Scripture: 1 Corinthians 13:1-7
Some parts of the divine creation come directly from God. Think of the universe, the planets, the oceans, the forests, the mighty elephant, and the humble dung beetle. Other parts of the divine creation come through human intermediaries. Think of the sculptures of Michelangelo, the paintings of Raphael, the music of Bach, and the poetry of Dante.
In that second category, surely one divinely inspired creation exceeds all others. It reflects the perfection of human alignment with the Almighty, the pinnacle of our collective striving and achievement as a species. I refer here, of course, to the cheeseburger.
I love cheeseburgers. I eat fewer of them these days, one of the consequences of getting older, but I’ve continued the romance at long distance. Someone said of a prominent Australian cricket player that his idea of a balanced diet was having a cheeseburger in each hand. When I read that, I felt seen.
I embrace a wide diversity of cheeseburgers and toppings. That said, I generally hold with the views of the Poet Laureate of Key West, Jimmy Buffet, who declared in his aptly-titled song Cheeseburger in Paradise: “I like mine with lettuce and tomato / Heinz 57 and French fried potato.”
Granted, over time I have drifted away from ketchup and toward mustard and relish, but I do not hold doctrinaire views on the matter. As the familiar theological formula goes: “In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity.” We must leave room for differences, although I myself would not ruin a perfectly good cheeseburger by putting avocado on it.
Now, I mention my fondness for cheeseburgers because we may include among their many virtues the brevity of the shopping list they require: Ground beef. Buns. Cheese. Onions. Pickles. Condiments. A side dish or two. Chips and dip, perhaps. Charcoal if you’re grilling. Who could possibly go to the store and forget any of the items you need to make a cheeseburger?
You’re looking at him.
Among my many weaknesses, so numerous and vast that they defy inventory, we can include forgetfulness at the grocery store. I could go in after ice cream and fudge sauce and come out with light bulbs and deodorant. I get inside, I start shopping, I get distracted, and I forget at least one thing I came for, roughly 100% of the time.
“A man’s got to know his limitations,” Clint Eastwood famously advised, and so before I go into the store I always carefully write out every item that I need to buy. It’s my only assurance that I may actually accomplish what I came to do. And if I fail to list an item, it will never find its way into my cart—never, ever. My struggles at the grocery store have accordingly given rise to a saying in our house: “If it’s not on the list, it does not exist.”
I make no apologies for my preoccupation with lists. Lists help me out. They get things done. They put dinner on the table. They keep us from serving light bulbs and deodorant for dessert.
And human beings have been making lists for a very long time. Scholars will tell you that when they go on archeological digs or search through ancient papyri a large number of the writings they discover are everyday lists. I can imagine Plato making one so he’d remember what to buy down at the agora, when he wasn’t busy inventing Western philosophy.
Lists matter. They serve a critical function. They focus us. They keep our eye on the ball. They make sure we bring back what we went out into the world to seek and find.
And lists are not limited to the mundane. Think about it: What are the Ten Commandments but a list? What are the Nicene Creed and the Apostles’ Creed but lists? What are the Beatitudes but a list? And what is that well-known passage in Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians but a list—a list of things about love?
Now, I recognize that any sensible preacher who elects to talk about 1 Corinthians 13 does so at their peril. The passage has become familiar to the point of cliché. We’ve heard it recited at countless weddings. We’ve seen it on greeting cards. We’ve read it on bumper stickers and on needlepoint pillows at the doctor’s office.
Other than the passages relevant to Christmas and Easter, we may have heard more sermons on 1 Corinthians 13 than on any other biblical text. A preacher would have to be a grade-A, gold-plated, Olympic-level idiot to choose these verses for his or her sermon. And here I am.
In my defense, I’ve wandered into this all-too-well-charted territory for a reason. You see, for all of my own encounters over the years with 1 Corinthians 13, I recently realized that I’ve never thought about it as a list. And it occurred to me that understanding it as a list might offer some fresh insights into a passage that for some of us may have grown a bit stale.
Now, a lawyerly disclaimer: I can’t guarantee that the things I say this morning will feel new to you. But many of them feel new to me. And, for better or worse, I’m the guy with the microphone.
