Within or Without
Commentary
Object:
“Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification.” This is the tantalizing detail that John shares with us in the midst of his account of Jesus’ first miracle. This is, if you will, the watershed moment in the story. The need has been identified, but not yet met. And right on the cusp of recounting how Jesus stepped in to meet the need, John tells us about these stone water jars.
One chapter later, John will recall Jesus’ teaching about the need to be born of both water and the Spirit. A chapter after that, he will report Jesus’ words to the woman at the well about living water that quenches eternally. One more chapter later, we will be introduced to a crippled man who is looking for healing in the water of Bethzatha.
Taken all together, we observe an interesting pattern in all of this water. Some of it is external and some of it is internal, and the external water seems always to be inadequate. The living water that Jesus offers to the Samaritan woman is an inner reality, and Jesus promises that it “will become in (those that drink of it) a spring,” and thus they “will never be thirsty again” (John 4:14). The external water of natural birth about which Jesus speaks with Nicodemus, on the other hand, is insufficient, for a person must be born again, must be born of the Spirit, as well. And the water to which the crippled man looked for healing was always out of his reach, and he found his healing in Christ instead.
That brings us back to the water that was in those six stone jars in Cana. It was not drinking water, you see. Rather, John tells us that it was “for the Jewish rites of purification,” an external thing.
Isaiah 62:1-5
We all remember from our seminary studies the theories about Isaiah’s multiple authors. This will likely be unfamiliar to the people in our pews, and it will not be a profitable use of our precious pulpit time to try to explain it. Suffice it to say, though, that the present text assumes a certain historical context, and that context deserves to be introduced.
Invite your people to imagine watching a play in a theater. To this moment, the play has been a drama -- specifically, a tragedy. But now the audience is about to watch a scene change unfold right before their eyes. Before we can appreciate that scene change, however, we need to catch a glimpse of the two preceding scenes.
First, the scene was Jerusalem. We see the glorious temple of Solomon painted on the backdrop. But in the foreground, the stage was filled with enemy soldiers -- a Babylonian army that dwarfed defenders of Jerusalem and overwhelmed its inhabitants. Their mouths were full of boasts and their hands full of destruction. We can hardly bear to watch as they destroy everything on stage, mercilessly kill so many of the other characters, and set fire to the temple backdrop. As the lights go out on the Jerusalem stage, we see the silhouettes of broken and defeated Jerusalem citizens being led offstage to the east by the victorious Babylonians.
When the lights come up again, it’s a new and very different scene. We don’t recognize anything. The architecture is different. The landscape is different. And we cannot read any of the writing or understand any of the spoken words. The Jews are captives in Babylon. And amid the cacophony of unintelligible speech, we watch the Jewish exiles live and work, give birth and die, on the foreign stage.
Then, into that scene of misery, a strong and familiar voice speaks. It is the voice of the unseen director, calling out instructions from beyond the confines of the stage. He’s calling for a scene change, and it is marvelous to hear.
This week’s Old Testament lection is God’s good news for his post-exilic people. He is calling for a scene change. It is a refreshing and total reversal from the misery of the preceding scene and the devastation of the one before that.
Salvation and vindication are early themes that set the pace. The former reflects God’s intervention on behalf of his otherwise helpless people. The latter recalls that the people’s troubles have not been experienced in isolation but rather on an international stage.
The tables are being turned. Previously, Jerusalem’s shame and defeat had been seen by all, but now the nations will observe the glory and honor of God’s people. Previously, they had been punished and rejected, but now they will be restored, cherished, and embraced again by their God.
Finally, we see more evidence of a theme that pulses through all of scripture: relationship. The change that God’s people are promised is not just scenery, you see. It is not adequately captured in just geographic location, military security, and economic prosperity. No, the ultimate expression of God’s good will for his people is the intimacy of his relationship with them. They are his delight, they are married to him, and he lovingly, tenderly rejoices over them.
1 Corinthians 12:1-11
I wonder what the difference is between the number of people who could describe 1 Corinthians 13 and the number who could describe 1 Corinthians 12. The former is one of the most familiar chapters in the Bible. The latter, however, is not nearly so universally recognized.
