Sermon: B Epiphany 5, February 7, 2021, "God speaks our language"

 B Epiphany 5 SJUCC 2021
I Corinthians 9:1, 16-27
February 7, 2021

I spent a little under a year as a UCC missionary in Chiapas working with the Roman Catholic Diocese there.  Because that missionary stint was in between my second and third year in seminary, I needed a mentor to receive seminary credit for my experience.  What I got in a mentor was a person full of a sense of humor, courage, humility, and kindness in Bishop Samuel Ruiz Garcia.  Nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize several times, Bishop Ruiz came to and was converted in his ecclesiastical office in much the same way as the late Oscar Romero, the martyred El Salvadoran priest, who was canonized as a saint in 2018.   Like Romero, Bishop Ruiz was a man of letters who was eventually converted by the poor and oppressed in his diocese.  He loved gadgets and was an avid ham radio operator that spent time learning English and the seven Mayan dialects in his diocese by listening.

Bishop Ruiz was such a powerful presence for the indigenous of Chiapas that after a paramilitary group broke into his living quarters in the cathedral, seeking to assassinate him, the indigenous Maya people ringed the Cathedral several-people-deep 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, for several weeks, as a form of protection. 

I remember sitting beside him at a grand banquet for the diocese to which he invited me.  To my left was Bishop Ruiz.  To my right were a group of several Maya teenage girls who spoke the Chol dialect, known by the pattern and style of their colorful blouses.  They went on and on in conversation with each other, often softening to a whisper as they stole glances at Bishop Ruiz.  When he thought it appropriate, he broke into their conversation with a smile and spoke something in Chol to them.  As they realized he had understood every single word they had said, their faces turned a bright red, their hands came up over their mouths in surprise and embarrassment, and they all joined together in laughter.  With the grace and good humor he always kept, he smiled at them to let them know there were no worries.  When he rose to speak, he spent the next 30 minutes encouraging Biblical literacy in the diocese by explaining the Exodus story to all of the people gathered, sounding not unlike Dr. King. 

Bishop Ruiz mirrored this beautiful spirituality of mission explained by the apostle Paul in one of his letters to the political associations in Corinth—the radical Scripture verse we have before us today.  Paul writes, “To the Jews I became as a Jew . . . to those under the Law I became as one under the Law . . . to those outside the Law I became as one outside the Law . . . to the weak I became as the weak.”  In a society that had become about spiritual ambition and societal advancement, “puffing oneself up,” Paul shares God’s love for diversity and freedom so that all might know Christ’s love and peace.  He becomes and values the people to whom he is in mission.  He learns what it means to be one of them. 

We all know this in the home district, right?  When someone comes into our neck of the woods to tell us “what is what” in the world there is a certain Michigan litmus test.  There may be East Lansing or Ann Arbor reference points but there is a certain pride about what it means to be in Jackson and one of the historical churches that has led the way in Jackson.   We all want to know that whoever has come to missionize us values what we value, identifies with us, thinks we’re basically “good” people and strong people and speaks our language. 

It’s Biblical geek time and so let’s look at some of the historical context of this Scripture verse.  The ancient city of Corinth was incredibly diverse, a melting pot of ethnicity and culture.  It was destroyed by Roman forces in 146 BCE and then re-founded as a Roman colony by Julius Caesar in 44 BCE.  At its re-founding Julius Caesar repopulated the city with ex-slaves, other surplus populations from Rome, and army veterans.  It was reorganized as a thoroughly Roman city, the urban elites defining the architecture and rebuilding to orient people toward the Roman Temples.  The very wealthy sought to establish unity amidst the city’s multicultural, multi-ethnic groups around the many festivals and forms of homage given for and on behalf of Caesar.  Corinth was a seaport, trade and commerce coming from all over the Roman Empire with an influx of outsiders.  Because of that influx and because so many of its people had been transplanted from elsewhere, however, the whole city itself had air of social rootlessness and a lack of cultural orientation among its many peoples. 

Not unlike the rest of Rome, there was a gaping gulf between the haves and the have-nots in Corinth.  Three percent of the population would have been extremely wealthy, living in luxury and owning most of the productive land.  The remaining 90 percent of the population lived in or below subsistence level. 

