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In 1 Corinthians 14:1-12, the Apostle Paul distinguishes between spiritual gifts that are personally edifying and those that are publicly edifying, and he encourages us to pursue the latter. In his own words: “Since you are eager to have spiritual gifts, try to excel in gifts that build up the church.” Let us examine the passage in closer detail.

First, remember the larger context of this passage. Throughout 1 Corinthians 12-14, Paul is responding to the Corinthian abuse of the gift of speaking in tongues. The gift of tongues, first mentioned in Acts 2:1-13, is the divinely given ability to speak in a language one has not previously learned. Unlike other spiritual gifts – leadership, administration, teaching, etc. – the gift of tongues is obviously miraculous in character. Not coincidentally, it is easy to abuse for selfish purposes, and this is in fact what certain prominent Corinthians had done. They had practiced speaking in tongues in such a way that they implicitly (and even explicitly) downgraded all other gifts. “You have the gift of hospitality? How quaint! Martha Stewart would be proud. Now let me show you what a truly spiritual person can do by speaking in Pamphylian, a language I have never learned.” Such arrogance made other Christians ashamed of their God-given spiritual gifts. It also hampered the use of these other gifts in the church. Evidently, those with gifts of tongues would prattle on and on in the service, interpreting themselves and other, more intelligible speakers. Paul had to correct this abuse; the spiritual health of the Corinthian church was at stake.

Second, observe Paul’s response to the Corinthian abuse of speaking in tongues. He did not forbid the Corinthians to speak in tongues. Neither did he downplay the significance of the gift. Instead, he regulated its use. In 1 Corinthians 14:1-12, Paul distinguishes gifts that are personally edifying from those that are publicly edifying. In private, the individual may speak in tongues for personal edification, but in public – that is, in the worship service – individual gifts of tongues must be interpreted so that the entire congregation can benefit from the gift. The issue, in other words, is not the gift of tongues per se, but its proper use. “I would like every one of you to speak in tongues,” Paul writes, “but I would rather have you prophesy.” Why? Because: “He who prophesies is greater than one who speaks in tongues, unless he interprets, so that the church may be edified.” Spiritual gifts opened in public should be used for public benefit, not just private edification.

Third, consider the application of Paul’s teaching to us today. To the extent that that the gift of tongues occurs in contemporary congregations, Paul’s rules for its use apply across the board. There is a larger arena of application, however, which I think is of equal importance today. Contemporary Christians of speak of the practice of their faith in consumerist terms. I have often heard many Christians explain how they left this church or that church because they weren’t being “fed.” Either the preaching was lousy or the music uninspiring. Now, I’m all for good preaching and inspiring music, but the consumerist mindset is very similar to the Corinthian mentality. In both cases, personal satisfaction and fulfillment is egotistically elevated above all other considerations. We are spiritual consumers, concerned only with the satisfaction of our individual desires. God calls us out of our individualism and asks us to desire the well being of others. He calls us, in other words, to be spiritual producers, not just spiritual consumers. A consumer is concerned only with his own wants; a producer is concerned with others’ needs.

It is this concern for the needs of others that ultimately distinguishes Paul from the Corinthians. He was concerned; they weren’t. That’s why, at the beginning of this passage, Paul writes these five little words: “Follow the way of love.” Those who love care for others. They are, so to speak, spiritual producers, not just spiritual consumers.

This devotional originally appeared the week of 9/11. I hope it still speaks to today’s conflicts. 

The events of this week remind us of the radical impermanence of the world.  

Who would have thought – on Tuesday, September 11, before 8:45 a.m. – that the day would end with the deaths of nearly 5,000 victims and the total destruction of the Twin Towers and the partial destruction of the Pentagon? Who would have thought that a peaceful nation would, within minutes, be transformed into a nation gearing up for war? Who would have thought that the terror visited upon other, distant nations would be visited upon us? 

