Taking the Loss [Proper 7B]
The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson
2 Corinthians 6:1-13
Taking the Loss
St. Paul
clearly possessed many tremendous talents and commendable gifts. His list of accomplishments is stunning. It is hard to imagine what might have become
of Christianity without his witness and writings. Without his drive to share the message with
Gentiles, we might not even be here, in a church, worshiping Jesus. He started churches. He wrote a large chunk of the New Testament. He traveled tirelessly to spread the
Gospel. Even his death as a martyr was a
witness to the amazing power of God's love.
Paul could have put together quite
a resume. Instead of all of those
amazing accomplishments, however, he lists the following: beatings,
imprisonments, and riots (I'm guessing caused, and not started) – all plural. And then goes on to say of his team, “We are
treated as impostors.” It is not a list
that inspires confidence. And unless one
is just looking for trouble, not the kind of resume that leads to employment
opportunities – perhaps especially in the Church. Paul would likely have a very difficult time
navigating the ordination process.
His resume is a list of loss. I've become increasingly convinced that to be
a minister of the Gospel – lay or ordained – you must be willing to take the
loss. And in our hyper-competitive
culture in which almost everything is a competition – from the structure of our
free-market economy to the ranking of public school systems to our obsession
with sports and reality television – losing is hardly considered a virtue. We celebrate achievement, not failure. If you don't believe me, try to run for
President without saying that America is the greatest country in the
world. If you don't believe me, try to
find a Father's Day mug that says, “World's Worst Dad”.
We love winners. And it is not just our culture. Paul lived under the rule of the Roman
Empire. The Empire valued dominance as
much as any civilization in history; the Empire expanded by bloodshed and war. They were conquerors. They gained and retained power by strength
and humiliation and decimation. They
were winners.
And Paul was not. Paul was not because Jesus was not. Today's reading from 2 Corinthians is, of
course, an excerpt from a larger work – a letter Paul wrote to the Church is
Corinth. The verses preceding today's
reading set the context. In those verses
Paul writes, “We are ambassadors who represent Christ. God is negotiating with you through us. We beg you as Christ's representatives, “Be
reconciled to God!” God caused the one
who did not know sin to be sin for our sake so that we could become the
righteousness of God.” Paul's goal was
never to collect accomplishments. Paul's
goal was to be like Christ, to be an ambassador, to be a representative.
So Paul had to take the loss
because Jesus took the loss. Jesus
traded the riches of heaven for the brutality of the Cross, became sin for the
sake of sinners. Jesus had so many
opportunities in the Gospels to be a champion: the devil offered him the
kingdoms of the world; the marveling crowds wanted to make him their king; his
disciples were prepared to take up arms for him; even as he was dying he could
have proved them all wrong by just coming down from the cross. He could have won. He could have conquered all of the religious
leaders and Roman soldiers and Imperial powers and every person who spit on him
and mocked him. He could have won. But he took the loss. For us, and for our salvation, Jesus took the
loss. That is the Christ Paul represents
– the Christ who took the loss on the cross for the sake of love.
It is what love demands. Love demands a kind of vulnerability that
opens us up to unimaginable loss. After
Paul recounts the cost of love, he says to the Church, “our heart is wide open
to you...open wide your hearts also.” He
dared to ask the Church to open its heart in a violent Empire of violent
people. All the while knowing, from
personal experience, that the wider one's heart is opened, the more there is to
lose.
I am sure you heard of the tragic
shooting at Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, South Carolina this week. You know the terrible details of how a young
white man carried a gun into the church and killed nine of our black brothers
and sisters. He was armed with a weapon
and a violent heart, filled with racism and hate. But he was welcomed with love. Victims welcoming their murderer in the name
of the one who forgave his from the cross; in life, and finally, in death they
witnessed to the power of love; they opened their hearts wide – despite the
risk, despite the cost – loving people in a violent world. Just like Paul. And just like Jesus.
For some this will become a
cautionary tale – a reason to love less, a justification to close our doors and
close our hearts. In response to this
tragedy, the Bishop of the Episcopal Church in South Carolina, called for
something else. He ended his message
with the Prayer of Saint Francis, a prayer for the courage to be Christian in
the most un-Christian of times: Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where
there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is
discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. Grant that we may
not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to
understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is
in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to
eternal life.[1]
I've become increasingly convinced
that to be a minister of the Gospel you must be willing to take the loss. That is what Christians do. That is what is means to be an ambassador for
Christ. That is what it means to
represent Jesus. We are called to open
our hearts wide – knowing that our love might not be returned, knowing that we
might give and never receive, knowing we will at times pardon the undeserving
and comfort the very ones who cause us pain, knowing that open hearts risk
unbearable loss.
But, also believing that God answers
every cross with an empty tomb.
Believing that, by the power of love, things which were cast down are
being raised up. Paul says, “We are
treated...as having nothing, and yet possessing everything; as dying, and see –
we are alive.” Because those who lose
their life will keep it. Jesus said
that. And that was a promise.
Following Jesus is not for the
faint of heart; it is for those who dare to live with their hearts broken wide
open – who walk the way of the cross, all the while hoping against hope that
they will find life on the other side.
Gregory Mobley writes, “To some extent faith means 'seeing
through.' Faith means living in two
worlds, the real world and the world of justice and righteousness, the kingdom
of love. Faith, for Christians, means hallucinating that the face of the poor
is the face of Jesus.... Faith means seeing angels unaware in the faces of
strangers. Faith means believing in the illogical proposition that self-giving
is more powerful than self-aggrandizement and self-preservation. Faith means believing that, despite
appearances, the good guys do win, and then living as if it is the truth and
not a lie.”[2]
Why would anyone want to be a
Christian in this violent world? There are a lot of other things to be. A lot of great things waiting to be
accomplished by those who have the competitive fire. You can be a winner. And everybody loves a winner.
But don't do it. Be like Jesus: Open your hearts way too wide
and take the loss.
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