Syllabuses

Sermon

A few weeks ago, when I preached, the lectionary landed on Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, and I leaned on some commentary from New Testament professor Valerie Nicolet, who said: the way Paul and this community connect is not one way. It’s not whatever Paul says, goes—because the folks in Corinth seem to give it right back to him—and this is a model for exchange, how the church can engage in the world and with each other as we reflect on how we should behave and be accountable.

So, I decided to stay in this letter for my last few sermons here. Last week we read some widely known verses, and this week we’re reading possibly even more widely known verses. But hopefully hearing them in a newer translation will help them ring as classic to us, instead of being overbearing or out of touch.

Listen with me…

From Chapter 13, the CEB, with an annotation

If I speak in all the languages of human beings and of angels but I don’t have love, I’m a clanging gong or a clashing cymbal. ² If I have the gift of prophecy and I know all the mysteries and everything else… and if I have such complete faith that I can move mountains… but I don’t have love, I’m nothing.

³ If I give away everything that I have and hand over my own body to feel good about what I’ve done but I don’t have love, I receive no benefit whatsoever.

⁴ Love is patient, love is kind, it isn’t jealous, it doesn’t brag, it isn’t arrogant, ⁵ it isn’t rude, it doesn’t seek its own advantage, it isn’t irritable, it doesn’t keep a record of complaints, ⁶ it isn’t happy with injustice, but it is happy with the truth.

⁷ Love puts up with all things, trusts in all things, hopes for all things, endures all things. ⁸ Love never fails. As for prophecies, they will be brought to an end.

As for various ways of language and understanding, they will stop. As for knowledge, it will be brought to an end. ⁹ We know in part and we prophesy in part; ¹⁰ but when the perfect comes, what is partial will be brought to an end.

This is the word of the Lord.

Thanks be to God.

In my three years here you have heard me quote so many people: Valerie Nicolet, recently; Claire McKeever-Burgett, who is coming here in September to lead the Women’s Retreat and preach the Sunday after—don’t miss that; Fannie Lou Hamer, who said “nobody’s free until everybody’s free”; bell hooks, who said similarly, “feminism is for everybody”; famous Presbyterians like Frederick Buechner and Fred Rogers; my friends and family; sometimes even you, like the liturgy today was from the Vision and Strategy Task Force report. Or Tom Dyke, who became my favorite Zoom prophet when speaking to the Adult Education Committee about how to set up technology for Sunday classes: “With a little training, anyone can make the same mistakes I do.”

You’ve heard me quote a lot of people, and today is also going to be a Winner. Lauren Winner, to be exact. She taught American Christianity when I was in seminary—at least that’s what I think it was called; it was a great big survey course that came after the even bigger church history courses. It was the history of the church in America. It was way more interesting than those courses for me, because it was very easy to draw connections to what’s happening now. This class was smart and practical and Dr. Winner was already a New York Times bestseller when I started seminary, so it was also intimidating. It didn’t help that all the Ph.D. students who precepted her class handed out these 13-page long syllabuses. Like all seminary courses, they were filled with books and readings that you had time to read half of, but Dr. Winner’s also included several rules.

You couldn’t chew gum in class; no eating in class, and you could drink only water; you could have a laptop in class if it was clearly open only for notetaking. This was pre-smart phones, but laptops were monitored like many monitor their phones now, and if a Ph.D. student who was precepting the class caught you shopping online during a lecture on the Civil War, I assumed you just fell through the floor… You should dress appropriately and not take your shoes off. I think you could doodle, but not knit. You could not read the paper or even have the paper out, and yet, Dr. Winner was an excellent professor—and quirky. She’d do well in Oregon. She wore a lot of cat-eye glasses.

And she collected wedding-cake toppers. When summarizing a history of weddings for class, she announced her excitement that she’d finally found a biracial lesbian wedding cake topper—and I’m pretty sure the whole class of 120 or so had a dazed and amazed expression on their faces. Remember this was before smart phones, so it was definitely before gay marriage was legal; so she’d essentially just read a progressive Mad Lib in a school that on record held to, I think they called it then, “traditional methodism.” Her lectures were delightful. I wish I’d had a smart phone then and recorded them.

She really helped me understand how the history of this country changed our macro-existence, of course, but also changed how we do weddings and funerals. She preached the next semester, while I was in a smaller class with her and she preached on this text, and I remember it being good though I don’t remember a lot else. I remember telling her afterward that I’d wish I’d come with coffee, chewing gum, and a newspaper. And I remember she thought that was funny, and I thought, I can graduate now that I’ve made long-syllabus lady laugh… But I wasn’t ready, because in that next smaller discussion-based course with her, one day she stopped in the middle of a discussion and said, “We will start again when Lindsey can talk about feminism without apologizing.”