Life, strength, peace – gone in minutes. Sic transit gloria mundi. Thus passes the glory of the world. 

In 1 Corinthians 13:8-13, Paul articulates the permanence of Christian love in contrast to the impermanence of everything else. The Corinthian Christians needed to hear this message because they had elevated impermanent things – the gift of tongues – onto a pedestal that one day would topple over. Life passes. Strength passes. Peace passes. The gift of tongues passes, as do the gifts of prophecy and knowledge. But love remains. 

We are like children, Paul writes, who grow up. Activities appropriate to youth are inappropriate for grown men and women. Privileges reserved for adults are unavailable to children. Our very speech reflects the change; the halting lisp of childhood gives way to confident talk of serious adults. Our thinking matures. We are born, we grow, we live, and we die. Life passes. But love remains. 

Faith itself passes away, as does hope. They are necessary only as long as God delays the final establishment of his kingdom and we enter into his rest. We believe in and we hope for only until our faith becomes sight and our dream a reality. When that happens, we no longer know partially, we know fully, and are fully known. Faith and hope pass. But love remains. 

Why? Love remains because God is the only permanent reality, and God is love. Classical theology defines God as the unmoved mover, the being who shakes the heavens and the earth without being shaken. More recently, Clark Pinnock has called God “the most moved mover,” in recognition that his heart of love beats for suffering humanity. God remains, and so love remains. 

At this moment in our nation’s history, love is – at the very same time – both close to and far from our minds. When we consider the victims of these terrorists’ attacks, our hearts go out to them and to their families. Throughout the nation, citizens have generously donated their prayers, their time, and even their blood to help those who are suffering. This is good. This is human life as God intended it to be lived. 

And yet, I have also heard voices raised in anger. Calls for merciless and indiscriminate war against the citizens of Muslim nations, regardless of whether they perpetuated or supported the men who terrorized us all on Tuesday. This is bad. This is human life as Satan intends it to be lived. Love for our enemies, which Christ commanded, is far from our minds. 

Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m all for justice, and if justice must come through the prosecution of war, then so be it. But after war, then what? In his second Inaugural Address, at the end of the Civil War, Abraham Lincoln expressed thoughts that we must keep in mind when we are done with our war: “With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation’s wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan – to do all which may achieve and cherish a just, and a lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nations.” 

Charity for all. A just and lasting peace with all nations. That is what God is calling us to help establish once the coming war is justly prosecuted. The battle passes away, but love remains. 

Sic transit gloria mundi. But not the glory of God.

The word “love” is one of the most indiscriminately used words in the English language. The statements “I love God,” “I love my children,” and “I love chalupas at Taco Bell” all use the same words to describe radically different emotional states. After all, if you love God and chalupas in the same way, then either God does not mean too much to you or chalupas mean far too much. Either way, your love is misplaced. 

The Greeks have an advantage over us English-speaking folks, for they employed four words for love: storge, philia, eros, and agape. Storge is the word they used to describe familial affection. Philia – from which we get the word Philadelphia – is the word they used to describe friendship. They used eros to describe not merely sexual (i.e., erotic) love, but any love that is directed toward an object of high value. (Love of a beautiful woman, a fast car, and chalupas are all erotic insofar as the lover holds them in high value – which just goes to show that erotic love is not necessarily rational. I mean, really, chalupas?) Finally, there is agape, a word that under Christian influence came to describe selfless love. Often, agape is directed at an unworthy object. 

Agape is the term Paul uses for love in 1 Corinthians 13.  

The problem with the Corinthians is that their love was of the erotic kind. I don’t simply mean that some of them were sex-obsessed (although that is true as well). I mean, more broadly, that they directed their affections only toward objects that they considered to be highly valuable. They eros-ed philosophy and rhetoric because they valued wisdom and eloquence. They eros-ed to eat meals at pagan temples because they valued their spiritual freedom and individual rights. They eros-ed to speak in tongues because they valued mystical experiences and displays of spiritual prowess.  

