But even in the part of the letter we read out loud today, there is much political incorrectness. It is, without a doubt, an argument for the superiority of the Christian faith. It chastises the Hebraic peoples for still having “a veil over their minds” when the law is read. And it also says that if the gospel itself is veiled to someone who’s hearing it, it is because that person is actually a lost soul. This argument indicates that the message of scripture itself is limited without the correct hearing of it. There’s something here about having an open mind that Paul wants us to understand, and he’s not very tactful in the ways he says it.

However, give Christianity a couple thousand years, and are we anywhere closer to understanding what it means to have the truth unveiled before us? These strange passages about the clarity of the gospel and the unveiling of the truth, and the spirit that we will just know when we’ve got the right mind, are still, alas, confusing to us. I can’t imagine that people that long ago were any smarter or more insightful than people are today. We’ve been studying the Bible a lot longer. The Corinthians just got this notice in the mail. And yet we continue to strive today for elusive religious goals like “letting our light shine in the darkness.”

But it is out of difficult passages like these from which come the important questions of faith like: Is the truth of God still veiled before us, or are we capable of living in the freedom of Christ? By looking at scripture we can begin to get at the meaning of this veil – sort of, with limited understanding. My temptation is to say that people who are still veiled to the good news are people who don’t think much about their faith, whose knee jerk reactions fail to grasp the subtleties of scripture. They blindly follow in lock step with their religious leader, and questioning their faith becomes taboo. But see, that reveals my own prejudice as someone who relishes in the open study and questioning of our faith. Doubting Thomas and I would be like this. (Tight)

But what if the veil is something else? What if the veil represents not believing deep enough? What if it means that I have simply not given enough of myself over to the ministry of Jesus Christ? What if I’m still in that “condemnation” mode when someone asks me whether or not I’ve accepted Jesus Christ as my personal Savior? Perhaps in my open-mindedness, I haven’t left room enough for Christ to win over my heart. Paul does not hedge his bets on the “true faith” so to speak. He goes from being a persecutor of Christians to becoming one – and that’s worse than a previous smoker that gets on the kick of making places “non-smoking.” He’s not going to let up on us. Yes, lifting the veil means being open to God’s love for all people rather than blindly following rules, and yes lifting the veil means placing all our hope in Jesus Christ.

So how can we begin to live as though the veil is lifted? That’s the big important question – both for the Corinthians and for us. Not surprisingly, Paul talks a lot about the behavior of believers and how that might be different from the behavior of unbelievers. In our particular church that has prided itself on being tolerant of many things, it’s hard sometimes to hear that behavior matters – but it does – a lot. The problem is than when an open-minded church like ours talks about the importance of Christian behavior, it tends to go to great and painful lengths to try not to hurt anyone’s feelings. I understand that. Many of Paul’s lists of do’s and don’ts read like the “ministry of death” for me just as he was getting frustrated with the meticulous adherence to the law he saw in his former community of worship.

Nevertheless, I think that progressive, open-minded, diverse congregations of Christian believers – however you prefer to classify who we are – need to say more about why we are trying to live the Christian life and about why it even matters. We can’t do that without talking about why we do what we do and how we do what we do. The whys may be a little easier. We give, we serve, we care because God first loved us, and because Jesus called us to love one another. The “how” is where we need to pay attention. I think everyone here wants to be loving and kind, patient and good, wise and encouraging to others. But we mess up. Here’s where we get to Paul’s “treasure in clay jars” part.

We are not perfect. The little bit of perfection that rubs off on us from Jesus is imperfect because God chose to put that glimmer of light into something as fragile and easily breakable as clay jars. One of these days, I’m going to take a class and learn how to make beautiful clay jars in my spare time, but for now, I can look out into the eyes of who showed up today and see those very same works of art. We have such potential to nurture each other, to see the good, to compliment the beauty, and yet at times we come crashing dead into someone’s handle or spout. Paul reminds us elsewhere in scripture that we are to hold to the covenant of Christian community in ways not unlike the loving commitment we make when we say “I do” to our spouse. We know that the vows we take get casually trounced on from time to time, but our only recourse is forgiveness, and trusting enough to love again.

The unwritten behavioral covenants that we make with one another in coming to this community are subtle, not the big regulations carved in stone. We know the biggies – don’t kill, don’t steal, don’t lie, be faithful to family relationships. But are we clear about honoring one another’s presence in this family of faith? Sometimes we are, sometimes we aren’t. Our egos get the better of us and we promote our own way as the only right way. We hurt each other with our words and are too embarrassed to ask for forgiveness. We don’t listen as well as we should before talking. We tell tales we ought not to tell. We share embellishments of the truth that suit our own purposes. We jump all over someone else’s mistake. We fragment the body in ways that lower the veil back over our eyes as if we had not learned the responsibility that comes with the freedom we share in Jesus.

Jesus came to free us from all the old bindings to be sure. He loosened the ways in which we practiced our religion with regulation and condemnation. He taught love and forgiveness in place of obedience and fear. He freed us from so many things, but he didn’t free us so that we could have clear consciences in wounding one another. The larger church is amazingly hurtful these days. The aggression at which people on differing sides of whatever fence lob rocks at each other is something that rips at my heart. But we learn those games at the local level. We learn how to get our own way at home before we start carrying that divisive spirit out into the world.

We need to know that truth about ourselves before we can hear Paul when he encourages the Corinthians in grace and thanksgiving, “So we do not lose heart,” he says. It’s easy to lose heart in the wake of hostility, especially when that wake is generated in an environment we presume to be safe – like the church. But we need to treat one another gently, even when we’ve been hurt. As Nietzsche once said, “Beware when you fight a dragon, lest you become a dragon.” Even as we discipline one another, that discipline must be done in love, or else we end up as dragons blowing fire at one another, and burning up our friends in the general vicinity.

Paul knew then what we know now. Living the Christian life, especially living the unveiled Christian life, won’t be easy. It’s particularly hard for those who keep their treasures in clay jars. But one thing I’m sure of is that we can’t do it alone. Paul did not write a scathing letter to the mayor of Corinth directly chastizing the troublemakers in the community. He wrote to everyone in the church – through tears and through gladness. We all have to hear that there’s work to do in becoming the Body of Christ. Together, let’s lift the veil that prevents us from recognizing God’s glory in our midst.

Amen.