When I started teaching in university, my final exams were always one-on-one with the students. This gave me a laser sharp focus on each student, so that I could evaluate them to a very detailed level. I liked it in some ways, but on the whole it was exhausting. There were semesters when I had more than 200 students, and that is just too much graded conversation. Answering so many of the same questions over and over was bad enough, but asking questions was just plain brutal.
Eventually I dropped that practice in favor of a more practical test: making students talk to each other. They had to ask each other questions, as well as answering. I only provided the first seed question, from a list that they had previously prepared from. The hardest parts for me became not participating when the conversation was interesting, and staying awake when it wasn't.
Of course, that test method is for English conversation classes. But one of my classes is not a standard conversation class. It's called "Building Relationships in English," or BRIE for short. I designed it myself, with the intent of helping Korean students to learn strategies for making friends with English speakers, get along in an English speaking workplace, and have a healthy romantic relationship with a non-Korean speaker. I was aiming for a course that focuses on the cultural aspects of those conversations and relationships, rather than just the language, though I had planned to make it about 20% English vocabulary, expressions, and modalities. Ambitious, I know, but I was already teaching a fair amount of that stuff in between the grammar and vocabulary of a standard class.
But then a funny thing happened: the first time I taught the course I had a lot of foreign students enrolled, about a third of the 25. At first this seemed like an enormous obstacle to overcome: adapting the curriculum to accommodate non-Korean students, and to figure out the differences between their cultures and "standard English" culture (which is so amorphous that it is ridiculous to even think of it as one thing).
Then I realized that what I actually had was a natural laboratory for having students build actual relationships... wait for it... in English! I had them discussing the differences between their cultures with regard to the topics we covered in class, and working on presentations to show how things could go right or wrong in various encounters. It was actually a lot of fun, even though it was hard to teach.
Now I've taught it twice (and I'm in the middle of the third time), all three completely and only on Zoom. I have bumped into one or two of my students randomly on the street, but couldn't get the class together. Last spring (2021) I got very lucky, though. I was taking a bus someplace, and a strange young woman said to me, "Are you professor Robert?"
She was in my BRIE class, and recognized me even with a mask on. (Granted, a foreign man my size, with glasses, graying hair in a ponytail, and a beard peeking out under their mask is not exactly a common sight.) I would never have recognized her, because I did not require that class to use video, just profile photos. She had changed hair styles and color, and was wearing a mask, but when she talked I recognized her voice.
We talked for about 15 minutes, until she got off the bus, and it was so much fun! She is a foreign student of Korean heritage, and her English is good enough that the conversation was easy and natural. I asked her how she felt about the course, because teaching to a Zoom screen is the worst for getting feedback. She told me that it was great, and it was the only class she had that she did not have to work at to stay awake.
I really needed to hear that. As I may have mentioned, working from my bedroom means that I have been living at work for the past two and a half years. I am hoping that we have live classes in the fall of this year, but I'm not holding my breath. I really enjoy being in the classroom with my students. It is tiring for me, because that is where I put my energy into building them up, and helping them put their fears behind them.
In the next few days I found myself wishing that I could have that experience with everyone in that class: a conversation about their experience in the class, how it has changed their point of view, and just how they are doing in life. Then I came to the realization that I could! I couldn't make all of my students bump into me randomly on a bus, but I could make a 10 or 15 minute conversation mandatory. So I did.
I decided to make it a low stress assignment: I gave the students a few questions, and told them that this was a completion grade: show up on time, get full points. I figured some students might not prepare, but I was wrong. Some prepared more than others, of course, but they were all ready to talk with me. Some of the conversations were boring, some were interesting, and a small handful were reminders of why I love my job.
One question I asked was what was the most interesting or surprising thing you learned. In my experience, the majority of answers to a question like this is a recent lesson: the freshest memory is the most interesting, right? But I had answers that ranged through the semester, and almost every activity got mentioned.
These meetings also gave me a chance to encourage my students in a general way, as well as some specific ways: one student gave up an online business that she had started herself, making jewelry, to focus on being a student. I congratulated her on that decision, and told her that quitting is extremely underrated. I assured her that she could rebuild her online store in the future if she wished, and it would likely be even more successful. She told me that I was the only person who had ever told her that.
Another advantage of these meetings is that they helped me to better understand where my students were coming from. A general favorite for most students has been the section on dating and romance. I do a speed dating activity, and we talk about how to be better at dating and why we do it. Then one student told me that the romantic love section of my class was her least favorite, because she was not interested in having a boyfriend or husband. Now or ever.
I had not even considered students like that, even though I was aware that some people feel that way. (The only label I have for this is "aromantic," which my spell check is not pleased with. Even my brain has trouble with it, reading it as "aromatic." There's a pretty big gap between smelling good and not wanting to date.) So I decided to incorporate it into future versions of this class (which I will be doing in the next couple of weeks). I also told her that it was okay to be the way she was. And once again, I was the only person who had ever told her that.
Research shows, and everyone knows, that empty praise is not worth the breath you spend on it. Telling someone "Good job!" takes no thought, and does not build anyone up in a significant way. But when you get to know someone, and see something that no one else sees, that is a vulnerable time. That is when a few simple words of encouragement can make all the difference in the world.
I chose the title before I started writing. That was November 29th, so "Early December" proved to be wildly optimistic.
On November 26th Horyon had surgery, and came through it well. Afterwards she told me that she was so afraid going in, cold, alone, and vulnerable on the table. But then she noticed writing on the ceiling, where someone flat on their back would easily see it. The writing said, "Do not fear, for I am with you." She read those words over and over, and the fear left her.
The words were from Isaiah 41:10, which reads in full,
"fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." *
I talked to her on the phone, both before and after the surgery. It was hard not being there with her, but it simply was not an option: due to Corona restrictions, people can't just go in and out of the hospital. Once you have had a negative Covid test, you have to stay. Go out, and you need to get another test. Which means you sleep on a little cot in the room with the patients.
Patients, because we can't afford a single occupant room. Horyon was in a room with four other people, though she has since moved to a three-person room.
She sent me a couple of photos of the view out the window.
It's a very nice view. Helped her pass the days. She told me that looking out the window, watching people pass by, made her realize that just a month ago we were living like that: walking around, living normal lives.
Then our lives lost the semblance of control that we had before. Our original plan was for Horyon to move from the surgery hospital to a cancer recovery clinic. She was going to stay there for about three weeks, depending on her recovery speed and post-surgical treatment. They specialize in healthy food (in which Koreans put a lot of stock), post-surgical care, and care through chemotherapy and radiation. They are a bit expensive, but we decided that it would be worth it.
However, Horyon is a hot lady. By which I mean that not only is she very attractive to me, she also has a slightly high normal body temperature. When the recovery center found out this bit of trivia, they told her that she would have to get COVID tested every three days, at her own expense. She noped out of that: the nose swabbing is stressful, and the test without insurance is expensive.
