1 Corinthians 1:13-25
18 For the message about the
cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved
it is the power of God. 19 For it is written, "I will destroy the wisdom
of the wise, and the discernment of the discerning I will thwart." 20
Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this
age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? 21 For since, in the
wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, God decided, through
the foolishness of our proclamation, to save those who believe. 22 For Jews
demand signs and Greeks desire wisdom, 23 but we proclaim Christ crucified, a
stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, 24 but to those who are
the called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of
God. 25 For God's foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God's weakness is
stronger than human strength.
I think it is safe to say that each
of us in this place this morning has done one or two things in our lives that
we might call foolish. Maybe it’s something you look back on with frustration
or perhaps embarrassment. Maybe it’s something you consider to be a sort of
educational experience from your youth. Or, maybe, it’s something you reflect
on with a sense of humor and chalk it up to a good story. I’d like to think
that’s how I recall one of those foolish moments in my life. It was 1993, and I
was a kid in Mrs. MacArthur’s third grade class at College Street Elementary.
For the first (and only) time in my life I was going to participate in a
spelling bee. The way it was explained to us was that we had to have a class
spelling bee, and then the winner from our class would compete with other
winners from other classes, and so on. I have to be honest with you, I remember
being kind of excited about the whole ordeal because Mrs. MacArthur made it
sound so exciting (especially when she started tossing around the possibility
of going to the national spelling bee).
When the day came for our class-wide
spelling bee, Mrs. MacArthur thought it would be fair to line us up
alphabetically as we were given words to spell, and since my name was Thomas, I
was used to finding my way towards the back of the line. Now, I was what they
call “gifted” in the third grade, and I can tell you from experience, there is
nothing worse than a smart third grader who knows he’s smart. So as each of my
classmates were given a word like shoe
or house, I started thinking how easy
this was going to be, and then came my turn. I stepped up to the designated
line in the hardwood floor, and Mrs. MacArthur said, “Chris, your word is
‘river’.” In the split second between her giving me the word, and my response I
am convinced some form of an arrogant sneer must have come across my face as I
heard a quick chuckle in my sub-conscience. In the correct spelling bee form of
“word-spelling-word” I said, “River. R-I-V-I-R. River.” By the time I realized
what just happened, it was too late to re-inhale the breath that bore my
response. I was out in the first round of my third grade spelling bee because
of a foolish mistake.
We have all done something foolish
in our lives, whether it is something we can look back on and laugh or something
that causes our lips to quiver and our eyes to water. There are things that we
feel may be too embarrassing or awkward to share with others. After all, we
wouldn’t want anyone thinking we are somehow flawed or imperfect. Would it
comfort you to know that you are not alone when it comes to those feelings of foolishness?
Would it comfort you to know that you are not the only one who has something in
your life that you’d rather not share with others? Would it comfort you to know
someone more, shall we say, holy has
shared in such feelings? If you will,
let me read to you an account of an individual who was perhaps doing just that:
So they took him and brought him to the
Areopagus and asked him, ‘May we know what this new teaching is that you are
presenting? It sounds rather strange to us, so we would like to know what it
means.’ Now all the Athenians and the foreigners living there would spend their
time in nothing but telling or hearing something new. Then Paul stood in front
of the Areopagus and said, ‘Athenians, I see how extremely religious you are in
every way. For as I went through the city and looked carefully at the objects of
your worship, I found among them an altar with the inscription, “To an unknown
god.” What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you. The God
who made the world and everything in it, he who is Lord of heaven and earth,
does not live in shrines made by human hands, nor is he served by human hands,
as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mortals life and breath
and all things…While God has overlooked the times of human ignorance, now he
commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a day on which
he will have the world judged in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed,
and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead.’ When they heard of the resurrection of the
dead, some scoffed; but others said, ‘We will hear you again about this.’ At
that point Paul left them. (Acts 17:19-25, 30-33)
Maybe you’ve heard that story before, and you’re wondering to yourself,
“How does that sound anything like foolish?” This is Luke’s account of Paul’s
sermon at the Areopagus (i.e. Mar’s
Hill) in Acts 17, and here we see what seems to be a great apologetic defense
of the Christian faith to all manner of ancient philosophers and religious
leaders. It is no wonder that there are so many church’s springing up with
names derived from this account, because the apostle Paul does seem to stand up
for the gospel in the midst of such pluralistic scrutiny. If that is in fact
the case, then how on earth is this an example of foolishness? If we are to
hold this account up as a precious stone with many facets, how could we ever
find a flaw? Perhaps the very next verse of Luke’s account (Acts 18:1) can provide a good starting point: After this Paul left Athens and
went to Corinth. And it is in Corinth that we find our text this
morning.