This passage’s more famous neighbor is relevant to us today, for contrary to popular experience, the context for Paul’s celebrated love chapter was not a wedding ceremony. Rather, 1 Corinthians 13 stands in the middle of the apostle’s larger discussion about spiritual gifts. And this Sunday we have opportunity to explore that theme together.
It is interesting that Paul should begin this discussion the way he does. “Now concerning spiritual gifts, brothers and sisters,” he wrote, “I do not want you to be uninformed.” What the apostle said to the Christians in 1st-century Corinth is an equally appropriate word to our 21st-century congregations -- for so many of them are, in fact, uninformed on this subject, and Paul will help us to address that.
It is noteworthy that the first order of business is Christology. Before we turn our attention to miraculous works or anything a believer might say in different tongues, the matter of primary importance is this fundamental affirmation about Christ: Jesus is Lord. In a culture where there is a pressure to gloss over the differences between beliefs and religions, Jesus may be a source of embarrassment. And so we are tempted to downplay him or to domesticate him into just a good teacher and fine example. But Paul won’t let us do it. Our starting place is the lordship of Christ.
Why should this matter of doctrine be so prominent in a discussion of the spiritual gifts? Because Paul understands that the Spirit of God is not the only spirit at work in this fallen world. And if the church does not want to fall prey to a diabolical spirit, it must live under the influence of the one Spirit that prompts us to declare that Jesus is Lord.
Meanwhile, the apostle’s presentation of the gifts suggests Trinitarian imagery: “same Spirit,” “same Lord,” and “same God.” While Paul does not elaborate at length on each Person’s role, the mere allusion to it is beautiful. The members of the Trinity are not isolated, each doing his own thing. Instead they are in concert, unified in work and purpose. And as such, we are reminded that the church ought in this way to resemble its Lord -- “transcripts of the Trinity,”1 as Charles Wesley put it.
It is also interesting to note the vocabulary Paul uses to explore the subject. He references “varieties of gifts,” “varieties of services,” and “varieties of activities.” The unmistakable constant is “varieties,” to which we will give more thought below.
Next, Paul turns to the distribution of the gifts, and we observe that there is no monopoly here. We see no indication that any of our common human distinctions factor into giftedness. Money or education, gender or ethnicity, class or social status -- these are never mentioned. This person’s wallet and that person’s diploma do not entitle them to more or better gifts. No, for inasmuch as they are truly gifts, they do not reflect what we have earned or deserved. Rather, they reflect God’s grace, and his power.
At the funeral services for some saints I have known through the ages, I have heard a pastor or surviving family member make affectionate reference to the fruits of the Spirit. They read through the traits Paul lists in Galatians 5:22-23, and they observe that all of these were beautifully on display in the life of the dear departed. And I do not argue the point, for I believe that is the calling of every follower of Christ: to be re-created into his likeness. Each individual should be characterized, therefore, by all of the fruit of the Spirit.
No one individual, however, will possess all of the gifts of the Spirit. They are not for the individual, in that sense, but for the church. The lone believer is not complete by himself or herself any more than the body of Christ is complete with a single part. No, we complement each other, and we are only complete together.
John 2:1-11
The Galilean village of Cana was only about five miles from Jesus’ hometown of Nazareth. It is easy to imagine, therefore, how familiar he and his family may have been with that town, and how many people there may have known him personally. That proximity and familiarity are important to set the stage for what follows.
We are accustomed to reading the synoptic gospels’ accounts of Jesus’ ministry and the ever-present multitudes that surrounded him. Those crowds so often seem driven by Jesus’ miracles. Yet John tells us that this episode in Cana was Jesus’ first miracle. His invitation to this wedding, therefore, was not marked by the kinds of expectations that greeted him everywhere else. Instead, this was certainly a personal invitation.
The presence of Jesus’ mother reinforces the likelihood of a friendship between the families. Indeed, it may be that the disciples were the tag-alongs at this event. Yet it was important that they were there, for this episode was pivotal in their belief in Jesus.