They eros-ed when they should have agape-d. They loved worthy objects when they should have loved unworthy ones, just as God had loved them. They should have agape-d the other parties in their many quarrelsome disputations. They should have agape-d the weaker brothers and sisters whose consciences they violated by eating meat sacrificed to idols. And they should have agape-d their non-tongues-speaking neighbors who had other, less dramatic spiritual gifts. 

At the end of the day, in other words, the Corinthians had loved selfishly when they should have loved selflessly, for that is the primary distinction between eros and agape. Eros is love given with hope of return: a beautiful woman to satisfy desire, a fast car to sate the need for speed, and chalupas to fill an empty stomach. Agape is love with no hope of return; it is given gratis. Agape is grace. 

And so we read in verses 4-7: “Agape is patient, agape is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Agape does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” 

Beautiful women age. Fast cars break down. Chalupas only satisfy till we’re hungry again. But, as verse 8 puts it, agape never fails.

Sandwiched between two very practical chapters on the nature and use of spiritual gifts stands 1 Corinthians 13 – the “love chapter.” Too often, we divorce the “love chapter” from its literary context and read it at weddings. Of course, 1 Corinthians 13 applies to the relationship between a husband and a wife, but first and foremost, it applies to how members of a church should treat one another.

The Corinthians, it turns out, did not know how to treat one another. Their common life was characterized by “jealousy and quarreling” (3:3). They ate food sacrificed to idols, indifferent to the effect their actions might have on fellow Christians with “weaker” consciences (8:9-13, 10:23-33). In their common meals, the rich would “pig out” and leave the poor with little if any food to eat (11:17-22). And now, in chapters 12-14, we learn that some of them elevated one spiritual gift (speaking in tongues) above all others and opened that gift in such a way that others couldn’t open their gifts.

Against such spiritual selfishness, Paul shows a better way – love. Verses 1-3 describe three common ways that people attempt to be spiritual. Without love, however, Paul argues, such attempts are ultimately pointless. Let us examine these three verses more closely.

Verse 1 describes the way of experiential mysticism: “If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels….” Throughout the history of religion, even in the history of Christianity, people have tried to be spiritual by means of mystical experiences. Such experiences defy intellectual definition. They go the heart of emotion and leave the mystic with an overwhelming sense of being in touch with the divine. Such experiences tend to promote narcissism, for the mystic becomes so caught up in personal experiences that he or she forgets to care for others. When spiritual gifts become self-centered, the giver is no better than an annoying noise – “a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.”

Verse 2 describes the way of intellectual excellence: “If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains….” Many people attempt to be spiritual by attaining knowledge and understanding of the heights and depths of the faith. They read endlessly, write without ceasing, argue fine points of doctrine, and strive mightily to figure things out. All of this is well and good, for God desires that we not only experience him but understand him as well. Nevertheless, the pursuit of intellectual excellence in Christianity is pointless if we do not gain knowledge and understanding for the benefit of others, as well as ourselves. It is possible, in the pursuit of truth, to lose one’s way and be rendered null and void as far as the gospel is concerned. 

Finally, verse 3 describes the way of ethical stoicism: “If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames….” Some people, realizing the dangers of experiential mysticism and intellectual excellence, resort to right living as the test of true spirituality. They engage in radical acts of selflessness and generosity and martyrdom. They give their all to the poor and their life to the flames. And yet, even they do not truly love. Perhaps their ethic is motivated by self-righteousness or duty or guilt. Whatever they case, they do good things in a bad way. They live selflessly, but without love. Such ethical stoicism is unprofitable: “I gain nothing.”

Experience, intelligence, and moral behavior are all equally important aspects of Christian spirituality, but first and foremost, there must be love. As the song says, “Without love you ain’t nothing, without love.”

