Paul could’ve chosen a thousand metaphors. A team. A temple. A family. But he goes with a body to describe the church. Something that’s “made up of many parts” but is one thing. He imagines this holy body not just as a physical unit, but as an interconnected machine. One that is so perfectly in sync that if the head hurts, the whole thing aches.
 
Now, the human body has 206 bones, 639 muscles, and around 6 pounds of skin. Of course, there’s also tendons, ligaments, blood vessels, nerves, organs, and tissue. In fact, your foot alone has 26 bones, 33 joints and more than 100 other parts all working together with precision and grace. Every step we take, is a mechanical feat (no pun intended).
 
This is how the church is supposed to work. Together, in unity, with no one part being better than the other. The toenail is just as important as the brain. Yet, somewhere along the way we created a hierarchy, elevating some over others. This seems to contradict exactly what this letter is all about.
 
Paul asks, “If we were all the eye, how would we hear? Or if we were all ears, how would we smell anything?” The way I see it, God has given us each a unique roll and purpose in this sacred body. If the foot feels cut off, it doesn’t matter what the hand says.
 
Like the human body, this holy body works best when the different parts bring their different gifts, their quirks and callings, their scars and stories; trusting that even the ones who stand in the back believe they belong.

This is what made the early Christian church stand out above the other religions.
 
Jews and Greeks, free and slave, male and female, many people making one body where the greatest honor is given to least likely member. In a world that honors the greatest (often at the expense of the least) this was a radical and completely subversive approach. But such is the way of Jesus.
 
You might feel like a foot in a hand-shaped world because you have doubts, or an unflattering past. But Jesus shows us this doesn’t stop God from loving you. So why then does it stop us?
 
When Jesus says, “love one another, just as God has love you,” he’s not just teaching spiritual humility. He is calling us to practice radical hospitality. Paul understands this to mean the lowliest are the ones who get priority.
 
Jesus, the very incarnation of God’s love in the flesh, shows us what this way of life looks like every time he goes to the margins and brings those the world has tossed aside, back into the community. Back into the center of God’s heart.

This is what divine healing and redemption looks like. Jesus even pushes this notion further, telling his disciple, and us, that whatever we do to the least of these, we do also to him.
 
To welcome the ex-con standing nervously out of place, we’re welcoming Jesus who offers the best seats at the table to tax collectors and street workers. Whenever we treat a trans teen with honor, or see the undocumented as a neighbor, we see Jesus in the flesh. And understand what his sacred body is all about.
 
Remember, Paul is writing to a young church, located in a multicultural, highly competitive city where status is currency. So, the Body of Christ must be a safe and welcoming space for all - especially for those the world wants to hurt.

This is true today as well. Because when something as petty as politics stops us from loving our enemy, we’re no longer the Body of Christ. But a social club with decent coffee.
 
Our goal is to take all our unique parts and build a better body together. A community of love in the space between those on the inside and those on the outside. This is where real love is worked out in real time.
 
And this body, like the human body, has a face. One that looks like you and me. One that smiles with ease—because we now know it takes twice as many muscles and effort to frown. Likewise, the body has to work harder to hold onto anger and a grudge than letting go of it.

This body also has a heart. One that faithfully beats over 100,000 times a day. Each time we show up; send a text checking on someone; stay up late caring for a broken soul; offer an invitation to church; or share this message with a hurting friend, the heartbeat of this community pulses in perfect rhythm with God’s love.
 
Again, we each play a unique and vital role in Anamesa. We need eyes to help us see, but without ears, we miss the gentle voice asking, “How can I pray for you?”   We need hands that wave and serve. And feet to move our mission forward. Working together, in unison, we love God, love others, and serve both.
 
Paul picked the perfect metaphor for the church because in God’s kingdom everything is interconnected - you and me, heaven and earth, Christ and Jesus and this community of love we call Anamesa. Every part belongs because every part is important to the greater mission at hand (again, no pun intended).
 
When one of us rejoices, we all rejoice. When one hurts, we hold that pain together.
 
