Sermons
May 19, 2024 (Pentecost)
“We’re one, but we’re not the same…”
1 Corinthians 12:1-13
Pastor Joe McTaggart answered the knock on his study door with a weary sigh.
Things had gotten so bad in his church, the First Christian Church of Corbin City, Kansas, that or the first time in his life he was seriously thinking about leaving the ministry, retiring, moving to a quiet lake somewhere to finish out his days fishing and writing. It wasn’t that he didn’t love the people there—he’d spent the last decade living and working among them, sharing their joys and sorrows, watching their children grow up, helping them raise up new leaders.
During that time the church had ordained a dozen new elders, in many cases people who’d never dreamed they could be called to that ministry. They had seen a couple people, who came to the church asking or help with basic needs they were unable to meet because of their drug and alcohol addictions, begin to recover and go to work in the church organizing and overseeing a successful ministry to others like themselves. Joe and his wife Betty had never had to worry about coverage when they left town—which had been pretty frequent for awhile there, because of Betty’s parents’ ill health—since there were several elders in the congregation with a talent for preaching and a willingness to step in at a moment’s notice.
First Christian Church was known in Corbin City for a strong Christian education program, staffed by caring and gifted teachers at all age levels. The congregation was growing, little by little, every year, and new members were welcomed and helped to find places where their own abilities could be used in the church’s ministries.
But even with all those strengths the church was thrown into turmoil when a group of new members arrived from a disbanded storefront congregation out on the west side of town. This was the Victory Fellowship Center, which had struggled along for about fifteen years before finally giving up. Their pastor was one Jesse Kelly, who had been involved in various business schemes around Corbin City over the years: a used car lot, a mobile barbecue stand, a tattoo and piercing parlor (which was shut down almost immediately by the health department because they had failed to obtain the required licenses), and so on.
Through all of this, Brother Jesse, as he liked to be called, had preached at the Victory Fellowship Center twice on Sundays and on Wednesday nights. The church was small and remained small, in spite of Brother Jesse’s frequent letters to the editor of the local paper, urging citizens to repent and believe in the gospel, and to receive the baptism of the Holy Spirit made manifest in the speaking of tongues and in spectacular answers to prayer.
Eventually it became apparent even to Brother Jesse’s most loyal followers that the church was not going to make it. Many of the less devoted members had lost interest and drifted away. Brother Jesse called the rest of the congregation together to pray earnestly for these “backsliders,” but they didn’t return.
A few months later Brother Jesse sold his house and moved to Nebraska, in pursuit of a new business opportunity, he said. And like sheep without a shepherd, the remnant of the Victory Fellowship Center wandered through the churches of the community, in search of a new home.
About half a dozen of them eventually joined First Christian Church, impressed by the welcome they received there. The elders invited them to the new member orientation that they held every six months, to help them learn about the Disciples of Christ and figure out what ministries God might be calling them to in the church and community. But they didn’t attend; instead, they went to the Christian education coordinator and asked if they could start a small group for prayer and fellowship on Tuesday evenings.
Since Barbara Chase, the CE coordinator, had been wanting to see a prayer group started within the church, but had not yet found someone interested in leading such a group, these new members’ request seemed like an answer to prayer, and she agreed, offering whatever help and support they needed to get the group off the ground. She shared some resources she had in her library with Iola Francis, who had volunteered to be the leader of the new group. Iola politely glanced at the books, then took them home, thanking Barbara and promising to check them out.
The new group was publicized in the church newsletter and announced on Sunday mornings, and before too long there were about twenty people attending on Tuesday nights.
It was about three months later that Joe McTaggart was in his study planning a sermon series when his administrative assistant knocked on his door. “Joe,” Cara said, “Vic Benson is here to see you about the Tuesday night group.”
Vic was a relatively new member of the congregation, having joined about two years before. Like many people he had found his point of entry into the congregation through the AA group that met in the building on Sunday nights. He served on the building committee and was a deacon, and had been looking for ways to deepen his relationship with God. The Tuesday night group had attracted him right away, and he started attending on the very first night.
But when Vic entered Joe’s office that morning, he looked troubled. “Brother Joe”—nobody called him that except the people from the Tuesday night group; he’d always preferred simply to be known as “Joe”—“I’m thinking about quitting,” Vic said, looking down at the cap he was mangling with his big, work-worn hands.
