"I Am the Clanging Cymbal…Yet He Hopes My Name"
1 Corinthians 12:31b, 13:1-3
"...And I will show you a still more excellent way."
"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing."
Paul has just walked us through the beautiful diversity of spiritual gifts; tongues, prophecy, healing, teaching, administration, all of them good, all of them necessary, all of them given by the same Spirit. Then he pauses, almost like a musician lifting his hands from the keys, and says, "Let Me show you something even better."
After telling us what love is not (noise without heart, knowledge without kindness, sacrifice without affection), Paul finally puts skin on this "more excellent way." He doesn’t give us a definition; he gives us a portrait. Fifteen brushstrokes, each one a verb, each one an echo of Jesus.
Love is patient when I want to be quick.
Love is kind when I feel justified in being sharp.
It does not envy the platform, the gift, the following, the open door someone else walks through.
It does not boast, does not need to make sure everyone knows what it did or gave or endured.
It is not arrogant; it can rejoice when it is overlooked because love is too busy rejoicing that the kingdom advances.
Love is not rude; it treats the restaurant server, the unruly child, the challenging opponent, the ex-spouse with the same honor it demands for itself.
It does not insist on its own way; it can lose the argument and still win the relationship.
It is not irritable; it absorbs the cranky text, the eye-roll, the slammed door, and keeps its voice gentle.
It is not resentful; it refuses to keep the spreadsheet of wrongs.
Love bears all things, not by gritting its teeth, but by trusting that God is bigger than the wound.
It believes all things, not naively, but hopefully; it keeps looking for the image of God even in the person who has buried it deepest.
It hopes all things; it wakes up tomorrow still believing redemption is possible.
It endures all things; it stays when staying is costly, because love has already decided the beloved is worth the price.
These are not fifteen separate virtues to tack onto our personality like stickers. They are one seamless life; the life of Jesus, now offered to us by the Spirit who raised Him from the dead.
These verses cut me to the bone. These. These verses convict my soul. I fall so short that only grace can close the gap between my Spiritual life and my flesh life. I long for these things; this is the kind of person I want to become, the kind of church I want to belong to, the kind of marriage, friendship, and community I want to live in. I want this attitude. I don't want to keep track of wrongdoing. I don't want to make excuses for not being accountable to this agape love. I hate that I have had enough. So often I've had enough. So many things taken as wrongs beings done to me. So many slights being taken as sins done to me. And so little kindness returned by me.
I read Paul’s portrait of love and I don’t see a mirror; I see an X-ray.
It shows everything that’s broken inside me.
I am not patient.
I am not always kind.
I do envy.
I do keep score.
I do insist on my own way more often than I admit.
I do get irritable at the drop of a text tone.
And I have, far too many times, decided I’ve "had enough."
The list is not a ladder for me to climb; it’s a spotlight exposing how desperately I need the very love it describes.
And here is the miracle that keeps me from crumbling under the weight of my own failure; the One who wrote the lineage with His words scribed it first with His blood. Jesus did not read this list to me as a new set of rules. He lived it toward me when I was still His enemy. He was patient when I ran, kind when I cursed him, and un-envious though I despised His church. He was un-boastful though He had every right,
never rude though I deserved rebuke, never irritable though I tried Him daily. And though my sins demanded a spreadsheet longer than time itself, He was never resentful. He bore my griefs,
believed I was worth redeeming when everyone else (including me) had written me off.
This is the love that is now poured into my heart by the Holy Spirit (Romans 5:5).
Not a love I have to manufacture. It is Hope. He hoped when hope was ludicrous, endured the cross because He had already decided I was worth the price. And now I hope that He will call my name and that I (rebel, score-keeper, easily-offended, quick-to-say-"enough" ) could be made lovely.
1 Corinthians 13:7, 13
Love "hopes all things."
I hope with the same hope that raised Jesus from the dead, because that Hope lives in me. I hope that one day the patience I can’t manufacture will flow as naturally as breathing.
I hope that the ledger of wrongs I clutch so tightly will finally slip from my hands and be lost forever in the sea of His forgetfulness. I hope that when He looks at me He will not see the irritable, envious, boasting man I so often am, but the new creation He has already declared me to be.
Most of all, I hope that when everything temporary is stripped away (every gift, every achievement, every excuse), I will still hear Him say the one thing that makes sense of all the pain and all the failing:
By name.
My name.
So now these three remain:
faith that He is who He says He is,
hope that He will finish what He started in me, and love (His first, mine only because it’s His in me).
I hope.
Lord Jesus, keep me hoping
until hope becomes sight
and I fall into the Love that first fell for me.
Amen.