Sunday, April 05, 2020
Sunday Reflection: A sermon
Times continue to be strange. Bill Withers died this week. His music played a big role in my life: I used it as a device escape un-noticed while giving my "Last Lecture" at Baylor (the Waco Trib story explaining that is here).
I also wrote a short sermon, just to meet a challenge (I'm not scheduled to give one for a while). If you are interested, here it is:
Wisdom and Knowledge: To each for the Common Good
1 Corinthians 12
"7 Now to each one the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good. 8 To one there is given through the Spirit a message of wisdom, to another a message of knowledge by means of the same Spirit, 9 to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healing by that one Spirit, 10 to another miraculous powers, to another prophecy, to another distinguishing between spirits, to another speaking in different kinds of tongues,[a] and to still another the interpretation of tongues.[b] 11 All these are the work of one and the same Spirit, and he distributes them to each one, just as he determines."
I once taught a class with two men who were quite different than me. I was a lawyer, trained in criminal law. They were both preachers, steeped not only in theology but in the mundane yet profound challenges of pastoring-- the part where they had to listen to and address a myriad of issues lived through by the real-life people in their congregations. One of them once described this to me as "walking theology."
When we taught, we had the practice of not telling one another what our take on the reading would be; instead, we riffed off of one another and shared the time more or less equally, each getting one-third of the class period to play out our thoughts or discuss with the class. It was while teaching that class that I learned the difference between knowledge and wisdom. I had knowledge, at least in my little field. They had wisdom.
That wisdom could often be bold, even when my knowledge counseled no such boldness. A student would spin a theory about the text (which was Aristotle's On Rhetoric), and I would nod reasonably and then, often, disagree as gently as I could. Not them; they would say "yes!" and then add to it, re-shape it, circle back with affirmation. It was all truth to them.
One year, tragedy struck. One of those two men suffered a debilitating stroke and nearly died. He lost the ability to speak and movement in most of his body. I remember visiting him in the hospital and walking out after, sitting in my car and crying. With time and lots of hard work in physical therapy, he regained enough movement to walk with a walker and talk with labored pauses. It certainly didn't seem that he was up to teaching again, and on the first day of class the other preacher and I sat in my office and prayed before class.
That is when he came in, his walker scraping on the ground.
We were wary of putting him in front of the large class; it seemed like too much. But we went together to the classroom, and looked through the window in the door. There, next to the first row, was a profoundly disabled student. She weighed perhaps 40 pounds, set into a motorized wheelchair and aided by her mother, who would take notes. My colleague looked back at us. "God never lets me feel sorry for myself, I guess," and then pushed open the door with the walker, went to the lectern, and gave the best lecture I have ever heard. That was wisdom.
What is the difference between wisdom and knowledge? I suspect it is what my friend exemplified in that moment: humility. Those who crow and preen usually have knowledge or power (or, sometimes, both). But the wise importune without exalting themselves.
Of course, as Paul seems to be telling us, it takes all these things in our community: knowledge, wisdom, healing, prophesy, language, and the Spirit can inform them all. The secret is to recognize our own talents and then to defer to others when they express their own.
Collaboration--what Paul says community requires-- is a subtle art. The best collaborations (Rogers and Hart, Lennon and McCartney, Ben and Jerry) usually involve people with different skills who come together and complement one another. Even Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire fit this mold, even though they were both dancers; beyond that ability, Astaire was a singer while Rogers excelled as an actress and comedian. What they each brought made the whole of their film performances unparalleled.
And why combine our talents? Paul tells us that, too: for the common good. And never have we needed it more.
