1 Corinthians 9:1-27 · The Rights of an Apostle
What Are You Going to Do with My World?
1 Corinthians 9:1-27
Sermon
by Fredrick R. Harm
Loading...

A friend tells of his son who asked for a globe of the world as one of his Christmas gifts last year. Of course his parents were pleased to purchase something so useful for their child. So many Christmas lists leave much to be desired! The boy thoroughly enjoyed his gift and kept it on a small table in his bedroom. One evening his parents were discussing the fact that so many of our clothing items are imported from foreign countries. The wife recalled that a recently purchased scarf had come from Sri Lanka. Neither of the parents could recall where Sri Lanka was located. The father, wanting to clear up the matter, went to the boy's room, picked up the globe and began to carry it out. As he was leaving he heard his son inquire, "Daddy, what are you going to do with my world?" The father explained briefly and continued on. In case you were wondering, they located Sri Lanka just off the southern coast of India. Later, when the father was alone, his son's words took on a more profound meaning, "Daddy, what are you going to do with my world?" Perhaps this is a question more of us parents ought to take to heart: what are we going to do with our children's world? 

The New Testament describes the life of the writer of today's text; he was one who did something about his world. Acts chapter 17 records it for us. Paul and his friend Silas had come to Thessalonica, anxious to share the gospel with the people there. After a short time, one of the residents who was not pleased with what Paul was doing and saying complained to one of the local authorities, "These who have turned the world upside down have come to our city also." It was meant to vilify Paul and his companion, but it was actually a supreme compliment. Paul's message did turn lives upside down; to state it better, it turned lives right side up! 

In our text for today, Paul explains his modus operandi for turning the world upside down. "I am made all things to all people, that I might by all means save some" (v. 22). The word "save" is the one I want to focus upon today. It has a much larger meaning in scripture than we usually assign to it. Our first thought is that it refers to our being freed from God's wrath; in other instances it refers to "wholeness" or restored health, as in the case of the woman mentioned in Matthew 9:20, where Jesus says, "Your faith has made you whole [saved you]." Our task today is to explore what Paul means by his word "save" and see how it relates to us in the year 2005. 

To begin with, the word certainly suggests what we have been saved from. When we use the Word, we instinctively think of being saved from sin, or lostness, or punishment in a life to come. All of this is profoundly true. Sin is a reality. Life as we live it has eternal consequences. It would be folly to deny this; but we also need to be aware of what scripture means by the word "sin." Let's spend some time looking at that ugly word which we find so difficult, and sometimes infuriating, to understand: sin! What is it, this thing from which, we are told, Christ saves us? The Christian faith has always looked upon sin as something far more serious than a catalog of immoralities. You are cruel to your parents, you commit adultery, you steal money from the company where you work, you deliberately lie about something, you destroy your neighbor's property -- these are sins. You are not to take them lightly. But our Christian faith is troubled by something more serious than these. It sees that humankind, made in the image of God, has willfully spoiled that image. So this is the essence of sin, that humankind, made in the image of God, has made itself into the kind of persons who can do the things we've just mentioned. And the list can go on and on. We have only to look at Jesus, the model man, to see the measure by which we have spoiled the image, the distance we have fallen from being the creatures God intended us to be. The closer we come to Christ, the more we understand the precious worth of a human soul with its capacity to respond to the love that is at the heart of all creation. And the more precious we discover life to be, the more terrible the fact of human sin becomes. 

Robert Luccock offers an excellent analogy.1 Suppose I hold a cup in my hand. At first glance it looks like any other cup -- perhaps like one purchased at a local dollar store. If I were to drop it, the breakage would be unimportant. It would be just another broken cup. In other words, I do not take that cup very seriously. But suppose this cup were a piece of Limoges china, not easily replaced at any price. To anyone who knows and loves fine china, destroying that cup would be shocking. Why? Because of the value of what was broken. Now think of the souls of men and women like us in a way comparable to the way lovers of china would evaluate the Limoges cup in my hand. But now suppose I deliberately smash the cup on the floor! This is precisely what sin does. Not that I have broken the cup, but that I have broken the image of God in myself in the way that I broke the cup. This is what I mean by the terrible nature of what sin is and what sin does. 

This breaking of the image of God disturbs us because through the love of Christ revealed at the cross, we know what a human soul is worth. Human souls are not manufactured and sold at some celestial Walmart! We were bought at a much greater price. Jesus Christ, born in Bethlehem, crucified under Pontius Pilate, and raised from the dead by the power of God can and does "save" us from the power of sin. Moreover, he offers us, in his Word and sacraments, the means by which every one of us may see that defaced image progressively restored to the usefulness and splendor it was meant to display. Dear people, never lose sight of the awesome power of the cross! There, as nowhere else, you behold not only Christ's matchless love but also your own personal worth in the sight of God. It has power to turn your world upside down! 

But there is more than this to God's "saving" activity. Not only does God save us from something, God also saves us for something! 

Once the saving grace of Christ enters the life of a person, he is a new person, life is turned upside down! That grace becomes in him, among other things, a loving concern for the needs of others. E. Stanley Jones tells how, when an epidemic swept though his district in India, he asked two Brahmin saints to leave their wayside meditations and join him in helping the diseased and dying. "We are holy men," they said, "we don't help anyone." Not so with one who is touched by the grace of Christ. He helps. He reaches out. He serves. He longs to share what he has found. 