The Fourth Gospel is not so generous with its miracle accounts as the other three. Matthew, Mark, and Luke offer miracle accounts in abundance, including generic references to “bulk” miracles, if you will (Matthew 14:36, Mark 6:56, Luke 6:18-19). John, however, is more sparing. He does not pretend to report everything Jesus did (John 21:25), but rather he is selective about the miracles that he recounts.
Students of John’s gospel quickly observe the author’s methodology. For him, each miracle is revealing. We, along with the other characters in the story, know more about Jesus because of the signs he performs. And so John completes this episode with the conclusion that by this sign Jesus “revealed his glory,” and that in turn led to belief in his disciples.
The scene is marked by several kinds of beauty. We are impressed, for example, by Mary. Clearly, she has a sense for the capacity of her son. It’s not that she asks him to do something in particular, and we can only guess what she thought he might do. But she knew enough to turn to him when there was a need, and that is an exemplary and fundamental faith.
There is also the beauty of the provision within its social context. We all know the anxiety of hosting an event, only to fear that something major is going wrong. It’s not a genuine tragedy; we know that. It’s not the end of the world. But it is a terrible embarrassment, and we feel that we are disappointing both the people and the occasion. This was surely the apprehension at that moment in Cana when the wine was gone before the wedding festivities were over. Yet Jesus stepped in and set things right.
Healing the blind, casting out demons, and raising the dead seem like more noble miracles, do they not? This matter seems comparatively trivial. Yet such is the scope of God’s heart -- the God who numbers the hairs on our heads and knows when a sparrow falls. That he is unfathomably big does not detract from his interest in the small. And so we catch a glimpse of his heart when we see him work a “small” miracle.
Also, there is the beauty of quality. Not only does Jesus meet the need, he meets it well. He doesn’t just provide wine, he provides the finest wine. Fanny Crosby was right when she happily testified, “Jesus doeth all things well.”2
Finally, we are reminded in this passage that John is an incredibly sophisticated writer. He is more like a composer of a symphony, for he employs recurring motifs, and they can be heard woven into each movement (or pericope) within his gospel. A study of any individual story is a study of the whole, and this particular passage is an excellent case in point. We observe in these few verses the characteristically Johannine themes of Jesus’ hour, signs, glory, and belief. These all tie us to the larger whole of John’s gospel. And each is central to his revelation of Jesus.
Application
The difference between the internal and the external is a great theme in Jesus’ ministry. He makes the distinction in explaining what defiles a person (Matthew 15:10-20). He laments that the Pharisees fixate on the external cleanness while neglecting inner matters (Matthew 23:27; Luke 11:39). And his diagnosis of the disciples’ failure at Gethsemane, likewise, points to a dichotomy between the internal and the external (Mark 14:38).
We human beings, creatures of the flesh that we are, tend to be preoccupied with the external, the superficial. Yet we did not come to life when we were just formed dust, but only when God breathed into us (Genesis 2:7). Accordingly, he reminded Samuel that he looks at people differently than we tend to (1 Samuel 16:7). And David affirmed that the real repentance God desires is inner rather than outer (Psalm 51:6, 10, 16-17).
So it was that, at Cana in Galilee, Jesus famously turned water into wine. The switch that he made, however, was not merely an exchange of beverages. The water was not drinking water, and so Jesus did not replace one kind of drink with another. Instead, he replaced something external with something internal. And that continues to be his will and his work in our lives as well.
Alternative Application
1 Corinthians 12:1-11. “Variety Hour” “Vanity of vanities! All is vanity!” (Ecclesiastes 1:2) -- that is the familiar lament of Ecclesiastes. The author, whose credentials reflect a man who had seen it all and done it all, looked at the world around him and saw that it was all vanity.
It’s a grim sort of verdict, to be sure. As he makes his sorrowful case, we are forced to admit that his logic is sound. Still, we sense that there must be some other, better way to look at life and its component parts.
