For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—Jews or Greeks, slaves or free—and we were all made to drink of one Spirit.

 Indeed, the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot were to say, ‘Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body’, that would not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear were to say, ‘Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body’, that would not make it any less a part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would the hearing be? If the whole body were hearing, where would the sense of smell be? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be? As it is, there are many members, yet one body. The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I have no need of you’, nor again the head to the feet, ‘I have no need of you.’ On the contrary, the members of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and those members of the body that we think less honorable we clothe with greater honor, and our less respectable members are treated with greater respect; whereas our more respectable members do not need this. But God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member, that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another. If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.

 Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it. And God has appointed in the church first apostles, second prophets, third teachers; then deeds of power, then gifts of healing, forms of assistance, forms of leadership, various kinds of tongues. Are all apostles? Are all prophets? Are all teachers? Do all work miracles? Do all possess gifts of healing? Do all speak in tongues? Do all interpret? But strive for the greater gifts. And I will show you a still more excellent way.

1 Corinthians 12:12-31

The Quilt and the Tapestry: A Reprise

Seventeen years ago, I was getting ready for a trial; trial was about a man who was dying. He had worked all his life with asbestos—even played in piles of raw asbestos as a child—and now he was dying and he wanted justice.  I worked on the medical aspects of the case and I learned a lot about our lungs and our trachea and our bronchii and other parts of our pulmonary system, partly because that’s where this man’s cancer—mesothelioma—resided and partly because our expert medical witness, a really good local doctor, was also an expert on the effects of smoking cigarettes.  You see, the people who had the most significant exposure to asbestos in the forties and fifties and sixties were pipe fitters, shipyard workers, Navy veterans, industrial brake installers—guys, mostly—and many of them—perhaps most of them—also smoked.  So, I learned about cilia.  Specifically, respiratory cilia.

I want to share what I learned about respiratory cilia--the little hairs that stick out in our bronchial tubes--because, in the body of Christ, some may be hands and feet and eyes and ears, but some have to be respiratory cilia, and it might be me or it might be you.  It could be worse; one article I read in my preparation this week was titled, “A Nose Hair in the Body of Christ.”  Respiratory cilia are these little hairs stick out from the cells that make up our bronchii, and they work together.  It’s just one of God’s miraculous ideas for the human body—or dogs, or cats, for that matter.  These little hairs stick out and, when something solid goes into the airway—dust, or dirt or hair or even a small bit of food—these cilia got to work, waving upward, trying to lift the solid thing up and back out of the airway.  It’s really an amazing thing, this natural defense and, without the cilia, the lungs would collect all types of gunk and junk and parts would get filled in and simply not work anymore and, when lungs stop working, that’s pretty bad.

Well, so, smoking—cigarettes, cigars, pipes—smoking causes the cilia in a person’s respiratory system to get bogged down and to begin to just lie there or even fold downward.  The little hairs get gunked up and they stop doing their job.  When the cilia stop sweeping dust and fibers up and out of the respiratory system, it gets easier for bad stuff—like fibers of asbestos—to get in and stay in.  And that’s really bad.   Our lungs get sick, and we can’t breathe.  These parts of the body—these little hairs that nobody can see—are essential to the health of the body.  So, maybe, it’s not such a bad thing to be a cilia for the Body of Christ.

Let’s share a moment of prayer before we go further.

God, we thrill and we shudder at the thought that we might be a part of the Body of Christ—that the success of Jesus’ mission might depend on us.  Turn our eyes to a clear view of what You are calling us to do; lead us to live into Your will for us.  And make clear the path that leads to life and let us not only follow that path in faith, but also reach out to the others around us that they might be and become followers of Jesus and parts, as well, of the Body.  As we worship today, remind us that, no matter what we see or hear or feel, no matter what is said or done, no matter what comes very clear and what remains, for today, obscured, the glory of this time and of these words is Yours, alone.  Amen.

Do you remember the message last Sunday?  We had a small, small congregation, but we worshipped nonetheless, and I shared the sermon I had prepared; I also told those who were gathered here there was a fair chance they would hear it again.  I spoke of this quilt—of quilts in general and of this specific quilt that the congregation at the last church Donna and I served—Brazil Union—made for us as we departed to come here, to Union Chapel.  I love quilts, and this was a wonderful "you’re going away but please don’t forget us" gift.  It’s made up of quilt blocks that were cut and then passed out to the families of the church so that they could write their favorite Scriptures on the blocks; the blocks were then returned and the quilt was assembled and they gave it to us at a going away pitch-in.  And we won’t forget them; even as we are so glad to be here, at Union Chapel, there were so many with whom we shared a loving relationship over there.