A few years ago, I attended a church with a young man named Michael. Michael’s body was (and is) wracked by cerebral palsy, an infirmity that binds him to a wheelchair and requires a caretaker to help him with his daily tasks. It might seem that Michael would be able to contribute little to the ministry of the church. That was my first impression, anyway. How wrong I was!

Michael actually had two ministries in the church. First, he inspired love in other people. Often, we shrink away from people with physical disabilities, especially those with severe disabilities like Michael’s. Their handicap makes us uncomfortable. Not so Michael! People always went up to him to say hello and give him a hug. He brought out the best in them. Second, and more importantly, Michael prayed for the church. He could not walk, he could not completely control the movements of his hands, and his speech was very difficult to understand, but his mind ran free. And as it ran, he prayed. Michael may have been physically disabled, but he was one of the more spiritually able people I know.

When I reflect on Michael’s spiritual abilities, I think I understand Paul’s message in 1 Corinthians 12:12-31 a little better. Verses 12-13 provide an excellent summary: “The body is a unit, though it is made up of many parts; and though all its parts are many, they form one body. So it is with Christ. For we were all baptized by one Spirit into one body – whether Jews or Greeks, slave or free – and we were all given the one Spirit to drink.” In other words: Because all Christians share a common faith in Christ, they share a common experience of the Holy Spirit. Because of the Holy Spirit, they are brought together into a community that is characterized by unity of end and diversity of means. The unified end is love; the diversified means are the various spiritual gifts God gives the church.

In the Christian community, no spiritually gifted person is inferior to any other spiritually gifted person. No one should say, “Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,” or, “Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body.” A body needs its hands and eyes, but it also needs it ears, nose, feet, spleen, liver, and lungs. At Corinth, spiritually immature people vaunted their spiritual superiority by a promiscuous display of the gift of speaking in tongues. Those who didn’t have this gift were made to feel inferior. But a body isn’t a body if it’s all tongue! If a church is to make any progress in the world, it needs to have all its body parts intact and functioning properly. It needs to exercise the full panoply of ministries God has given the church, from the preacher in the pulpit to Michael praying in his wheelchair. In Christ, no one is inferior.

By the same token, of course, no one is superior. No one can say: “I don’t need you!” The world would be a truly lonely place if we didn’t need each other. It would be full of singers without hearers, preachers without congregations, artists without patrons, cooks without eager eaters, lovers without beloveds, and rich people without poor people to receive their generosity. It would be a world filled with physically able people who didn’t have a spiritually able Michael to pray for them. If you knew Michael, you would know how much you need his prayers. In the church, no one is without need. And in the church, no one is without a gift to meet that need.

In the synergy of the body of Christ, the needy are brought together the need-meeters so that grace may flow more abundantly. For as Paul writes, “God has combined the members of the body and has given greater honor to the parts that lacked it, so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other.”

What need do you have? What gift do you have? Bring them both to church!

Of late, I have noticed with increasing frequency that many people describe themselves as “spiritual, not religious.” In my college logic class, I learned to call such a description a “false disjunction.” After all, a person can be both spiritual and religious. It need not be an either/or proposition. Certainly, I believe that I am both an adherent of the Christian religion and a spiritual person. In fact, I believe that I am filled with the Holy Spirit precisely because of – not in spite of – my belief in Jesus.

Logical quibbles aside, however, I readily understand why so many people describe themselves in this way. Organized religion often seems to put straitjackets on people’s experiences of awe, joy, and well-being. “When I look into the night sky,” a spiritual person might ask, “does it really matter whether I’m a Baptist or a Buddhist? Isn’t it enough that I’m in awe of what I see and that I stand humbled in the presence of Reality?”

