Second Corinthians 5: 6-17
As I mentioned last week, the very personal tone of St. Paul’s pastoral
ministry comes to the fore in Second Corinthians, and here in the fifth chapter
this morning we hear him opening his mind and his heart. There is this tender and introspective character. A vulnerability. Paul
is deeply aware of the pain that this small congregation has experienced in its
recent history, a story of conflict and division in leadership and in the
congregation. They have been through a
lot—and in many ways it is apparent that they are still struggling. Paul: addressing these issues at a distance,
issues of leadership, ministry, Christian life—perhaps most of all to assure
them that the hard experiences of their recent past are not signs of the
inadequacy of the Gospel. The overarching
substance of this letter, to look deeply into our own experiences of pain and
loss, brokenness, even of death, and to see and understand this pattern of life
not as a kind of punishment but instead as an instrument of blessing. A way of being brought authentically into a
close relationship with Christ himself.
A sense of “Holy Communion” with him.
As individuals growing in faith and wrestling with all the challenges
that come with that. As a community, a
church, a Christian family.
As I’ve been trying to frame this idea this week I found myself thinking
of the Prayer Book Collect for Fridays in Morning Prayer, in succinct and
elegant language: “Almighty God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but
first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified:
Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross,”—walking in his
footsteps--“may find it none other than the way of life and peace, through the
same thy Son Jesus Christ our Lord.”
And the Friday Collect in Evening Prayer: “O Lord Jesus Christ, who by
thy death didst take away the sting of death: Grant unto us thy servants so to
follow in faith where thou hast led the way, that we may at length fall asleep
peacefully in thee,”—this image of being infolded in Christ, so beautiful:
“fall asleep peacefully in thee”—“and
awake up after thy likeness, for thy tender mercies’ sake.”
A couple of weeks ago on Trinity Sunday we had as our Gospel reading
John 3, with the conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus. Nicodemus asked, how can someone who has
grown old really have a fresh start? And
Jesus talks about being “born again” in and through the Holy Spirit. Coming into a fresh relationship with the
Father through the Son by the action of the Spirit. The great imagery of Trinity Sunday. And
Paul here calls the Christians of Corinth back to that sense of being incorporated
into the fullness of God in Christ. Walking
faithfully with Christ. Not to follow a
highway of happiness, but to hold fast to him through the difficulties that come
in this tragically and inevitably broken world.
Failures, hurt, even persecution.
Being misunderstood. It is to
walk with Jesus up the hill to crucifixion and so to rise with him in a new
birth on Easter morning.
This is a shift of worldview and value.
Paul is talking about a different kind of witness for the church. A different set of expectations. For a community that has been undermined by
leaders who seemed more full of themselves than full of Jesus. For a community that has been living for a
while in the whirlwind of personality politics and theological
controversy. But now all of that fades,
as we adopt a different perspective. The
New Testament word translated in English as “repent,” metanoite, literally
something like “think again.” Put on a
new way of thinking and being and valuing.
Jesus preaches, “Repent, for the Kingdom of God is near.” Perhaps we might translate: “Get your head on
straight. Open your eyes to
reality. Quit living in a dream
world. See things as they really
are. Wake up and smell the coffee.”
We are, Paul says, already and right now, here and now, with one foot in the presence of God. Alive in Christ whether we are prospering or
suffering. Alive in Christ, whether we
are alive in this world, or dying in this world. We seem to be citizens of this world, in the
context of law and culture. Be we are in
reality even now subject to his perfect judgment and authority. Fully alive in this turbulent world, fully
alive in the Kingdom. Each so complete
that it is the same to us, whether we live or whether we die.
And so we are free to live and to love and to give and to serve and to
witness to the love of Christ without fear.
And to think about what happens in us as individuals, as a community, as
a church, when the truth of that really settles in. A freedom from the culture of possessiveness
and anxiety, which is really what the Bible calls idolatry. Trying to hold on to things, to worship
things, to imagine that it is somewhat what the world gives that will save us,
bring us fulfillment and meaning and blessing.
Leading to the scramble to accumulate more, and to the sleepless nights,
when we fear that what we have will be taken away from us. Cultivating a life based on a vision of
scarcity and limitation, filled with fear and grievance.
For us a different perspective, Paul says. For us, another way. There may be earthquakes and storms,
persecutions and betrayals, suffering, and loss, but we are already safe,
already at home.
And so—chapter 5, verse 17: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a
new creation; the old has passed away, behold, the new has come.” Already here. Let that sink in. Already victorious. Allow
the reality of that message to soak in.
Susy and I really enjoyed seeing the film, “The Best Exotic Marigold
Hotel.” The story of this sweet and
idealistic young man, who’s called “Sonny” in the film, who has a dream of turning a derilect old
hotel in India into a luxurious residence
for English retirees. Lots of humor,
missteps, small and sometimes large problems.
And Sonny has a wonderful saying, which recurs several times. Classic understated Indian humor and
insight. “Everything will be all right in the end,” he
says, as the walls are almost literally tumbling down around him. “Everything will be all right in the
end. And if things aren’t right. . . that’s because it’s not yet the end!”
I mean, let’s just read and re-read the 21st and 22nd
Chapters of the Revelation to St. John.
The last page or two of the last book of Scripture. Read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest. Maybe something we should do as a kind of
spiritual discipline every month or so, just to keep it fresh. As a framework for our approach to leadership
and mission and ministry, as a guide to the life of the church, to the conduct
of our lives every day. In our
families. At work. In the cultivation of our inner life. The feast of God’s victory.
Since we know the end of the story, since we already live in the end of
the story, the way we live our lives is just going to be different. What Paul is trying to communicate to the
Church in Corinth this morning—and then for us too. The way we live our lives will be
different. More spacious. More patient. With humility. Grace.
The willingness to let the other go first. Free from the urgency of reactivity. Free to be passionate and yet modest, free to
be compassionate, to be generous, to take risks. To suffer loss. To stand against the crowd. Free to be, we might say,
“counter-cultural.” If any man is in Christ, he is a new
creation. The old has passed away, in
Christ. Something new has begun.
Walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself for us, an offering
and a sacrifice to God.
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