So she stayed at the hospital for a few more days, then moved to stay with her aunt (mother's sister). The next day she had to go into quarantine, because someone who had been staying in her crowded hospital room had tested positive for COVID. She and her mother, aunt and uncle all had to get tested and hunker down in their home for a week.
Fortunately, their tests came back negative (which means they passed, right?), so their quarantine lasted less than a week.
I'm going to drop out of the narrative for a minute here, and confess something: I started writing this post in November, got bits and pieces done, then abandoned it. I'm now reconstructing what has happened since the beginning of December, and finding my memory to be even more unreliable than usual. In other words, I am not sure about what exactly happened and when. And I hate to write something when I'm not sure about it. Not only that, but ever since we got the original diagnosis, my mental processes have been running slow. They are coming back now, but I've sort of lost a lot of details of the past couple of months. I will try to hit the important details. But enough about me, back to Horyon's story:
The first, and perhaps coolest detail, is that Horyon's surgery was done by robot. That, to me, was so science fictional that I couldn't quite believe it. And in fact, "robot" proved to be not quite the right word. Rather, it was a miniature machine controlled by a doctor, so more of a waldo than a robot.
As I've mentioned before, Horyon had previously purchased cancer insurance, on top of her regular national health insurance. When the doctors scanned her body, they found that the cancer was only in her right breast, but that it had metastasized into at least 14 tumors. Keeping in mind that her previous exam was in July, this is a crazy rate of growth. They ran 13 or 14 different tests on her, including bone scans of her entire skeleton, blood work, biopsies, ultrasounds, and the machine that goes, "ping!" The cancer had pretty much taken over that one organ, but not managed to escape into the rest of her body. Even now, at the end of January 2022, he has continued to have tests done every couple of weeks, and there is still no sign that it migrated.
[a quick editorial note: I can see that the previous paragraph is a bit of a mess, and lacking in focus, but i am not going to try to fix it. It stands as is.]
The only solution the doctors had for her was a complete mastectomy. I don't think that I, as a man, can ever completely understand the impact of that judgment. I've been told that it might be comparable to having to lose a testicle, or the whole cast of underwear characters [nope. not gonna try to fix it.] The best I could do was to back up her every decision, offer sympathy, and not make suggestions about how she could take up archery like an Amazonian Warrior.
They did give her a choice of how to do the mastectomy, though: the cheap option was a complete removal by hand, like the warrior women only in a modern hospital. The standard health insurance would cover almost all of the costs, but typically most of the skin is lost, including the nipple. And that insurance doesn't cover reconstruction, which can be a long, painful process. Also, a few friends warned me that they had heard of Korean doctors doing this operation and not removing all of the breast tissue, leading to remission.
Option two was Robot Surgery: top-of-the-line machine, run by top-of-the-line doctors. Not covered by national health, but well within our cancer insurance budget. I found an article about the first surgery of this type being performed in the U.S.A. in 2018. [Back-up research? No thank you. It's just a Roblog post, not an article in a medical journal.] So this is cutting edge medical technology.
When Horyon presented me with the choice: modern surgery that uses a big chunk of our insurance money, or old-fashioned surgery and pocketing the change, I told her that I wanted whatever she wanted to do. But in my heart, I was begging for the robot surgery. And that's what we went with.
The doctors were confident: they had caught it early, they were at a state-of-the-art hospital using cutting edge technology to do a surgery that they had likely performed hundreds of times. It went well, and they went right into the reconstruction surgery, which also went well.
A week or so later, she came back to Busan. We decided that she needed to stay with her parents, which she did for about three weeks. She stayed with us Christmas Eve, but we weren't quite ready to make it permanent: her mother could focus on healthy meals for her, and her father could help make her comfortable, and she did not have to do anything but heal.
Our home, under the best of circumstances, is chaotic. A month of just me and the kids did not lessen the chaos, except for one thing: the week before Horyon's surgery we hired a cleaning service. It's an agency that sends out a woman to clean for four hours. She cleans the floors, the kitchen, the bathrooms, and does some dusting. And, as anyone who uses a cleaning service will tell you, it inspires you to do some basic housekeeping before they arrive. So we have this time once a week when everyone cleans up whatever stuff they have spread out in the living room or dining room table. I wish we had started doing this years ago.
Since the surgery, Horyon has had appointments every week or two with the hospital in Seoul. They've checked how the surgery scars are healing (mostly well, though they were worried about one patch of skin for a while), and doing follow-up scans and tests, to make sure that the cancer had not migrated to other parts of her body.
The most expensive test was so state-of-the-art that they had to send samples to The States. It was an optional test that cost us about four million Korean won, which is about $3,320. The options were to either skip this test and go right into mild chemotherapy, or let the test determine whether to have mild chemotherapy... or no chemotherapy.
For the uninitiated, chemotherapy is pumping poison into your body to kill cancer cells that you can't find with tests, or get to using surgery. It is also used when it is suspected that the cancer has spread, and may pop up again in the near future. It is a nasty business, like killing rats in your house with a shotgun: it takes the rats out for sure, but leaves your house in need of repair. The side effects of chemotherapy
Because the test was optional, it was not covered by the national health insurance. Fortunately, Horyon's cancer insurance paid out a large sum that we could spend however we wanted to. And we chose to do this.
The doctors sent two samples, which came back with two scores. They told her that between 15 and 20, chemotherapy was optional, depending on what the patient and doctor to decide. From 21 up chemo is definitely called for. Her scores were 14 and 10. The doctor said she doesn't need chemo.
And this is my wife: her first response is, "Are you sure?" Doctor: "Yes. You don't need it."
"But 14 is right next to 15!" Doctor, sarcastically: "Do you want to have chemotherapy?"
Then it started to sink in: she didn't need chemotherapy. Really.
She spent a couple of weeks living at her parents' home, being pampered, not having to move. She took walks and did her physical therapy. Rested. We wanted her at home, but two weeks into just me and the kids, we knew she couldn't do it: we were managing okay, but too many things were just barely getting done at home, and I couldn't take care of her. So she waited until she could take care of herself.
She moved back here just before new year's eve. By then she was able to prepare her own food for breakfast (steamed vegetables: purple and white cabbage, sweet potato, pumpkin, plus fried tomatoes and a hard-boiled egg). The kids and I cooked for ourselves, and did the dishes.
She slept in our bed for one night, but it was too stressful for both of us: my snoring makes it hard for her to sleep, when I roll from one side to the other it bounces her around, and I constantly worry that I will roll over and hurt her (which gave me flashbacks to sleeping with baby Maxine on the bed). So she sleeps on a floor mattress in her room, and we both sleep better.
She gradually got her strength back, and is now cooking some meals for the family. We are all eating the healthy breakfast, and more vegetables in general.