Well, actually, no. Awe, joy, and a feeling of well-being are all emotions that are easy to produce and even easier to manipulate. A Christian singing hymns in a Gothic cathedral, a Buddhist monk chanting his mantra for hours at a time, and an atheist floating in a Jacuzzi filled with warm peanut butter may all experience an awesome and joyful sense of well-being, but so what! The real issue is not whether the feeling exists, but whether it ought to exist. I am told that certain criminals experience joy and even exhilaration when they commit heinous acts of violence, but the feeling hardly justifies the crime. What we need is a standard by which to judge whether our feelings are appropriate to the facts, whether our emotional responses line up with reality.

As soon as you mention “standard,” however, you come to the topic of religion, for standards are precisely what the Christian religion provides: doctrines, rules, canons. Spirituality needs religion to keep it anchored to truthful reality. By the same token, however, religion needs spirituality to prevent it from becoming a dry, dusty formula. What John Adams once wrote about passion and reason applies, respectively, to spirituality and religion: “Reason holds the helm, but passions are the gales.” A sailboat needs both a captain and strong winds to make it move.

First Corinthians 12:1-3 introduces Paul’s treatment of “spiritual matters” (a literal translation of the Greek word pneumatikon in verse 1). He alludes to both experiences and standards in these short three verses. In the ancient world, pagan temples abounded with people who, in a trance, made supposedly divine utterances. (The word “enthusiasm,” by the way, was used to describe such people, for they were “en” [in] “theos” [god].) What impressed Paul was not the mere fact of the ecstatic utterance, but its content, namely, whether it blessed or cursed Jesus Christ. A truly spiritual person – and a truly Spirit-inspired utterance –affirmed what a demonically inspired utterance denied, namely, that Jesus Christ is Lord. That four-word statement is the ultimate religious test of spirituality.

And what an awesome test it is! For if you align your life with Jesus Christ, you are immediately ushered into the presence of Reality. Why? Because as Paul writes in Colossians 1:19-20, “God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in Jesus Christ, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood shed on the cross.” If Christ, then God. If God, then all things.

Now that ought to fill you with awe, joy, and an eternal sense of well-being!

Several years ago, I returned to my home church after a long absence. It had been some time since anyone had seen me, and I had put on a number of pounds. So, at first, people who had known me all my life did not recognize me. That was bad enough. Worse, however, was my extreme isolation. I had attended another church during my time away, and every Sunday service was followed by a boisterous, well-attended meal at a local restaurant. When I returned to my home church, however, I returned as a stranger and ate my post-church meals alone.

During those few lonely months that I ate alone, I learned an important spiritual lesson: Communion and community are inseparable. Communion is, of course, the bread and cup we share together in the worship service in remembrance of Christ’s death for our sins. Community is the friendship we experience as we “do life” with others over a long period of time. Worship must lead to friendship, for God’s love must be shared with our neighbors. By the same token, however, friendship must lead to worship, for if we truly love our neighbor we will share God’s love with them.

Unfortunately, just as they had gone wrong in so many other respects, the Corinthians had lost the connection between communion and community, between worship and friendship. In the early church, the members of the congregation gathered at the home of one of its wealthier members, since the wealthier members typically owned the largest houses. In addition to singing and teaching, the congregation would eat a meal together, the “love feast” (Jude 12; see also Acts 2:42, 46). As part of this common meal, the believers would eat the bread and drink the cup of the “Lord’s Supper.” At Corinth, however, it seems that the wealthier members would segregate themselves into the dining room for a lavish meal, leaving the poorer members to snack on the communion elements in an out court. In Paul’s highly rhetorical words, “One remains hungry, another gets drunk.”

To Paul’s mind, the problem is not the fact that the wealthy Christians have the means to eat more and better food. When they are alone in their own houses, they have every right to eat whatever they want. When they are hosting the church, however, the meal should be a common meal, with everyone eating from the same plate, so to speak. If one gets steak, all get steak. If one gets potatoes, all get potatoes. Communion with Christ demands that we be on equal footing with one another when we are gathered together in community. Worship must lead to friendship.

