The Rev. Sara Warfield
Scripture: 2 Corinthians 12:2-10
There’s this scene in Game of Thrones where Joffrey, the monstrous, impetuous boy king of Westeros, has a disagreement with Tywin, his grandfather and top advisor, and ends up shouting, “I am the king!” To which Tywin responds, “Any man who must say, ‘I am the king’ is no true king.”
This is what Paul is saying about the so-called super apostles in his second letter to the Corinthians. You might remember I preached a bit about them a few weeks ago:
Much of his second letter to that community talks about these super-apostles who have taken up residence in the city and have swayed a number of Paul’s flock to their way of believing. These super-apostles are a lot more exciting than Paul. They go into trances, or ecstacies. They speak in tongues, they have visions.
I talked about how the Corinthians were drawn to them because they offered proof, certainty, and excitement. They were boasting of God’s clear and visible presence with them. They were performing their faith, according to Paul, to convince others to follow them.
“We are apostles!” they’re declaring, like King Joffrey.
And Paul responds in today’s passage, “Well yes, I’ve had a vision, too. But I refrain from talking about it, ‘so that no one may think better of me than what is seen in me or heard from me…So, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.’”
This isn’t to say that visions and speaking in tongues aren’t valid ways people experience God and their faith. It’s when those things become performances for others, boasts of God’s presence, rather than the experience of Christ’s love moving through someone, that they become a problem.
“Christ dwelling in me,” Paul is saying, “doesn’t show through performing God’s presence. No, Jesus said to Paul, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.’”
Weakness here means, according to Paul, how we acknowledge that our human strength, our human power isn’t enough. We get sick, we suffer, we struggle. Joy comes when we give that sickness, that suffering, that struggling over to God and let God transform it. It is when we are weak that we are most open to transformation, most open to joy.
Now I don’t mean to glamorize weakness or suffering, as Paul does sometimes. We each have particular strengths, given to us by God, that we are meant to step into. Whenever sickness and struggling can be alleviated, we are called to alleviate it. In ourselves, in others. As Jesus did over and over in his ministry.
But we all know that each of us is weak in some way. We can’t avoid all sickness and suffering and struggle. And the more ready we are to acknowledge that, as Paul did, the more we are able to open up to God’s grace and power and joy and love.
This is what Paul means when he says, “for whenever I am weak, then I am strong.” For whenever I am weak, I know I can’t rely on my own strength. Which makes room for God to move in my life.
And how can people tell that God is moving in your life? Is it because, like King Joffrey, like the super apostles, you shout on a downtown street corner, “God is with me!” Probably not. Because, as Tywin subtly points out, if you need to convince others of your faithfulness, if you need to impose your faith or beliefs or power on others, it’s not others you’re trying to convince, it’s yourself.
It reminds me of a song we often sang at chapel in seminary: “They will know we are Christians by our love.” Not by our memorization of Bible verses. Not by how many souls we convert. Not by how we force our way of believing, and particularly the “rules” associated with that belief on others through legislation.
No, they will know we are Christians by our love.
Now listen, I want St. Luke’s to grow. But I want our church to grow because the people in our lives and communities see us glowing with such great love, with such amazing grace, with such openness that people can’t help but be drawn to our joy and ask, “What’s that about? I want some of that.” And that you can’t help but say, “It’s about being a Christian. It’s about being part of the Body of Christ.”
They will know we are Christians by our love.
So let’s keep bringing it closer to home, closer to St. Luke’s. They will know we are St. Luke’s by our…what? Lovely stained glass windows? Pews—or chairs? Vestments I usually wear when it’s not absurdly hot? Kneelers? Salmon Jesus?
What if, in the middle of the night, a giant sinkhole randomly opened up and swallowed our church building into the earth? Nobody got hurt, but our building was gone. Now obviously, that would be utterly devastating. I would be devastated. But…would that mean that St. Luke’s no longer existed?
Of course not. If the only place we could find to worship was a dank basement, we would still have Kathy with an digital keyboard, Jack and Barry with their guitars, and Br. Dave with his bass. We would still have Kirby or Pat or Debbie greeting people as they arrived. We would still hear and hold and lift up to God each of your prayers during Community Prayer time. I would still preach. We would still share communion, though maybe with slightly less shiny dishes. Riley would be in the back streaming our worship over Zoom probably with my iPhone.
You would still be calling each other to check in, bringing people meals when they’re struggling. I would still hold Tuesday Bible Study, maybe at the library, so that we could gather around the scriptures and share our thoughts and our lives. Celia would still be out on a busy Gresham intersection, holding her sign to support strikes and unions. Krista would still be doing her Taiko drumming. And I’m sure our Finance Team and Vestry would be working with our insurance to figure out what our next church home would be.
They will know we are St. Luke’s by our love. They will know we are St. Luke’s by sharing the gifts God has given us, and letting our weaknesses be made strong by accepting God’s gifts in others.
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Now listen, am I constantly signaling, maybe even boasting of my beliefs in perhaps performative ways? Yes, often. Do I have t-shirts that say “This queer pastor loves you” and “come as you are.” Sure do. Do I have a giant tattoo of the chi-rho, a Greek symbol that stands for Christ, in a stained glass pattern on my arm? Yup. But those signals are utterly empty, even destructive, if my behavior doesn’t align with what those signals mean. If I didn’t live leading always with love.
Do I fail at that sometimes? Yes, very much so. Particularly when I’m driving. But it is in those moments of weakness, when I am swearing at some person who’s just cut me off, that there is an opportunity for God to move me to love. “I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.”
So, let us acknowledge when we are weak and know that weakness is an opportunity to let God’s power move through us. Let us not proclaim that we are Christians, but let us live Christ’s love so loudly, so proudly, so confidently that people can’t help but know that we are Christians.
Amen.
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