Return to our text again. In the short space of five sentences, Paul repeats four words no less than five times: "That I may win." These four words appear like a dominating theme of a great symphony. It is not only the dominating theme of the paragraph, it is the compelling theme, the high music of his whole life. No language is strong enough to describe it. He had found so much in Christ that he could not bear to have others live -- and die -- without it. Christ for him was life, pardon, peace, and power. Without Christ others did not really live, they merely existed. Historian H. G. Wells echoed the same conviction: "Until a man has found God, and has been found by him, he begins at no beginning and works to no end." Paul would have agreed, and we assent as well. Paul's passion was -- and ours should be -- "that by all means I may save some." Perhaps one or more may be saved from unbelief and eternal loss, but all will be saved for a life that has meaning and purpose, a life that has found the secret for facing life in the present and all that the future holds, as well! As one has put it, "We do not know what the future holds but we do know who holds the future." 

I know not where the Islands lift, their fronded palms in air
I only know I cannot drift beyond HIS love and care! 

And he is ours -- and we are his! This truth the Christian finds too good to be kept for himself alone. It must be shared in one way or another. 

What we are referring to is sometimes included in the term "evangelism." During the Epiphany season many congregations set aside a Sunday and designate it as Evangelism Sunday, Friendship Sunday, or Good News Sunday. This day provides members the opportunity for inviting unchurched neighbors and friends to visit their church. It is the hope and prayer of the congregation that Christ's love will so impress these guests that they will desire more. It also gives concerned members a taste of the joy that comes in sharing with another person the sense of fulfillment they have discovered in Christ. It is a thrilling moment when one person can take the hand of another and place it in the hand of God. The joy of reaching another is vividly put, in a medical setting, by psychiatrist Samuel Howe. He spent uncounted hours "fishing," so to speak, in the dark stream of blindness, deafness, and dumbness, hoping to bring a little girl, Laura Bridgman, to self-consciousness. He tells the story. "I worked patiently for three months without a 'nibble,' then there came a tug, and up came the soul of Laura Bridgman." "Up came the soul" -- that's great fishing! A similar joy comes to those who reach out, in love, to bring a wandering friend to the lover of his soul. But what does one say in this happy encounter? How do we respond when an uncommitted friend asks, "What's so important about this thing called 'religion'?" Permit me to suggest a few sentences that we may use to provoke some interest and further discussion. "What is so important about religion? Quite frankly, Christ has changed my past, my present, and my future and he promises to do the same for each person who trusts him. Will you permit me to tell you why?" 

Christ changes our past. That seems quite impossible at first, doesn't it? The past is a closed book. We have written what we have written. We wish we could change a few pages or even rip them out because they are not pleasant reading. All of us have what W. E. Orchard described as "those sad turned pages, which some chance wind of memory blows back again with shame." In a word, we are sinners. But God says to the human race: "Take my life. I give it to you. And hand your life over to me so I can carry your sin away." Here again we see the meaning of Christ's cross. There the matter was settled. There our past was cancelled out. There we stand forgiven. 

Christ also changes our present. God says to each of us in effect, "Identify yourself with Christ, his life, death, and resurrection, and that will change everything." It will change your present circumstance because it will change you, make you a different person with a new mind and hence a new way of looking at life, new eyes that can see in all the old tasks and relationships hidden glimpses of loveliness and meaning. That brilliant soul Henry Thoreau once said: "How many a man has dated a new era in his life from the reading of a book." Indeed many have, but each Christian can affirm that he has dated a new era in his life when Christ was embraced as Savior and Friend. 

Christ is also the One who changes our future. We said earlier, "But we know who holds the future." This becomes increasingly critical at that point in life when we sense that our time is running out. The past gets larger and the future gets smaller, like the sand in the top of an egg timer, until one day the last grain has dropped and none are left. What then of the future? At that point, the fact of Christ's victory over death becomes the most important fact in all human history. Here is the historical event of a man whose friends saw him after he was dead, because in him the power of death was impotent. It could not hold him. And he and he alone, says to us: "Because I live, you will live also" (John 14:18). 

After World War II, during the Nuremberg war-crime trials, a witness appeared who had lived for a time in a Jewish cemetery in Poland. It was the only place where he and many others could hide after they had escaped from the gas chambers. During this time he wrote poetry, and in one poem described an unusual birth. In one of the graves, a young woman, assisted by an old gravedigger, gave birth to a baby. When the infant uttered his first cry, the old man prayed, "Great God, hast thou finally sent the Messiah to us? For who else than a Messiah can be born in a grave?" The old grave-digger spoke the truth in a larger sense than he realized. The Messiah, Christ, was born in a graveyard from which he came forth on Easter Day to fill the world with his presence and to assure an anxious world that death had been defeated forever! And if we are Christ's men and women, the grave is not the place of our death but the place of our birth. We don't die there; we are born there. Our future in eternity has begun.2 

There you have it, dear people, our life, our sin, and our Savior. I wonder, can you begin to hear God asking, "What are you going to do with my world?" I can! Amen!


1. The Power of His Name (New York: Harper and Brothers, Publishers, 1960), p. 24.

2. For many of the final insights I am indebted to an unpublished message by A. Leonard Griffith; however the story of the Nuremberg Trial and the child born in a graveyard comes from a sermon by Paul Tillich, "Born in a Grave" found in his book The Shaking of the Foundations.

CSS Publishing, Sermons for Sundays in Advent, by Fredrick R. Harm