23/01: 2nd Sunday of Ordinary Time (B)
Category: General
Posted by: tonycurrer
I Corinthians 6: 12
“Freedom is everything,” they say in Corinth, “for me, no things are forbidden.” “Don’t you believe it,” says Paul. That’s verse 12, the verse before the start of our second reading.
Between leaving Washington and arriving here I was in Germany for two weeks for World Youth Day. I was with the diocesan youth pilgrimage, so Bishop Kevin was there, a number of priests of the diocese, and a good number of young people. Here was the diocese to which I belong, the universal Church to which I belong, here were friends and young people and new and interesting people to meet, and yet … and yet it was a very strange time.
It was a strange time because a whole web of relationships which had grown organically around me had been severed. I had been brutally cut free. Oh yes, of course I could go back, I would go back and people would know me, but they would not come to me to baptise their children, they would not call me to visit when they were sick, they would no longer expect me to listen and to love them when they were simply sad or distressed. A whole network of relationships had been severed. I wasn’t their priest any more. I had freedom. I owed them no debt of responsibility.
When I arrived here only two weeks later new relationships were created. My task was to get to know you, to show you that I was here for you, to minister to you and to love you. And that, I hope, has happened. A new network, a new web of relationships has been woven. I am held again within a matrix, within a community. You have expectations of me, and those expectations moor me, they hold me in place, and it’s good to be held.
The fortnight between Washington and St. Cuthbert’s was a strange time of being cast adrift: a strange, rootless, anchorless time, a frightening time. “Freedom is everything” say the Corinthians, “nothing is forbidden to me.” “Don’t you believe it,” say Paul. The freedom of not owing anything to anyone is rootless, anchorless and ultimately a terrifying place to be in. Who can live there and remain sane?
Freedom isn’t everything after all. It’s empty and lonely. And that is why we commit ourselves to relationships of debt, of owing love and time and care to people. We sacramentalise some of those relationships in ordination and marriage.
This is the basis of Paul’s argument about sexual ethics. The cry for freedom can pretend that we don’t owe anything to anybody, that we can do what we want. Paul says no: we owe God, and we owe his Church. Our bodies belong to God he says. It is in our bodies and through our bodies that we give the worship that we owe to God. There’s a link here to Romans 12 where Paul urges the Romans to make their bodies a living offering to God. In other words, our worship is the offering we make in the concrete, bodily acts of our lives.
Paul goes on to say this, “You know, surely, that your bodies are members making up the body of Christ.” Our bodies not only belong to God, but they belong to his Church, the Body of Christ. We are inserted into its fabric. It is the matrix, the web of relationships that hold us. I am not free to do what I please because I owe something to the rest of you. And it’s good to owe something to you, it’s good that you have expectations of me, that you need me to be here for you, and even (though I might not always feel it) that you make demands on me. Each of us owes something to, has responsibility for, the rest of us. If one is weakened, if one sins, the whole fabric, we corporately, this community, God’s Church is weakened.
Personal sin is never personal. It is always corporate. It weakens not only the individual, but the whole body. And individual forgiveness restores not just the individual, but the whole body, the whole people.
“Freedom is everything” say the Corinthians, “nothing is forbidden to me.” “Don’t you believe it,” says Paul. Being held within relationships of debt and responsibility, where care and love are owed, is the only sort of life worth living.
“Freedom is everything,” they say in Corinth, “for me, no things are forbidden.” “Don’t you believe it,” says Paul. That’s verse 12, the verse before the start of our second reading.
Between leaving Washington and arriving here I was in Germany for two weeks for World Youth Day. I was with the diocesan youth pilgrimage, so Bishop Kevin was there, a number of priests of the diocese, and a good number of young people. Here was the diocese to which I belong, the universal Church to which I belong, here were friends and young people and new and interesting people to meet, and yet … and yet it was a very strange time.
It was a strange time because a whole web of relationships which had grown organically around me had been severed. I had been brutally cut free. Oh yes, of course I could go back, I would go back and people would know me, but they would not come to me to baptise their children, they would not call me to visit when they were sick, they would no longer expect me to listen and to love them when they were simply sad or distressed. A whole network of relationships had been severed. I wasn’t their priest any more. I had freedom. I owed them no debt of responsibility.
When I arrived here only two weeks later new relationships were created. My task was to get to know you, to show you that I was here for you, to minister to you and to love you. And that, I hope, has happened. A new network, a new web of relationships has been woven. I am held again within a matrix, within a community. You have expectations of me, and those expectations moor me, they hold me in place, and it’s good to be held.
The fortnight between Washington and St. Cuthbert’s was a strange time of being cast adrift: a strange, rootless, anchorless time, a frightening time. “Freedom is everything” say the Corinthians, “nothing is forbidden to me.” “Don’t you believe it,” say Paul. The freedom of not owing anything to anyone is rootless, anchorless and ultimately a terrifying place to be in. Who can live there and remain sane?
Freedom isn’t everything after all. It’s empty and lonely. And that is why we commit ourselves to relationships of debt, of owing love and time and care to people. We sacramentalise some of those relationships in ordination and marriage.
This is the basis of Paul’s argument about sexual ethics. The cry for freedom can pretend that we don’t owe anything to anybody, that we can do what we want. Paul says no: we owe God, and we owe his Church. Our bodies belong to God he says. It is in our bodies and through our bodies that we give the worship that we owe to God. There’s a link here to Romans 12 where Paul urges the Romans to make their bodies a living offering to God. In other words, our worship is the offering we make in the concrete, bodily acts of our lives.
Paul goes on to say this, “You know, surely, that your bodies are members making up the body of Christ.” Our bodies not only belong to God, but they belong to his Church, the Body of Christ. We are inserted into its fabric. It is the matrix, the web of relationships that hold us. I am not free to do what I please because I owe something to the rest of you. And it’s good to owe something to you, it’s good that you have expectations of me, that you need me to be here for you, and even (though I might not always feel it) that you make demands on me. Each of us owes something to, has responsibility for, the rest of us. If one is weakened, if one sins, the whole fabric, we corporately, this community, God’s Church is weakened.
Personal sin is never personal. It is always corporate. It weakens not only the individual, but the whole body. And individual forgiveness restores not just the individual, but the whole body, the whole people.
“Freedom is everything” say the Corinthians, “nothing is forbidden to me.” “Don’t you believe it,” says Paul. Being held within relationships of debt and responsibility, where care and love are owed, is the only sort of life worth living.
