us.
We don’t really know who Paul addresses as those who choose other ways, who take the easy paths to fulfillment, who hate the Cross, who worship their appetites. They are most likely Christians, who are so heavenly minded, they are of no earthly good! We may know such Christians today, who take the easy way out. They believe since they’re saved, what difference does it make what they do here and now? They claim Jesus Christ is their Savior, but they seem to forget that he’s also their Lord. They confess him with their lips on Sunday and live however they like the rest of the week. They worship at the altar of whatever works. They serve the god of whatever feels good. They wear that stupid bumper sticker I have not seen in years, thank God! “Christians aren’t perfect. They’re just forgiven.” Paul speaks about these types of people with tears in his eyes, because they don’t grasp or care how they affect the faith of others.
Yet, sooner or later, as Paul says, easy street turns into a dead end. Yes, we are forgiven; no, we don’t have to be perfect. Yet, we have to live our lives with the end in mind. Somehow, how we live must speak to where we’re headed. We aren’t fooling anybody, except maybe ourselves, when we say one thing and do another. We need to not only talk the talk, but walk the walk.
When I speak of life as a pilgrim journey, this is what I have in mind: We need to live our lives on earth, as if we’re headed towards heaven, as if what we do here and now somehow reflects our goal. I think of another passage of Scripture from Hebrews 11, the hall of fame of the faithful who went before us. Remembering Abraham and others, the author of Hebrews says in chapter eleven, verses thirteen through sixteen,
- All of these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them. They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth, for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of the land that they had left behind, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; indeed, he has prepared a city for them.
When Paul reminds us “our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ,” he calls us to live like those “wayfaring strangers,” who went before us, pioneers, following Jesus, who walked this lonesome valley, not settlers, who are content with the way things are. Paul calls us to live our lives with the end in mind, to see them as a pilgrim journey, where step by step, God leads us and we follow God all of our days.
It’s not an easy way, as the second verse of “Wayfaring Stranger” says, “I know dark clouds will gather ‘round me, I know my way is rough and steep.” “We tread in relay the way of the cross,” as one poet wrote, but we have this hope within us, “[Jesus will] make us beautiful and whole with the same powerful skill by which he is putting everything as it should be, under and around him.” Through the eyes of hope, we see “beauteous fields lie just before us, where God’s redeemed their vigils keep.”
“I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger,” and so are you. With Paul, I want what’s best for you and me. I believe what’s best for us begins by living in hope, every day, seeing every step we take as another step toward home, doing all we can to reflect where we are headed in how we live, here and now. So, with Paul, in all love, I charge you not to waver, stand firm, and stay on track. Live as those of whom God will not be ashamed to be called their God. Keep headed towards that fair land, which has long awaited our homecoming.
©2010 Howard W. Boswell, Jr.
Continue reading about “‘I’m Just a Poor Wayfaring Stranger’: Life as a Pilgrim Journey”
2 Corinthians 5:16-6:10
A Sermon Preached by the Reverend Dr. Howard W. Boswell, Jr.
Ash Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Kenmore Presbyterian Church
Kenmore, New York
Tonight’s worship differs somewhat from previous Ash Wednesday services. Usually, what we have done so far follows the sermon. Even though we confess our sins on Ash Wednesday, we don’t reflect on them in as much depth as we have tonight. Ordinarily, we offer the imposition of ashes after the sermon, just before we receive the bread and cup.
Yet, tonight, some of us already bear the sign of the ashes upon our brows. We came forward and heard those ancient words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Even if we didn’t receive the ashes, we know all too well what they mean. They remind us of “the frailty and uncertainty of human life.” They mark “the penitence of this community.”
Even if we never came to worship on Ash Wednesday, most of us know the old nursery rhyme, “Ring around the rosie, Pocketful of posies, Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.” Associate University Chaplain at Yale, Callista S. Isabelle comments on this curious sign we bear and what it may mean for us here tonight. She writes:
- Strange things happen when we publicly acknowledge our mortality. It can open up conversations that might otherwise not take place. Naming mortality in a community is a way of falling down together so we can be pulled up together by the grace of God.