The Roman Empire was a slave society.  Slaves were so inexpensive that slave ownership went far down the social scale.  It is estimated that slaves in the Roman Empire made up as much as one-third of the population.  Slaves were nonpersons, with no legal rights and permanently stigmatized as dishonorable.  Some had it better off than others, but all slaves experienced what might be called a “social death” in losing all semblance of family, society, and cultural identity of their origins. 

With so much of Corinth also re-populated by ex-slaves, those who were now descendants of those ex-slaves would have been systematically stripped of their race and any other previous identity, lacking a common ethnicity and culture in their ancestors’ “social death.”  Therefore, what would have been left and valued would have been a desire for social status as a prominent part of their social ethos.[1]  Where they had once had no status at all, now Corinthians reached, grasped, and exploited their new-found status over and against others.  The letters to the Corinthians are filled with Paul enjoining the Christians there not to think themselves having elevated status because of some special wisdom[2] or some special spiritual gifts[3] or even sharing communion without the poor because of their elevated special status.[4]   Imagine that:  a group of Christians who think themselves (church lady voice) “more superior” than others because of their elevated social status.  Isn’t that special?

In contrast to the social, political, and economic ambitions of the Corinthians, much of New Testament literature is laced with language that plays with, at times ridicules, and sometimes even seeks to overturn, the widespread slavery system in the Roman Empire.  For example, in the Gospel of John, Jesus says to the disciples in the farewell discourse, “I no longer call you slaves, but friends.”[5]    In one of the most well-known letters of Paul he writes what we now call the Philippian hymn--that Christ did not count equality with God something to be grasped or exploited but lowered himself in the form of a slave.[6]  Think of how that would have played in the minds of people who heard and saw that Caesar, the focus of so much prose, poetry, and Temple worship, every darn day you see it, the guy at the top of the pyramid, was to be the focus of your life’s ambition.  While in the proclamations of the Christian gospel, Christ had chosen to be divine by living at the bottom of the pyramid—the place of “social death.”  How would that play to people at the bottom of the pyramid?

That is why when I hear of Christians who seek special status, I wonder if that is even in keeping with Christian tradition and Biblical witness.  Paul uses two phrases throughout his letter to the political associations in Corinth which make it clear that the Christian enterprise is not about arriving at some more elevated spiritual status.  Freedom is something not afforded a slave.  So those who had arrived, socially, politically, and economically, valued that word (freedom) not only as moving from a nobody to a somebody but also as someone who was spiritually better.  Freedom was asserted by people of rank asserting their independence from those who might qualify or impinge upon their ability to do anything in the world.  How attractive this would be to people who had long lived at the bottom of the pyramid and now had a chance to advance through their spiritual communities.  Using a slogan twice that was used by people of rank in the ancient world, “All things are lawful,”[7] Paul immediately moves to qualify the statement by saying, “but not all things are beneficial, but not all things build up.”[8]  It is a reminder that even if we think we have special spiritual status, we are called back into how our freedom can benefit and build up the entire Body of Christ, the community. 

When I went to Mexico to serve the United Church of Christ several years ago, I was a rather poor missionary.  Not poor economically.  I stunk at it.  Spiritually, I was a baby.  Even though I knew better, I thought there were some special gifts I would be able to bring Guatemalan refugees, displaced persons in Chiapas, heck even the whole gosh darn State of Chiapas.  Maybe my excellent words would lift them out of poverty and misery and lead to peace across the land?  Maybe my well-read theological treatises might help them to draw closer to Christ and turn the hearts of their oppressors so that they might live in harmony?  I scoffed at people who had historically brought such hubris to mission work.  Therefore, I was somewhat amazed that though those thoughts were something I shamed before I headed off in mission, they were still in my bloodstream. And when I had had just had enough Spanish to the point where I was exhausted, left bawling in my bed, I wondered aloud why the people of Mexico did not want my gifts.  Spiritual baby. Not a pretty sight.

About that time, Bishop Ruiz had me hop in his car to take a ride up to the small community of San Felipé.   He told me that San Felipé was celebrating.  One of the large land owners had sought to take a home and the land from a family in the community, and, somehow, some way, the title to the family’s property had been lost in Mexico City.  Huh.  Go figure.  When you are wealthy like that, sometimes all things are lawful.  The community had joined with the family to pester and bother and persist in writing the government in Mexico City, until, land-o-Goshen, the title had finally been found and stop writing us letters!  So the community was celebrating!