“Well, that’s wonderful!” Joe replied, thinking Vic was talking about ending his four-pack-a-day cigarette habit. “What can I do to support you? I know how hard it is to stop smoking.”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” Vic answered. “Actually, I haven’t had a cigarette in two months now. I mentioned that I was trying to quit one Tuesday night, and Sister Iola and Brother Oliver laid hands on me and prayed that I’d be delivered from smoking, and since then I haven’t even wanted a cigarette.”
“Well, what are you thinking about quitting, then?” Joe asked him.
“The church,” Vic said. “The Tuesday group. All of it.”
Joe was taken aback. “Why?”
“Well, I’ve been going to the Tuesday night group ever since it started, you know, Brother Joe; and when we pray everybody gets really worked up, emotional. That’s just not me. I feel weird because I just want to pray quietly when it’s my turn. They’re keeping a list, you know, of their prayer requests, and making a note when they’re answered. Sister Iola says people who are truly Christian, who truly have received the Holy Spirit, pray with power and all of their prayers are answered.
“One time I prayed for my brother—you know, the one who started having heart problems awhile back—prayed every day that he’d be healed, but he hasn’t been. He’s using oxygen all the time now, and can barely get from his chair to the bathroom without having chest pains. What kind of a life is that?
“When the lawn-mower factory shut down, you know, my wife lost her job. I prayed for her to find a new job right away; but Brother Joe, she’s still out of work, and her unemployment’s going to run out before too long. Sister Iola says if I had more faith, my brother would be healed, and Terri would have a new job.
“I really thought I was a Christian—I mean, I said that Jesus is my Lord and Savior, and you baptized me—but I guess I’m not. So I’m thinking about quitting.”
Before Joe could formulate a response to Vic, Cara appeared at his study door again. “Joe, Oliver Jackson’s on the phone.”
Joe sighed. He’d been getting calls from Brother Oliver or Sister Iola just about every week here lately. Many of the things he was hearing were second- or thirdhand stories about one thing or another that other church members were supposedly involved in, struggling with, or not doing that Iola or Oliver thought they ought to be doing. Usually they ended with, “We prayed for them Tuesday night, and I think you ought to do something.”
But Joe was in close touch with all the church folks, and nine times out of ten he had already talked with the people Iola and Oliver called him about—and knew the real stories behind whatever gossip was being shared on Tuesday nights. People were hearing that they were being talked about at the Tuesday night meetings, and were growing more and more disturbed; it was starting to look like a split in the church was on the horizon.
He came to dread the regular phone calls from Iola and Oliver, but didn’t want to start ducking them, lest that cause even more trouble.
So Joe wearily picked up the phone, wondering who the subject of the Tuesday night gossip was this time. “Hello, Oliver,” he said.
But there was something different about Oliver’s tone this time. He sounded genuinely upset, shaken. “Brother Joe, can you come right away?” he said. “Sister Iola’s house is afire. Everybody got out, and they’re okay, but the fire is really bad. The firefighters said they can’t do anything now but keep it from spreading to the neighbors’ houses. She’s going to lose everything.”
“I’ll be right there,” Joe said.
He turned to Vic. “I’m sorry I’m going to have to cut this short, Vic. Iola’s house is burning down, and I need to go.”
“I’ll go with you,” Vic said. On the way he called home, and Terri said, “I’ll meet you there with sandwiches.” Vic had always said Terri could come up with a feast for twenty even if all she had in the pantry was a can of soup and a heel of bread. “It’s a gift,” he would say, proudly.
When Joe and Vic arrived at Iola’s house, the fire was still raging. Iola was sobbing and screaming in the arms of Alison, Oliver’s oldest daughter. Joe went to comfort her and pray with her.
The kids—Iola was a single mom with two sons of her own and an ever-changing assortment of foster children—were huddled on the neighbor’s porch with Oliver’s wife Naomi, a retired teacher, who was talking quietly to them. Joe at first didn’t notice that Naomi occasionally wrote something on a little piece of paper she had in her hand. He found out later that she’d jotted down information about each of the kids—what size clothes and shoes they wore, what their favorite toys were, that kind of thing. In the days after the fire, Joe saw Naomi’s little list circulated among the ladies of the church, so that they knew exactly what to do for the kids.
It didn’t take long before the TV news vans started pulling up. Oliver met them and kept them at bay, answering their questions as best he could and making sure they didn’t bother Iola and the kids.
Vic at first didn’t know what to do with himself, so he simply sat down on the curb with his head in his hands. He began to pray, quietly, asking God to help Iola and show him what he could do to help. The answer didn’t come that day.
