Perfect Weakness

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

2 Corinthians 12:1-10; John 19:28-30

October 6, 2013 • Portage First UMC

VIDEO INTRO

Well, it happened as we were told it might. Tuesday morning, we all woke up to find out that the government had shut down. To be honest, I couldn’t tell that much of a difference! But the news from overnight was that Democrats and Republicans had failed to come to a compromise on a new budget, were continuing to argue over several issues, and therefore, the government did not have funding to operate. Now, what that meant is that many federal workers were suddenly without a job—not Congress or the President, mind you. They will still get paid. But people who work at the Washington Zoo, for instance, were sent home. NASA was mostly closed, as were many research projects and Congressional perks like the barber shop, dining room and shoe shine. Even our own Portage Lakefront was closed because it’s owned by the National Parks System. All of this is because there’s an ongoing power struggle, and despite the media’s attempt to blame one side or the other, most of us recognize that there is plenty of blame to go around on both sides. Neither side wants to compromise their position in any way, and so because each side wants to be seen as the side with power, we are left with a mess. Power does that. We have probably all heard the famous statement from Lord Acton, a British politician of the late 1800’s, who wrote to Bishop Michael Creighton, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.”

Now, it’s easy to point fingers, especially this week, at the politicians and the business leaders and all those we think of as having “power.” But we all want power in one form or another. A child who throws a tantrum because he didn’t get his way wants power. An adult who bullies their way through a situation wants power. A spouse who demands that everything be done her way wants power. “We want to drive fast and get mad at cars blocking the lane. We want a promotion and don’t get it and begin hating on the person who did get it. We want to be married and get angry at God because we’re still single. And we especially want to beat out everybody else for the prizes in life” (Wilson, Empty Promises, pg. 68). C. S. Lewis put it this way: “What we call ambition usually means the wish to be more conspicuous or more successful than someone else” (qtd. in Wilson 68). Power is a sin of comparison, and it becomes an idol when we insist on having to be the absolute best every time. It’s not enough to have a good position at work; we have to have the best position. It’s not enough to be a good mom; we have to be super mom. It’s not enough to be a good pastor; we have to be the best pastor. It’s not enough to be on the road making progress toward our destination; we have to be out in front, and woe to the person who gets in front of us or cuts us off in traffic! After all, in every situation, we are more deserving than anyone else. And on it goes. Power tends to corrupt, and that’s why it’s one of the most seductive idols on the market today.

This morning, we’re wrapping up our series of sermons on “Empty Promises.” Over these last six weeks, we’ve been looking at the various idols that confront us every day: things like success and achievement, affirmation and approval, money, beauty and appearance. But there is probably no more potent or addictive idol than power, the desire to have control over others or over situations, the desire to be in charge. Lord Acton was right—power corrupts, for it promises us that we can be “god” ourselves. The idol of power was at the heart of the first sin in the Bible. Adam and Eve were in a perfect garden, and they were given one, only one, prohibition: don’t eat from the tree in the center of the garden. Then along comes the serpent, who tells them that if they eat from that tree, they will become like God, knowing good and evil. In other words, they would have power, maybe even power over God. It’s too tempting, too alluring to resist (Genesis 3:1-7). They eat—and the history of the human race from that moment on has been one of grasping for power and control.

The Apostle Paul certainly understood power, for he lived in a world where people spent a lot of time grasping and straining for power. The Roman Empire was in a period of flux when Paul lived, and everyone wanted to be on the emperor’s “friends” list. And that attitude carried over into the church, because after all, these folks were brand new to the whole idea of Christianity. Not that long ago, many if not most of them had been a huge part of this power-driven society. When they became Christians, like many of us, they just brought their old habits into the church. And so Paul writes this letter to the church in Corinth to address several issues, including that of power. Paul has had a difficult relationship with the Corinthian church, brought on at least in large part by some “false teachers” who had tried to discredit him. They said he was “timid” when he was preaching, that he was only “bold” when he was away (2 Corinthians 10:1). They said he was “unimpressive” when he preached, and that his speaking “amounted to nothing” (10:10). Then, it seems, they would boast about their own spiritual experiences, to prove that they and their teaching were superior to Paul. They were “super-apostles,” super spiritual, people whom God had especially blessed (11:5). They would say these things in such a way that “ordinary” Christians would be in awe of them, would look up to them in some way (Wright, Paul for Everyone: 2 Corinthians, pg. 131). It’s a power struggle, pure and simple. The super-apostles are determined to be in charge of the church, and they believe they have to discredit Paul to attain that.