As amazing as the human body is, we must not forget it’s also very vulnerable. The pandemic reminded us how quickly something from the outside can disrupt everything within. I know someone who’s dealing with an autoimmune disease. Her own body has begun to mistake healthy parts as threats—and is turning against itself.
 
The same is happening in the Body of Christ. We are attacking ourselves by allowing fear, judgment, and division in. Some believe their theology, rituals and rites are better in the church across the street. When we label people, communities, or identities as “not holy enough” or “not one of us,” we’re attacking the Body of Christ.
 
Jesus says, “Every kingdom divided against itself will be ruined, and every city or household divided against itself will not stand” (Matthew 12:25). When the disciples wanted to stop someone from casting out demons because he wasn’t one of them, Jesus tells the Twelve to back off, “whoever isn’t against us is with us” (Mark 9:38).
 
Just as a misaligned spine can cause pain throughout the entire body when we’re not aligned with the heart of Christ—when his love is no longer the center of everything we do, then it all gets thrown out of whack. 
 
Jesus says, “I am the vine, you are the branches. Dwell in me… apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5). Like he showed us with his own life, the body only moves well when it’s rooted in the source of love. And not just any love, but God’s divine, steadfast love. Where grace, mercy and forgiveness are the antidote to the pain we inflict on this sacred body.
 
Jesus embodies God’s love perfectly. He uses it to welcome, heal, and redeem the world. Not some of it, but all of it. The good, the bad, the faithful and faithless alike.
 
When the body of Christ is aligned in God’s love, and honors every part like Jesus did, then something beautiful is created: a holy community where the least are at the center.

A space where folks like Robert are elevated and blessed. And love is the skin that not only holds us all tightly together, but it helps others identify who we are: God’s beloved.
 
Jesus didn’t ask us to build a community that looks like the world. He sends us into the world to build a body that looks and acts and loves like him. We are his sacred body. His living, breathing, resurrected love.
 
Where every scar is honored, every soul is held, and the least among us are seen not as strangers, but as Christ himself, whose love and presence here is so radiant, heaven can’t help but break through.
 
May we all be like him - rejoicing and radiating together as one, Now and forever, amen.
 
Let us pray:

In all my years of preaching, I’ve never attempted to preach on this passage. It always seemed kind of niche. I mean, eating meat sacrificed to idols doesn’t exactly scream “urgent spiritual crisis.” But when I reread this letter, I realized it’s about so much more than one’s diet.
 
Remember, this church was deeply divided—by politics, class, and status. Folks with a more educated and mature faith looked down on those who were newer to the church. Those who were less “in the know.” Think about how some people roll their eyes at those who have “less informed” political views. This is what’s happening in Corinth. And Paul isn’t having it.
 
He reminds them—and us—that being right is not the same thing as being loving. “Knowledge puffs up,” he writes. “But love builds up.”

This is important for us to pay attention to because it was the way they loved that set this young church apart from the other religions. Christianity, believe it or not, was founded on radical, extreme inclusion. Everyone was welcomed, because everyone was loved.
 
It’s worth noting Corinth was destroyed and the do rebuilt by Rome. It became an important multinational pluralistic city. Worshipping idols was part of the cultural DNA. Temples to Aphrodite, Apollo, Isis, and even the emperor himself lined the streets.
 
In those temples, animal sacrifice was common. And the meat from those sacrifices was sold in marketplaces. And that meat that was being sold in the marketplace was being served at the dinner parties hosted by the wealthy. Some who just so happen to be the Christians Paul is writing to.
 
To some in the church it was only meat. Like Paul, they knew there was only one real God so buying meat offered to an illegitimate deity was like buying steak at Whole Foods. But to those newer to faith, that meat was seen as tainted, even dangerous. To eat it felt like a betrayal to their newfound faith; a slippery slope to the life they left behind.
 
Whichever side you’re on in this debate, Paul essentially says, “You’re right. But what good is your knowledge if it isn’t building each other up in love?” Being “right” means very little if it causes someone to stumble in their faith.
 
