If this is the context of the first letter to the Corinthians — if they are struggling with selfish division on one hand and rampant cultural compromise on the other — how will they move forward? Paul suggests the way to conquer the perils of their situation is love.
Surprised? I hope not. We shouldn’t be.
In 1 Corinthians 12–14, Paul moves into an interesting argument. He begins dealing with the unique giftedness of the the Corinthian church — namely, the miraculous gifts God has bestowed on them. Note that this is not written to address rightness and wrongness, or to give my personal opinions about the miraculous gifts. Clearly something unique is taking place in Corinth that isn’t taking place in Philippi or Colossae or Rome. God gets to do whatever God wants, so I’m the last person in the world who’s going to have the audacity to claim such gifts aren’t in use in the church today (albeit in conjunction with some pretty helpful instructions about how to use them properly).
But what does become relevant to our discussion here is that even the spiritual gifts have become an issue of contention and division for the people of God in Corinth. Their desire for selfish identity and glorification seems to know no bounds. They are using their own giftedness to promote their place within the Body of Christ. And couched in the middle of this three-chapter discussion is what we’ve often called “The Love Chapter.”
What many people have often noticed is that 1 Corinthians 12–14 (and maybe beyond) is a chiasm. While I have seen the chiasm identified and described in different ways, it appears Paul has intentionally placed this conversation about love in the center of a larger conversation about unity. Paul seems to be convinced that the way for them to deal with their divisions and find a place of orderly worship is to lay down their own desires and offer themselves to others in love.
This has actually been a thread for Paul throughout the letter. Look at Paul’s argument from chapter 6:
“I have the right to do anything,” you say—but not everything is beneficial. “I have the right to do anything”—but I will not be mastered by anything. You say, “Food for the stomach and the stomach for food, and God will destroy them both.” The body, however, is not meant for sexual immorality but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body. By his power God raised the Lord from the dead, and he will raise us also. Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ himself?
Or this very similar argument four chapters later:
“I have the right to do anything,” you say—but not everything is beneficial. “I have the right to do anything”—but not everything is constructive. No one should seek their own good, but the good of others.
No one should seek their own good, but the good of others. Apparently, Paul thinks that considering others before ourselves is the way to rid our faith community and our worship from the struggles of selfishness and idolatry. Paul says it isn’t enough to make sure that “it’s OK” to do something or to be something. It’s more important to consider the impact on others. Not is my behavior permissible, but is my behavior beneficial for others. Not is my behavior allowed, but is my behavior constructive for the larger community of faith.
Love God. Love others.
When you love others, God says you are loving Him.
I’ll close with some thoughts about the Eucharist — the Lord’s Supper. It seems that in the quest to find what is considered sacred by the Corinthians, even the Lord’s Supper didn’t escape their selfishness and division. Consider this from chapter 11:
In the following directives I have no praise for you, for your meetings do more harm than good. In the first place, I hear that when you come together as a church, there are divisions among you, and to some extent I believe it. No doubt there have to be differences among you to show which of you have God’s approval. So then, when you come together, it is not the Lord’s Supper you eat, for when you are eating, some of you go ahead with your own private suppers. As a result, one person remains hungry and another gets drunk. Don’t you have homes to eat and drink in? Or do you despise the church of God by humiliating those who have nothing? What shall I say to you? Shall I praise you? Certainly not in this matter!
For I received from the Lord what I also passed on to you: The Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.” In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.” For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.
The Eucharist resembled a guild feast before it did the broken body of Christ.
A broken body, indeed. This body of believers is broken beyond recognition. Yet Paul will invite them to a table that can remind them of the solidarity they share will all those bothers and sisters who worship alongside them. At the table, we are reminded of the fact that no matter who we are, we come — needy, beaten, battled — to the table of God. We find a reminder of the last night Jesus spent with his disciples and the way he served them selflessly. We are reminded of the thing that brings us together and makes us members of the same family.
We have wrestled in the previous two conversations about how much our day and culture shares in common with that of Corinth.
There is encouragement in the fact that now — 2,000 years later — we are still celebrating the same Eucharist and partaking in the same reminder of all that brings us together. I pray those regular moments will remind us of love incarnate; that we would remember the life and ministry of Jesus and how he loved; that we would be able to examine our own broken body (the Church!) and be invited to a table of grace and solidarity with our fellow brothers and sisters.
A broken body, repaired by the broken body of Christ.
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