Terri arrived a few minutes later, with sacks and coolers full of sandwiches and drinks, and Vic went to help her organize the meal. As he worked, he continued to repeat his prayer: “Father, show me what to do.”
It took the better part of the whole day before the fire was out. Joe made arrangements for Iola and the kids to stay at the parsonage with him and Betty. The house was huge, and it was just the two of them living there, so there was plenty of room.
Over the next few days Betty helped Iola through the process of dealing with her insurance agent. Naomi came over regularly to see the kids, who had come very quickly to love her, because she listened to them. Every time she came, she had a sack or a box with her, filled with clothes or toys, or backpacks for when they went back to school in a few weeks.
About the time school started Terri and Vic, who hadn’t ever quite managed to quit the church, although he hadn’t been going to the Tuesday night group quite as frequently, and when he did he was the first to gently stop the sharing of gossip, invited Joe and Betty, along with Iola and the kids, to their house for a barbecue.
Over supper Iola got to talking. “Turns out I didn’t have anything like enough insurance on my house,” she said. “I’m really grateful that the church has been able to help us so much…I think insurance is barely going to get us into a new house, and the only one I’m going to be able to afford isn’t in very good shape. It’s livable, but needs a new roof, and probably some plumbing work, and definitely a good scrubbing. I don’t know where the money will come from for those things.” And Vic suddenly realized that his prayer on the day of the fire was being answered.
After everybody left that evening, he got on the phone with some of his friends, and before he went to bed that night he had arranged for a plumber to donate time to work on the new house, several people to come clean it from top to bottom and paint all the rooms, a carpet cleaner to come in, and a couple men to help him put a new roof on. They got to work right away—in some cases giving up vacation time—and by Thanksgiving Iola and her family were able to move into a beautiful, comfortable new home.
On Thanksgiving Sunday Joe had the rare opportunity to sit in the pew with Betty. The church had a new elder with a gift for preaching, and she was going to give her very first sermon.
The worship leader that morning was Vic Benson, who had also just been ordained as an elder. He read the chosen Scripture, from 1 Corinthians 12, first thirteen verses.
Then Iola Francis got up and nervously began to speak. “I’ve always known that everyone is given spiritual gifts—abilities, sometimes things they never would have tried on their own—for the sake of the ministry of the church. But for a long time I believed that there was one gift everyone was supposed to have, and if they didn’t, then maybe they weren’t really Christian. I confess that in insisting that people must be able to pray loudly and emotionally, and have their prayers answered immediately and spectacularly, to prove they truly had the Holy Spirit, I probably drove some people away from the church, maybe even away from God. I’m sad to say that our worship leader today was very nearly one of them.
“Brother Vic and I have talked quite a bit since the fire, and I have permission to tell you this story today. The day my house burned down, Vic was in Brother Joe’s office talking about leaving the church. He had come to believe, because of things I said, that he wasn’t truly a Christian since he preferred to pray quietly, and some of his prayers weren’t answered. I actually told him he didn’t really have the Spirit, and that if he had more faith his prayers would have been answered.
“But do you know what? In the months since the fire, I have come to realize something. Just as Paul said, there are varieties of gifts—and every gift is important and needed.
“Sister Terri Benson has the ability to put together a meal for a multitude on a moment’s notice. That is a gift from God.
“Sister Naomi Jackson has been an absolute miracle worker with my kids. That is a gift from God.
“Sister Alison Jackson doesn’t think, I’m told, that she did much of anything to help that day, but I can tell you that I would never have made it through without her arms around me as I cried. Can anyone doubt that’s a gift from God?
“Joe and Betty opened their home and made us welcome, as though we were family. That’s also a gift from God.
“And Vic organized people to get our new house ready for us to move in—did a lot of the work himself—and he tells me he had no idea he even had connections with people who could make something like this happen, except that he had prayed, quietly, on the day of the fire that God would show him a way to help, even though the answer didn’t come till quite awhile later.
“I have come to understand that the most important person in church isn’t the person who can pray loudly and eloquently and have their every prayer answered—although that’s definitely a gift from the Holy Spirit. No, the most important people in church are the ones who discover their gifts and then use it for the good of the church and the people in it. Gifts can be public, or they can be behind-the-scenes, but they are all given by the same Holy Spirit, and they’re all essential and valuable.
“I could not have gotten through these last few months without each one of you and the gifts the Spirit has given each one of you.
I thank God for you, all of you.”