A Meditation on 1 Corinthians 3:16

The Temple and the City

A Meditation on The Epistle Reading

The Seventh Sunday of Epiphany

1 Corinthians 3:16: Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you?

Paul’s use of metaphor in this letter draws attention to the meaning of Christian community. The practices of the believers in Corinth were detrimental to the development of the fellowship of the saints and needed strong rebuke and correction by one of the spiritual founders of the congregation.

            One such image is the metaphor of the Temple: Paul describes the great building as having a foundation, which has been built upon by others. His desire is to draw the minds of the believers in Corinth to the then-standing wonder of the world that was the Temple in Jerusalem. He invokes the great tradition that understood the Temple as God’s location on Earth, the center of holiness and communication with the Divine. The Church, he says, is the new place where the presence of God is made manifest. It is in the community of the saints that God’s presence is experienced in the post-Pentecost era; therefore, anything that divides the holy community must be rectified and an emphasis placed upon preserving and extending the sacred community in Corinth.[1]

            Later in the Letter Paul employs a similar argument, but in this case (6:19) the temple is congruent to the individual’s body. This relationship between the Holy and the individual is highlighted to remind believers that whatever they do, whether in word or deed, all things contribute to the personal and communal participation in the Kingdom of God.

            The congregation, which in Baptist terms is a collection of professing, baptized believers, is then a two-fold Temple. On the one hand the community is the new Temple, the central location of God’s presence on Earth. On the other the individual is in relationship to God as a newly created and therefore differently-accountable person whose behavior should reflect that new status.

            The Temple in Jerusalem may not have been the first thing that came to mind for the Corinthian believers when they read Paul’s letter, though. It has been demonstrated that during the first generations after the resurrection Corinth hosted many temples to Greek and Roman deities, including the Emperor.[2] These relatively (when compared to the Temple in Jerusalem) small structures would have been everywhere in the city, standing as constant reminders of just how radical faith in Christ as Lord was for the Christians.

            Whether Paul uses a metaphor relating the community of faith to the Temple in Jerusalem or one calling the believer’s body a temple of the Holy Spirit, the preacher in me felt something stir when we read this passage this morning. If the believer (or the church itself) is the newly-fashioned Temple of God, then the both the exterior world of the faithful and the interior spirituality of the same must be in sync with what God would have us do and be. Clothed not in the ostentatious marble and gold and precious stones but in the humility and love of Christlikeness we are the presence of God in the world. We are not built as a Wonder of the World to which pilgrims journey to see and touch but are to go into the world and dot the streets and squares and turnstiles with little temples of the presence of Christ.

            And if we do just that, if we go and stand and bear witness to the fact that we are the temple of God and that the Kingdom has come and is coming, then we will have more than just a temple. We will have more than a network of fellowships; we will have made an entire city bearing witness to the presence of Christ. We will have fashioned the very City of God.

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[1] Richard Hays emphasizes the second person plural form of the subject “you” in this verse. Paul is not here suggesting that the individual is the temple of God (as he will in 6:19) but that the Church’s community of believers has become that place of God’s special presence on Earth, a presence that is not confined to the Temple in Jerusalem but extends from Jerusalem to the ends of the Earth. See Richard B. Hays, First Corinthians (Interpretation; Louisville: WJK, 1997): 56-8, 106.

[2] See David G. Horrell and Edward Adams “The Scholarly Quest for Paul’s Church at Corinth: A Critical Survey” in Christianity at Corinth: The Quest for the Pauline Church (eds Edward Adams and David G. Horrell; Louisville: WJK, 2004): 6.

"Bearing Witness" in 3 Minutes

One of my professors from seminary repeated two phrases that defined his ministry:

1) Don’t be dumb.

2) Be brief.

Although pastoral ministry is much more complicated than just these two rules they do capture the practical importance of how we manage our time with people. Don’t make dumb decisions. Don’t drag out sermons, funerals, hospital visits, or counseling sessions. If you can master these two simple rules, you’ll do well.