Even more so, the family had found residence with others and decided, what was beneficial and to build up the community, was to give their returned home over for a community center.  What a great day.  That evening was a lovely fiesta in the new community center and Bishop Ruiz came out to his car to find someone had placed a sleeping child, in the back seat of his car for safekeeping.  He turned to me with a wry smile and said, “What are we to do?  We have inherited a child.”

Earlier in the day, we began the celebration with Bishop Ruiz presiding over  Mass.  He led worship from the elevated chancel area.  I tried to be inconspicuous about four pews back as the only white guy.  In the middle of the worship service, the vaunted Roman Catholic Bishop of San Cristóbal de Las Casas, he who was called “Tatic” or “Father” by the indigenous Maya, he who was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize several times over, asked us to exchange la paz del Cristo.  I turned to my left and passed la paz with several of the people from San Felipe—all gracious and hospitable they were, making me feel welcome. When I turned back to my right, I was engulfed in a giant bear hug by Bishop Ruiz who whispered in my ear, in English, the first English I had heard in two weeks, “May the peace of Christ be with you, Mike.”  I bawled.  It is what spiritual babies do. 

To the Jews he became as a Jew . . .to those under the Law he became like one under the Law . . . to those outside the Law he became like those outside the Law . . . to the weak and spiritual babies, he spoke beautiful words of English so that I might know we are all free.  But . . .  it really is all about what is beneficial and builds up.  May you hear God speaking in your own language, but may you also learn how to speak the language of others, who have been waiting to hear, far longer than two weeks, God’s peace spoken in their ear.  Amen.

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[1] Ray Pickett, “Conflicts at Corinth,” in A People’s History of Christianity, Vol. 1,:  Christian Origins, Ed. by Richard A. Horsley (Minneapolis:  Fortress Press, 2005), pp. 117-123. 
[2] I Corinthians 2-3
[3] I Corinthians 12
[4] I Corinthians 11
[5] John 15:15
[6] Philippians 2
[7] I Corinthians 6:12; 10:23
[8] Pickett, “Conflicts at Corinth,” p. 130.

Fourth Sunday after Epiphany, "Preaching Christ crucified to the upwardly mobile," February 2, 2020

A Epiphany 4 BFC 2020

1 Corinthians 1:18-31

February 2, 2020

          Especially for Paul’s letter to the churches in Corinth for today, we need to know some of the historical matrix or context, to get an idea for the genius and beauty of the apostle Paul and his writing.  So . . . once again . . . Mike Mulberry as Biblical geek appears.

The ancient Greek city of Corinth was destroyed by Roman forces in 146 BCE, and then re-founded as a Roman colony by Julius Caesar a little over one hundred years later, in the year 44 BCE.  Connections with the Greek culture remained, but the new organization of Corinth was thoroughly Roman—its architecture, political structures, and social institutions reflected Roman loyalties.  Wealthy elites, who also functioned as priests for the Roman emperor worship, created and maintained the religious festivals and sacrifices.  Their purpose was to foster a sense of cohesion and belonging across lines by involving people of every level of society in these rituals.  For many people living in Corinth, these festivals and sacrifices may have been the only time when they tasted meat—at the annual festival in honor of Caesar.

          Upon being rebuilt, Corinth rapidly became a center of seaborne commerce and the gate to the east for Rome’s trade and business.  As a result, a multicultural dynamic developed in the city, with Roman colonization resulting in the import of peoples from all over the known world.    Thus, in Corinth, lived an expanding population that existed without social and cultural roots and a lack of a widespread tradition.  What held all this multiculturalism together, then, was a Roman imperial society that involved a gaping gulf between a tiny percentage of ruling elites and the rest of the population. 

Less than 3% of the wealthy minority lived in luxury in cities like Corinth.  Around 90% of the people in the Roman Empire lived just above, just at, or just below subsistence level.  The Roman Empire was a slave society.  Slaves were so inexpensive that slave ownership went far down the social scale.  It is estimated that slaves may have made up as much as 1/3 of the population and another third of the population were people who had been somehow been released from slave status.  Slaves were “animate tools,” nonpersons, with no legal rights, and permanently designated as dishonorable.  Some slaves were better off than others, but all slaves were marginal, having experienced a “connection death” in relation to family, society, and the cultural identity of their origins.  Besides being socially dishonored, slaves were routinely subjected to physical and sexual abuse.