Perhaps the apostle Paul offers a helpful alternative. “Variety of varieties,” he might exclaim. “All is variety!” For when Paul explores for the Corinthians the gifts of the Spirit, “varieties” is a recurring theme.
Paul teaches that there are “varieties of gifts,” “varieties of services,” and “varieties of activities.” The language suggests a great plethora. It is an image of superabundance. And it prompts one to think of the variety found in nature -- that is, in God’s creation.
The more that we learn about both the world in which we live and the universe in which that world is located, the more we see of variety. The variety of colors, which beautify land, sky, and space. The variety of species that inhabit the world around us, including new discoveries that are made all of the time. And then we observe with wonder the fantastic variety even within any given species. I am reminded of our oldest daughter, who when she was young and asked what her favorite color was replied “Rainbow!” So it is that the creator who fashioned such a world as this favors variety.
The underlying Greek word Paul employs, diairesis, belongs exclusively to him within the context of the New Testament. Indeed, it belongs exclusively to this passage. While the Greek translators of the Old Testament used it frequently in the Septuagint, the word is found only three times in the entire New Testament: here in this discussion of the spiritual gifts.
In the Septuagint, the word is employed primarily by the Chronicler, and he uses it to mean “divisions.” You may recall that that ancient author is very concerned with the organization that Kings David and Solomon brought to the priesthood, the temple, and the military. And it is within that context of the division of labor, then, that we find this Greek word repeatedly employed.
That Old Testament usage brings a helpful insight to what Paul is saying to the Corinthians -- and, by extension, to us. You recall that orderliness in worship was among Paul’s concerns as he wrote to that congregation “for God is a God not of disorder but of peace” (1 Corinthians 14:33). And the apostle offers that corrective in the midst of his larger discussion about the gifts of the Spirit. A number of the gifts are expected to be a part of the Corinthians’ worship experience, but Paul is concerned that they be employed properly. If they combine to make chaos, then they neither reflect nor honor the God who is being worshiped.
And so the picture that Paul paints for us of spiritual gifts and their role in the church is a profound combination of truths. There is superabundance, but not chaos. There is magnificent variety, but not cacophony. What God is creating within his church reminds us of what he has created in the natural world, for it is a well-ordered splendor.
One chapter later, John will recall Jesus’ teaching about the need to be born of both water and the Spirit. A chapter after that, he will report Jesus’ words to the woman at the well about living water that quenches eternally. One more chapter later, we will be introduced to a crippled man who is looking for healing in the water of Bethzatha.
Taken all together, we observe an interesting pattern in all of this water. Some of it is external and some of it is internal, and the external water seems always to be inadequate. The living water that Jesus offers to the Samaritan woman is an inner reality, and Jesus promises that it “will become in (those that drink of it) a spring,” and thus they “will never be thirsty again” (John 4:14). The external water of natural birth about which Jesus speaks with Nicodemus, on the other hand, is insufficient, for a person must be born again, must be born of the Spirit, as well. And the water to which the crippled man looked for healing was always out of his reach, and he found his healing in Christ instead.
That brings us back to the water that was in those six stone jars in Cana. It was not drinking water, you see. Rather, John tells us that it was “for the Jewish rites of purification,” an external thing.
Isaiah 62:1-5
We all remember from our seminary studies the theories about Isaiah’s multiple authors. This will likely be unfamiliar to the people in our pews, and it will not be a profitable use of our precious pulpit time to try to explain it. Suffice it to say, though, that the present text assumes a certain historical context, and that context deserves to be introduced.
Invite your people to imagine watching a play in a theater. To this moment, the play has been a drama -- specifically, a tragedy. But now the audience is about to watch a scene change unfold right before their eyes. Before we can appreciate that scene change, however, we need to catch a glimpse of the two preceding scenes.
First, the scene was Jerusalem. We see the glorious temple of Solomon painted on the backdrop. But in the foreground, the stage was filled with enemy soldiers -- a Babylonian army that dwarfed defenders of Jerusalem and overwhelmed its inhabitants. Their mouths were full of boasts and their hands full of destruction. We can hardly bear to watch as they destroy everything on stage, mercilessly kill so many of the other characters, and set fire to the temple backdrop. As the lights go out on the Jerusalem stage, we see the silhouettes of broken and defeated Jerusalem citizens being led offstage to the east by the victorious Babylonians.