So Paul writes to the Corinthians, but surprisingly he doesn’t insist on his own power. In fact, while he does remind them of his credentials, he says, “If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness” (11:30). And then, in chapter 12 which we read the first part of this morning, he reminds them there is nothing to be gained by boasting (12:1). In the church, as Christians, boasting does not get us anywhere, and to explain or demonstrate why, Paul tells a strange story. “I know a man in Christ,” he says, “who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven…And I know that this man…was caught up to paradise and heard inexpressible things, things that no one is permitted to tell. I will boast about a man like that, but I will not boast about myself” (12:2-5). Now, scholars pretty much agree across the board that this “man” Paul is talking about is, in fact, himself, and he’s recounting an experience he had fourteen years before but apparently has never told anyone about until now. In fact, this is the only time he ever talks about any sort of vision (Hafemann, NIV Application Commentary: 2 Corinthians, pg. 457). And he’s frustratingly sparse on details; in fact, he says he can’t really talk about it. Whether that means he’s been forbidden to talk about (as if God told him not to say anything [cf. Hafemann 460]) or he simply can’t find the words, we don’t know. Basically, he’s saying, “I’ve had spiritual experiences like these super-apostles claim to have had, but I haven’t talked about it, because such experiences are not the point of the Christian faith and they are not the source of my authority.” So what is the source of Paul’s authority, then? He says it in verse 5: “I will not boast about myself, except about my weaknesses.”

By “weaknesses,” Paul is referring to things he can’t do well, feebleness—not necessarily of body, though we’ll talk about that in a moment—but he’s referring to his own inability, in his own strength, to resist desires, idols, things that tempt him. He’s talking about boasting of the trouble his life has had. Why would he boast about that? Most of us much prefer boast about the successes, the good things we’ve done. You don’t take a resume in today’s world and fill it with your failures. You write down every success you can think of. Unless you’re looking for attention, you generally write most about your successes than your failures when you post on Facebook or Twitter. Why would Paul think he should boast about his weakness? That doesn’t make any sense to us today. And that’s just the point. It didn’t make sense in Paul’s day, either. But for Paul it was a conscious choice, learned in a lesson from God, to focus on his weakness, on those places where he couldn’t do it alone. And the way he learned that was through what he calls a “thorn” in his flesh.

“In order to keep me from becoming conceited,” Paul says, “I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me” (12:7). Now, there is a lot of discussion as to what this “thorn” is. The word itself indicates something that caused great pain, an almost savage pain, so we’re at least talking about physical suffering. And it seems, from the language he uses, to have been intermittent. In other words, it wasn’t all the time, but when it came, it was bad (Barclay, The Letters to the Corinthians, pg. 257). There have been a lot of suggestions about what this was, from epilepsy to a malarial fever that was frequently present along the coast of the Mediterranean in those days. Others suggest he might be referring to the ways he suffered at the hands of others, those who would persecute him, and still others say it might have been migraine headaches. But the most agreed-upon description of this “thorn” is severe problems with his eyes, most likely stemming from his encounter with Jesus on the Damascus Road (Acts 9:1-9) when he was struck blind by a bright light from heaven. Many suggest he never quite regained his vision. In fact, we know he dictated his letters and others actually wrote them down, and eye problems such as this could also include debilitating headaches (Barclay 258). But Paul doesn’t tell us explicitly what the “thorn” was, so anything is really a guess. Paul’s point is much larger. The “thorn” was given to him to keep him humble, to remind him that he was not sufficient on his own. Whatever he accomplished was only because God was working in him. In fact, he asked God three times to take this thorn away, but instead he received this word from God: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (12:9).

Power—the word in Greek is related to our word “dynamite,” so we’re talking very powerful, explosively powerful. And that kind of power, God’s power, is oddly seen when we are weak. When we can’t do it on our own. When we can’t make it on our own. That’s when God’s power is seen. That’s when we are most complete, perfect, when we realize we can only rely on God and nothing and no one else. My grace, God says, is enough. It’s enough for you. Paul goes on to put it quite bluntly: “When I am weak, then I am strong” (12:10).