Perhaps when Paul arrived in Corinth, and in his subsequent
correspondence with the congregation there, he realized something had been
missing from his presentation in Athens, some portion of wisdom, for in the
passage we have read here today, the apostle goes to great lengths to
distinguish between the foolishness of the world and the wisdom of God. In verses 18-19 he writes, “For
the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to
us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written, ‘I will
destroy the wisdom of the wise, and the discernment of the discerning I will
thwart.’” The congregation at Corinth was experiencing something
similar to what Paul had experienced at the Areopagus: they were in a position
where they were going to have to defend their faith. This, I think, is where
Paul’s reflection on his actions in Athens comes to play in his words to the
believers in Corinth.
Notice what he writes in verses
23-25: “but we proclaim Christ crucified,
a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those who are the
called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.
For God's foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God's weakness is
stronger than human strength." If you were going to highlight any
particular phrase in that declaration from Paul it we be those first words: “we
proclaim Christ crucified.” Now, there is something interesting about
those words. If you recall what we heard earlier from Acts 17, there is no
mention of the name Christ, nor is there any mention of crucifixion. While at
the Areopagus, Paul simply stressed the resurrection of Christ, and refers to
him ambiguously as “a man whom God has appointed to judge the world.” Perhaps at
the time Paul thought the best way to convince the wise ones of the world was
through the world’s brand of reason, to proclaim the gospel in terms of
philosophical timekeeping and judgment. After all, we know that in the first
century the idea of worshipping a crucified God was nothing short of
foolishness.
Near the Palatine Hills in Rome there was a bit of ancient graffiti
crudely scratched into a plaster wall. The Alexamenos
Graffito (also known as the graffito
blasfemo) depicts a man, presumably an early Christian named Alexamenos,
worshipping a figure stretched on a cross—that figure has the head of a donkey.
The inscription reads, “Alexamenos worshipping his god.” To the ancients (both
Greco-Roman and Jewish) the idea that a God or messiah would be crucified
bordered on the edge of improbable. It was foolish.
Jews in the ancient world scoffed at the idea of the Messiah being crucified—a
curse according to the Hebrew Scriptures. The ancient Greeks and Romans
worshipped an entire pantheon of indestructible gods who made their abode atop
Mt. Olympus and dared the mortals below to provoke them. So, maybe, just maybe,
when Paul stood in the Areopagus to preach to those who wanted to hear this
“new thing,” he elected to omit the necessary reality of the crucifixion in
order not to ostracize his audience.
Can you blame him though? After all, how many times have you had a
conversation with someone and the talk turns to religion, and all you manage to
say is that you believe in God and attend church regularly? How many times have
you held back from doing what you felt the Holy Spirit was calling you to do
just because you thought someone might make a fool of you? How many times have
you stood with your feet glued to the floor when God calls you to move just
because you don’t want to look foolish? We could go around this room and
collect volumes of those kinds of stories, so maybe we shouldn’t rush to judge
Paul’s shortcomings at Athens; after all, there were some who believed (though
no church), and he did go on to Corinth where he established a church on the
foundation of proclaiming a crucified Christ.
Christ crucified. For Paul, this is not some historical point on a map of
Jesus’ accomplishments; this is the crux of Jesus’ identity as savior. He was
crucified; he is crucified. It seems foolish, foolish to worship a savior who
would die, foolish to serve one who did not deliver himself from pain, torment,
and death, foolish to worship a God who has died a cruel, criminal’s death. And
you know what? It is foolish! But
thanks be to God for Paul’s words in verse
25: “For God's foolishness is wiser than
human wisdom, and God's weakness is stronger than human strength.”
We have all done something foolish at some point in our lives, and you
may be reluctant to share such experiences with others. But do not think that
the foolishness of following Christ is not worth sharing. You may find it
difficult, just as Paul did at Athens, to speak the name of Christ and the
truth of his crucifixion in the midst of listening ears, but do not be afraid.
You may be called foolish, but the foolishness of God is greater than the
wisdom of this world. So be foolish, foolish in your reckless proclamation of
the crucified God. May you be foolish in your love for others as Christ was
foolish in his love for you. May you be foolish and believe in the power that
Christ demonstrated in his selfless love for humankind in his death upon the
cross, and may you find in the power of Christ’s crucifixion salvation, hope,
peace, joy, and love. May you be foolish today. Amen.
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