Part of the ministerial vocation (and the Christian identity) is to “bear witness” to the world that the Kingdom of God has drawn near to it. We announce the truths of the Gospel in our words and deeds, in our actions and in our non-actions. The church stands as a witness to the world that God is real, active, and desires the redemption of all people. The minister, wherever he or she goes, is to be the presence of Christ.

I’ve been able to practice “bearing witness” lately over the phone. It is no secret that my resume is available through both the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship database and the Mississippi Baptist Convention database of resumes for churches to download. I receive calls from churches in the South about twice per month. Usually the person who calls me is the Chair of the Search Committee. The Committee has just had their first meeting and the members have passed around resumes that they’ve downloaded from the CBF or MBCB databases. They see something they like on mine and put it in a pile of “contacts.” The Chairman then calls me to ask if my resume is still currant and if I would be interested in being considered for the Pastorate of their congregation.

Two things happen at that point. The Chairman tells me a little about the church, which often tells me everything I need to know about the congregation and how the phone call is going to end. Usually I get things like “we’ve had a problem with Calvinism” or “we need young families” or “we’re a very traditional church.”

The second thing I’ve learned to do is to be up-front with my two “deal breakers.” I tell the caller that I attended Truett Seminary at Baylor University, which is not one of the Big Six SBC seminaries like Southern, Southeastern, or New Orleans; usually this has been overlooked by the Committee in their quick survey of my resume. Secondly, I tell the caller that I am married to an ordained minister who works at a Baptist church in Jackson. I’ve learned that by being up-front with these two facts avoids their “inevitable discovery” later and questions from the committee.

When I tell the caller these two things I can usually discern a change in their tone. A bridge has been crossed, a mental box has been checked, or a light bulb has gone out. The brief, optimistic relationship I’ve made with the caller has changed.

They don’t call back.

There are several things going on here, most of which are beyond my intent in this post: going outside the SBC seminaries to the “liberal” seminary; implicitly supporting women in ministry (which is anathema to many Baptists); and the implications of the combination of these two facts, specifically my “liberalism,” which is actually an assumption of my spirituality and theology based on the “bogeyman” many churches have had painted for them.

My focus instead is the brief relationship I have with the caller. In the roughly three minutes it takes us to meet, share information about ourselves, and finally part ways I have an opportunity to bear witness to the Kingdom of God. These phone calls are the perfect time to follow my old professor’s advice: don’t be dumb, and be brief.

After so many calls over the last few years I’ve struggled with resentment over not being welcomed into a conversation with a church Search Committee because of my theological commitments. I’ve decided, though, that my 3-minute conversations with the movers and shakers of Baptist churches in the South is an opportunity to firmly, honestly, and confidently communicate my faith in who God is and what God is doing in Mississippi. It is a choice that I have to constantly reinforce, especially when the caller’s tone becomes so dismissive of me. I understand that I am probably more progressive than many SBC pastors, but I believe that if a longer conversation were possible these Committees would understand that I am not the caricature they assume me to be.

Our witness to the world includes our witness to other believers and to the organizations they represent. Even though we have significant differences on important issues, being part of the Body of Christ means that I must bear witness to my brothers and sisters, however briefly, that I am unwilling to let those differences prevent me from being honest, forthright, and kind.

Sometimes we cannot help but be brief, especially in the phone calls I’ve received these last few months. But it would be a gross violation of the ministerial axiom “don’t be dumb” to waste an opportunity to say, “I know we probably disagree, but I want you to know that I’m willing to sit and talk about our differences and similarities rather than to be cut off from you.”

Review of "Saving Mr. Banks"

Note: an edited version of this review appeared first on EthicsDaily.com. This version emphasizes the relationship between the movie's central theme and the task of preaching.

Our Stories and their Telling

There is one word, one line at the heart of Saving Mr. Banks: “enough.”