Nearly fourteen years ago, I didn’t have a vision like Paul’s, but I did have an experience that taught me a lot about grace. Many of you know I was born with a heart defect, and when it was first diagnosed, my power mentality, control mentality, said to just fix it right then. I remember, at the ripe old age of 17, telling the doctor that. I think I would have gone into the hospital that day if they’d have let me. But the doctor patiently explained to me that my condition wasn’t problematic enough yet to repair. And so I was left with a truth I didn’t like: I couldn’t fix it. In fact, in the years to come, I did a lot to try to deny that I even had a problem. I was still strong. I was young. I could do anything—except I couldn’t. There were things I couldn’t do because of the issue with my heart. But I was raised to be self-sufficient, like most of us were, and so I tried. And I prayed. I prayed God would take it away, fix it supernaturally. But God didn’t. “My grace is sufficient for even you, Dennis.” Did I really believe that? It was hard to grab onto. And so we waited, for many years, until what technology could do was finally better than what I had, so that on January 12, 1999 (some dates you never forget), we went to Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis and I allowed a skilled surgeon to repair my heart. That was an act of grace. I could not fix myself. I did not have the power to overcome my weakness. Only someone outside of me could do that. The same is true with our worship of power. We want to boast of what we can do. God wants us to boast instead of what he can do, even if it shows off our own weakness.

Now, there are a couple of indicators that tell us if power might be an idol we are worshipping. The first is when we avoid failure at any cost. That indicates power has become our identity. Avoiding failure looks like this: how would you rate yourself on a scale of 1-10 with these statements?

• I feel the need to win every argument.
• I lose my temper when situations or conversations don’t go my way.

If power is an idol, we’ll do most anything we can to cover up our mistakes and our weakness so that no one can see or realize we might have failed. The other way we might approach this is that we always set ourselves up to succeed. We never enter a situation where we might fail, and so sometimes worshipping power even looks like holding back, not taking that new job because you might not be able to do it, not asking that person out because they might reject you. We tend to fear failure because when we fail, we perceive a loss of power and influence, and that’s a bad thing for the power worshipper. One of the things I always admired about Mother Teresa was her refusal to back down from what she believed, no matter who she was talking to. It didn’t matter if she was speaking to someone on the streets of Calcutta or the President of the United States, fear of power did not control her. There is a rather famous story of Mother Teresa speaking at the National Prayer Breakfast in Washington, D.C. and boldly speaking out on her beliefs about life, despite the fact that President Clinton, whose policies often disagreed with hers, was sitting at the same table. Power held no attraction for Mother Teresa, and therefore fear was not a factor. What is it in your life? What holds you back from maybe doing something God calls you to do because you’re afraid you’ll lose power?

The second “red flag” when it comes to worshipping power is when we refuse correction. Again, how would you rank yourself 1-10 on these statements?

• I get very upset when people don’t specifically do things the way I want them to be done.
• I have a hard time following the rules other people establish.
• I always know a better way.
•  When things go wrong, it’s always someone else’s fault.

In other words, refusing correction means we seek to live without accountability. Power is very closely related to pride. In fact, Proverbs 15:12 puts it this way: “Mockers resent correction, so they avoid the wise.” Now, nobody likes to be told they’re doing something wrong, but there are times when we need to hear an outside voice in our life—in our jobs, in our homes, even in our church. Our staff here loves the evaluation time each year! Okay, not really, and not because our Staff-Parish Committee is cruel. Nobody likes evaluation all that much, because that implies correction. We like to think we’re doing it all right, but if we’re unwilling to listen to others (even if they’re wrong), then power is most likely an idol in our lives.

There’s a story in the Old Testament about the time wise King Solomon dies and his son Rehoboam is put on the throne. People come to him asking for relief from the taxes and such that Solomon had put on them, and Rehoboam asks for some time to think it over. He consults the wise men, who advise him to make himself a “servant” to the people. Then he asks his young friends, who advise him to tell the people he will be even harsher on them, to just deal with it. Rehoboam goes with his friends’ advice, and the kingdom collapses (1 Kings 12:1-17). What if he had accepted correction, given up power and become a servant?

