But oddly enough, as I attended more state-wide events in high school, I realized that there was one thing I hated more than being the "smart kid," and that was meeting kids who seemed smarter. In this particular context that included the Baltimore and D.C. suburbs, other students wanted to hear about how awful it was way out in the sticks, and at the time, I was eager to tell them. They told me about learning Japanese, and I told them about only having one language offered other than English, and that even correct English was tough to come by. Before summer camps, I didn’t even know about Advanced Placement classes, and my new suburban friends were amazed that only about six kids in my high school even made it to regular Physics. At those kinds of events, I was no longer the smart kid, but the redneck wonder. I started realizing that as smart as I might be at home, upon leaving home, I might be quickly dropping behind.

I wasn’t sure what to think of myself. Was I smart or not? If I kept up my grade point average by avoiding Calculus, would I still be competitive on the college circuit? Was being smart all that everyone seemed to make of it?

At college, I struggled with my identity again, with what classes to take, with what I wanted to do with my life. My grades fluctuated more than ever before. The only classes that looked vaguely interesting to me were the ones in the Religious Studies department, and they don’t count for much in a large state school like West Virginia University. Even at that, the head of the religious studies department was a well-known misogynist, so there went my grades no matter what I was able to learn. The only place that seemed remotely interested in fanning the flames of my budding theological interest was the community at First Presbyterian Church in Morgantown. They were OK with my doubts and fears, and let me know that college also wasn’t all that.

So finally when the idea of going to seminary popped up, although it felt right, it still didn’t seem very smart. I had already spent several summers interning in a law office. Law school seemed like the smarter choice. I’d make more money, have a "real" career, and still be able to help people except that it wasn’t where my heart was. I didn’t have anything that I wanted to teach or go into business to do. The scientific careers were out since my interest and aptitude had taken a nose dive post high school. Like many pastors I’ve talked to since, I realized that I was running out of options. Those old curmudgeons will tell you, "If you can do anything else, do it!"

The same can be said for being a Christian. If you can do anything else, by all means, do it. Becoming a Christian takes a willingness to be seen outside of the popular circles. It will not guarantee success, or riches, or beauty, and in fact, it may be a hindrance to all those things. If you want popularity in the world, coming here to church won’t help you out in any way. Deciding to proclaim Christ crucified, and really mean it as good news, is still a stumbling block, a stupid crazy thing to do - don’t let anyone fool you!

I could tell that my career path seemed like a joke when I first started telling my friends about my decision to go to seminary. They were both confused and concerned. You could see in their eyes the comment, "What a waste?" You could also see the disbelief since my life had not exactly been lived in the "Campus Crusade for Christ" circles. The bartenders certainly knew my face much better than anyone in the college Christian fellowships! Since then, many friends have fallen to the sidelines because of it. My extended family has only a vague understanding of what I do - and some would either put me on a pedestal for it or want me to curb my more colorful language, shall we say, to better fit the image.

Once again, not very smart. So the opportunity to come to the place "Where Smart Things Happen" sounded like a God-send. I could finally be with "my people." Early on, I loved hearing the anecdotes about Oak Ridge - that if you throw a rock in town, you’ll hit a PhD, but it’s not because there are so many, it’s because they don’t know how to get out of the way. My kind of people. Yes indeed. I’m home.

But it is no secret to me that it’s tough to be educated, intelligent, and nevertheless committed to the gospel all at the same time. Paul knew this when he wrote to the church at Corinth. They epitomized the educated center of the day. I imagine that it was a place where smart people came to have some wine and talk about wide ranging topics of interest. The Greeks LOVED philosophical wisdom - talk about your original PhD’s - there they are. It would have been a wonderful place; it still is a wonderful place frankly, to have a glass of wine and carry on deep conversations.

So Paul, being Roman citizen fluent in the Greek culture knew that it would seem ridiculous to proclaim salvation through something so foolish as a man who was understood to be God’s son and yet had no power to save himself from the humiliation of death on a cross. These were worldly folks. They had no use for such nonsense. A suffering servant doesn’t make much sense when you’re on top of your game already. They would need new eyes to see and to believe.

We need new eyes to see and to believe today. When it seems as though Christianity and intelligence still don’t go together for a wide range of cultural reasons, we wonder is Christianity for dummies, or is there something else about it? Is the foolishness of God indeed a deep wisdom that human beings cannot understand through our limited brain power? For me, this passage reminds me of the scene from “The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe” when Aslan is slain on the stone table by the White Witch. It looked as though the story was over right there. Good had been killed for power. The Witch was going to have everything. She won the war. But not so! There was a deeper magic present, one that trumped the worldly power and strength she so desperately wanted. Aslan, the Christ figure of the book, returned, and his strength was even greater because of his humiliating sacrifice.

To those who are being saved, somehow this story of Christ crucified makes sense; it is the power of God. You may not have to recount your choices for Christianity in the same way I do – by explaining to family and friends what you do for a living, but you will need to figure out what it means for your life. It is a mystery why this works. Christian theologians and all those preachers who couldn’t do anything else have spent centuries trying to work it all out, and their voluminous work gives us insight and hope, but what they cannot give us are answers. There are many explanations of the atonement, probing the question, “Why did Jesus have to die for us to be saved?” But ultimately the decision to accept the truth of this anomaly is up to each of us. Logically, it is beyond our grasp, and out of our control. We may wish to have it some other way. We may rush too quickly to the resurrection, claiming that story instead of the more gruesome parts, and yet, Paul says that it’s “Christ crucified” that is our good news. All I can ask of you is to ponder it, pray about it, and allow it to wash over you. As much as I might want more concrete answers myself or a good illustration to back up my point, the only story is our story, the Jesus story, and foolish or not, I’d bet my life on it.

Amen.