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SERMON
When Paul came to Corinth, he found a city almost as much in love
with the pursuit of knowledge as with the pursuit of physical pleasure.
And even after the church was established there, those young Christians
were still having trouble with the lure of both sexual immorality and
the pursuit of worldly wisdom. So in response to those issues, along
with a good many others, Paul wrote this letter we call "First
Corinthians." And he evidently thought it was of primary importance to
address the issue of intellectual pride. I say that because, after his
opening remarks on divisiveness in the church (which we looked at last
week) he wrote: "When I came to you, brothers, I did not come with
eloquence or superior wisdom…"
There was no "wiser than thou" let alone any "holier than thou"
attitude on his part. Despite his superb intellect, Paul rejected the
option of eloquence in favor of telling the story of Jesus and his love
in all its simplicity. He had no desire to compete with the ranking
orators of the day (doubtless an inspired decision). Remember that Paul
had come to Corinth directly from a less-than-effective presentation to
the Areopagus in Athens. It was almost as if he had said to himself as
he left Athens, "Enough of that approach!" Paul had
the good sense to realize that he dare not let his ego get in the way of
the message of the gospel.
It's risky business trying to impress others. I remember, many years
ago, being at a pastors' conference in which the participants were
invited to share with our table companions the most interesting book we
had read in the past year. When it came my turn I said, "that
would be Andrew Nygren's commentary on Romans." (I had heard
Earl Palmer recommending the book earlier, so I thought I'd make
points.) Later I learned that the author's name was Anders Nygren. Not
only had I not read the book (though I did own a copy of it and had read
the preface), I didn't even pronounce the author's name correctly. It
takes some people quite a while to learn this lesson. But as a general
rule, trying to impress others is highly overrated, and Paul didn't try
to do so.
In fact, he went on to say, "I resolved to know nothing while I
was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified." It might
have been a fine strategic move for Paul to have focused attention on
the teachings of Jesus, or the profound theological implications of the
incarnation. But that's not what Paul did. Paul says that he made the
deliberate decision before anything else to focus exclusively on the
cross of Christ. He wanted to be like a microscope that brings all our
attention to bear on the one crucial point. And he realized that for him
to draw attention to himself would be like inviting people to notice
what a fine lens the microscope was outfitted with. It would be so easy
to miss the point, and Paul wasn't about to do that.
Now why did Paul decide to focus on the cross? He gives us a clue in
the next verse. He writes: "I came to you in weakness and fear,
and with much trembling." Perhaps it was because of his own
weakness that he made that inspired decision to focus on the cross of
Christ. Maybe that was God's way of conforming the messenger to the
message. There is great persuasive power when the speaker is a living
illustration of his message. Think about it. Who has more credibility?
Is it the person who has studied the subject and has all the facts down,
or the one who has lived it and for whom the subject is personally real?
I'd put my money on the one with personal experience every time. So when
Paul said, "I resolved to know nothing but Jesus Christ and him
crucified," he was saying, in effect, "I realized that the
only way I could be effective was by letting God work through me;
because I knew that I didn't have what it takes on my own. And the cross
of Christ is my best example." And, of course, Jesus set the
ultimate example when, from that cross, he cried out triumphantly,
"It is finished!" That is the paradoxical power of the cross
of Christ.
Later on, Paul would confess that same great truth when he wrote:
"God's power is made perfect in our weakness." Paul
understood that the power of the cross is most persuasively demonstrated
by the one who remains calm and focused and confident of God's grace in
the midst of what the world might call defeat or failure. I have no
doubt that Paul's self-confidence had been seriously shaken by his
recent experience in Athens. But rather than throw in the towel, he
placed himself at the foot of the cross, and said, in effect,
"Lord, if you would do this for me, then I'll do anything for you. Here
I stand."
So, despite Paul's apparent failure and admitted "weakness, fear and
trembling," God was able to use him for great good. That's why Paul went
on to write at verse 4: "My message and my preaching were not with
wise and persuasive words, but with a demonstration of the Spirit's
power, so that your faith might rest not on men's wisdom, but on God's
power." Note this: the most telling evidence of the powerful
work of the Holy Spirit are the lives that are changed by simply hearing
the message of the cross. And there is great wisdom to be gained from
that simple message. But it is not the same kind of wisdom that the
world offers.
That's why Paul went on to write at verse 6: "We do, however,
speak a message of wisdom among the mature, but not the wisdom of this
age…" Then Paul began to talk about this wisdom that comes from
God. But he wasn't talking about religious information that only people
who go to church care about. He was talking about ultimate insight into
life – insight that allows us to understand ourselves. This is the kind
of wisdom that everybody longs to know. It's the mystery of how to get
along with people. It's the secret of how to deal with guilt and fear in
our lives. It's the wisdom we need to help our hurting marriages, to
help us love our children and respect our parents. And these
life-changing insights are things we all desperately need to understand.
In verses 6-10 Paul notes four aspects of this wisdom from God.