Let’s start by noting that Paul was very fond of lists and that we find lots of them in his letters. Earlier in 1 Corinthians, Paul gives us a list of the various “gifts of the Spirit.” In his letter to the Galatians, he gives us lists of what he calls “the fruits of the Spirit” and, on the opposing side of things, “the works of the flesh.” In his letter to the Philippians, he gives us a list of things to think about: “whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable.” In this church, we’ve sometimes used that passage as a benediction, as a sort of “to do list” as we send you out into life.
When you think about it, it’s completely unsurprising that Paul included so many lists in his writings. After all, in those letters Paul was trying to help the members of the early church stay focused on their mission, ignore distractions, and get stuff done. How could he do any better at that project than by providing them with lists to read, study, consider, and—hopefully—follow? Whatever reservations we might harbor about some parts of Paul’s theology, no one can question his greatness as a leader; great leaders give clear direction; and clear direction comes from lists.
Because Paul used such magnificent language in 1 Corinthians 13, the text may at first strike us as grand and poetic and as nothing like a list. But, make no mistake about it, 1 Corinthians is a list. Indeed, it is two lists: a list of what love is and a list of what love isn’t. Let’s take that second list, the one that tells us what love isn’t, and let’s think about it together for a moment.
Now, I’d like you to notice two things about this list. The first thing I’d like you to notice is that the list is incomplete—and necessarily so.
The number of things that are not love is infinite. We cannot possibly name all of them. This passage could just as easily read: “Love is patient; love is kind; love is not … a coffee table, or a cheese grater, or a lawn mower.” If it did read this way, I suspect we’d hear it quoted a lot less at weddings.
Paul had an infinite number of things to choose from when he compiled his list of what love isn’t. But he selected these particular things, the things we have in this passage. And we can assume that his choice of these particular things must have meaning, because throughout his letters Paul exhibited all the qualities of a thoughtful, careful, and highly deliberative list-maker.
That leads me to the second thing I want you to notice: All of the items in this list of what love isn’thave a few characteristics in common.
At first blush, it might seem as if all the things on this list are obviously not love. Indeed, they might seem to qualify as the very opposite of love. Paul tells us that love isn’t envious, boastful, arrogant, irritable, or rude. He says love doesn’t insist on its own way, doesn’t rejoice in wrongdoing, and doesn’t keep a record of wrongs.
This might initially strike us as one of the great “well, duh” moments of the Bible. Of course these things aren’t love; who would think they are? But Paul was on to something, because here’s the deal: As to every single item on this list, sometimes—to serve our own agendas—we pretend that they are love.
Take the first thing Paul mentions: envy. Envy leads to all sorts of destructive thoughts, behaviors, and speech. Envy plainly isn’t love. And yet, all too often, we put a bow tie on the pig and dress envy up as if it were. We pretend to be acting out of caring and concern, while in fact we’re acting out of pettiness, self-interest, and jealousy.
Think, for example, about how some of the disciples competed for the favor of Jesus. As Jesus gave Peter an increasingly important role in his ministry, James and John became envious. Finally, the two men (or, in a different version of the story, their mother) asked Jesus for the privilege of sitting at his right and left hand in the kingdom. They made it sound as though the request came from the men’s great dedication to the Lord; but it actually came from their envy of Peter’s position.
Or consider another thing in Paul’s list: boastfulness. When we boast, we elevate ourselves, often at the expense of someone else. It has nothing to do with love. But periodically we pretend that it’s love, too.
A good example comes in the eighteenth chapter of Luke, where Jesus tells the parable of the Pharisee who boasts that he’s glad he’s not like the other poor, sinful people with all of their moral failings. Of course, the Pharisee is simply bragging about his own piety. But he tries to make it sound as if he’s concerned about the well-being of all those unfortunate, downtrodden folk who don’t share in his tremendous virtue. The Pharisee pretends to be praying but it’s more like he’s preening.
There’s a wonderful old phrase that I think perfectly describes what Paul has in mind. You may have heard it, but it’s not used much these days so you may not know exactly what it means or where it comes from. It’s the phrase “stalking horse.”