When we sing, “Just as I am, without one plea,” we may begin again with God and with one another.
When Paul presented his credentials to the church of Corinth, he came just as he was. He did not clean himself up to look presentable. He did not appear before those who questioned his apostleship without a mark on him. Instead, he wore his ashes, the signs of his mortality and, as some thought, his failure. He rehearsed for them all the “hard times, tough times, bad times” of his ministry, as Peterson puts it in The Message. He recalled the beatings, the imprisonments, and hard work. He remembered how he worked, “with pure heart, clear head, steady hand; in gentleness, holiness, and honest love,” again as Peterson puts it. Through all of it, all the highs and lows, Paul knew to whom he belonged and from whom he received the power to proclaim the good news.
Yet, too often, within the church, we keep quiet about such things. We would rather remain upbeat and refuse to reveal our mortality. We pretend that the sign of the ashes cannot be seen, but even if we did not receive them, they are there. We bear them as the furrowed brow as we worry about our security,wondering how we will provide for our families. We bear them in the heavy sigh as we grieve the loss of another friend, guessing when our time will come. Unlike Paul, we keep these anxious fears to ourselves, except perhaps, tonight, when we wear the sign of ashes, which says to ourselves and to one another, we know how fearful life can be; we know how fragile life can be; we know how far we fall from life as God intends it to be.
We bear the ashes in the anxiety we feel at times for the future of the church, fearing that there is nothing we can do to escape what seems the futility of keeping the doors open. Sometimes, when folks talk about change or renewal in the church, or elsewhere for that matter, I feel as if they leave out a step. Unless we acknowledge our fears, we will never find faith. Unless we admit our despair, we will never find hope. Unless we accept our indifference, we will never find love. Until we allow that we’ve made mistakes, we will never turn around and find our way home.
We wear our ashes for all the world, for one another, and for ourselves to see, as we sing that old song,
Just as I am, without one plea
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou biddest me come to Thee,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come!
Paul endured everything and wore his ashes for all to see, so that everyone would know the good news. What was the good news? The good news was that God was in Christ reconciling the world to Godself. The good news was that in Christ, there was a new creation; the old life had passed away, was put to death, and everything had become new. In grace, God did all of it and Paul pled with the Corinthians: Be reconciled to God.
When all is said and done, this message still rings true today. With Paul, in Christ, I invite you to come home to God tonight and throughout this holy season of Lent. We come, not because we are able to come on our own power. We come, not because we have it all figured out. Just as we are, “though tossed about,
With many a conflict, many a doubt,
Fightings and fears within, without.
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.”
We come, not because we’ve kept our noses clean. We come, not because we’re without flaw. Just as we are, the Lamb of God, the sweet Lamb of God “wilt receive,
Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;
Because Thy promise I believe,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come!”
We come, not because we must, but because we may. We come because we long to come, since “Thy love unknown
Has broken every barrier down;
Now to be Thine, yea, Thine alone,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come!”
As a community, we have fallen down together on this night, wearing once more the sign of the ashes, which tells of life’s frailty and uncertainty, which mark our penitence. We have fallen down together, but not so that we may stay there, rather so that God may pull us up by God’s grace, so we may come, we may come and remember our baptism and receive the bread and cup. We come, because God came to us first, when God sent his only Son to dwell among us, to reveal God’s love to us through the cross, to be the Lamb of God who made a way for us to be welcomed into God’s loving embrace.
©2010 Howard W. Boswell, Jr.
Continue reading about “‘Just As I Am, Without One Plea’—How We May Begin Again”
Isaiah 6: 1-13
A Sermon Preached by the Reverend Dr. Howard W. Boswell, Jr.
Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time, February 7, 2010
Kenmore Presbyterian Church
Kenmore, New York
Several years ago, Bronwen’s brother-in-law gave us a CD for Christmas, In Search of Angels, the soundtrack for a PBS special by the same name. While I appreciate most of the New Age and Classical music on the disc, one song stuck with me, “Calling All Angels,” by Canadian singer-songwriter, Jane Siberry. It begins with an ethereal roll call of the saints, starting with Santa Maria and ending with “Vladimir, and all the rest.” The verses seem to suggest our quest to make sense of life’s losses, as Siberry sings of looking at a sunset in the second verse,
Why it’s…it’s almost as if, if you could only crack the code,
then you’d finally understand what this all means,
but if you could…Do you think you would trade it in,
all the pain and suffering?
Ah, but then you’d miss
the beauty of the light upon this earth
and the sweetness of the leaving.
Yet, the chorus of “Calling all Angels” keeps coming back to me,
Calling all angels! Calling all angels!
Walk me through this one! Don’t leave me alone!
Callin’ all angels! Callin’ all angels!
We’re tryin’; we’re hopin’; we’re hurtin’; we’re lovin’; we’re cryin’; we’re callin’;
’cause we’re not sure how this goes
I hear the chorus as a kind of prayer, a cry from the heart for help. It expresses how all of us may feel when the earth shakes beneath our feet, when the bottom falls out of life. We try… We hope… We hurt… We love… We cry… We call out for saints, angels, God to walk with us and not leave us alone. God answers such calls and calls us to answer, when “we’re not sure how this goes.”
We can imagine what drew Isaiah to the temple “in the year that King Uzziah died.” We don’t need to know all the details of who Uzziah was. We don’t need to know how his death spelled the beginning of the end for Judah. We don’t need to know, because those seven words say everything we need to know. We understand how the loss of a national leader leaves people feeling as if the bottom falls out of life. We understand how a disaster, like Katrina or Haiti, an attack like December 7, 1941 or September 11, 2001, makes us feel as if the earth gives way beneath our feet and the foundations of our world shake.
We can imagine what drew Isaiah to the temple, because it may be what draws us here today. All of us know pain and suffering, even if it’s just the nagging realization of how more time lies behind us than lies ahead of us. Some of us come to this sanctuary, seeking shelter from life’s storms. Maybe, we got the call from the doctor’s office we’ve been dreading. Perhaps, we grasp our marriage is over or we’re still trying to understand how it all ended. We may continue to mourn the loss of a loved one. Maybe, we grieve the loss of a job or the death of a dream. Perhaps, we cannot quite give up something that’s gone, never to return, or someone who’s never really been there for us. It could be we’re just sick and tired of being sick and tired. We understand what brought Isaiah to the temple. We know, because who among us hasn’t wondered how all of this goes.
We may come to this sanctuary in search of comfort, wanting some answers,but God seeks us out with a call, which raises new questions, as well. Some of us may imagine God as a kindly old man or a heavenly shoulder on which to cry. We think of angels as cherubic little children or handsome young men. Yet, if they were, why are their first words always: “Do not be afraid”? When Isaiah encountered God in the temple, he met no kindly old man. God filled the temple with just the hem of God’s garment, so Isaiah could not see, let alone reach God’s shoulder to shed a tear. God could not be contained in the temple, no matter how large it was. Some scholars suggest the seraphim, soaring around God, were something more like fire-breathing dragons than cherubs. I’m not sure, but seraphim means “fiery ones” and they sang a song we continue to sing, “Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.”
I wonder whether we understand those words when we sing them. When we say God is not just holy, but thrice holy, we acknowledge how high and lofty God is, how worthy God is of our praise and adoration. When we call upon God as Yahweh Sabaoth, the Lord of hosts, we acknowledge the might and mystery of who God is. When we say the world reflects God’s glory, we acknowledge God as the Creator of everything seen and unseen. When we sing this angelic song, we say something about God. We say God is greater than all that is and better than anything we can imagine. We affirm God is perfect, which leads us to confess how we are not. With Isaiah, when we fully grasp who God is, a truth totally takes hold of us. We are not God; we are not perfect; we are not creator, but creatures; we are weak; we are not worthy. As Isaiah cried out, we confess, “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!” When we really come face to face with God, we become aware of how great our need of God’s grace is.