And friendship requires patience: “So then, my brothers, when you come together to eat, wait for each other.” Patience not only for those who are late, but also for those who are of little means. Christ calls the Christians of great means to wait on the Christian of little means, so that there may be equality (2 Corinthians 8:13-15).

After a few months back at my home church, I connected once again and began to share post-service meals with friends. But I had learned a valuable lesson. To worship God without connecting to God’s people is not God’s intention. Communion and community are inseparable. So I encourage you next Sunday to invite friends out (or over) for lunch or dinner. Eat with them, and during your meal, set aside time to remember Christ’s death. For through Christ’s death, God has called us to love him, and in loving him, to love his other children.

What is the Lord’s Supper?

We find an answer to this question in 1 Corinthians 11:23-26.

First, it is a tradition. Paul writes: “For I received from the Lord what I also passed on to you…” Traditions can stifle spirituality. Jesus himself criticized “the Pharisees and teachers of the law” when he said, “You have let go of the commands of God and are holding on to the traditions of men” (Mark 7:8). But Jesus also instituted traditions such as the Lord’s Supper (cf. Matthew 26:26-29, Mark 14:22-25, and Luke 22:17-20). When we eat the Lord’s Supper, we are taking–across the generations–food from his hand.

Second, it is a meal. Paul writes, “The Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread… In the same way, after supper he took the cup…” More specifically, the Lord’s Supper is part of a meal during which food symbolizes important spiritual truths.

Third, it is an act of thanksgiving. Paul writes about Jesus, “when he had given thanks [for the bread], he broke it…” Too often, we eat food without seeing behind it the hand of a kind and loving God who provides for our needs. The Lord’s Supper re-orients us toward God with an attitude of gratitude.

Fourth, it is spiritually significant. Jesus says of the bread, “This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.” And of the cup he says, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.” Catholics interpret these verses literally. The bread and cup become the body and blood of Jesus. They are his “real presence.” Protestants generally interpret these verses metaphorically–correctly so, in my opinion. In either case, however, the material qualities of the bread and the cup do not exhaust their significance. The material points beyond itself to the spiritual. When we eat and drink, Jesus invites us to do so “in remembrance of me,” specifically, his death on the cross.

Fifth, it is an act of evangelism. Paul writes, “For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.” As Christians, we believe that Jesus entered the world to save us. In pursuit of that end, he evangelized, healed, died, rose again, and ascended into heaven. Christians live at the present time between memory and hope. We remember the death of Jesus, which graciously atones for our sins and unites us to God and to one another. We hope for his second coming, at which time he will usher in a universal reign of justice and peace.

Evangelism is a verbal act. It is also a non-verbal act, however. It consists of words and deeds. Our deeds demonstrate the sincerity of our words, and our words explain the meaning of our deeds. The world needs both to hear our words and see our deeds for the gospel to be believable to them.

If you are hungry, will the Lord’s Supper satisfy you?

For most of us, the answer is no. A bite of bread will not fill our stomachs. A sip of grape juice will not slake our thirsts.

Also, for most of us, the question itself is problematic. Despite the name, the Lord’s Supper as we practice it is not a meal, and its outcome is not physical satisfaction. Instead, we view it as a symbol whose outcome is spiritual communion with Christ and other believers. The question is problematic, then, because it commits a category mistake, confusing the physical and the spiritual.

What if our categories themselves are mistaken, however? What if the Lord’s Supper is both physical and spiritual, both a physical meal and a spiritual communion? I ask these questions because of what Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 11:20–22.

When you come together, it is not the Lord’s Supper you eat, for as you eat, each of you goes ahead without waiting for anybody else. One remains hungry, another gets drunk. Don’t you have homes to eat and drink in? Or do you despise the church of God and humiliate those who have nothing? What shall I say to you? Shall I praise you for this? Certainly not!