When the lights come up again, it’s a new and very different scene. We don’t recognize anything. The architecture is different. The landscape is different. And we cannot read any of the writing or understand any of the spoken words. The Jews are captives in Babylon. And amid the cacophony of unintelligible speech, we watch the Jewish exiles live and work, give birth and die, on the foreign stage.
Then, into that scene of misery, a strong and familiar voice speaks. It is the voice of the unseen director, calling out instructions from beyond the confines of the stage. He’s calling for a scene change, and it is marvelous to hear.
This week’s Old Testament lection is God’s good news for his post-exilic people. He is calling for a scene change. It is a refreshing and total reversal from the misery of the preceding scene and the devastation of the one before that.
Salvation and vindication are early themes that set the pace. The former reflects God’s intervention on behalf of his otherwise helpless people. The latter recalls that the people’s troubles have not been experienced in isolation but rather on an international stage.
The tables are being turned. Previously, Jerusalem’s shame and defeat had been seen by all, but now the nations will observe the glory and honor of God’s people. Previously, they had been punished and rejected, but now they will be restored, cherished, and embraced again by their God.
Finally, we see more evidence of a theme that pulses through all of scripture: relationship. The change that God’s people are promised is not just scenery, you see. It is not adequately captured in just geographic location, military security, and economic prosperity. No, the ultimate expression of God’s good will for his people is the intimacy of his relationship with them. They are his delight, they are married to him, and he lovingly, tenderly rejoices over them.
1 Corinthians 12:1-11
I wonder what the difference is between the number of people who could describe 1 Corinthians 13 and the number who could describe 1 Corinthians 12. The former is one of the most familiar chapters in the Bible. The latter, however, is not nearly so universally recognized.
This passage’s more famous neighbor is relevant to us today, for contrary to popular experience, the context for Paul’s celebrated love chapter was not a wedding ceremony. Rather, 1 Corinthians 13 stands in the middle of the apostle’s larger discussion about spiritual gifts. And this Sunday we have opportunity to explore that theme together.
It is interesting that Paul should begin this discussion the way he does. “Now concerning spiritual gifts, brothers and sisters,” he wrote, “I do not want you to be uninformed.” What the apostle said to the Christians in 1st-century Corinth is an equally appropriate word to our 21st-century congregations -- for so many of them are, in fact, uninformed on this subject, and Paul will help us to address that.
It is noteworthy that the first order of business is Christology. Before we turn our attention to miraculous works or anything a believer might say in different tongues, the matter of primary importance is this fundamental affirmation about Christ: Jesus is Lord. In a culture where there is a pressure to gloss over the differences between beliefs and religions, Jesus may be a source of embarrassment. And so we are tempted to downplay him or to domesticate him into just a good teacher and fine example. But Paul won’t let us do it. Our starting place is the lordship of Christ.
Why should this matter of doctrine be so prominent in a discussion of the spiritual gifts? Because Paul understands that the Spirit of God is not the only spirit at work in this fallen world. And if the church does not want to fall prey to a diabolical spirit, it must live under the influence of the one Spirit that prompts us to declare that Jesus is Lord.
Meanwhile, the apostle’s presentation of the gifts suggests Trinitarian imagery: “same Spirit,” “same Lord,” and “same God.” While Paul does not elaborate at length on each Person’s role, the mere allusion to it is beautiful. The members of the Trinity are not isolated, each doing his own thing. Instead they are in concert, unified in work and purpose. And as such, we are reminded that the church ought in this way to resemble its Lord -- “transcripts of the Trinity,”1 as Charles Wesley put it.
It is also interesting to note the vocabulary Paul uses to explore the subject. He references “varieties of gifts,” “varieties of services,” and “varieties of activities.” The unmistakable constant is “varieties,” to which we will give more thought below.