In Corinth, with so much of the population being the descendants of slaves, a desire for social status was likely a prominent part of the value system that permeated their culture.  One strong indicator of this quest for social status was a society of freed slaves called the Augustales, (hear the ode to Caesar Augustus in that title, August, the One to be worshipped).  The Augustales were societies, political associations, of freed men and women dedicated to the cultivation of Emperor worship.  Their inscriptions are found all over ancient excavations of the city of Corinth.[1]

These Augustales were probably organized into a common Greek word used throughout the New Testament, a word commonly used for political organizations.   These political organizations were considered to be the governing assemblies of free citizens in a city.  Varieties of groups used this Greek word for political organizations to represent a gathered assembly.  The Jewish people commonly used this word to refer to a local group organized as a synagogue—an assembly of the Israelites.  The Greek word used is ekklesia, and for centuries upon centuries, we have commonly interpreted that word as “church” in the New Testament.

It is into this culture and climate that the apostle Paul writes probably some of the most well-known and most beautiful prose known in Christian faith to these political organizations in Corinth, these ekklesias.  As the Corinthians struggle to relate to one another out of their social status, pyramid climbing, the person who baptized by them, or through their spiritual gifts, Paul confounds their desire for social status by offering an image and a reality which turns the pyramid upside-down. 

Rome intended crucifixions to be the most disparaging, dishonorable, disgusting way to die possible.  Crucifixions were intended to send public ripples throughout the empire to pull the rug out from underneath any rebellions or revolutions.  As theologian Matt J. Rossano said, “Crucifixion was public torture designed to pound home an unambiguous message: Don't mess with Rome.”[2]  Crucifixions are a consistent reminder that the first thing that empires do to peoples who resist or rebel is to try and divide them in fear, competition, or individualism so that they might be slowly drained of their collective power.   If that fails, we will kill your leaders and all of the followers we can find in the most excruciating death possible.

It is to say to the wider populace, “You are first and foremost a Roman citizen.”  It is to say, “By any other cultural definition, you are a nobody.  And, if you think you are somebody by any other cultural identification, Rome will reinforce your nobody status by crucifying you in a heartbeat, particularly if you do it as an organized group.”

But . . . but . . . I believe, in a move of spiritual genius, this is the image Paul uses to define his ministry—we preach Christ crucified.  He owns what it means to be a nobody.  Paul preaches a fundamental disarming and disabling to the Corinthian quest for upward social mobility.    Paul wants the Corinthians to be known (best Ricardo Montalban accent) not for the supple feel of their Corinthian leather, but by the hard work they do to build community.    And that Greek word used in first century Rome for political associations that we now translate as church, ekklesia, becomes defined by Paul as people who come from diverse places in the world, from diverse social strata, from diverse baptisms, and with diverse gifts to become one in Christ crucified.  Christ crucified is a reminder that if we follow in God’s way our badge of honor may be that the wider culture rejects and reviles us.

Pete Seeger, the wonderful folk singer, died six years ago at the age of 94.  Seeger was huge in so many movements to bring people together in this country, routinely blessing the nobodies, and bringing forward words and music to attempt to build a lasting peace in our communities, in our country, and in our world.  In keeping with Seeger’s character, much of his famous music came to be through collaboration and community-making.  Seeger wrote the first few verses to “Where have all the flowers gone?” after reading words from a Russian poet.  The final verses were put together by an Oberlin college student who figured the verses out at summer camp.     Seeger sang “We Shall Overcome” to Dr. Martin Luther King, who thought it was a tune that really stayed with you.  Seeger discovered that the song, “We Will Overcome”, was one done by United Mine Workers in the early 1900s and probably was a derivative of the old gospel tune, “I Will Overcome.”  Every Pete Seeger song seems to have a history like this, ancient truths sung with a slight change in words or a new melody to make them true and real for a new day.