But when I talked about how much I like quilts last week, I said I’d prefer a tapestry.  Not to sleep under and not, necessarily, even to show off.  Quilts are beautiful, and they keep us warm when the room is cold. But when it comes to the church—when we are describing the members of the Body of Christ—us, the folks of the church, well, we can be quilt blocks, if we choose, each claiming to be the prettiest, the softest, the brightest, the strongest, the largest or smallest, even as we are part of the same quilt.  It’s true that, without each block, there wouldn’t be a whole quilt.  But what if we consider ourselves to be threads, instead?  Threads—different lengths, different colors, different thicknesses and textures, some more loosely woven and some as tight as wire.  You’re a thread and I’m a thread, and you, and you and you—each one a thread, intended to be woven together until, at last, we form a tapestry, bound to one another.  Our tapestry might be an image of Jesus, or a sunset, or the church building, or it might just be colorful and bright, or sharp in contrast but well-defined.  No matter—our tapestry would reflect not any individual thread, but only how all of the threads, woven together, hold each other in place, fill all the spaces that might be left empty, give strength to the entire unit and give color, texture and softness to the glory of God.

I think back to the words spoken by Ruth, to Naomi, her mother-in-law, as Naomi returned to her own country, a widow, and Ruth, also a widow because of the death of her husband, Naomi’s son, clung to her.  Naomi urged Ruth to go away, back to her own home and her own family, but Ruth insisted with the words:

Do not press me to leave you
   or to turn back from following you!
Where you go, I will go;
   where you lodge, I will lodge;
your people shall be my people,
   and your God my God. 
Where you die, I will die—
   there will I be buried.

Where you go, I will go, too.  Now, listen, again, to the words Paul wrote in the first letter to the Corinthians:

For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—Jews or Greeks, slaves or free—and we were all made to drink of one Spirit.

 Indeed, the body does not consist of one member but of many. 

…the members of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and those members of the body that we think less honorable we clothe with greater honor, and our less respectable members are treated with greater respect; whereas our more respectable members do not need this. But God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member, that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another. If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.

We are meant to be together. 

I mentioned, last week that Paul wrote two letters to the Corinthians.  He had founded their church and it was only two or three years old—this was only about twenty years after Jesus had been crucified and resurrected—and Paul learned that the people were fighting about who was most important and who was smartest and who had the best talents. They were competing instead of cooperating.  So Paul wrote them a letter—this letter—telling them to knock it off.  That’s why, here, Paul is telling them that everybody is important, including the ones who are like respiratory cilia, doing the dirty work, out of sight.  Paul had to write the second letter because he hurt their feelings with the first one.  He had criticized, and he didn’t do it in person, where they could hear his voice and see his face and know of his love, even as he corrected them.  That doesn’t mean his criticism wasn’t warranted.

But here I am with some criticism, or concern of my own, and I feel the need to share it, gently.  Not to hurt your feelings, but to help us see, together, what may be standing on our way—my observations, my opinion as your pastor.  Paul said to the church at Corinth, in south-central Greece, “God has so arranged the body… [so that] the members may have the same care for one another. If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.”  If one suffers, all suffer; if one rejoices, all rejoice.  Does that sound about right to you?  Doesn’t that sound like the way the church ought to be?  But we aren’t; that’s what I’ve noticed.  That’s what worries me—keeps me up at night.  I’ve shared this story before, maybe not in a sermon, but with small groups—the first year I was here, so many funerals.  So many deaths, and visitations and funerals and so much coming in on Sunday morning and having to say, “I’ve got sad news—a friend, a member of the body—has died.”  And so many blank stares, or even the question, “Who?”  A fifteen-year member asking me who this other person was who died, and having to tell them it was another member—a twenty-year member.  “Who?”  And it hasn’t gotten all that much better and I don’t understand, except that we aren’t all getting to know one another.  Someone is sick, or has a problem, or just went on a great trip or got a new job, and no one knows.   And another sign of the same thing I have to bring up while I’m at it, and trust me, I’ll apologize if I’m being too harsh: how many new members did we receive last year at Union Chapel? Almost everybody has said they want the church to grow, but how are we doing, and why?  How many new members last year?  If you say a number lower than seventeen, you’ll be short.  Of course, if you say a number greater than seventeen, you’ll be over-optimistic.  Seventeen new members; how many of them do you know.  Not just their names, but who they are, where they live, what they do, where they came from, the kids’ names—the good stuff.  What are their spiritual gifts? 

Where you go, I will go.  Your people shall be my people.

Okay, that’s the criticism.