And I don’t even remember what the discussion was about now. I don’t even think it was strictly about feminism, based on the books I remember us reading, or half-reading, for this course, but I know I was aghast because I didn’t remember saying I was sorry… I remember I tried to start again, slowly, and she stopped me again, because she was right. I wasn’t exactly saying, I’m sorry about feminist theology, but when I talked about theologies that were feminist, I was qualifying my thoughts. I was double checking that I wasn’t offending my male colleagues. And I still must correct myself to not apologize for advocating for myself, so it’s a good hard memory, to especially remember that advocating for me is also advocating for others. So, of course, that’s why she kept stopping me. I’m only here because others advocated for themselves.

I’m here because others advocated for themselves. And I still think about that moment in class, and maybe that’s why I only remember a bit of her sermon from earlier in the semester, but it certainly influenced the words of this text for me. Dr. Winner re-read this text that’s broadly about love and said: Jesus is patient. Jesus is kind. Jesus is not easily irritated. Jesus is not happy with injustice. Jesus always protects… and it was very intentional of her to have repeated Jesus, I’m sure, but as I’ve quoted her over the years, I’ve changed it to God is patient. Jesus is kind. The Holy Spirit is not easily irritated… and I feel like she’d be okay with that—getting some other Trinity pronouns in there. John Calvin translated this as “charity is patient, charity is kind,” and the biblical Greek could be something like the love of God is patient, the love of God is kind.

The point is, these aren’t lovely words about me. Or you. Or even us. Perfect love is not the goal for us here. We’re not the ones bringing about perfection. I know these verses, read in a tense setting, don’t sound like a gift, but a burdensome goal. And yet, I also don’t think Dr. Winner cared that much if we had gum or hid coffee in a water bottle; she just wanted us to get the full experience of being in class.

So, what’s the gift here then? What’s the goal if it isn’t perfection? I believe it’s the full experience; it’s participation, because the result can’t be that, “welllllll, Jesus isn’t easily irritated and he’s God, so that explains why I’m irritated and rude and that’s just how it is.” No. We are still accountable for how we behave.

The Apostle Paul loves to talk about that. We aren’t responsible for perfection. But how we participate; how we love our committees, friends, spouses, children, nieces, an enemy; how we learn to love ourselves, is how we learn more about the love of God.

It’s normal to feel like you can’t do something—that you can’t be kind or patient—or happy with the truth, you can’t join a church, or be a deacon or an elder or join a task force, but when we do those things, we experience perfect, in part. Not the whole time, but in moments—moments that let you know there’s more ahead.

This isn’t a call to endure something that is hurtful that you know isn’t helping you to experience God’s love, by any means. It’s a call to put yourself in places where you could experience something perfect. Ballet, dinosaurs, ping pong, roses, singing, a good therapist or support group, an improv class, a perfect nap…

These verses are used at weddings a lot, but you don’t have to get married to experience them. I bet Paul would be mad if he knew that’s what they got used for the most, and I really love that, so I love it when people want these verses read at their wedding. Plus, they are classic and they don’t come up in the lectionary often.

The only other time I remember these verses being preached not at a wedding was when Caroline Kurtz preached on them the first year I worked here—and similar to Dr. Winner’s sermon, I don’t remember a full account of her preaching, but I remember the full effect. She was talking about cultural divides, and not the cultural divides between sports fans but the deep chasms of colonization that the church in America is historically famous for (I know, I took a class on it), the kinds of divides that we should arguably only participate in by not participating or at least not manipulating for our own way. She told a story about someone being punched. Or nearly, either way—I remember thinking it was the only connection that seemed possible in the story.

We’re not responsible for perfection. Perfection is for God, and Jesus, and the Holy Spirit to sort out. We are responsible for our participation in perfect love, and I believe we can experience brief moments of it if we stay accountable for how and when we participate in the love of God. There are opportunities to participate in love here, to experience God, and moments of something like perfection.

So like I’ve said, I am sad to leave, but I’m not worried about you, Westminster. You’re already in ballets and on ping pong teams, you write books about dinosaurs that are better than Jurassic Park, you put the bright stickers on dark stairs and fix the coffee machine that is baptizing people at the early service, and you are on the Personnel Committee and you usher and make quilts and talk to our kids in Sunday School and so much more… So I know when the Session says, hey, we need a task force of five people to review our mission statement and tell us what we should highlight—I know some of you will realize you can do that and do just that!

And I’m confident that when the Stewardship Subcommittee says we need to ask more people for more money and more often that some different someones of you will realize you can do that because you know we shouldn’t be troubled talking about money, just like we shouldn’t apologize for a feminist theology.

Advocating for ourselves is advocating for others. That’s it. God’s love is perfect, and you’re participating—that’s the syllabus; that, and you really shouldn’t shop online while someone is talking is about the Civil War. Amen.