Foolishness

1 Corinthians 1:18-31; Matthew 5:1-12

How many of you consider yourself to be a fool? 

Or do you generally try to avoid being silly, dumb, idiotic, etc.?

Paul has bad news for those of us who try to avoid being foolish. 

“God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise;” Paul says. “God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong.”

God chose the good for nothing, lousy, stupid stuff, so that we have nothing to be proud of. 

Ouch.

I mean, humility is a good thing; a Christian virtue. I know that. 

But foolishness? idiocy? That’s not what I signed up for. I don’t like to look stupid.

But apparently God does.

The “word of the cross,” Paul says, is foolishness. 

And no matter how comfortable you and I have gotten with the cross as a symbol of salvation, Paul is right about how foolish it is. 

The idea that one man’s spectacular failure to get his message of peace and justice and abundance through to the authorities could actually relieve you and me of sin? Brand new Christians in Paul’s day really did look stupid – probably Paul himself looked stupid – telling that to everyone.

In fact, it was pretty stupid to brag about knowing a crucified guy. It could get you in trouble, too. Today, it might be like announcing that you’re good friends with a convicted terrorist because God sent him to reveal the truth to us and save us from ourselves. While a lot of your friends and acquaintances would just block you on Facebook and avoid conversations with you; somebody would call the CIA and bring you to the attention of the authorities.

In our day and place, you and I generally don’t have to worry about getting reported to the CIA for knowing Jesus, but if we are anything like normal Episcopalians or mainline Christians, many of us do feel a bit, well, embarrassed or foolish talking about our personal relationship with Jesus, or explaining just how Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection save me and you from Satan.

We believe it; we may love to talk about it with one another in the church. But I will bet that I am not the only one less inclined, say, to bring it up with strangers.

How many of us would feel uncomfortable talking about Jesus and salvation and conversion to co-workers, neighbors, or acquaintances this week? Especially if you don’t know they’re Christian?
You don’t have to put your hands up, but I’m going to bet it’s more than half of us here this morning.

But do raise your hand – be honest – if you would generally prefer that someone smarter, holier, wiser – in some way better qualified than you – was responsible for proclaiming the gospel to the nations and the neighbors.

Yep. Me too.

A few years ago, I was leading a study group on sharing our faith (in a nice, gentle, Episcopalian way, of course) when one of the strongest leaders in my congregation told me why she couldn’t.

“I just don’t know enough,” she said.

I don’t know enough about the Bible, or theology, or religion, to talk about it. How can I explain it if I don’t know enough?

Does that feel familiar to anyone?
Do you feel like a fool trying to explain something you’re not sure you really understand yourself?

We do know the stories we tell in church. We proclaim – every week – that we believe in Jesus’ death and resurrection and await his coming, and that all that has something to do with our salvation. But it can be hard to say exactly how it all works, or why.

I went to seminary, so I know a whole bunch of different theories about how salvation works, and how to critique them.

Paul would call that wisdom: scholarship; an expert understanding and discussion about just how it’s supposed to work.

But Paul says that wisdom is useless.
Paul says it’s better to proclaim the foolishness.  

To proclaim what we don’t really understand - but what we do believe, and have experienced - even if we can’t make sense of it or explain it. Paul says that God chooses foolish proclamation – our inexpert, under-educated, don’t-know-how-it-works stories – to save the nations and our neighbors.

I hate that, because I like to know what I’m talking about.
I like to be right, and smart, and wise.

But Paul made me think, this week, and I realized I actually spend quite a bit of time proclaiming things I don’t know much about.

I’m quite passionate about many things I don’t really understand. And I’ll tell you about them.

I took a couple days of improv comedy class last summer. For months afterward, I told anyone who asked - and most people who didn’t! - about how the one or two truths I picked up at the workshop were going to change the world if we’d all get on board. 

(Not that I was any good at improv comedy, mind, or could really tell you how it worked. But I’d tell you.)

I’m not a Constitutional scholar, but I have some passionate opinions about Supreme Court decisions, and I don’t hesitate to share them - and to share my beliefs about how these things can change lives and transform the world.

So I would bet that every one of us here has been transformatively passionate – even evangelical – about a subject in which you are not well educated, or particularly wise.

It’s that foolishness that God chooses in us.

As a way to save the world, God chooses our willingness to commit ourselves before we can really explain what we’re talking about. God chooses not our pursuit of the perfect argument, but our passion for a discovery or an experience we don’t truly understand. God chooses the risks we take in love, not sensible, cautious study.

To be Christian at all, to be a follower of Jesus, whether two thousand years ago in the Roman Empire, or right now in 2017 in South Jersey, means risking not just being a fool, but letting people see you as foolish or out of your depth.

Jesus preaches this, too, telling his disciples that those who were fools or weak by the standards of his time were the blessed ones. Blessed are the fools who can’t manage cynicism, and are continually shocked by how bad the world can be;

he might be saying today.

Blessed are those who somehow expect the world to be fair;

blessed are those who let their pain show; 

blessed are those who are mocked and bullied as fools for God.

Blessed are all those who are vulnerable and open - who are fools in a society where the wise protect themselves - because theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Not bad things now and good things later, but the blessing of being wide open and exposed to heaven right in the middle of the distinctly unheavenly experiences we have every day.

That’s foolishness worth embracing.

Worth proclaiming, even.

The word of the cross is foolish, Paul says. It’s just going to be foolish. 

So you don’t actually need to be able to explain crucifixion. You just need to know – and to proclaim – how God has made a difference in your suffering, or in your failures.

You don’t have to know how resurrection works. You just need to know – and to say out loud, despite how silly it may seem – that God fills you with life – with joy, or health, or energy in the face of death.

You don’t need to understand theology, or explain incarnation. God would ever so much rather use your ability to fall foolishly in love, and let that change your life and the story you tell.

For God's foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God's weakness is stronger than human strength.

Thanks be to God!