1 Corinthians 13: 1-13
In Hope, Faith and Love abide.
It's time for us to abide in love.
Time for the term of Love.
The greatest, according to Paul, of these.
Love, which,
according to the Beatles,
is all we need.
Love, which,
according to Joe Crocker,
lifts us up where we belong.
Love, which,
according to Burt Bacharach,
is what the world needs now.
and is sweet.
What more is there to say,
about Love?
That fuzzy, rosy, complicated thing,
made both ubiquitous and impotent
by the unholy trinity of Valentine's Day, Hallmark Cards and Pop songs.
Love, that complicated connection,
between the romantic and the friendly,
and the divine.
Love which is not simply romantic, or divine, or friendly,
but is indeed all of these.
Love, which we seem to talk about,
in Christian communities,
both always and never.
I once reluctantly sat through an entire message,
about how we can't even imagine how Holy God is.
And I sat there thinking...
Okay. I believe you.
I cannot imagine how holy God is.
I cannot picture this made up word, which means nothing outside of God.
I literally cannot imagine it.
And why is this good and helpful news?
But love is not so.
Because even if we cannot comprehend God's love.
We know something of what love is.
All people (I hope) know love,
in on form or another.
in relationships and families and friendships and communities,
in worship or service,
in faith or in action.
Faith and Hope are about things unseen and unknown.
But love is real and known to us.
Both utterly divine and truly human.
And because we are unconditionally loved by God,
and thus must love God back,
and reflect that love to others.
We must strive for it,
and live into it,
and let it work in us and pervade our very lives.
We can imagine it.
And let it move and open us.
To those around us.
And to new experiences.
I made a mistake, in my printing of the scripture,
As you may have noticed.
(it's shocking I know.)
I tried to plan well in advance,
and pick my scripture and sermon title,
for this week,
prior to the break.
Long before I had figure out exactly what is was I was going to say.
Naturally,
I picked 1 Corinthians 13,
as it's been the basis for our framing of the past three terms.
And thinking that there was so much to this chapter,
I decided to excise the first three verses.
"If I speak in tongues, and have knowledge and faith,
and give up everything,
but have not love, I am nothing.
And gain nothing."
Thinking that there was so much to draw from,
and that this, perhaps, wasn't Paul's clearest effort on this front,
I thought we could just skip it.
Return to it, perhaps,
another week.
And then I went on Spring Break,
with a group of multi-faith students,
to San Francisco,
to work on issues of youth and homelessness and housing.
And I found myself,
on our second work day,
at Glide memorial church.
A Methodist Community,
that serves nearly a million meals a year.
3 times a day,
7 days a week
Every day of the year,
Hundreds, if not thousands,
of San Francisco's homeless and hungry
come to Glide for meals.
People were lined up down the block,
as we entered, bleary-eyed at 7:00 AM.
well over an hour before breakfast started,
I looked out onto dozens of empty tables,
As I walked into the serving room,
And noticed the serving line totally separate from where the hungry clientele entered.
I was introduced to the system,
bringing hundreds through the lines,
quickly and efficiently.
Staff cook.
Volunteers scoop and pass,
scoop and pass.
Clients were shuffled in in groups of 20-30 at a time.
Volunteers collected dishes
and people shuffled away.
Some re-entered the line and came back in.
Some didn't.
It was hard to tell,
since there were so many.
And I thought to myself,
"I've been here before"
Not here at Glide, mind you,
but in massive Soup kitchens and food lines.
Offering a few hours of my time,
to help feed the hungry masses that gather.
And I always come away better for the experience,
but deeply conflicted.
And often feeling a little depressed.
I could paint and clean,
in organizations that offer holistic support to individuals and families in need,
all day everyday
(as we did for the rest of our trip).
But anonymously serving meals to hundreds,
just isn't the same.
And leaves me wondering how this fits,
into the broader picture of Help,
and Support,
and Justice,
and Love.
As it happened,
Glide was only a few blocks from our hostel.
And since we had Sunday morning off,
a group of us, Christian and non-Christian alike,
decided to head back to Glide for their Sunday worship.
Or as they call it, "Celebration."
We arrived well in advance of the 9 oclock Celebration,
as we were instructed.
And again there were hundreds lined up outside,
waiting for food.
I again, I felt overwhelmed and saddened.
We filed in,
and many people gathered,
The celebration began,
and it was indeed a celebration.
Celebrating life.
Celebrating the community.
Celebrating God.
Celebrating love,
Celebrating individual members.
Celebrating the choir
(which was indeed worthy of celebration).
I sat there in the balcony,
in my overwhelmed, maybe-even-gloomy state,
And I enjoyed the choir.
And I appreciated the need to celebrate,
but I certainly wasn't feeling it.
And I sat,
and sang,
and listened.
And something began to change,
after I heard announcement after announcement
about the meal program,
And prayer after prayer about the "community."
And exhortation after exhortation about unconditional love,
or love in action.
And something happened,
not unlike what happened to the Grinch,
when his heart grew three sizes.
But perhaps not so dramatic.
Because I realized two things,
First, that when they kept referring their "community"
that they meant not only those gathered for worship.
And not only members and servers and volunteers.
But everyone there.
Those preparing meals, those singing songs, and those being served.
That this was one big community,
Rich and poor. Able and not. Homed and homeless.
This service was at the forefront not only of what this community does,
but who they are.
And second,
That this was a real and true expression of love.
It was not pity or duty
that compels Glide to serve,
nor is it glamour or notice.
It is really and truly love.
In word and deed.
And I remembered back to a sermon I heard Peter Gomes preach.
Where he reminded us that prayer and worship and community
are what we do,
so that we can go out and do our real work in the world.
This is what we can do.
We can love, and we can serve,
and we can celebrate things worth celebrating.
And by the end of the Celebration,
I too was ready to celebrate.
And I realized that it was love that was lacking,
from my past experiences in soup kitchens,
and meal programs.
That if we serve meals to hundreds,
but have not love,
we gain nothing.
That if we fail in love,
as Paul reminds us,
we cannot really have faith.
We cannot really serve.
We cannot really celebrate.
We cannot prophesy or preach or pray.
And this is why love is the greatest of these.
Both because we can know and experience and imagine it
and because it makes all other good things true and real and possible.
Love is the greatest of these.
In which we are meant to abide.