Yet, with a fiery coal, a seraph takes away Isaiah’s sin. With a word, we are made whole and righteous to stand before the King. For us, that word above all earthly powers is Jesus, who called common fisherfolk, even when they felt they were unworthy to follow. For us, that word comes from one who called Isaiah to proclaim a difficult word to people who might not listen, but who promised a holy seed would stay, a faithful remnant. For us, we see that word in bread and cup upon this table, where we experience him with us, here and now.
We continue to call all angels to let us know God remains with us. More recently, Train recorded a song with the same name as the one with which I began this sermon, “Calling All Angels.” It offers an appropriate prayer with which to end:
I need a sign to let me know you’re here
All of these lines are being crossed over the atmosphere
I need to know that things are gonna look up
‘Cause I feel us drowning in a sea spilled from a cup
When there is no place safe and no safe place to put my head
When you feel the world shake from the words that are said
And I’m calling all angels
I’m calling all you angels
I won’t give up if you don’t give up
I won’t give up if you don’t give up
I won’t give up if you don’t give up
I won’t give up if you don’t give up.
I can only add: God won’t give up, so let us not give up.
©2010 Howard W. Boswell, Jr.
1 Corinthians 13
A Sermon Preached by the Reverend Dr. Howard W. Boswell, Jr.
Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time, January 31, 2010
Kenmore Presbyterian Church
Kenmore, New York
I cannot tell you how many times I have read 1 Corinthians 13. I would easily reckon around a hundred. Couples chose it as a Scripture reading at the majority of the marriages I performed during my twenty-five years of ordained ministry. I preached on this beloved passage twice from this pulpit and twice in Niles, where I served before I moved here eleven years ago. I’ll admit it’s a favorite chapter of Scripture for me and it probably is for many of you as well.
Yet, as I read it again, on Tuesday, something surprised me. I noticed a footnote in the New Revised Standard Version for the first time. It comes after the word, “dimly,” in verse 12a, “For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face.” If you look in the pew Bibles, you will find it at the bottom of the page, “Gk in a riddle.” Paul uses the Greek word from which we get, “enigma.” The Revised English Bible comes closer to a literal translation of verse 12a, “At present we only see puzzling reflections, but one day we shall see face to face.” The New Jerusalem Bible comes even closer, “Now we only see reflections in a mirror, mere riddles, but then we shall be seeing face to face.”
When confronted with a passage as familiar as 1 Corinthians 13, one hopes to find something one’s never seen before, or else, one runs the risk of saying what everyone’s heard before. This footnote reminded me of something I suspect to be true about love. While folks write songs, poems, novels, plays, books, and articles about love, it always remains just beyond our ken. Love remains, as Paul puts it, a riddle, an enigma, a puzzle, a mystery. When we read 1 Corinthians 13, we make a mistake. We imagine it describes what we need to do in order to achieve love. Yet, we cannot achieve love until we receive love.
Yet, we cannot receive love until we grasp how empty our lives are without love. We may achieve every dream we have. We may accomplish every goal we set. Yet, if we do not have love, we are nothing. Even when we look at the spiritual side of life, it’s true. Paul addressed 1 Corinthians 13 to a church, which put the “fun” in dysfunctional. The Corinthians had more problems than we have time to catalogue, but everything came out when they gathered for worship. They fought over who sat where in worship, which finally meant who got fed and who didn’t at the Lord’s table. Some felt their spiritual gifts were superior to others. Yet, after explaining how each gift relates to the others, as one part of the body relates to another in chapter 12, Paul pointed to all the gifts he possessed and all the pious things he could do, if he wanted. He told the Corinthians, without love, I’m nothing.
Even within the church today, it remains true. We may have wonderful worship and magnificent music, but if we don’t have love, we’re only making noise. We may offer programs of excellence, but if we don’t have love, they are empty. We could double in size, but if we don’t have love, it doesn’t matter. We could manage our finances so well to reverse our budget woes, but if we don’t have love, we’re bankrupt. We could reach out to those in need around us in our neighborhood, but if we don’t have love, it’s nothing. Without love, we are nothing, because love is all that really matters.
