I Corinthians 2:1-16
David A. Davis
February 5, 2017

“I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified.” The Apostle Paul to the followers of Christ in Corinth. “I did not come proclaiming the mystery of God to you in lofty words or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified.” Not Jesus Christ, God with us… him crucified. Not Jesus Christ, Rabbi, Teacher, Healer… him crucified. Not Jesus Christ, peacemaker, boundary crasher, threat to power, kingdom bringer… him crucified. Not Jesus Christ, Son of God… him crucified. Not Jesus Christ, Savior of the world… him crucified. Not Jesus Christ, the Resurrected One… him crucified.

The Victorious, Triumphant, Risen Christ shall always be the one crucified. Remember how he showed them his hands and his side. The one who taught in such parables shall always be the one who was mocked and beaten and whipped. The Jesus who wept over the death of Lazarus and welcomed children into his arms and called down a sinner from a tree shall always be the one who suffered, and bled, and hung with his arms outstretched embracing all even in death. The Beautiful Savior of the world wrapped in swaddling clothes shall always be the one whose body was taken down from the cross by Joseph from Arimathea, who wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in the tomb. Jesus Christ… and him crucified.

It is the mystery of God, the cross and its foolishness. “God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong,” Paul writes earlier in I Corinthians. “God chose what is low and despised in the world, things that are not, to reduce to nothing things that are… God is the source of your life in Christ Jesus, who became for us wisdom from God and righteousness and sanctification and redemption” (1:27-30). The attributes of salvation — wisdom from God, righteousness, sanctification, redemption — through the cross of Christ. “Jews demand signs and Greeks desire wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified.” That’s how Paul put it. “God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, God’s weakness is stronger than human strength.” “So I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ… and him crucified.”

Jesus Christ. “Who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of slave being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the power of death — even death on a cross” (Phil. 2). Jesus, who turned the other cheek, forgave those who deserted him, betrayed him, killed him. Jesus, with a self-giving love, he loved until the end. Jesus, who actually could have saved himself and come down from that cross. But he didn’t. Jesus, whose agony included sweat that fell like drops of blood and asking God to take the cup away. “Nevertheless, not my will by thy will be done.” Knowing nothing except that Jesus.

It is to know that the Great Teacher of the Sermon on the Mount, the poet of the beautiful Beatitudes, willingly laid down his life — he willing laid it all down for the sake of others. The rabbi with a bit of anger, who muscled the moneychangers out of the temple? He refused to defend himself. He became a victim of violence. The one who came ushering in the kingdom of God and preaching good news to the poor and proclaiming release to the captives? He knowingly, intentionally found himself a prisoner, bound, sentenced to death. To know nothing except that Jesus is to know that before he rose from the grave and conquered death, he suffered and he died. Before he ascended into heaven and sat at the right hand of God, he was a lamb led to the slaughter. Before he was surrounded by the heavenly choir forever singing his praise, he was alone — hanging there, yet loving, giving, praying, serving until there was no breath left in him.

To know nothing except Jesus Christ and him crucified. It is to believe that the God we know in Jesus Christ is the God who sides with the most vulnerable, and the outcasts, and those who suffer. It is to believe that God will always be on the side of the least powerful, not the most; the ones who have the least, not the most; those who are least important, not the most. It is to believe that God works to strengthen the weak, uphold the fallen, find the lost, touch the outsider, rescue the persecuted, welcome the stranger. It is to believe in the God who forever welcome sinners, love sinners, embraces sinners, because of, and in and through, God’s only Son, the One Crucified. It is, frankly, the only way to know that God is for you, that God welcomes, loves, embraces you. Because of him… him crucified.