Now, just before America invaded Iraq, my knowledge had me convinced there were no weapons of mass destruction there. But my dad, not so much. He towed the party line.

​The harder I pushed back, the deeper he would dig in. Our arguments started to drive us apart.
I had to ask myself—was being right worth losing my dad? Guess what? It wasn’t.

Knowledge puffs up. But love builds up. And I chose to take the difficult path of love because that’s what Jesus taught me to do.
 
Surrounded by the smartest religious minds of his day, Jesus often challenged their interpretation of the scriptures they were quoting but not necessarily abiding by.

He says, “Whoa to you,” for being like whitewashed tombs looking good on the outside but full of darkness and death on the inside.
 
When they question his follower’s cleanliness, Jesus says it’s not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person but what comes out of it.
 
Jesus wasn’t looking to win arguments. His goal was to reveal the heart of scripture: love, mercy, and justice.

Jesus calls out “those in the know” for treating Scripture as a textbook instead of living out the words as a testimony to God's love. 
 
Being right isn’t the goal. The goal is being the presence of God’s love in the space between heaven and earth. Paul said he wouldn’t eat meat again if it meant hurting someone in the body of Christ.

This begs the hard question: What am I willing to give up so others can experience God’s love through me?
 
We know what Jesus was willing to give. He always prioritizes people over principles and traditions. When a bleeding woman pushes through a crowd of men to be healed, Jesus doesn’t rebuke her for breaking purity laws, he calls her “daughter” and heals her immediately.

​The same with the blind, the weak, the poor, the ones pushed aside and forgotten. Jesus doesn’t just make room for them, he re-centers the entire community around them so everyone is welcomed and loved.
 
St. Teresa of Ávila taught “It is love alone that gives worth to all things.” And this begs another question: What good is our faith if we’re not showing up: loving, healing, forgiving?

What good is knowing, or following, or worshiping the one who gave his life to make room for us if we won’t give up our seat or make room for someone else at God’s table?
 
This is what Paul calls freedom. Let’s not confuse this with the lack of oversight or laws, but to letting go of oneself and embracing cruciform love. Jesus didn’t use the power of his freedom to protect himself. He used it to serve. To lift up those around him. But are we willing to do the same?
 
Today, the church is divided over issues like same sex marriage, or using inclusive language for God. Whatever side of the arguments you’re on, I’m sure you’re convinced that your team is right. Again, the goal isn’t to win. It’s about loving God, loving others, and serving both.
 
This doesn’t mean truth doesn’t matter.  It does. But people matter more. The nosey neighbors, the offensive co-worker, the drag queens who read books to children, the angry protestors and the politically ignorant, all matter more to God than our theological correctness or denominational divisions.
 
What good is our faith, our worship, our Scripture, if we don’t embody the very love and grace of the God these things reveal? Paul calls us the body of Christ to remind us that like Christ, we must lay down our lives – our pride and ego – so others can rise.

​This is how we build a community of love together in the space that separates us.
 
I’d like to close with a story about our old neighbor Tom Wolfe, who was a carpenter and built his own house, doing most of the work himself. But someone poured the foundation. Another ran the pipes. And a few of his friends helped frame the roof.
 
Did they voted the same way or rooted for the same team? It didn’t matter. They worked together to create something bigger than themselves. A literal house of love.
 
That’s what Paul’s getting at. We’re all builders raising each other up on the foundation of God’s love in Christ. This is what it’s all about. Love is what holds this body up. Not opinions. Not arguments. Not knowledge. Just Love.
 
“Without love,” writes Paul, “I am nothing.”  And Jesus tells us, “They will know you belong to me by the way you love one another.”
 
You can know how to frame a wall or shingle a roof. But if you don’t show up to build—what good is that knowledge? So, let’s rise up for each other in love. If you are strong, be the first to kneel. If you are wise, be the first to listen. If you are free, let that freedom be someone else’s healing.
 
“For whatever you do to the least of these, your brothers and sisters,” says Jesus, “You do also to me.” Now that you know, go and live that. For love is the greatest form of worship done in his name.