A friend of mine reminded me that all of us are in constant, low-level, border skirmish battles with cancer throughout our bodies. From time to time, a cell will decide that it is going to stop doing the work it should be doing, take whatever it can get, and make copies of itself. Our immune system usually figures out what's going on and puts a stop to it.
Horyon is determined to not let cancer take hold again. She is taking this semester off, and has steered the family towards a healthier diet. She and I both eat a big plate of steamed vegetables for breakfast almost every day: cabbage (white and purple), broccoli, sweet potatoes, pumpkin, and a chestnut or two (which is one or two too many if you ask me), with some carrot slices and tomato briefly cooked in a little olive oil, and a hard-boiled egg. There is one more that is difficult to describe, or even name: it is a kind of single-clove Korean garlic that is slow cooked until it has a very thick consistency, almost like fudge, but stickier. It tastes similar to garlic, but it is also sweet. It tastes like it would be good with... something. I just can't figure out what. It's not really a good match for anything else on the plate. I don't dislike it, but if I never ate it again I would still be puzzling out what it tastes like.
And on that appropriately obscure, wandering note, I will close this entry.
They have stuck cameras into Horyon's digestive tract (ew), scanned every part of her body with all sorts of machines, tested her blood, taken core samples (biopsies, if you're a stickler for details) and read her tea leaves: there is no sign that it has spread to other parts of her body. Being on the receiving end of all this was unpleasant at times, but you need to know whether the news is good or bad. This was good news.
The doctors were just guessing, but this week they made it official: Horyon has early stage 1 breast cancer. The earlier you catch it, the better, and this is not just as early as you can expect to find it, but earlier.
The Story of How we Caught it Before It should have been Possible to Catch
I joined the story just as it was starting: Horyon came to me worried. She put my hand on one side of her chest, and said, "Feel this." I felt both sides. On her right, it felt like a half-flattened marble sticking out, that wasn't there on the left. The word you never want to hear about someone's breast. A lump. "Should I do something?"
"Yes."
The next day she went to the nurse teacher at the high school where she works, who also said, "Yes. Do something. Today. NOW."
So Horyon went to a small clinic, where they took the first biopsy. The biopsy needle has to be big, to get enough tissue to make into slides. She told me it hurt pretty badly, though she recovered from that pain in just a couple of days.
But she was confused: they had put the needle in a good three inches lower than where we had felt that lump. Yes, she's almost 50, and things aren't as perky as they used to be. But she would have had to been hanging by her knees from a trapeze to be off by that much. (True confession time: she wasn't.) So she asked the doctor what happened.
The doctor explained that what she was feeling, and what I had felt, was just a bone abnormality. One rib with a little protrusion that isn't there on the other. Nothing to worry about, perfectly normal.
This is the point in the story in which your faith is staring to make noise, whatever direction it runs in. So choose whichever paragraph you find most suitable:
A) It's a miracle! God rewarded our faith and prayers and Christian life! He spared us from the ravages of late-stage breast cancer, and is the ultimate doctor in this story!
B) We defied statistics on this one. The universe is an endless table, with dice being thrown constantly, and we just came up lucky 7s like, a dozen times in a row. It's not impossible, just not very likely. Nowhere near the improbability of a whale appearing out of nowhere high in the atmosphere, of course.
C) We have generated good karma by being kind to others, and the universe is bringing that back around to us. There will be balance.
D) It is a miracle of the statistical fluke variety. It is not a reward for good behavior, just as the cancer is not a punishment for bad. It might have been the difference between life and death. Or it might have provided a wider gap between "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger." Maybe the brokenness of the world was sinking its claws into my wife when God stepped in and gave Horyon a little taste of the fear from her own future.
I can talk, and theorize, and dance around it all day long, but in the end the word "miracle" just won't leave my mind, and I won't stop using it. It's the same kind of miracle that brought Horyon and I together. I won't be offended if you can't buy into that, or even if you push back on it. To me, this is like every other major miracle God has worked in my life: obviously so to those who are looking for miracles, and easily dismissed by those who can't or won't see. You can tell me that we got lucky, or that we were blessed.
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One strange thing about what we are going through is that right now Horyon is not really suffering much. She is starting to feel some physical pain from the biggest tumor, but she says it's barely noticeable. There is a sense of dread that is slowly settling over us, but it's like a wispy fog of dread that doesn't block our sight. It just makes life a little bit harder to see.
I started writing this a week ago, and I've noticed that it takes up a chunk of my processing power all the time. I am slower than usual to come up with the words I need, the next bit of the lesson to teach, the motivation to do anything.
At first there were times when I didn't think about what was coming at all. Those stretches have been shrinking, though. I told Horyon the other day that this feels like moving to a foreign country did when I was young: I knew it was coming with some part of my head, but I didn't really feel like I was moving sometimes until I was in the airport saying goodbye. As I got older, that threshold pushed back into the packing stage, and even the ticket-holding stage. But at some level, my thick, slow brain just refuses to accept reality until it is dropped into the deep end, kicking and screaming.
But cancer is a very intrusive reality. We learned this week that the cancer has not spread through her body, but it has pretty much fully claimed her right breast.Some things I learned in the wake of this:
1. The breast tissue must be taken out, but the skin, including the nipple, can be almost completely saved if you use robot surgery.
2. "Robot breast removal surgery" is a real thing. I want to know more, but that motivation thing I mentioned earlier has effectively blocked me from learning whether it looks more like R2D2 or a Terminator. Or Johnny Five, for that matter. I suspect that when I do find the truth, it will be somewhat of a letdown. This may be part of my motivation for not learning more.
3. When you catch breast cancer this early, the treatment routine is mostly standardized, can be highly refined, and no longer has the ring of death that came with "The Big C" while I was growing up in the 70s and 80s.
5. Women who are facing a full mastectomy do not take much comfort from the legend of the Amazonian Warrior Women who all had their right breasts removed to make it easier to draw a bow. (Full disclosure, some women may appreciate this, but not mine.)
6. Four is a bad luck number, because the Chinese character for the number 4 resembles the character for death. That is why older buildings don't have a fourth floor, and that's why I skipped it in this list. Although, to be fair, I learned this a long time ago. Pretty sure it's come up in the Roblog before.
7. I am even more prone to mental wandering than usual. Just take a look back at this list.
There's another weird thing: I feel more like I'm observing myself than usual. You know the feeling like your life is a movie that you are watching, rather than living? I haven't been that deep into it, but it's had small stretches like that.
Well, it did last week. This post has been in the pipeline for eight days now, and that has kind of passed. Or I've gotten so used to it that I don't notice. Now I am in an emotionally and mentally tired space. It's like I don't have any down time, because when I do my brain knows exactly where to go: the cancer treadmill. I haven't slept well, can't get work done, can't carry on a conversation without getting stuck on simple words, and can't balance a sentence well enough to keep my readers from feeling like they need to take a breath by the time they get to the end of one.