Near the end of his life, Seeger would regularly sing Yip Harburg’s beautiful song from The Wizard of Oz, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” along with his audiences.  He would brief the audience, letting them know he was changing two words.  Seeger told it this way: 

But near the end — I do this whenever I sing the song — I say, "There’s two more short lines to this song, but I have to change two words." And I look heavenward and say, "Somewhere up there I can hear Yip saying, 'Pete, you can fool around with your old folk songs, but don't you touch "Over the Rainbow," please.’ Yip, wherever you are, I got to change two words 'cause if I'd been there when little Dorothy said, 'Why can't I?’ I’d tell her, 'You know why you can't, Dorothy? Because you only ask for yourself. You’ve got to ask for everybody, because either we’re all going to make it over that rainbow, or nobody’s going to make it.’ And so, sing it, 'If plucky little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, why can't you and I?'" And the whole crowd sings these slightly different words. It's beautiful. And, of course, that’s the story of Noah’s Ark and the rainbow. I’m sure Yip was thinking of that.

This world will survive when we learn how to coexist. Okay, we disagree. You like to eat this way, and I like to eat that way. You like to dance that way. I like to dance this way. You think of this word meaning such and such. I use the same word, but I’m thinking of something different. But if we learn the lesson of the rainbow, we will be here a hundred years from now.[3]

          In contrast to what was taught in churches for years, that the early church leaders all agreed with one another in some glorious monolithic unity, walking hand in hand with little to no conflict, what we are discovering more and more are the arguments among early political association leaders (ahem), church leaders and the diversity found in the early Christian Church.  If that early Christian Church was to survive and thrive, they had to find ways to come together from a beautiful and glorious diversity.  For there are forever ladder climbers, pundits, and people who talk about the glory of being baptized by Mike Mulberry, rather than some other pastor schmuck, to show their spiritual superiority.  No?  Nobody glories in a Mulberry baptism?  Ok, maybe not, but there certainly is a bastardized form of the gospel which is always telling us who goes to hell and who does not, who is first and who is last, and who belongs and who does not, who was baptized by Mike Mulberry and who was not.  For Paul and for the crucified Christ, it was never just about churches or political associations—it was about the world--who receives healing in health care and whether we are willing to share our bread to feed the crowd.  Blessed are the crucified, the nobodies, to own that to build community with one another. 

Pete Seeger said it best in one of his final interviews.     

 I honestly believe that the future is going to be millions of little things saving us. I imagine a big seesaw, and at one end of this seesaw is on the ground with a basket half-full of big rocks in it. The other end of the seesaw is up in the air. It’s got a basket one-quarter full of sand. And some of us got teaspoons, and we’re trying to fill up sand. A lot of people are laughing at us, and they say, "Ah, people like you have been trying to do that for thousands of years, and it’s leaking out as fast as you’re putting it in." But we’re saying, "We’re getting more people with teaspoons all the time." And we think, "One of these years, you’ll see that whole seesaw go zooop in the other direction." And people will say, "Gee, how did it happen so suddenly?" Us and all our little teaspoons. Now granted, we’ve got to keep putting it in, because if we don’t keep putting teaspoons in, it will leak out, and the rocks will go back down again. Who knows?[4]

          Who does know?  Today, I believe, the letter from the apostle Paul invites us to pick up our hammers and teaspoons so that we all might get over the rainbow.  You and I. 

Today we say farewell to one of our dear brothers in Christ, a person who has been making coffee, playing in bells, cleaning, leading the bell choir, teaching Our Whole Lives, overseeing our finances, saying “yes” to so many ministries, doing so many other things, and, finally, leading out our church.  For many years, Aaron Blakeslee embodied what it meant to live in community at Billings First Congregational Church.  I was honored to be pastored by him, loved by him, and he was the first person who told my daughter she was loved at this church.  Sadly, it is time to say farewell to this beloved disciple of Christ.    

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[1] Ray Pickett, “Conflicts at Corinth,” A People’s History of Christianity  (Minneapolis:  Augsburg Fortress Press, 2005) ed. By Richard A. Horsley, pp. 117-120.

[2] Matt J. Rosano, “Why Was Jesus Crucified?” HuffPost Religion, April 2, 2011.  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/matt-j-rossano/why-was-jesus-crucified_b_842509.html

[3] “We Shall Overcome:  An Hour with Legendary Singer and Activist, Pete Seeger,” Democracy Now!, July 4, 2007.  http://www.democracynow.org/2007/7/4/we_shall_overcome_an_hour_with

[4] “Pete Seeger on Democracy Now!” Democracy Now!, January 31, 2014, http://www.democracynow.org/special/pete_seeger_on_democracy_now