Next, Paul turns to the distribution of the gifts, and we observe that there is no monopoly here. We see no indication that any of our common human distinctions factor into giftedness. Money or education, gender or ethnicity, class or social status -- these are never mentioned. This person’s wallet and that person’s diploma do not entitle them to more or better gifts. No, for inasmuch as they are truly gifts, they do not reflect what we have earned or deserved. Rather, they reflect God’s grace, and his power.
At the funeral services for some saints I have known through the ages, I have heard a pastor or surviving family member make affectionate reference to the fruits of the Spirit. They read through the traits Paul lists in Galatians 5:22-23, and they observe that all of these were beautifully on display in the life of the dear departed. And I do not argue the point, for I believe that is the calling of every follower of Christ: to be re-created into his likeness. Each individual should be characterized, therefore, by all of the fruit of the Spirit.
No one individual, however, will possess all of the gifts of the Spirit. They are not for the individual, in that sense, but for the church. The lone believer is not complete by himself or herself any more than the body of Christ is complete with a single part. No, we complement each other, and we are only complete together.
John 2:1-11
The Galilean village of Cana was only about five miles from Jesus’ hometown of Nazareth. It is easy to imagine, therefore, how familiar he and his family may have been with that town, and how many people there may have known him personally. That proximity and familiarity are important to set the stage for what follows.
We are accustomed to reading the synoptic gospels’ accounts of Jesus’ ministry and the ever-present multitudes that surrounded him. Those crowds so often seem driven by Jesus’ miracles. Yet John tells us that this episode in Cana was Jesus’ first miracle. His invitation to this wedding, therefore, was not marked by the kinds of expectations that greeted him everywhere else. Instead, this was certainly a personal invitation.
The presence of Jesus’ mother reinforces the likelihood of a friendship between the families. Indeed, it may be that the disciples were the tag-alongs at this event. Yet it was important that they were there, for this episode was pivotal in their belief in Jesus.
The Fourth Gospel is not so generous with its miracle accounts as the other three. Matthew, Mark, and Luke offer miracle accounts in abundance, including generic references to “bulk” miracles, if you will (Matthew 14:36, Mark 6:56, Luke 6:18-19). John, however, is more sparing. He does not pretend to report everything Jesus did (John 21:25), but rather he is selective about the miracles that he recounts.
Students of John’s gospel quickly observe the author’s methodology. For him, each miracle is revealing. We, along with the other characters in the story, know more about Jesus because of the signs he performs. And so John completes this episode with the conclusion that by this sign Jesus “revealed his glory,” and that in turn led to belief in his disciples.
The scene is marked by several kinds of beauty. We are impressed, for example, by Mary. Clearly, she has a sense for the capacity of her son. It’s not that she asks him to do something in particular, and we can only guess what she thought he might do. But she knew enough to turn to him when there was a need, and that is an exemplary and fundamental faith.
There is also the beauty of the provision within its social context. We all know the anxiety of hosting an event, only to fear that something major is going wrong. It’s not a genuine tragedy; we know that. It’s not the end of the world. But it is a terrible embarrassment, and we feel that we are disappointing both the people and the occasion. This was surely the apprehension at that moment in Cana when the wine was gone before the wedding festivities were over. Yet Jesus stepped in and set things right.
Healing the blind, casting out demons, and raising the dead seem like more noble miracles, do they not? This matter seems comparatively trivial. Yet such is the scope of God’s heart -- the God who numbers the hairs on our heads and knows when a sparrow falls. That he is unfathomably big does not detract from his interest in the small. And so we catch a glimpse of his heart when we see him work a “small” miracle.
Also, there is the beauty of quality. Not only does Jesus meet the need, he meets it well. He doesn’t just provide wine, he provides the finest wine. Fanny Crosby was right when she happily testified, “Jesus doeth all things well.”2
Finally, we are reminded in this passage that John is an incredibly sophisticated writer. He is more like a composer of a symphony, for he employs recurring motifs, and they can be heard woven into each movement (or pericope) within his gospel. A study of any individual story is a study of the whole, and this particular passage is an excellent case in point. We observe in these few verses the characteristically Johannine themes of Jesus’ hour, signs, glory, and belief. These all tie us to the larger whole of John’s gospel. And each is central to his revelation of Jesus.