I know that Horyon is going through some of this, but her naturally driven personality has kept her very busy, even though she hasn't been at school for the past week and a bit. She can't just let go of her job completely, because she will feel bad if she abandons her students, so she writes review questions, and has recorded a few lessons from home.
She has hired a cleaning lady to come once a week, and the first day is tomorrow. She has given us all lists of things to do, that basically involve cleaning up before the cleaning lady comes. Needless to say, I will not be accomplishing everything on that list.
The next Sack family ordeal is now on the calendar.
Eight days ago (October 17th) Horyon noticed a lump in her breast. The next day she talked to the nurse at her school, who recommended, insisted, that she go to a clinic the same day.
Horyon went to a clinic on Monday, where they took a biopsy, and guessed it was cancer. (Spoiler alert: they were right.) They also took blood, and made a follow-up appointment for Thursday (Oct. 21st).
The next day, Horyon started talking to an uncle who is a doctor in Seoul. Busan is a big city, with good hospitals and clinics, but Seoul is where the talent focuses in Korea. She made a couple of appointments in Seoul for October 25th,
They confirmed that it was cancer. One lump is about 1.2 cm (that's less than half an inch), and they found two smaller lumps in the same breast. Nothing in the other, but couldn't tell us much beyond that. This is still the discovery phase, and Seoul is the place to go for more detail.
We had not talked with our friends about it at this point. We hadn't even told the kids, though I'm sure they noticed that we were both more tired than usual. We told them Thursday night, at my insistence. They had a few questions, and there was some crying, but they took it well. The next day Maxine asked what stage it was, so she had clearly done some research at school. At that point, we had no answer.
On Sunday we told our church friends after the service. There was a lot of praying, and crying, and sympathy, and offers of help in the times ahead. It was a huge relief to share the news. It's unbelievable how tempting it is to just not talk to anyone when something like this happens. It's not even a conscious decision, you just don't want to tell people about it. I explained it three times to different groups of friends, then couldn't do it anymore.
We had lunch with my friend, Tim Taylor. His wife died of lung cancer less than a year ago, and he had a lot to offer us, besides Thai food for lunch. (Which, for the record, was very, very good!)
She told me yesterday that she was starting to feel pain where there was none before.
This morning (Monday, October 25th) I drove Horyon to the train station for a 5:30 train to Seoul. She had some more tests done, all the standard cancer diagnostics, and another biopsy. I came home, got the kids off to school, and taught my one hour of Monday classes in a more scattered state than usual.
Then I got a message from Horyon: she will go back to Seoul November 9th for a sonogram, then again for the results before the surgery, which is scheduled for November 26th. A month from today. The doctor told her that it looks like early stage cancer, and she did well to find it and act on it so quickly.
In short, we still have a tough hill to climb. I am not a worrier, but this has been a test of my faith. I am not looking forward to seeing how God will grow me through this. I suspect that God is planning a major renovation in our lives, and like most renovations it will be messy while it happens, but worth it when it's finished.
The rest of this post is a political slant on our story. If you would rather not have your ideas challenged, feel free to skip it.
A big piece of good news for us is that we live in a country (South Korea) that has basically socialized medicine. The national insurance (a government run provider) will pay 95% of the costs. You see, socialized medicine is really, really bad news for some people: the people who make money off of health insurance. The health conglomerates that charge incredible rates to insurance companies that use those rates to justify the hefty premiums you pay, and squeeze you for whatever they can. Horyon just showed up, gave them her info, and it was done. She got a series of 10 tests done today, total cost about US$260, and that's before insurance!* It costs what it actually costs, and the health insurance pays most of it!
*Big correction! I misunderstood Horyon's message. The $260 price tag was after national health insurance paid. The pre-insurance cost was closer to $800. Still, at $800 for a complete series of tests like this feels very cheap to most Americans!
I have never been so relieved, even happy, to not live in the United States. I love my home country, but I know that some Americans will read this and call me a liar or a shill or an idiot. Have I bought into socialized medicine? HELL YES. Don't believe everything rich people tell you. If we had stayed in the States, on my teacher salary and her working out of our home, this would have been a heavy blow. There is not much point in speculating about it, but in our four years living there I paid so much in health insurance, and still ended up using free clinics because I couldn't afford the premiums.
Allow me to elaborate on the phrase "basically socialized medicine." A few years ago, Horyon started to worry about getting cancer, as there is a history in her family. So she got cancer insurance. (I can't get it until I lose a fair bit of weight, but that is another blog post.) It is a monthly expense that proved to be a wise investment. This insurance paid out immediately on her diagnosis, a chunk of cash that will cover traveling back and forth to Seoul, that missing 5%, and other things that will make this whole thing so much less stressful.
You see, you can get better insurance if you want. And for people without insurance, you can still go to hospitals and clinics. It's expensive, but it costs what it costs, not what the companies think they can squeeze out of you.
But enough soap boxing. Feel free to email me if you want to continue the conversation. Or unfriend me on Facebook if you would rather feel good than be informed.
The spring semester was a tough one for me. I was feeling overwhelmed by my third semester of working from home. As my friend Jon put it, "It's not so much working from home as living at work." So I declined to write any sermons until summer vacation. To be precise, August 8th. With another member giving two sermons after mine, we managed to swing a 3-week break for our pastor, Micah Mercer.
Micah has been preaching through Paul's first letter to the church at Corinth, a church that had multiple issues to deal with. I ended up dealing with the chapter on eating food that had been offered to idols. It was just a matter of scheduling, and was in no way a subtle hint to me that I should stop going to Aphrodite's, no matter how good their sauce is.
Of course, I am including the full text of the sermon here, but I did make a few changes, including one last minute addition suggested by Matthew Ambrosia. I started the video a little early, because Horyon read the scripture that day. There is also a high-pitched whine from our sound system. Sorry, but I can't do anything about that.
Knowledge vs. Love August 9th, 2020
But take care that this right of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak. For if anyone sees you, who have knowledge, eating in an idol's temple, will he not be encouraged, if his conscience is weak, to eat food offered to idols? And so by your knowledge this weak person is destroyed, the brother for whom Christ died. Thus, sinning against your brothers and wounding their conscience when it is weak, you sin against Christ. Therefore, if food makes my brother stumble, I will never eat meat, lest I make my brother stumble.
1 Corinthians 8:9-13
I’m going to start today by taking us back to a possible version of Corinth in the early days of the church, to attend a maybe event with a hypothetical new Christian. I’ve given him the ancient Greek name George.
George is way beyond nervous. His hands are cold and sweaty. His lungs don’t want to breathe on their own. The smells are familiar, delicious. Raising appetites of the flesh that he has not had to struggle with for the past few weeks since becoming a believer. He can almost taste it now: the meat of bulls. The meat of pigs. The meat of chickens. His stomach is stirring.
But there is more. The smell of the temple incense that used to make his head light and his heart pound and his body awaken. It used to be something he looked forward to, but now it makes him feel maybe a little sick.