Also, we cannot receive love until we reflect on how little we already love. If we sat in First Church, Corinth and listened to Paul’s correspondence, 1 Corinthians 13: 4-7 would not have made us feel warm and fuzzy. Every word in those four verses was an arrow aimed right at the heart of what was wrong with First Church, Corinth. Love might be patient, but they weren’t. Love might be kind, but kind would not be the first word to come to mind, when describing First Church, Corinth. Love might not be envious or boastful or arrogant or rude, but they were as they fought over which gifts were the best. Love might not insist on its own way or be irritable or resentful, but those behaviors appeared whenever they gathered at the Lord’s table. They rejoiced when someone stumbled and could hardly wait to tell Paul what so-and-so did or said, but they did not rejoice when they had to face the truth about their own faults.
Sometimes, we think of love as a nice, warm feeling, and it can be. Yet, whenever I meet with a couple and with stars in their eyes, they tell me they want 1 Corinthians 13 read at their wedding, I wonder whether they really get what Paul means. I comfort myself with the thought they couldn’t hear me anyway, even if I could make it clear just how great a price such passion really exacts from those who would live by these words. In his book, The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis offered fair warning:
- There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket—safe, dark, motionless, airless—it will change. It will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.
Unless we are willing to bear all things, believe all things, hope all things, endure all things, we might be better off without love, at least until we come to terms with the truth about ourselves. We cannot achieve love. It remains a riddle, an enigma, a puzzle, a mystery until we receive love. Until we grasp love as a gift, a present offered with no strings attached, we will never fully appreciate the kind of love to which Paul pointed. I say “to which Paul pointed,” because when we read the last paragraph of 1 Corinthians 13, he makes it clear how love remains as much of a mystery for him as it does for any of us.
I know you know it, but it’s worth repeating, because it really gets at the heart of what Paul says about love. Our language suffers, because we only have one word for love. We use love for everything, from how we feel about our favorite sports team or flavor of ice cream to how we feel about a parent or a child, a friend or a spouse. All of us know we use the word, “love” in different ways, and we tend to abuse the word by using it in the wrong way. Often, we suffer, because we go “looking for love in all the wrong places,” as an old Country and Western song said. We seek love from folks who are unable to give it, because they never received it. We believe we can achieve love, if we just try harder.
Yet, Paul used a very specific word for love in 1 Corinthians 13, “agape.” Agape implies seeking the best for the other. Agape challenges us to have courage that never gives up on the other. Agape calls us to compassion that always seeks the best for the other. Agape keeps communication open and never allows the sun go down on anger or lets harsh words have the last word. Agape takes a commitment that always remains fiercely and forever for us. Agape involves sacrifice. It’s the kind of love God revealed to us when Jesus took on this human flesh and dwelt among us, when Jesus suffered on the cross and God raised him from the tomb. I find another word that works for this kind of love is grace, because grace reminds us of how far God’s love goes to reach out to us. It reminds us nothing we can do to make God love us any more or any less.
It may be why Paul’s last paragraph on love borders on the mystical, because Paul grasped this side of heaven, all of our love is only an imperfect reflection of what awaits us when we see God face to face. It may be why I believe we cannot achieve love until we receive love. Some of us did not receive the love we needed as we grew up. We bear scars of wounds from those who did not know how to love. Sometimes, we try to get those needs met in ways that don’t work. When all is said and done, we can only receive the love we need from the Lover of souls, who gives us the faith we need to trust we will not be let go, who gives us the hope we need to risk love again. Love is the greatest gift God offers us. God holds it out to us with nail-scarred hands. The late Madeline L’Engle offered these instructions for how to receive so great a gift:
Unclench your fists
Hold out your hands
Take mine.
Let us hold each other.
Thus is his glory
Manifest.
© 2010 Howard W. Boswell, Jr.
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