January 17, 2010 Des Moines

TEXTS: 1 Corinthians 12:1-14

Many The Gifts

He had been working on it for the better part of the afternoon; the floor was dotted with the tools of his labor – green and blue, violet and peach, brick red and tan and yellow and black. Seated on his knees, he had hovered over his creation, sketching and shading this particular shape of his imagination. And now his discriminating hands are rifling through the old cigar box that holds the other crayons.

“Not this one; that's not it either.”

His mind is on one that he remembers: "It was in here yesterday," he mutters under his breath.

He would look for it forever; would rather leave the thing unfinished than ruin it with one that didn't fit. It doesn't really look like much. It's a little nub of a thing, no bigger than a bullet, which has long since lost the paper wrapping that labeled it. There are others longer and sharper, but right now that doesn’t matter very much; like a piece from a jigsaw puzzle, this one, this time, is the only one that fits.

It's not that he's a one-color bigot; he'll be searching for each of the other ones on other days, for other drawings incomplete when they will be just the touch that's needed. You have to have the whole box. No single one will do...

...As is true with people. All kinds of people; but in particular, your kind of people. You. We need the whole box. We talk a lot in the church about “seeing the good in other people” -- recognizing the worth and legitimacy of all those whom God has made in God’s own image, and as foundational truth, that notion is basic to what we are talking about to today. But I hear Paul suggesting more than simply the affirmation -- maybe even the abstract affirmation -- that all people have some kind of inherent worth.

Paul, I think, notices not simple worth, but contribution. As that imaginary box of crayons suggests, people contribute something unique to the vitality of the greater whole. Look inside that box of crayons and imagine that instead of the names of colors written on the paper wrapping, what appeared there was a person’s name. Imagine the variety you would find there, and the differences they would suggest: male, female, Anglo, Asian, African-American and Hispanic. But what I want you to find somewhere in this picture being drawn called life is the crayon that bears your name, and the uniqueness of the color that is no one but you.

That is something of the vision that Paul wants us to catch: that you are something essential to the picture. It is somehow smaller, duller, and less complete without you.

It's a truth that's easy to forget. The world, after all, is full of art critics, and we are always bumping into one who has a distaste for the color we happen to bring. Several years ago a story was told about a boy who every morning put on a sign that read “I am lovable and capable.” But as the day progressed, one person after another tore a little piece of that sign away. His mother, finding clothes left on the floor again, raising her voice to say in exasperation, “Can’t you do anything right. I’ve told you and told you to pick up your clothes.” His big brother, edging through the doorway first, jabbing back over his shoulder “speed it up, fatso.” The school bus driver, hollering back in his direction, “Can’t you hear? I said sit down.” Little by little, the words begin to disappear as the piece by piece the sign is torn away. Until by the end of the day, that glowing affirmation of personal worth and possibility is but a fragment, hanging on by the string.

There is so much "put down" around us -- language and actions, systems and processes -- that serve to deny the gifts that are present. What would it be like if, instead of tearing off by our put-downs and disregard the signs of lovability and capability worn by all the people with whom we come in contact, we went around tacking on exclamation points -- as if to demonstrate our concurrence; as if to affirm the gifts in the people around us? I know I spoke disparagingly a few weeks ago about the indiscriminate use of exclamation points, but this is where they belong. Wouldn’t that create a place more interesting and stimulating in which to live? Wouldn’t it also be a world more representative of the truth?

We recognize that kind of indebtedness in the church. The Church has survived over the ages not only because the intellectuals, the wealthy, the outstanding musicians and leaders have contributed, but because ordinary Christians have been blessed with a generous spirit, as well; giving the very best that God has given them. It is a spirit that inspires us to spend hours preparing to teach a church school class, preparing communion or arranging the cookies on the platter and brewing the coffee.

It is that spirit that moves us to bake a pie for a grieving family or to sit with another in the hospital; to share our faith and our church with a friend or to pick up a shut-in for worship; it is that spirit that moves us to use a week of the family's vacation to go on a mission trip, or to help serve a meal at the homeless shelter one evening. It is a spirit that inspires us to tithe, even when we need a new car; to write a check to help rebuild Haiti when there are rooms within our own home that could use some work as well. It is a spirit that inspires us to give of ourselves, because it helps us to realize that we really do have something to give.

Somehow something deep inside us knows that we are more ourselves when that generous spirit is prompting us; that they are our true colors shining through when we notice the blank spaces around us that we can fill. Somehow we just seem to know it is God's light that shines when the basket is lifted off, and the whole town begins to see, and in that light, a little more of the drawing is completed. The Realm of God has to do not simply with affirming the gifts -- the “contributability” -- of all God’s people. It has to do as well with affirming the gifts within ourselves.

Whether you have the gift of leadership or the ability to put into action the good ideas of others; whether your knowledge enables you to teach God's word or to repair the church furnace; whether your tithe could pay off the church's debt, or simply buy a church school booklet for one child, the self that you give is vital and important, and enough. Your special abilities are God's creation and you have a mark to make. None is insignificant -- we need the whole box -- sharp and new, broken and blunt, the picture needs every color -- or something will be lost. And there's much more yet to be drawn.

He still leans over the drawing, sketching and shading and shaping this piece of his imagination; the ground is dotted with the tools of his labor -- red and yellow, black and white; Antonio, Aaron, Jeff, and Maria; Mark and Luann, Susan and John -- the colors of people; beautiful and unique and each with a place in the picture. Give thanks for the special mark that you make, and never tire of making it. There's beauty to be drawn; grace to be outlined, and love to be shaded in, and God's hand is reaching in your direction. Affirm the gifts that are yours to give. Affirm as well the gifts in others that are there for you to receive. This piece of art called life desperately needs us all.

A COVENANTING BENEDICTION

Take the crayon you were handed as you entered. See in its particular color the gifts and shades that you represent. See in its length the potential that it represents. Take it with you, and keep it; display it on your dressing table or tape it to your refrigerator - wherever it might be frequently seen. Let it be a reminder of the color that is you, and the mark that you can make. Enjoy the colors around you, but also add your color to the rainbow that is this church - that is this life, that it might be colorfully, beautifully whole.