He remembers the taste of the strong wine, the memory of the freedom it brought, to him, and to the servers, and to the other guests. The freedom to follow the urges of the body, to be filled and emptied. Now more than his stomach is stirring.
Dinner is supposed to be fun, but dinner here, at the temple of Aphrodite, brings back too many memories. But he trusts his brothers who brought him here. They have been following The Way for years, and when they say that this meal is just a meal, they must surely be right.
But it reminds him of so many good times… Maybe he’ll come back tomorrow, without his brothers...
Just to be clear, I am filling in a lot of blanks with this story, and honestly, I was fishing for a worst case scenario. But I honestly believe that Paul was, too. Because Paul was experienced. He knew that the worst could always happen, and often did.
The church at Corinth did not leave us with much evidence of their existence: there's no church building being excavated by archaeologists, because they most likely met in homes. No publications, like newsletters, or documents or websites. We don’t even have a list of their members. We know about the city itself from a few historical sources, and we have Paul’s letters to them. But not the letters they sent to Paul.
From these sources, we know that they were a real mixed bag. People with some very different backgrounds, much like us here at Redeemer ICC: there were some Jews who likely attended the synagogue in town, in addition to following this new Way of Jesus Christ. There are references elsewhere to members who were not Jewish, but “Fearers of God,” people who believed in God but hadn’t taken the steps to become Jewish. Maybe one step in particular. Snip-snip. And there would have been many gentiles: those who had come directly to this New Way from pagan religions: worshippers of Aphrodite, Apollo, and dozens of other so-called gods. Perhaps even some who had been agnostic.
As we have learned, Paul founded the church at Corinth just a few years before writing this letter: he knew them, he loved them, and he wanted them to succeed. He uses pretty harsh language with them in this letter, but only because he wants them to grow in their faith.
And two weeks ago, Micah drew our attention to this fundamental instruction:
“So, brothers, in whatever condition each was called, there let him remain with God.”
1 Corinthians 7:24
Whatever your background, wherever you are starting from, it is good enough. God’s grace is an unearned gift for all. And God’s grace alone can bridge the gap between you and God. This week Paul is teaching us to apply that same grace to each other.
Our memory verse for the next three weeks is 1 Corinthians 10:23-24:
“All things are lawful,” but not all things are helpful. “All things are lawful,” but not all things build up. Let no one seek his own good, but the good of his neighbor.
1 Corinthians 10:23-24
This is our memory verse, because we are studying chapter 8 today, and chapters 9 and 10 in the next two weeks. These three chapters build up and support this main idea. He starts here, in chapter 8, on the topic of eating food offered to idols. The debate over the acceptability of eating idol meat seems totally irrelevant to us today, but when we break it down into motivations and relationships, we find deeper issues that we still struggle with today.
Chapter 8 focuses on the relationship between knowledge and love. Paul does this by taking a simple yes/no question, and answering it with shades of grey. The kind of wisdom that gets your letters included in the Bible.
So here’s the simple version of the chapter 8 story:
The church at Corinth had a disagreement over whether or not it was acceptable to eat meat that had been offered to idols. This was a serious issue, both to them and to Paul, but we can’t be absolutely sure of why. For the Corinthians, “idol meat” may have been a part of social engagement: making connections, meeting people, having events. Or it may have been a ritual cleanliness issue for the practicing Jews in the congregation. It may have even been a simple matter of whether or not meat was on the menu. If the only butcher shop in your neighborhood is a temple to Artemis, which for sure isn’t kosher, do you go vegetarian?
Apparently some people from the church wrote to Paul looking for vindication, for Paul to say that they were correct in their knowledge of idols. They knew that idols are not real gods, and therefore meat sacrificed to them is not inherently good or evil. Paul writes to them, likely quoting their own words, telling them that “knowledge” (in quotes, their words), “knowledge” puffs up, but love builds up. You know what it means to put words in quotes like that, right? It’s saying, “These aren’t MY words! I do not take responsibility for them!” Paul writes:
Now concerning food offered to idols: we know that “all of us possess knowledge.” This “knowledge” puffs up, but love builds up. If anyone imagines that he knows something, he does not yet know as he ought to know. But if anyone loves God, he is known by God.
1 Corinthians 8:1-3
In other words, being known by God is more important than what you know about God. It’s a pretty harsh criticism. Paul is basically taking sides with those in the church who have weaker faith. He’s shutting down those who are further along in their faith journey. They may have even been the elders of this very young church. The very leaders who Paul himself likely appointed.
But then he goes on to affirm that what they said was true: idols aren’t real gods, at least not to us Christians. That is.. Therefore, as to the eating of food offered to idols, we know that “an idol has no real existence,” and that “there is no God but one.” For although there may be so-called gods in heaven or on earth— as indeed there are many “gods” and many “lords”—
Yet for us there is only one God, the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist, and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things and through whom we exist.
1 Corinthians 8:4-6
So this feels like a big, heavy fact, right after Paul told them that knowledge is not the most important thing. He is likely quoting a sort of early catechism or hymn, something they would have all been familiar with. And it sounds like he’s agreeing with them.
But then he adds a twist:
“However, not all possess this knowledge. But some, through former association with idols, eat food as really offered to an idol, and their conscience, being weak, is defiled.”
1 Corinthians 8:7
In other words, what you believe to be a sin is very important. Because sin is betraying God. Sin is turning your back on God willfully. And these believers are being convinced by their brothers that it is okay, in this case, to betray God. Like our theoretical George from the beginning of the sermon. Hold on to that idea, the idea that they are being convinced that it's okay to betray God.
Food will not commend us to God. We are no worse off if we do not eat, and no better off if we do.
1 Corinthians 8:8
It feels like Paul is backing off here, like, “Hey, food’s not a big deal either way!” Don’t be fooled. This is the calm before the real storm hits.
But take care that this right of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak. For if anyone sees you who have knowledge eating in an idol's temple, will he not be encouraged, if his conscience is weak, to eat food offered to idols? And so by your knowledge this weak person is destroyed, the brother for whom Christ died. Thus, sinning against your brothers and wounding their conscience when it is weak, you sin against Christ.
1 Corinthians 8:9-12
If by your knowledge you destroy a person of weaker faith, you sin against Christ. Betraying God is bad, but convincing someone else to betray God is also bad. Maybe worse.
Who is Paul talking to, warning us not to break the weak? He’s talking to the strong. Those who are strong in faith. Those who are strong in knowledge. The ones that we are all striving to be. He's talking to us.
He finishes by displaying his commitment to this principal:
Therefore, if food makes my brother stumble, I will never eat meat, lest I make my brother stumble.
1 Corinthians 8:13
I almost made this our memory verse. Because it's so powerful, and it would have been worth it just to hear James recite it.