To know, to believe, to see. To see the face of Christ in those who suffer, and the sick, and the dying. To look at those the world most wants to hate and see those who God most wants you to love. To see in the eyes of someone you can’t forgive, or someone you can hardly stand, or someone you know is just flat wrong, or someone who looks different, believes different, lives different, is different than you, to somehow see in those eyes something of the gaze of Christ coming back at you. To look out at the world and not be obsessed with finding winners and losers, or seeing those who are right and those who are wrong, but remembering that Jesus saw a world of the least and the greatest, the haves and have-nots, and he was always concerned more with the have-nots, and the really have-nots. And that in Christ, in the One crucified, we are not conquerors, we are never conquerors, we cannot ever be conquerors because we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. Him who loved us, him who loved until Love was no more, and then he loved even more.

To know, to believe, to see, to live for nothing other than Jesus Christ and him crucified. To live and bear witness to Jesus Christ and him crucified. Not to be right. Not to be smart. Not to be rich. Not to win. Not be safe. Not to be strong. Not even to live forever. But to live in order to point to him in all of his fullness. “For He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation, for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers — all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together. He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the firstborn of the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to God’s self all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace through the blood of his cross.” (Col.1) In all of his fullness, yet still the One crucified.

“For I received from the Lord what I also handed on to you,” Paul writes to the Corinthians in the 11th chapter of this first letter. “The Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, ‘This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’ In the same way he took the cup also after supper, saying “This cup is the new covenant in my blood. So do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.” Then Paul concludes, “For as often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.” Proclaiming the Lord’s death. The One crucified. “I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified.”

Remembering and proclaiming. A table for remembering. A table for proclaiming. “On the edge of campus, in the heart of town, proclaiming the love of God in word and in deed.” That’s what we say around here. This week a graduate student interviewed me for a paper on evangelism in the church for the 21st century. “What’s your theology of evangelism?” was the first question. “Proclaiming the love of God in word and in deed on the edge of campus, in the heart of town.” I blurted it so quickly the student was a bit taken a back. “Nailed it!” I said to myself. What I said out loud was, “Are we done here?”

Our proclaiming out there, it starts in here. It starts right here. Remembering. Proclaiming. Proclaiming God’s love. God’s love given shape and form and substance in him. God’s love made known in him. God’s love poured out in him. God’s love for you in him. Remembering. Proclaiming the Lord’s death until he comes. The One crucified.

“O taste and see that the Lord is good,” the psalmist said. Taste and see. Yes. But also know, believe, see, live. Jesus Christ and him crucified. It is the great gift of God given to us in this feast. To taste again of his dying love. For on the stormiest of mornings or the longest of nights, whether on a joy-filled mountaintop or in the darkest valley filled with the shadows of death, when the world’s chaos races at a fever pitch or the day’s news keeps you awake at night, whether there with your head on the pillow you lose count of the many blessings or you can’t seem to get past the fear of another day yet to come, Jesus Christ is the same, today, yesterday, and tomorrow. Jesus Christ and him crucified. The One crucified. Which means His love has no bounds. His love never ends. His love is for you.

So remember and proclaim. Here and out there. Proclaim here as you eat and drink. Proclaim out there as you live, as you love. Know. Believe. See. Live. Jesus Christ and him crucified.

© 2017 Nassau Presbyterian Church
Contact the church to obtain reprint permission.

Luke 15:11-32
II Corinthians 12:1-10
Andre Thomas, Sr.
January 22, 2017

© 2017 Nassau Presbyterian Church
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John 1:29-42
David A. Davis
January 15, 2017

“Rabbi, where are you staying?” Where are you staying? It’s an odd question right there at the start. “Where are you staying?” Jesus notices the two disciples of John are following him. Jesus speaks first. “What are you looking for?” One doesn’t have to be a theologian or a literary critic to pretty quickly conclude that Jesus wasn’t just asking “What’s up?” or “How’s it going” or “Where are you headed? or “What are you doing?” A careful reader discovers these are the first words spoken by Jesus on John’s gospel stage. The first lines given to Jesus in John’s passion play. Jesus’ first, deep, searching, meaningful question. “What are you looking for?”