To interpret these verses correctly, we need to remember that the early church met in private homes when they could not meet in synagogues or other public buildings. When Paul evangelized the city of Corinth, for example, he met in “the synagogue” until Jewish opposition to his message forced him to move to “the house of Titius Justus, a [Gentile] worshiper of God” (Acts 18:7; cf. 1 Corinthians 16:19, Romans 16:3–5, and Philemon 2).

Further, these “house churches” contained people from all strata of society—wealthy and poor, free and slave. The “households” Paul mentions in 1 Corinthians 1:11, 16 and 16:15 did not include just parents and children. They included everyone biologically related to or employed by the house’s owner.

What seems to be happening at Corinth is this: The congregation meets at a house large enough to accommodate everyone, which means it is owned by a wealthy, free member. This member’s friends—also wealthy and free—show up early and eat the Lord’s Supper in quantities large enough to get drunk. When the poor and enslaved members show up, there’s no food left for them to eat. One remains hungry, another gets drunk.

In other words, the Haves, who don’t need the food, had it; so the Have Nots, who do need the food, can’t have it. Paul addresses biting rhetorical questions to the Haves: Don’t you have homes to eat and drink in? Or do you despise the church of God and humiliate those who have nothing? The answer to both rhetorical questions is, unfortunately, “Yes.”

“Yes” is also the answer to this non-rhetorical question: Is the Lord’s Supper a physical meal or a spiritual symbol? Given what Paul has written, isn’t the answer obvious? When wealthy Christians share their physical resources with poor Christians, the shared physical resources demonstrate the spiritual communion both have with God and each other in Christ.

On November 26, 2010, Tony Blair and Christopher Hitchens debated whether religion is a force for good in the world. Blair, former Prime Minister of Britain and a Roman Catholic, argued the affirmative case. Hitchens, an atheist and author of God Is Not Great, argued the negative.

What if the real case is ambivalent? I cannot make this ambivalent case from an atheist point of view, of course, since I’m not one of them. But as a Christian, I can make a religious case against religion. Indeed, I can make a religious case against religion by citing chapter and verse of the Bible.

In 1 Corinthians 11:17–19, Paul writes:

In the following directives I have no praise for you, for your meetings do more harm than good. In the first place, I hear that when you come together as a church, there are divisions among you, and to some extent I believe it. No doubt there have to be differences among you to show which of you have God’s approval.

The words following directives refer specifically to how the Corinthians abused the Lord’s Supper (11:17–34). They also refer to how the Corinthians abused spiritual gifts (12:1–14:40). In both instances, Paul finds nothing praiseworthy in the Corinthian practice.

Your meetings do more harm than good. I have attended church all my life. I have attended boring meetings. I have attended inspiring meetings. I have attended meetings where boring, inspiring, and even weird elements mixed together. But I have never attended a meeting that, on balance, harmed me. Yet that is what Paul claims about Corinthian worship services. They left worshipers worse for wear.

How so? Paul mentions divisions. The first division is between those who eat their full at the Lord’s Supper and those who go away hungry (11:20–22). The second division is between those who edify themselves with their spiritual gifts—especially speaking in tongues—and those who are unedified by those very same gifts (14:18–19). The issue at controversy in both instances is selfishness in religious practices.

Ironically, the selfish Corinthians—wealthy and charismatic—were quite proud of themselves. They didn’t care that their actions left their poor brothers and sisters hungry, or their ignorant brothers and sisters confused. They got theirs, and that’s all that matters.

Typically, Paul sees division among Christians in negative terms (e.g., 1:10–17). But in these verses, he sees the positive side: No doubt there have to be differences among you to show which of you have God’s approval. This is ironic. The wealthy, charismatic Corinthians undoubtedly thought themselves highly blessed by God. Their wealth and boisterous spiritual gifts proved it. In reality, however, the division was one of judgment against them. Their poor, ignorant brothers and sisters had God’s ear.

Is religion a force for good in the world? Certainly Christ is, and his followers can be—unless they act selfishly rather than lovingly. The case would not be ambivalent if Christians would act more like Christ.