We can read chapter 8 of 1st Corinthians in this very simple way, and come away with some really good ideas. “Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up,” from verse 1. Or that last verse, about not eating meat. But until we can map their 1st century understanding onto ours in the 21st century, it’s hard to get anything practical out of it. So I’m going to walk us through an example.
One modern parallel to the Corinthian church’s struggle with idol meat is the Korean church’s struggle with alcohol. It’s not a perfect parallel, but there are definitely similarities.
If you've been here for long, and spent time in Korean churches or with Korean Christians, you may have noticed that a lot of Korean churches (and some American churches as well), have very strict policies about their members drinking alcohol. It is common for churches to require their elders to sign a contract promising to never drink alcohol at all. This is an understandable response to a culture that not only accepts drunkenness, but in some cases almost demands it. In recent years I have heard of more young Koreans, both Christians and non-Christians, refusing to submit to this culture. But in the not-so-distant past, 15 or 20 years, Korea was very highly ranked in the world for alcohol consumption.
I will admit that when I first came to Korea, many moons ago, I was critical of these “no alcohol” policies from churches. I would argue against them. I brought mad knowledge to the conversation:
Jesus went to a wedding and turned water into wine. FACT. People drank wine all the time, rarely drinking water. FACT. At the last supper when Jesus said, “This is my blood you drink,” he wasn’t holding up water. He wasn’t holding up grape juice. What was he holding up? Wine. FACT.
Of course, they responded with facts of their own:
Some holy people in the Bible took vows to not consume wine, so drinking must be bad. FACT. Prov. 20 verse 1 Wine is a mocker, strong drink a brawler, and whoever is led astray by it is not wise. FACT And the list of people in the Bible who drank too much and got into trouble is a long one. We can talk about Noah. We can talk about Abraham’s nephew Lot. We can talk about Samson, and we can probably drag in a few other Judges and kings as well. FACT FACT FACT FACT FACT.
And that’s the way we like to make decisions. We use facts to bolster arguments one way or the other. Facts are little pieces of knowledge, and Paul told us at the top that knowledge “puffs up.” What does he mean by that, that we're puffed up? When do you feel and act bigger than you actually are? That's when pride takes over. Arrogance. Being absolutely sure that you are right. Not just right, but BETTER than those guys. I felt like a better Christian than those Korean Christians. This is a danger for all of us. In the Great Fact War, the Bible can often provide plenty of ammunition for both sides, and it’s so easy to puff yourself up with knowledge.
But Paul, here in chapter 8, only talks about the facts long enough to dismiss them. He basically says, “Drinking alcohol is okay, but if my drinking causes someone else to sin and lose their salvation, then I will never drink again!”
Therefore, if food makes my brother stumble, I will never eat meat, lest I make my brother stumble.
1 Corinthians 8:13
Does that mean that we should never drink, to support our Korean brothers and sisters? I don’t think so. At least not in a broad, general way.
But we must be careful. Imagine you are out with a Christian friend, and they are really bothered when you order a beer. Perhaps they struggle with alcoholism or addiction, and that might manifest as questioning your faith. In that case, maybe it’s a wiser choice to switch to a soft drink, rather than insisting that alcohol is not a big deal, and not a sin, and to push the issue, even pressuring your friend to have a drink.
But along with your non-alcoholic beverage, have a conversation about it. Because it is clear that Paul is not telling anyone to just shut up and do what he says. He says, “Love builds up,” and that happens through communication. It’s gradual. It’s relational. And it rarely happens in one sitting.
We talked about pride puffing us up. What is the opposite of pride? Humility. Putting others before yourself. And the simplest way to start is by just listening. You can respectfully ask, “Why is drinking such a big problem?” Then listen. Don’t think about what you will say next. Don’t line up your facts and prepare your rebuttal. Just listen, and try to understand.
The answer will probably be important to your friend. It will very likely lead to building up your relationship, because listening and understanding is how we build relationships. So it's a good question, “Why is alcohol important to you?” But a more important question is this: What does the Bible have to say about it? Not just because we find truth and wisdom in the Bible, which we do. It’s good because when people discuss the Bible in good faith, not seeking to dominate each other, the Holy Spirit inhabits those conversations. We understand each other better, and through that we love each other more perfectly.
It was not my intention to make this entire sermon about drinking alcohol, and I apologize if it's come off that way. My example expanded to fill a lot of time. But this philosophy can be applied in many different areas, including ones that are a lot stickier than the alcohol question.
At the heart of the Gospel is the fact that you cannot save yourself. No matter how much you know about God, or about God’s Word, or about God’s Law, it is infinitely more important that God knows you. And in spite of knowing you completely, God loves you enough to die for you. The only proper response is to love God back.
Jesus answered, “The most important [commandment] is, ‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.”
Mark 12:29-31
So much of the Bible is just showing us what it looks like to love God and love your neighbor, and Paul was an expert in both.
In addressing this long forgotten battle over meat offered to idols, Paul has set aside the importance of being “right” or “wrong.” Instead he offers us nuance, and suggests sympathy. In the end, his strategy for us is the same one that Jesus both offered and demonstrated: self denial. Setting aside my wants and needs in favor of my sisters and brothers in Christ. Not allowing my knowledge, even my knowledge of God to puff me up.
Look at the example set by Jesus himself,
...who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.
Philippians 2:6-8
He emptied himself to build us up.
Paul shows us that sometimes the answers aren’t simple, but the results are. If I am building up my brothers and sisters through love, then I am doing it right.
Having correct theology is good, no doubt. But it is clear that love is far more than having a perfect collection of facts and knowledge. Love for your neighbor means that you are willing to give up your freedom to avoid their damnation. God’s grace for us is unearned, and out of that abundance, we give grace to others.
I want to take us back to our hypothetical meal in Corinth, with George and his friends.
As George and his friends sit down to order some food, John notices that something is not quite right.
“George, are you okay brother? You're looking a little uncomfortable.”
George is quick to reply, “No, no, no, I’m fine. I’m fine.”
Paul looks up from the menu at George. He sees hunger and need, mixed with worry, fear, and uncertainty. And suddenly he remembers that George is still new to the Way of Jesus. That George has come a long way, but not so far that he can’t see where he came from. “We’re getting out of here. Come on, George. Let’s go.”
They get up, they apologize to the master of the house, and they leave. When they get outside, George takes a deep breath. He feels the freedom of his baptism again. “Thank you, brothers. I think the enemy almost had me there!”
“It’s no trouble,” says Paul. “Let’s go to Yoko’s Salad Emporium.” And they do.
But Ringo stays. His faith is strong, he loves smoked ribs, and the sauce at Aphrodite’s is hard to beat.
Wow. It's been 20 months since I published part one. Perhaps I can finish part three in a more timely manner. Or not. On with the show!