Application
The difference between the internal and the external is a great theme in Jesus’ ministry. He makes the distinction in explaining what defiles a person (Matthew 15:10-20). He laments that the Pharisees fixate on the external cleanness while neglecting inner matters (Matthew 23:27; Luke 11:39). And his diagnosis of the disciples’ failure at Gethsemane, likewise, points to a dichotomy between the internal and the external (Mark 14:38).
We human beings, creatures of the flesh that we are, tend to be preoccupied with the external, the superficial. Yet we did not come to life when we were just formed dust, but only when God breathed into us (Genesis 2:7). Accordingly, he reminded Samuel that he looks at people differently than we tend to (1 Samuel 16:7). And David affirmed that the real repentance God desires is inner rather than outer (Psalm 51:6, 10, 16-17).
So it was that, at Cana in Galilee, Jesus famously turned water into wine. The switch that he made, however, was not merely an exchange of beverages. The water was not drinking water, and so Jesus did not replace one kind of drink with another. Instead, he replaced something external with something internal. And that continues to be his will and his work in our lives as well.
Alternative Application
1 Corinthians 12:1-11. “Variety Hour” “Vanity of vanities! All is vanity!” (Ecclesiastes 1:2) -- that is the familiar lament of Ecclesiastes. The author, whose credentials reflect a man who had seen it all and done it all, looked at the world around him and saw that it was all vanity.
It’s a grim sort of verdict, to be sure. As he makes his sorrowful case, we are forced to admit that his logic is sound. Still, we sense that there must be some other, better way to look at life and its component parts.
Perhaps the apostle Paul offers a helpful alternative. “Variety of varieties,” he might exclaim. “All is variety!” For when Paul explores for the Corinthians the gifts of the Spirit, “varieties” is a recurring theme.
Paul teaches that there are “varieties of gifts,” “varieties of services,” and “varieties of activities.” The language suggests a great plethora. It is an image of superabundance. And it prompts one to think of the variety found in nature -- that is, in God’s creation.
The more that we learn about both the world in which we live and the universe in which that world is located, the more we see of variety. The variety of colors, which beautify land, sky, and space. The variety of species that inhabit the world around us, including new discoveries that are made all of the time. And then we observe with wonder the fantastic variety even within any given species. I am reminded of our oldest daughter, who when she was young and asked what her favorite color was replied “Rainbow!” So it is that the creator who fashioned such a world as this favors variety.
The underlying Greek word Paul employs, diairesis, belongs exclusively to him within the context of the New Testament. Indeed, it belongs exclusively to this passage. While the Greek translators of the Old Testament used it frequently in the Septuagint, the word is found only three times in the entire New Testament: here in this discussion of the spiritual gifts.
In the Septuagint, the word is employed primarily by the Chronicler, and he uses it to mean “divisions.” You may recall that that ancient author is very concerned with the organization that Kings David and Solomon brought to the priesthood, the temple, and the military. And it is within that context of the division of labor, then, that we find this Greek word repeatedly employed.
That Old Testament usage brings a helpful insight to what Paul is saying to the Corinthians -- and, by extension, to us. You recall that orderliness in worship was among Paul’s concerns as he wrote to that congregation “for God is a God not of disorder but of peace” (1 Corinthians 14:33). And the apostle offers that corrective in the midst of his larger discussion about the gifts of the Spirit. A number of the gifts are expected to be a part of the Corinthians’ worship experience, but Paul is concerned that they be employed properly. If they combine to make chaos, then they neither reflect nor honor the God who is being worshiped.
And so the picture that Paul paints for us of spiritual gifts and their role in the church is a profound combination of truths. There is superabundance, but not chaos. There is magnificent variety, but not cacophony. What God is creating within his church reminds us of what he has created in the natural world, for it is a well-ordered splendor.
