1 Corinthians 13:1-13
What do you want to be when you grow up? I’m 61 years old, and I still think about it. I could preach a hundred sermons on this profound passage from First Corinthians and not begin to plumb its riches, but where the Spirit is leading me to this week is verse 11: When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways.
I remember the first thing I ever really wanted for Christmas. It was this bright candy apple red bicycle, a gaudy monstrosity: curled handlebars with streamers, a big banana seat with glitter on it, tall sissy bar in the back. Man, to the degree that an 8-year-old can lust for anything, I lusted for that bike. And I got it. And it was so great — for a few months. By the following Christmas, it was just taking up space in the garage, only used occasionally. I had moved on to other things, other objects to entice me. Children love their toys and are always looking for new ones to excite them and satisfy them. But I think it’s fair to say that that trait doesn’t just disappear at the age of 18. Adults also love their toys: their clothes, their cars, their houses, their money. In fact, in our culture, part of growing up is amassing more stuff: more toys, fancier gadgets, better homes, you name it. And of course these are not bad things: some of them can be very good. But they are not ultimate things; in and of themselves, they can never give us the happiness and fulfillment we so deeply desire.
And so it is that in the New Testament and in our Christian spiritual tradition, maturing as human beings does not mean accumulating more things, but rather letting go of more things. Now, when it comes to actual possessions and property, that often happens naturally. I have listened to many people talk about decluttering as they get older, downsizing their houses and simplifying their lives, which no doubt reflects the truth that we really don’t need lots of stuff.
But this passage today goes beyond just unloading possessions. It speaks to a deeper letting go: When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. It’s not just toys that we like, and not just physical things that we accrue. We develop habits of thinking. We amass success, achievements, social status, reputation, all the intangible things that shore up our egos and help us feel like we have value. And these things are also not bad: they have their place. But they, too, are not ultimate, and if we’re not careful, we may remain childish in our thinking and actually believe that acquiring all this stuff, physical and non-physical, is what life is all about, the source of our happiness and fulfillment. And, of course, it’s not.
Paul, having put an end to childish ways, knows this and reminds us that the only reason we are here is to grow in our capacity for love. Without love, all the toys that we value so much, all the signs of status and success we crave and work so hard to achieve, are meaningless. Even so-called “religious accomplishments” are pointless without love. If I speak in the tongues of mortals and angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. I could preach the greatest sermon in the world, but if I don’t do it with love, I’m just making noise. If I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. We could be amazingly talented, incredibly smart, super religious, but if we don’t have love, we are nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. We could give away millions of dollars to the church and to charity, we could fight for all the right causes, even to the point of sacrificing ourselves, but if we don’t have love, you gain nothing.
If we are truly going to grow up spiritually and be mature in Christ, we must let go of the childish thinking and embrace Christ thinking, which can seem so counterintuitive to us. Jesus tells us that the first will be last and the last will be first — and he means it. If, for example, someone makes billions of dollars, receives adulation and acclaim, and donates enough money to get their name put on some medical research building, but does so without any genuine love, that could well be less significant in God’s eyes than a poor woman going grocery shopping for a friend who has COVID as an act of true compassion. The only thing that brings us close to the heart of God, the only thing that matters for our ultimate happiness is love: our willingness to love, the quality of our love, our growth in love.
What do we want to be when we grow up? I think we want to be lovers. And to do that, I find that I need to continually let go of things that get in the way of that. I have to let go of the need to be successful, the need to be seen as a good priest. I have to let go of status symbols and signs of achievement. I have to let go of the need to control events and establish some kind of security for myself. And all of us have to go through a similar process of letting go. Our goal everyday should be to love. The great questions are no longer things like, “Am I being successful?” or “Will this make me look good?”, but rather questions like “How can I love the people around me?” or “Am I showing love in what I am doing right now?” Those are the kinds of questions we should all be asking. And of course we won’t be perfect: we’re still growing up. But as long as we desire to love, as long as we intend to love, we will indeed be growing up. And I know for myself — and I imagine this is true for everyone — when I focus on loving, even when I fail miserably at it, I am so much happier and so much more at peace, because I am connecting with the very essence of God and the only thing that will make us happy forever.
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