Nepal is a country in which Christians are a very small minority. In the early 90s, they made up less than one percent of the population. [All of my numbers on this come from the Nepali Census, the latest of which was in 2011.] Now it is approaching two percent (1.4%), but the vast majority of Nepalis are still Hindus (81.3%) with some Buddhists (9.0%) and Muslims (4.4%). During the two years that I lived in Nepal, I never went to an organized church service. I organized a few small ones myself, attended by maybe half a dozen fellow volunteers, but never set foot in a church building.
In our training, and in all the promotional materials for Peace Corps, it was strongly emphasized that we were not allowed to proselytize. The Peace Corps has to maintain a strictly secular image in order to be effective in countries where it is against the law to preach other religions. We did learn that it was acceptable to talk about our religion if asked, but that we shouldn't push it. So I didn't.
I know. To my Christian friends, this sounds like a spiritual desert, which in some ways it was.
But there was spirituality everywhere. I boarded with a Hindu family. I woke every morning to the smell of incense (to attract good spirits) and the jing-a-ling of a little bell (to scare away bad spirits). I know that some families acknowledge God every day though prayers, but this family offered a very multi-sensory appeal to their gods.*
*In the Old Testament there is a recipe for incense that is only to be used in the Temple at Jerusalem, which people are not to use in their homes, or anywhere else. I'm pretty sure this family bought theirs at the little store in the village.
The men in the family wear a Janai (holy thread) under their clothing, looped over one shoulder and under the opposite arm. It was a constant reminder of their faith, hidden from public view most of the time, but always there. And I'm ashamed to admit that I don't remember a lot of details about it, even though Ramesh, the father of the family I lived with, wore one and explained it a bit to me.
When I first met Ramesh, his head was shaved completely. He was nearing the end of a year of mourning the death of his father. Some of my scholarly Christian friends may argue that these death rituals are not acceptable to God, but one cannot deny the spirituality of his actions. Such a visible alteration to one's body for a year would be a reminder to oneself, and everyone who sees it, that life encompasses more than just the span that we witness. This daily physical act of removing part of one's body must have prompted him to ponder the loss of his closest teacher.
Ramesh's family rarely ate meat, because you couldn't just go to the store and buy meat: their village was too small for a regular butcher. Killing an animal for food was a process involving anointing the animal with milk, burning incense, and having it chanted over by a hired holy man.* I could not understand the words, but this was a religious service held in order to put meat on the menu! Most Americans consume meat without making any connection outside of their wallet. It is just food, like any other purchased from the grocery store (except that it tastes super delicious). From a Christian perspective, you can easily argue that God gave Man dominion over the animals, which frees us to not make that connection. But you could also argue that believers in Biblical times rarely ate meat without being aware of it on a personal level (being an animal that they had raised and tended), and often a directly spiritual level (if the animal was being offered as a sacrifice to God).
*An expensive process for sure. And sharing two pigeons among a family with nine children, three adults, and myself meant that no one actually consumed very much meat. By the time the dog finished gnawing on the heads, all that was left was a pile of feathers a pair of beaks, and a few chirps.
I even occasionally met Christian families who had their little home shrines set up with pictures of Jesus in them. Often just a nook in the wall, with incense, strings of flowers, brass lamps, and sometimes little offerings of food or coins.
This is large scale. Imagine a medicine cabinet sized version
with flat pictures, and maybe a couple of action figure-sized statues.
The pictures of Jesus are in the same style as the pictures of Shiva and Vishnu and the rest of the Hindu pantheon.
This is somewhat representative of the style of art seen in these shrines.
Sometimes alongside them.
I never saw this one in Nepal. Jesus usually had his own frame,
like the other gods. But Mom always told me that Jesus
wants us to share, so maybe he's setting an example here.
Whatever you may think of this mixing, you have to admit that it would be cool to go back and add "blue" to the song "Jesus Loves the Little Children."
Scarlet, orange, green and blue,
Jesus loves them, you should too!
Jesus loves the little children of the world!
To return to my point (and not a moment too soon), Nepal was not so much a spiritual desert as an uncharted spiritual ocean, filled with a strange liquid that was not the water I was used to. If I had prayed every time I witnessed something with a spiritual connection, I would not have had time to do much of anything else.
Rather than drowning, I felt like I was scooting along on the surface, like a water bug. In hindsight, I could have attempted to "dive" into Hinduism, even with my meager language skills: I've met many westerners who have. But my curiosity about Hinduism (and Buddhism for that matter) never ran very deep. So in essence, I used my time in Nepal to practice Christianity without much influence from Christian institutions. Like a castaway. And that was good, because everyone needs opportunities to fail. Perhaps even to shipwreck.
I know, I know. It's time to scuttle this metaphor, before I start talking like a pirate.
Mistakes are important. I tell my students very regularly that I require them to make mistakes: it's my number two rule in class, right behind "Speak English." I tell them that mistakes are the best way to learn English, which is true. I also tell them that they should learn to not fear mistakes, in language and life both. I hope that my students to learn to accept themselves as worthy, mistakes and all. I suspect that some of them take it as a license to do the minimum work necessary to pass, but I consider it to be a worthy trade-off for the students who are freed by this directive.
In Nepal I made my share of mistakes, but the 26 months I spent there were not completely dry (Avast!). I read completely through my Bible for the first time in my life. I had read a great deal of it up until then, but never a cover-to-cover reading. So that was a good thing. And... again, without consulting my journals it is difficult to assess my spiritual journey during that time, but I suspect that it was stagnant. I was living without a church, and in a kind of long distance relationship with the capital-C Church. I don't remember any other faith landmarks.
My lifestyle alternated between long slogs of living in the village, and brief intervals with other volunteers. In the village, I had no contact with other foreigners. I did my job, engaged in the very limited conversations I was capable of (no doubt the roots of my "make mistakes rule"), and played lots of solitaire (with actual cards!). I read whatever books I could get my hands on, wrote almost weekly letters to my parents (which are the direct ancestors of the Roblog), and hiked to Phidim every week or two. It was very easy to focus on the difficulties.
Phidim, the district center: a four and a half hour trail hike to my village the first time. My record a year later was less than half that.* Phidim had electricity, was on a drivable road, and was full of people who I didn't see every day. Phidim is where I could get a cold beer or two, a little plate of chicken with my rice, and my mail from home. Phidim is where I learned to drink instant coffee mixed with whole buffalo milk and enough sugar to make the Starbucks mermaid blush. Phidim is where I could maybe get a phone call from home, if we had arranged it in letters previously and the phone gods weren't being vindictive. Phidim's appearance would have made you think "third world," even as that phrase was becoming less socially acceptable.** But at that time, for me, it was very easy to focus on the comforts.
*I believe that my record was around 90 minutes. I wish I knew how far it was and what the total elevation change was. Even with Google Maps it is impossible for me to trace that trail now.
** Third compared to what? By what metrics? Let me guess, a country run by white men who also decide the metrics.
On the rare occasion I got together with large groups of other volunteers, things got crazy. Weeks of tension from isolation were released in just a few days. Lots of drinking, a legendary party or two, once or twice waking up stoned, and the kind of conversations that help you to discover and solidify who you are, what is important to you, and what life is all about. With other volunteers, it was very easy to both have fun and to open up completely.