That’s the example we have of Paul, and ultimately of Jesus, the one Paul modeled his life after. How do we conquer the idol of power? By living in perfect weakness, as Paul described it and as Jesus lived it. In the Gospel lesson this morning, we have just one example of Jesus’ perfect weakness: he gave his life for the sake of the whole world. He who was God incarnate, who could have taken power and set up an earthly kingdom, who could have called, as the song says, 10,000 angels to defend him—he willingly gave his life. He gave up his spirit; it was not taken from him (19:30). Before that, just a night before, he had gathered his closest friends in an upper room for dinner, and before they ate, he washed their feet. “Do you understand what I have done for you?” he asked them. “You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you” (John 13:12-15). I have set you an example—we’re to do like Jesus did. The cure for the power idol is engaging in servanthood. What would the world look like if people grasped that idea? What would it mean if people sought to serve one another rather than rule one another? What if public service really meant that again? And what if the church, Jesus’ people, took that example seriously, serving one another rather than always seeking to get our own way?

Last Sunday, some of you stepped up to do just that. Eleven of you responded “yes” to Jeff’s plea for folks to deliver pies, to reach out to newcomers and to seek to connect them with Christ and the church. That’s an act of servanthood that not only puts your own desires for a relaxing Sunday afternoon aside for a least a brief time, but it will make a huge difference in someone’s life. Well done! Next Sunday, we all have a chance to do that. Next Sunday is our second “Faith in Action” Sunday, and we’re going to seek to serve others in a wide variety of ways. We’re only going to have one service, at 10:00, and that will be brief. Then we’ll head out in and around the area to serve others. Pastor Deb has a complete list of projects at the Connection Center, and she would really like for you to sign up so we know how many to anticipate. As preparation for next Sunday, we’re also going to be collecting food items this week, to step out and stop hunger. You’ll get a bag or several when you leave this week, and you’re encouraged to ask your neighbors to contribute, to help. Don’t let this just be a “Portage First thing.” For some of us, that’s frightening, and some of you are probably already planning to stay home next week and planning to not collect food this week. I wonder why that is? You know your neighbors, or at least you recognize them, and as for next Sunday, there are projects for everyone’s skill level, and some of the projects don’t require you to go anywhere. They’ll be done right here. Is it because it’s new and different, not the “normal” way of doing church? Well, that’s sort of the goal! Or is it because you might not be in control of what happens? Are you planning to stay home because of a tendency to worship the power idol? If that is you, I hope you won’t. Even if you are afraid you’re going to end up doing something you’re not entirely comfortable doing, that’s okay. God’s grace is sufficient for you. Paul said it, and Christians through the centuries have proven it to be true. When we serve, when we seek to break the power of power over our lives, God’s grace will be there to catch us and then, through us, others will see his strength. And that’s what it’s all about.

Just after he washed the disciples’ feet, Jesus gathered at the table with them. Twelve men, one of whom would betray him that night in a grab for power, and yet Jesus shared the Passover meal with all of them. A meal that was, for the Jews, almost as old as time, and filled with deep meaning. A night that reminded them of a time when they were powerless, and yet God rescued them (cf. Exodus 12). But that night, Jesus changed the words, the meaning, the liturgy. He told them the bread and the wine from that night on would remind them of him, of what he was about to do in the ultimate act of servanthood. And he told them to do it often, to remember him, to remember the cross, to remember what he did to save them when they were powerless to save themselves (cf. Romans 5:6). So today, on this World Communion Sunday, we gather with brothers and sisters around the world to remember Jesus’ sacrifice, his love, his willingness to give up power so that he could serve. There are places in our world today where Christians gather in fear rather than in freedom. Some never know if the next sound outside might be the powers of this world coming to arrest them because what they are doing is illegal. And yet, they gather just the same and seek to live this servanthood life that Jesus set before us all. This morning, we remember them even as we gather here in safety.

You know, sometimes I get asked how we should approach the communion table. And there’s no set Biblical pattern or example. But, you know, when I offer you the body of our Lord Jesus Christ, some of you thank me, and I always want to respond, “I didn’t die for you. Thank Jesus for that.” And some of you want to grab it rather than receive it, even though the grace and the gift it represents is never something we can grab onto. It’s something given to us. So this morning, this World Communion Sunday, I’m going to invite you to come to the table in a particular way. Come with your hands open, ready to receive whatever God has for you. Come with your hands open, which in many places is a symbol of surrender. Come with your hands open, as a reminder that we are called to be servants, not rulers. Come with your hands open, remembering that God’s grace is sufficient for you, for when we are perfectly weak, then we are strong.