The film tells the story of Walt Disney’s negotiation with Pamela Travers, author of Mary Poppins, for the rights to the novel. There are three storylines present in the film, though: Disney’s frustration with Travers’ micromanagement of the production of Mary Poppins, frequent flashbacks to Travers’ own childhood in which we discover that her family life is the true inspiration for her writing, and a minor but consequential interaction between Travers and her chauffeur, Ralph.

Award nominations for Saving Mr. Banks have already poured in, as have the reviews of the film. Many have been moved by the story the movie presents, and it will certainly do well when Oscar time rolls around. But beyond the sentimentality and power of the narrative lies the Gospel itself - the story of our need for redemption and release.

Saving Mr. Banks is about stories: the stories we write and the stories that form us. Disney and Travers push and pull over the text version of something that is bigger than either of them - a story that touches the very cores of their lives. For Travers the story of Mary Poppins is real because it is her idealized resolution to the disappointment she experienced in her own childhood. For Disney the story is a totem, a prize to be won in his quest to give his children good things.

The Gospel is at its heart a story - it is both the narrative of Christ’s incarnation, ministry, death, and resurrection as well as the reality of God’s Kingdom coming near to humanity through Christ and Christ’s Spirit today. It is a story that has a narrative history in the pages of Sacred Scripture and a real experience for those who read and hear it. It is a living thing, this Gospel.

The story of Mary Poppins seems to be a living thing in Saving Mr. Banks. It transforms Disney and Travers even as the story itself was the transformation of Travers’ own experiences. That’s the point - that the story is not confined to the static ink and paper of the book. It has held Travers in its sway for so long that she cannot separate herself from it. It is family to her, just as it is to Disney’s children and so many others across the globe.

Disney, so wonderfully played by Tom Hanks, discovers this point and, in one of the most powerful monologues of the year says,

Give her to me, Mrs. Travers. Trust me with your precious Mary Poppins. I won’t disappoint you. I swear that every time a person goes into a movie house - from Leicester to St Louis, they will see George Banks being saved. They will love him and his kids, they will weep for his cares, and wring their hands when he loses his job. And when he flies that kite, oh! They will rejoice, they will sing. In every movie house, all over the world, in the eyes and the hearts of my kids, and other kids and their mothers and fathers for generations to come, George Banks will be honored. George Banks will be redeemed. George Banks and all he stands for will be saved. Maybe not in life, but in imagination. Because that’s what we storytellers do. We restore order with imagination. We instill hope again and again and again. Trust me, Mrs. Travers. Let me prove it to you. I give you my word.

We preachers tell stories because they are the heart of who people are. We tell stories about ourselves and about our heroes and about our Christ. We are storytellers. We restore order to the broken lives of people who need less propositional preaching and more storytelling. We open the imaginations of our people again and again and again and again because the world boxes them and their God into such small spaces that they have no hope of becoming like the little children who will inherit the Kingdom. We preach to open the doors of the soul so that it may imagine a God who will redeem them, who can redeem their fathers, who can bring hope one more time to people who have forgotten how to dream.

And when we finally come to that moment when we realize that letting go of the past lives that bind us is the painful way, that narrow way to Life, we say with quiet breath “enough.”

Saving Mr. Banks is about the Gospel. It is about the good news that something new can come, something good. It is the story of hurts and loss and disappointment being confronted by the equally painful demand to let go of our dearly-held stories in favor of a new one, one that every man, woman, and child can feel in their souls.

I'm Not in High School Anymore

I have some friends from high school who are precious and dear to me, and we speak often. One is a lawyer in Louisiana, one a nuclear engineer, one a manufacturing manager, and another a minister in Driscoll’s Mars Hill network. Three of these four also served in the U.S. Navy. I could not be more proud of these men and who they have become.

When we were in high school we didn’t fit in. I’m not saying that we were members of a group that could have been labeled “the outcasts;” I’m saying that we crossed so many social categories and boundaries that we were un-categorize-able. We were all strong academic performers, but we also played on many of the school’s athletic teams. We were deeply involved in the NJROTC program, but we made time for other activities like SGA, mentoring, and Quiz Bowl, and church life. We were weird in that we couldn’t be pigeonholed into what have become the standard categories for high school society (i.e. the nerds, the jocks, the freaks, the goths/emos, etc.).