A quick aside, too large for a footnote: I know that my fellow Peace Corps Volunteers sound like a bunch
of trouble makers, but many, if not most of them, were like me: they wanted
to make a difference in the world. They wanted to experience the world
in a way you couldn't in your home country. They were all college
graduates, some with higher degrees. As a whole, they leaned very
strongly liberal, somewhat atheist, and were one of the most likeable large groups of
people I've ever met. Including church congregations. I have not seen
most of them outside of Facebook since we were in Nepal together, and my
life is poorer as a result. Shout-out to my RPCV peeps! Aside sockeyo!
Hardships. Comforts. Fun. And squeezed into the cracks, a myopic awareness of God. Maybe someday I will find a way to tell those stories with neither condescension nor glorification. The further in the past they recede, the more they seem like a story I read a long time ago.
Nepal wasn't rock bottom, just a kind of low point. I was turning the volume way down on God, but God was there. In part three I'll hit on another low point, and some high points. Just give me a few months to work it out.
This post started as my standard Roblog entry of my latest sermon, but much like the sermon itself, it has become something else.
I was talking with our pastor, Micah, and elder, Matthew on Sunday, September 26th, about our upcoming plans. It came to my attention that in two weeks Micah was planning to have the week off, and there was no plan for the sermon that week. Since I was in the middle of vacation, I offered to fill that gap. My last sermon was in March, and I felt overdue to go through the labor of creating a sermon. Whether that labor is more of a production job or the act of giving birth, I am still not sure.
I was not sure at that time what I would be preaching on. Micah was working through 2 Thessalonians, and wasn't sure whether he would finish that week or the week before. I had been talking with Rick about his preaching, which was working through some significant points in the Old Testament. He had mentioned the possibility of preaching on the Jubilee, from Leviticus, and that sparked something in me. I have been fascinated with the idea of the Jubilee for a long time, and this felt like the time to tackle it. I pitched it to Pastor Micah that Tuesday, and he told me to go for it. That left me with 12 days to assemble my sermon, much less time than my usual 3 or 4 weeks. I started re-reading chapters 25 and 26 of Leviticus, and a sermon in a book of sermons by Walter Brueggemann that I borrowed from Rick far too long ago and which he has not bothered me at all about returning. The sermon was about how dangerous this idea of Jubilee is to a world that worships at the altar of capitalism.
And I was on fire for this sermon! I was looking forward to dragging our congregation into the Torah and showing them where you could find the tools to take apart society and rebuild it into God's Kingdom! I spent Friday that week, nine days before the sermon was due, at Rick's office, researching the Jubilee.
I found that to really grasp the idea of Jubilee, it would help to have an understanding of the seven-year-Sabbath: a year in which the land was to rest, and the people were to have faith that God would not let them starve. And that only really made sense in the light of the weekly Sabbath, which Jewish people still celebrate every week and we do ourselves a disservice by not more closely observing. And the Sabbath really comes into focus when you realize that it is just one of the times that God appointed in Leviticus for Israel to stop and focus on their relationship with God. And those appointed times make much more sense when you realize that they are part of a larger structure of social interactions and laws that govern how God's people get along with each other. These rules clearly stem from the boundaries of holiness that are clearly defined in Leviticus, from how priests should behave in their daily life and their job, to how all of the various kinds of sacrifices should be made, and how the priests were to approach God.
I decided that I could cover all that in a couple of minutes.
Spoiler alert: I couldn't.
I spent the next week assembling an outline. On the Friday two days before the sermon I started fleshing out my outline, connecting the pieces to help me figure out what was missing. In that process, I came up with "an idea to bracket Leviticus," to set that portion of the sermon apart from the parts about Jubilee. It was beautifully symmetrical, and painted a clear picture of Leviticus that I had never before held in my mind. The problem was that this two minute introduction had grown to more than ten minutes of a sermon which I had intended to last 20 minutes (knowing full well that it would likely be 25, but not at all likely to pass 30).
In addition, my end bracket for Leviticus felt like the end of the sermon. Except that I had my Jubilee ending as well, so I was stuck with a sermon that effectively had two tails. I thought and prayed about it, and came to the conclusion that I had two sermons on my hands. I asked Micah and Matthew what to do, and they agreed that I should run with the more complete sermon of the two, so I started hacking.
I had to remove some of my favorite parts, because this was no longer a sermon about the Jubilee. I left hints and allusions to them, and a couple of their themes as they fit into the larger structure, but withheld the smackdown that Jubilee brings to the world at large. This was not really painful, because I had already made up my mind that Jubilee still needed, and would get, its own sermon. It's in the works, and will likely show up sometime around November. (It ended up being September 27th.)
So I spent the Friday before it was to be delivered doing surgery on my sermon. I have had to do a lot of writing on sermons later than that, but it was late enough that it should have felt panicky. It didn't, though. It felt like the right move, and it felt blessed. I went to bed late Friday night fairly happy with it. Saturday I went through it a couple of times, reworded a few parts, tweaked here and there, but no major changes. Horyon had it early in the day to translate, but she had a busy day, so she finished after I had gone to bed Saturday night.
I had been working on a theme involving circles, which I illustrated by carrying a kind of shofar with me. Mine is made from the horn of (I believe) a longhorn steer. The shofar was also used to announce the Day of Atonement, Yom Kippur, which is mentioned in the sermon. I held it through the sermon, and gestured towards it a few times. Even mentioned how one like this would be blown for Yom Kippur. But I did not actually blow it until the end, and in fact used it to end the sermon. I believe to good effect.
I have a Korean friend who is the pastor of a little home church. He gives a couple of sermons on Sunday, and another for Wednesday services (which are standard for Korean churches). He preaches through three different books at a time. Doesn't leave much room for procrastination. He recently told me that preparing a sermon can be painful, like giving birth.* I find that most creative efforts are like this. If a deadline is not imposed on me, I will often delay, just to avoid that pain.
*I realize that comparing the birthing of an idea to the birthing of a child is problematic, in that I have only witnessed the latter, and am missing some key anatomical features involved. But I struggle to come up with a better metaphor, and just can't. So please bear with me if you have actually borne a child.
This Roblog post is an example. The writing itself was no more difficult than usual, but the self-examination in these past few paragraphs gave me an excuse to stall. So I did. And I didn't feel like I could post the sermon until I had this ready to go, so that didn't happen either.
And waiting for these two posts is the latest sermon, this one actually on the Jubilee. The sermon itself was last week, but I couldn't post it without getting this one done, so...
There is also part 2 of my faith journey. It is also suffering birthing pains. It is almost fully formed, but refuses to come into the light.
Enough. This is going up, and the sermon it's about will go up shortly thereafter.