Here’s some background. During the Medieval and Renaissance eras in Europe, bird hunters snuck up on their prey by hiding behind a horse, typically an old nag who moved slowly and quietly. Once the hunters got close to the oblivious birds, they’d launch their fatal arrows. The phrase “stalking horse” has therefore come to mean anything that we use to camouflage the mischief that we’re really up to.
When we do the things that Paul has included in this list, we often hide behind the “stalking horse” of love. We pretend to be acting out of kindness and compassion and sympathy. But our true motivations lie elsewhere—in things like envy, boastfulness, pride, arrogance, and selfishness. Safely camouflaged behind a pretext of love, we let our arrows fly.
If this is indeed what Paul was getting at in his list of things that aren’t love, then it transforms the meaning of the text. We often come to this passage as if Paul were a friendly father figure giving us advice. And, as often turns out with friendly father figures, it appears he’s giving us advice we don’t need. He’s telling us that things that obviously aren’t love aren’t love. It’s all very sweet and well-intentioned but hard to take too seriously.
If, however, my reading of this text is right, then that’s not what’s going on here at all. This is no happy-go-lucky pre-wedding-cake pablum. Paul is instead shining a spotlight on the dark human tendency to use love as a cover for baser ulterior motives. He’s warning us against fooling others, and fooling ourselves, into thinking that things that aren’t love are love. He’s summoning us to test the true contents of our heart—and to test them constantly, carefully, and candidly—for signs of deception and manipulation.
When we turn to the list of things that Paul says are love we see similar dimensions to the text.
Just like the list of things that aren’t love, the list of the things that are love is potentially infinite. Again, we can’t name them all. The possibilities are endless.
Indeed, let’s go back to our coffee table, our cheese grater, and our lawn mower and try a little thought experiment. Are we sure they’re not love? Doesn’t a coffee table become love when friends gather around it to offer moral support to someone who just got a cancer diagnosis? Doesn’t a cheese grater become love when a mother uses it to sprinkle the Parmesan over the pasta she made to welcome her son home? Doesn’t a lawn mower become love when someone uses it to spruce up the front yard of an elderly neighbor who can’t do it themselves?
That’s what love does. It transforms things. It takes nothing and make something out of it. It opens up something that isn’t love and fills it to the brim with the very heart of the Living God.
Again, because the possibilities are endless, for his list of the things that are love Paul could choose only a few examples. And, again, he chose wisely, including many things that we might count as some of love’s greatest hits. What is love? Well, it’s patient, kind, and strong beyond all describing—bearing all things, believing all things, hoping all things, enduring all things, unending. Love is as strong as death, it says in the Song of Solomon; stronger, Paul replies.
In my view, however, the most striking quality of this list is that everything included in it is pretty vague and open-ended. It is as if Paul says to us: “Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to throw out some general ideas. Then I’m going to let you work on your own list of what love is. Keep your eyes open and stay alert, because love will show up in ways you never anticipated, and things that you never expected will find their way onto your list.”
Perhaps an example will help. My own personal list now reads in part like this: “Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is a donkey blessing.” Now, everyone who regularly attends this church knows what I’m talking about, but permit me to offer a brief summary for anyone who is visiting or who has been living under a rock for the past few months. And, if we don’t have any visitors or cave dwellers, well, I’m going to do it anyway because, in the words of the old hymn, “I love to tell the story.”
Pastor Robin is to donkeys what I am to cheeseburgers. She adores them and finds them fascinating and has long wanted to have some in her care. So she found her way to two rescue donkeys who needed a home and she signed up to take them in. That is love.
Robin named the donkeys Dave and Conway, after two men who she deeply respects and who have played an important role in her life. What those two men, Dave and Conway, did for her is love. And her naming the donkeys after them is love.
Now, surprisingly enough, Robin’s house didn’t come with the standard pre-made donkey abode. Enter Jesse, who built them an enclosure so sumptuous it lacks only a hot tub, wet bar, and satellite television. Or, at least, it lacked them the last time I visited. That is love.
Along the way, Jesse needed some help. So, multiple folks from this congregation showed up to cut boards, swing hammers, and climb up and down ladders. When the arrival date for the donkeys got moved up unexpectedly, Jesse and his helpers adapted. That is love.