“We are looking for the Messiah, the one of whom the prophets foretold… We are looking for the Lamb of God, the one to whom John testified… We are looking for the one who will baptize with the Holy Spirit… We are looking for the holy one, full of grace and full of truth.” No, according to John they said “Rabbi, where are you staying.” It sounds more like alums who arrive at a reunion and want to find the best place to hang out: “So where are you staying?” Or friends who run in to each other over the summer on the boardwalk: “Where are you staying?” Or college students comparing notes after the room lottery: “How did you do?” Or high school youth rushing to read the call sheet for the next play: “Did you get a part?” Or young kids getting together during Christmas break: “What did you get?” Or someone arriving home after a long day at school, or practice, or work, and asking to anyone within ear shot: “So what’s for dinner?” One of our kids growing up had a friend who would arrive at our house often unannounced, walk right in, and within a few minutes was opening the fridge or looking for snacks in the pantry. It was a nonverbal question often repeated with action in our kitchen over the years: “Have anything to eat?”

“When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, ‘What are you looking for?’ They said to him, ‘Rabbi, where are you staying?’” It is as if they want to check out his digs. Or see who hangs out at his place. Or find out if his house was clean. Or whether he was just renting a room. Or whether he had any place to lay his head. Or find out his economic status. Or ask after his family. Something about the expression must be lost in translation here. Maybe it is something cultural about hospitality. Maybe it is more of an expression or an idiom. Because there is more going on here than domestic exploration when Jesus responds with “Come and see.” And as the gospel writer tells it, “They came and saw where he was staying.”

You will remember that the Gospel of John is so full of details that sort of leap off the page. Just here in the text for this morning John provides a language lesson: Rabbi, which translated means Teacher; Messiah, which is translated Anointed; Cephas, which is translated Peter. And the narrator mentions out of nowhere that it was about four o’clock in the afternoon.

John always seem to pair detail with memorable image, language, and symbolism. At the wedding in Cana when Jesus turned water into wine, the Gospel describes the jars in detail: six stone water jars each holding twenty to thirty gallons. But as for that miracle, that’s when Jesus said to his mother “My hour has not yet come” and John sums up the scene by describing it as the “first of his signs in Cana of Galilee” that revealed his glory. Details paired with symbol.

When Jesus healed the blind man on the Sabbath at Beth-zatha, the text describes the scene: in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate there is pool which has five porticoes in which many of the blind, lame, and paralyzed lay. One man was sick for 38 years. By the end of the scene after the man took up his mat and walked, Jesus said to those who were questioning him, “Very truly I tell you the Son can do nothing on his own, but only what he sees the Father doing; for whatever the Father does, the Son does likewise. The Father loves the Son and shows him all that he himself is doing, and he will show him greater works than these, so that you will be astonished.” Details paired with deeper theological imagery.

All through John. That breakfast scene on the beach with the Risen Christ. When the disciples caught the fish they were only about a hundred yards from shore; there were 153 fish in the net and on the charcoal fire was some fish and some bread. And that’s when Jesus and Peter had that three times repeated interchange: do you love me, yes, Lord, you know I love you, feed my lambs, tend my sheep, feed my sheep. “When you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you are grow old, you will stretch our your hands and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go (Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God).” John’s gospel putting that kind of complexity together with 153 fish and a boat about 100 yards off shore.

Which is all to say that Jesus’ invitation for the two to “come and see” had to be about a whole lot more than where he was hanging his hat, or taking off his cloak, or putting up his feet, or resting his head, or hanging his shingle, or taking his meals. “They came and saw where he was staying.” Staying. That’s a loaded term in John, used three times here in these few verses. Teacher, where are you staying? Jesus said to them Come and See. They came and saw where he was staying and they remained (or “stayed” — same word in Greek). They stayed with him that day. The language lessons, the details of the time and day, all of it paired here with “staying.” The symbol, the deeper image, the theological fencepost from John is “It is in the staying.” “They came and saw where he was staying.”