First, the wisdom of God is eternal. It's not a passing fad. In
fact, Paul says, God had this wisdom in mind before time began. Worldly
wisdom, on the other hand, generally has a short shelf life. Have you
noticed that? For example, twenty years ago experts were saying that
divorce doesn't hurt children. Today, two decades later, popular family
theory says that divorce can be terribly destructive to kids, no matter
how hard their parents try to shield them. But God says that he has
always hated divorce. He loves people, and his wisdom has always
understood that divorce damages people – including the children of
divorce.
Second, Paul reminds us in verse 7 that God's wisdom is "destined
for our glory." Paul promises us that God's wisdom at work in us
will finish the job of transforming us into the men and women he created
us to be. No matter what we may feel like right now, God's wisdom can
transform you and me into the kind of people who are as loving and
merciful and patient and kind and strong and self-controlled as Jesus.
That's the goal of God's wisdom.
Third, in verses 8-9 Paul tells us that God's wisdom can never be
understood by purely human means. The most brilliant philosopher or
scientist, working outside the framework of faith, will never be able to
unravel the mystery. In verse 9 that wonderful quote from Isaiah 64
tells us three things about God's inscrutable wisdom. The words "no eye
has seen" remind us that God's wisdom is beyond purely empirical
investigation. The phrase "no ear has heard" reminds us that nobody can
explain it. And the words "no mind has conceived" tell us categorically
that God's wisdom can never be generated, duplicate, cloned.
But then in verse 10 Paul tells us that the fourth and by far the
most wonderful thing about God's wisdom is just this: to those who love
him, God is pleased to reveal that wisdom, and he does it by his
Spirit. The glorious fact is that the ability to know the deep wisdom
that matters for all of us for all time is the privilege of all those
who have received Christ into their lives and have therefore received
God's Spirit. Our God is a self-revealing God.
That makes perfectly good sense to me; especially after reading the
way Paul explains what that means in the remaining verses of chapter 2.
In verse 11 he uses a human analogy. He says that each of us has some
very personal feelings and private experiences known only to our own
spirits. Unless my spirit is willing to reveal my heart to someone else,
those feelings and thoughts and experiences remain a mystery – even to
those closest to me. Paul argues that the same is true of God's heart.
His Spirit must be moved to reveal his inner character. It's true, as
the psalmist says, that "the firmament reveals God's handiwork." But
only the Spirit reveals God's heart. But how does the Spirit of God do
that? It's here that we get into some fairly heavy-duty theology.
At verse 12 Paul tells us that God's Spirit has invaded our lives so
we can understand the wisdom that has always been on his heart. Those
who come to Christ in faith and open their hearts to receive him are
given the Holy Spirit in the bargain. It's a package deal. And it is the
Spirit who "guides us into all truth," just as Jesus promised he would
in John 16. On the other hand, says Paul, those who reject Christ and
are therefore without the Spirit, will not accept the things that come
from the Spirit. In fact, the things of the Spirit will seem like
foolishness to them. Why? Because they're operating from a severely
limited understanding. They can't see or reason beyond their human
perspective.
C. S. Lewis' novel Till We Have Faces tells the story
of a young woman married to a prince. They had a wonderfully loving
marriage. The princess lived in the beautiful castle of her husband, and
every day they feasted at a sumptuous banquet table. The prince
attentively cared for her and met all her needs. There was, however, one
problem with the arrangement. The castle and the prince were invisible
to everyone but the princess – even though they were real and true. All
that the princess' neighbors could see were imaginary conversations
around imaginary tables with imaginary people. So they concluded that
the young woman was crazy, because they couldn't understand what was
true.
Lewis gently warns us in that story that you and I will be evaluated
by many around us in the same way because of our understanding of the
heart of God and our awareness of what is eternally true. We will hold
convictions that others don't, based on a different set of absolutes. We
will be compassionate when others are cruel. We will be intolerant of
some things of which others are tolerant. And it is because, as Paul put
it, "we have the mind of Christ." It's because our hearts have been
taken captive by the heart of God.
The story was told by a preacher (I think it was Richard Cardinal
Cushing) of three young men who broke into a church and were vandalizing
it when the priest caught them in the act. Two of them escaped but the
priest caught the third, who demanded to be let go. The priest told the
young man he would let him go but first he must make confession. He took
the fellow to the foot of the crucifix and said, "I'll let you go
after you have looked into the face of Christ and said three times, ‘All
this you did for me, and I don't give a damn.'"
The young man looked up at Jesus on the cross and said, "All
this you did for me, and I don't give a damn!" – "All this you did for
me, and I don't give a damn." – "All this you did for me…" and
he couldn't finish. Then the preacher who was telling the story said,
"That's a true story. I know, because I was that young man."
C. S. Lewis said that faith happens when the gospel conquers the
heart. When and how that happens is a mystery known only to God. But the
fact that it does happen is an unshakable truth known to those who have
experienced it. And that truth is the beginning of real wisdom.
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