On the day the donkeys arrived, a crew of volunteers appeared to welcome them to their new home. They hauled and stacked dozens of bales of hay. They left the donkeys to their own donkey devices and gave them time and space to accommodate to things and to settle in. That is love.
After the donkeys had a chance to get their bearings, Julie Forbes helped organize a donkey shower. Members of this congregation sent Dave and Conway more gifts than any two donkeys have ever received in the entire history of the modern world. Robin asked me to give a donkey blessing. People brought food. Carmella led a few attendees in spontaneous dance lessons. That is love. Love, love, love, love, love.
You all know that story. Here’s one you probably don’t know. A couple days before the donkey blessing, I think it was Friday, I got a message from a friend I’ve known for many, many years. Some months before, she had asked me if I would officiate at her as-yet-unscheduled wedding. I said that I’d be happy to do it if the date worked. We left things there.
She was reaching out to me on that Friday because, for personal reasons, it had become important that they get married sooner. “How much sooner?” I asked. To which she said: “How about Monday?” So she and her fiancé scrambled, we found a time and place to meet for me to sign the marriage license, and I prepared a few words to say before we did the paperwork. The “wedding wedding,” as we call it, will happen somewhere down the road.
When we assembled, I mentioned 1 Corinthians 13 to them and the idea that it doesn’t, and couldn’t, include in its list all the things that are love. I invited them to think about what was going on at that very moment. And I encouraged them to think about what it had to tell them about love.
You see, what they were doing right that instant added some things to Paul’s list. Love shows up. Love improvises. Love does what has to get done. Love rolls up its sleeves and figures stuff out. Love understands that some things are urgent and some things can wait. Love sees where it’s needed and drops everything and drives across town and stands where it needs to stand and says: This is my job. This is my joy. This is what I will do, now and forever more. I will go where you need me.
Love is exactly what that couple was doing at exactly that moment. The formal “wedding wedding” they ultimately have may come with cake, a crowd, and karaoke. But it will not be more about what love is and what love does than was that quiet little five-minute ceremony where they locked arms and exchanged promises.
I suppose that sometimes love can come in a passive form—for example, not saying or not doing something out of respect for someone else’s feelings or autonomy. But it seems to me that, for the most part, love is active. It requires us to get out of our chairs, to put other things aside, and to do something. And, as with all things that we must actively commit to doing and to making sure get done, that means love must be on our list.
It’s easy for other things to nudge love off our list. The business and busyness of everyday existence. The obligations of jobs and other commitments. The ever-present labors that go with keeping food on our table, and a roof over our head, and a workable car in our garage, and so on and so on and so on. As I said earlier, the list of things that aren’t love is infinite, so we can find our lives fully occupied with them, and with no apparent room for anything else.
It turns out that while love is special and singular and sacred, it is also like every other thing in the world: If it’s not on our list, then it does not exist. If we don’t make a conscious, intentional, and dedicated effort to keep love in our inventory of things to do, then it will simply fall by the wayside. There are lots of ways to kill love. But nothing works as efficiently and effectively as starvation from neglect.
One of the principal worries of most preachers is that while they’re talking the congregation will be thinking about the week ahead and the list of things they need to get done. But that’s exactly what I want you to do, right here and right now. Because, you see, I want to send you out into the world with some questions in mind about the week that’s coming your way. And about your list.
Is love on your list? Does your list include something that will make someone know that you see them, that you haven’t forgotten them, that you care about them? Does the list ensure that you will share with someone the most precious gifts that you have to give: your time; your attention; your resources; your compassion; your hands; your strength; your energy; your honesty; your commitment; your forgiveness?
Does your list account for the infinite varieties of expression that love might find? Does your list have on it something that brings the grace of rushing across town to take someone’s hands and say: I am yours? Does the list have on it something that brings the sheer, over-the-top, danceable joy of watching a pair of wayfaring donkeys at long last arrive at the home they didn’t know they had?
Sisters and Brothers in Christ: If we check our lists. If we attend to them. If we pray over them. If we give the good Lord room to work on them. If we open ourselves to the infinite variety of love’s expressions. If we do all of this, then we may see things we never thought we’d see.
We may see past the reflection.
And we may glimpse, in all its glory, the very face of God.
Praise Him that it is so.
And the people said: Amen.