Thanks be to God that we weren’t categorized as any of those things. We were able to see that friends could be made of all types of people, and that we could all work independently of a social group to succeed in school and society. We avoided, for the most part, what could be called the “usual high school drama.”

High school ended, and we went our separate ways. The men my friends have become, I think, have reflected their ability to not be pigeonholed; they have adapted, transitioned, and thrived in just about every way. (Can you tell I’m proud of them?)

I’m so thankful for the experiences that I had in high school, but I’m also thankful for my time at Mississippi College and at Baylor University. The point is that my friends and I have all grown up and left behind the would-be drama of high school to embrace the fullness of life. Since we largely avoided that drama to begin with, the growing up was perhaps less shocking and painful than it could have been.

Now consider a recent post[1] by Lutheran pastor the Rev. Erik Parker in which he likens Evangelicalism to a high school. He calls Driscoll, Piper, and Eldridge the “football team” because “the crowds love them, but most cannot see that they are also the bullies.” Myer and Osteen are the “rich kids,” and Rachel Held Evans is the valedictorian. In Parker’s metaphor the Mainline denominations are the “parents” and “teachers” who “brought them into the world.”

Parker’s central point is that Evangelicalism “needs” the Mainline denominations for their experience and wisdom. The Mainline needs Evangelicalism for its “drama to remind us how important this faith business” is.

Likening the Evangelical milieu to high school, especially when the Mainline is cast as the teachers and parents, is disingenuous and anachronistic. To do so is to portray the Evangelical movement as young, immature, and under the tutelage of the Mainline “adults” who try to mold the students into their own image. Evangelicals are not in the midst of some maturation process that will eventually graduate them to Mainline status; the Evangelical movement is not the Mainline precisely because it cannot become the Mainline.

The Rev. Parker wants to argue that the Evangelicals need the Mainline and vice-versa, but calling those same Evangelicals the students while his own tradition is the great teacher and parent causes “Evangelical” to lose its historical meaning completely.[2] His metaphor assumes that if Evangelicals would just grow up a little bit they would see their “drama” for what it is and merge with the other sober-minded Mainline Christians in our culture.

Further, Rev. Parker misses the irony that one cannot so easily stereotype Evangelicals into his or any other category. There are not “bullies” or “nerds” or “valedictorians” in the Evangelical camp; these believers flow into and out of and among any categories. The Mainline thinks in categories because it has, in many cases, an ordered hierarchy to clearly define those categories. Baptists, at least, have no such hierarchy and therefore are incapable of categorization. If a specific preacher, author, or believer acts in a way that resembles the jock, the nerd, or the freak, then so be it. Trying to cast the entire Evangelical movement as the children in a school with its drama, though, just doesn’t work.

One final note: the Evangelicals don’t need the Mainline in the way that Rev. Parker thinks. The Evangelical movement has been doing its own thing for enough generations now to understand that wisdom and calmness can be euphemisms for apathy and hollow spirituality. Evangelicals are also not blind to the “grey areas of faith,” nor are Evangelicals ignorant of the tensions these grey areas produce. Evangelicals live in these areas every day, just like Mainline believers.

In my own context of teaching high school students and witnessing their drama, I’ve come to understand that “the struggle is real.” More specifically, I’ve learned that the best teacher I can be is the one who invests in the drama, not to chide, criticize, or tell the students to grow up, but because the love of God in Jesus Christ is found in how I respond to that struggle, that drama.

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[1] http://millennialpastor.net/2014/01/06/evangelical-drama-needs-Mainline-experience/

[2] The meaning of “Evangelical” is slippery at best. My dear friend Roger Olson holds out hope for the term, however, in spite of calls by others to abandon the word in favor of something more solid.