This is a year of body-building for Union Chapel.  It starts with you and with me.   What do we say—twice each day, if we’re really trying: “I am God’s child, deserving of love and respect, and God will use me to change the world.”  Right.  So, a year of body-building.  A year of getting better, growing stronger, drawing nearer—nearer to God and to each other, as well.

Each one of us—you and I—each is important to the Body of Christ.  Why you?  Why me?  We are God’s children, deserving of love and respect and God will—God will—use us to change the world.  What’s so important about us to the church—to Union Chapel?  This is the body we have chosen, the body to which God has led us, each one—a body, a congregation, committed to changing the world.

Changing the world.  We adopted a new mission statement—Union Chapel did--two-and-a-half years ago, and a new vision statement one year after that.  The mission—making disciples of Jesus for the transformation of the world.  A commitment to facilitating change in this world by the making of disciples of Jesus so that His mission might be completed through us.  That’s the mission of the United Methodist Church and we adopted it and then we proclaimed our own vision of how we will do it—how we will work for change in this world.  We proclaimed this vision:

Union Chapel is a community that:

• seeks to follow the teachings of Jesus,
• generously serves our neighborhood and our world,
• works together to care for all people.

How will we—you and I-- go about bringing change to the world?  We will follow Jesus, doing as Jesus did and does, our feet in His footsteps like a child following a parent through the snow.  We will serve—generously serve—our neighborhood and our world.  Generosity for our neighborhood, generosity to the world.  And we will work—together—to care for all people.  That’s our approach—the Union Chapel approach, the approach that we who are gathered here have adopted together, the way we believe that God wants to use us to change the world.  Why are you important to the Body of Christ; why are you important to Union Chapel?  Because we cannot achieve this mission and we cannot live out this vision without the full participation of each and every one.

But none of it—not one bit—none of it means a thing if we do not live as one body.  So let us commit to know one another, to give grace to each other, to care for each other—to visit and to nurture and, yes, to suffer for one another, and to honor one another and to rejoice—rejoice—in one another.  Let this body be bound together by the tender bonds of love.

The homework—I hope some of you have done it already, as I assigned it last week but am giving everyone a chance at another week to get it done.  Okay?  Here it is.

What color is your thread?  Is it multicolored?  Does it stand out, or would you see it mirrored in the threads that surround you here at Union Chapel?  In baptism, the Holy Spirit comes upon us and fits us with gifts and graces, talents and tools, willingness and work ethic that weren’t a part of our original equipment package.   We become threads of many colors—colors chosen by the Spirit, made vibrant and beautiful and strong through the will of God, that we may be the church to the community that surrounds us, caring, loving, inviting, encouraging, teaching, baptizing.  Not you; not me.  Not a  person, but a collective, a body, a tapestry woven from our individual threads, made strong and warm and beautiful.  Beautiful.

I’d like you to find out what color—what colors--your thread is.  Soon.  I invite you, encourage you, eagerly ask you to learn about your own spiritual gifts.  Too often—I’ve done it—too often, we assume that the accountant would be the best treasurer, the nurse the best visitor, the teacher the best at helping the young ones learn about Jesus, the loud mouth the best preacher, the handyman the best at fixing what breaks.  But we are wholly unjustified in doing that.  The writings tell us, time and again from the days when Jesus walked until this very day, the stories of the hidden gifts, the unexpected abilities, the passion-driven desires to find a place in the backbone, the hand, the eyes or ears or the tender, sweet smile of the Body of Christ.  Possibly even a guardian of the Body’s good health, respiratory cilia.  The thing is, you may know some or part but probably not all of what the Spirit, in her own intention, has gifted you to do and be in God’s church.

So, here’s what I’m asking.  Homework again.  But, would you please, please, please spend a half hour this week taking a spiritual gifts inventory for your church?  Look at page __ of your worship packet.  I’ve got a website—it’s in the worship packet, but we also have slips printed to fit in your pocket or wallet or purse to make it easy—I’m asking, on behalf of Union Chapel—on behalf of you—that you do this.  Don’t think it trivial, a fool’s errand—after all, I know myself, right—no you may not, and doing it this way will allow us all to talk the same language—non-gibberish—and to find new ways to be one, to be God’s church, to truly be the Body of Christ to this broken, weary world.  Would you take the inventory, please?  And then, if you’re willing, share it.  Print off the results.  Bring them in and give them to someone in the office, put them in the offering plate or, best of all, give me a call and we’ll sit down over a cup of tea and talk them over.  Hear again the words Paul wrote: “…strive for the greater gifts. And I will show you a still more excellent way.”  What could be better than that?  Amen, and amen.