Staying. John 6:56: Jesus said, “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me and I in them.” Abide. Same word as “stay.” John 15: Jesus said, “Abide in me as I abide in you.” Stay in me as I stay in you. And “if you keep my commandments, you will abide, you will stay in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and stay in his love.” The two came and saw where Jesus was abiding. It’s not a domestic inquiry. It has everything to do with Jesus and God and humankind and the most profound imagery, symbolism, theology we can muster.

It’s interesting that the Christmas memory verse from the Prologue to John, “the Word became flesh and lived among us,” lived among us, dwelt among us is a different word in Greek. After all the poetry and the beauty of that Prologue to John, Christmas in John, that word, that “lived-among-us” word in Greek pretty much doesn’t come back. Once Jesus gets going in John with ministry, once he calls the disciples, once he starts teaching and healing and loving, for John, in John, it’s all abiding, staying. That’s the word. It’s the word that shouts incarnation. It’s all incarnation. God with us. Christ with us. Christ for us. Yes, the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and he stayed. They came and saw where he was staying. They came and saw him in the flesh. Hair, teeth, bones, eyes. They came and saw that he was staying. God was staying. The Messiah. Emmanuel. God with us. Staying. Abiding with us.

Christ the Lord came to live among us that night and he stayed. Which means he cried, he soiled his diaper, kept his mother up, rolled over, crawled, took first steps. He had growing pains and his voice changed and he worried his parents. He had friends. He had a favorite meal. He played games. He went to work. He had teachers and mentors and awkward family moments. He saw the sunrise and the sunset. He knew what it meant to be cold and hot and tired and disappointed and joyful and tempted and angry and scared. He laughed. He cried. His heart was broken. He grieved. He hurt. He bled. He died. He stayed the whole time. Messiah. Emmanuel. God with us. God for us. From birth to death. He stayed the whole time. “They came and saw where he was staying”.

The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and he stayed. And in the staying, in the abiding, Christ Jesus made what it means to be human holy. He made our ordinariness sacred. Yes, the most profound parts of being human, that we are created in God’s image and created to give God praise, that matters to him. And the most mundane parts of being human, loving and laughing and growing and learning and sharing and caring, it all matters to him. To abide in Christ, as Christ abides in us, it means that loving one another and loving your neighbor and forgiving as you have been forgiven and caring for the sick and comforting the grieving and welcoming the children and embracing the outcast, all of it is a sacred task. When you come to see that he stayed.

He stayed. Jesus came all the way down that holy night and he stayed. It is one more reminder, one more affirmation of God’s love. That God loves all of you. I don’t mean all (collective of you) which is indeed true. I mean God loves all (every part) of you. In his collection of sermons entitled Strength to Love, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. tells of a woman that everyone called Mother Pollard. “Although poverty stricken and uneducated,” King describes her, “she was amazingly intelligent and possessed a deep understanding of the meaning of the [civil rights] movement.” One evening after Dr. King spoke at a large meeting in a church, Mother Pollard came up to him after the meeting at the front of the church. Sensing that something was wrong, that he wasn’t feeling strong. He tried to reassure her that he was fine and deflect her concerns. “You can’t fool me,” she said, “I know something is wrong.” Before Dr. King could respond, Mother Pollard looked into his eyes and said, “I told you we are with you all the way.” Then as King describes it, “Her face became radiant and she said in words of quiet certainty, ‘But even if we aren’t with you, God’s gonna take care of you.’” Dr. King finishes that sermon by telling how Mother Pollard’s eloquent simple words came back to him again and again to give light and peace and guidance. “God’s gonna take care of you.”

Mother Pollard must have known what the Gospel of John wants you know. Jesus stayed. And that makes it all matter. All of it, all of this being human stuff, matters. Because in Christ Jesus, we know God so loved all of us.

© 2017 Nassau Presbyterian Church
Contact the church to obtain reprint permission.