Sunday: 2nd Sunday after Pentecost
Reading: Galatians 1:11-24
Preacher: Stacy Alan

Coming to a place like the University of Chicago, one learns all sorts of new technical vocabulary. One of the first new phrases I learned when I came here was "that guy." This is not a term found in normal dictionaries, so I had to turn to the internet for the official definition. There I found the following: "that guy": The person everyone loves to hate and never wants to become. (The Urban Dictionary) Then I found this: "that kid," the definition of which is, verbatim from the Urban Dictionary: This is the University of Chicago definition. Also known as That Guy.

The "That Kid" is, in short, the kid in your class who everybody hates. He consistently attempts to impress the professor with references to books and topics that ultimately irrelevant to the topic and class at hand. He uses big words which he has little grasp of, and quotes authors and thinkers in a nonchalant and usually incorrect manner. He will argue with the professor over anything in a desperate attempt to appear smart. Sometimes, he will go so far as to try and correct the professor . . . .

I have a personal theory that the Apostle Paul was "that kid." He seemed to be full of himself and oblivious of the effect he had on others, would use all sorts of inconvenient hyperbole in his letters, and managed to make people really mad. He was so enthusiastic, but in the awkward way of the zealous convert. I love Paul, but he makes me a little crazy; he would be that guy who corners you with his somewhat obsessive rants at a party.

And yet, without Paul, we wouldn't be here today. Despite never having met Jesus in his earthly ministry -- or perhaps because of that - he articulated a theology that has shaped Christianity - and, indeed, Western culture - in ways too many to count. The theology of justification by faith through grace, that is, the understanding that we do nothing to earn our salvation, is his. The nature of Christianity as a religion lived only through community, the metaphor of the body with many members, is his. And, more apropos to the reading this morning, because of Paul male Christians are not required to be circumcised.
This is the theme, or rather, rant, that occupied Paul through his letter to the Galatians. This community, where he had lived and worked, had fallen under the influence of teachers who insisted that to be members of the Church, one must be circumcised. Circumcision, of course, wasn't the only issue, but it served as a powerful symbol of a deep and intractable question with which the early Church struggled mightily.
Circumcision was the mark, quite literally, of the covenant God made with Abraham. In Genesis, God says to him:

"This is my covenant, which you shall keep, between me and you and your offspring after you: Every male among you shall be circumcised. So shall my covenant be in your flesh an everlasting covenant. 14Any uncircumcised male who is not circumcised in the flesh of his foreskin shall be cut off from his people; he has broken my covenant." (Genesis 17:9-10, 13b-14)

Before Sarah conceives a child, before the Exodus, before Moses and Mount Sinai and the Ten Commandments, there was the covenant with Abraham. And that covenant required circumcision.
Jesus, a Jew, was circumcised (Luke 2.21). His first followers, all Jews, were circumcised (at least the men were). Why would the Church not follow this practice? Jesus himself said, according to Matthew, "Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill." (Matthew 5.17) Circumcision, in fact, predated the law. It was identity, history, community, the setting apart of a people.

So along comes Paul, erstwhile persecutor of the Church, loose cannon, maverick (i.e. an unbranded range animal; an independent individual who does not go along with a group or party), hothead, an all-around "that kid." He clearly has a gift and a call to work among the Gentiles, but what the heck is he doing? He's leaving out an essential part of our communal identity, our tradition, our relationship with God. There are those who likely thought: This is not what Jesus would do!

Despite modern controversies about the practice, I think it's hard to appreciate how difficult a question this was. As I was reflecting on this, it occurred to me that we do, perhaps, have a parallel issue in our day that approximates the depth of conflict and tearing apart of relationships that the circumcision debate had for the early church.

In our day, the debate over the inclusion of gays and lesbians and expectations about their intimate relationships carries with it the same sort of turmoil. Here, too, we had thousands of years of tradition (not unanimous, of course, or unambiguous) effectively or explicitly excluding or condemning same-sex relationships. There is, supposedly, the witness of Scripture supporting the tradition.
And then voices start being heard, voices that say that same-gender intimate relationships can embody the same kind of mutuality and love that heterosexual relationships do. That celibacy is not the only option. That these same people may not only be called to relationships, but that they may also be called to leadership, even ordained leadership in the church.

In a place like SPR, in a time like ours, that doesn't sound very revolutionary., as well it shouldn't. But for those on the "other side," what we find normal, healthy, holy, even a mandate of the Gospel is for them a dangerous innovation, with shaky grounding in Scripture and tradition. If we allow this new teaching, on what basis are we to ground our beliefs? On what basis can we discern and exclude theology and practices that are truly antithetical to the Gospel?

I think these are the questions that Peter and the leaders in Jerusalem were asking. What Paul was proposing - that Gentile converts not take on this important sign of God's covenant - must have seemed a strange and dangerous innovation, with little basis in tradition. "What will he propose next: that they start eating bacon?" they must have thought. It must have seemed the beginning of slippery slope to lost identity and a rupturing of the covenant.

I wonder, too, if Paul thought about this. Telling the authorities that you have a different idea, one that violates all the assumptions you've had, can be scary, kind of like walking a tightrope without a net. Those of you who have tried to raise your children in a different way from your parents know the feeling. Or those want to do something different from the "way we've always done things." Or those who find a hole in a revered scholar's argument, or who want to propose a new, untried strategy for responding to a problem. We inch out onto the wire, focused ahead, but well aware of the voices behind us, yelling that this is a very bad idea, that we ought to turn back.

Which brings me, finally, to the text we heard from Paul today. When we were looking at it a few weeks ago with some of the staff here at SPR, we spent a fair amount of time talking about Paul's seeming need to present his credentials over and over again, the defensive boasting usually associated with someone who's really insecure. In essence, Paul's "that guy-ness." I don't disagree. I've already said that the man would probably have driven me crazy. But I also love him. I love his passion for the Gospel and for those under his care. I love that he articulated a theology of grace that reminds me over and over again that I cannot earn God's love. I love the vision of interdependence he gave us.

So I wonder whether we weren't right, about Paul's insecurity but in a different way. I wonder if Paul wasn't trying, not only to convince the Galatians of his credentials, but also himself. I suspect he was well aware of how far out there he was theologically, how revolutionary and scandalous an idea it was that members of this originally Jewish community not bear its most ancient identifying sign. Even when you know you're right, that place can be terrifying and disorienting - because you could be wrong. I'm sure Paul didn't want to lose something essential to the Gospel, nor did he want to open the door to beliefs and practices counter to that Gospel. (His letters to the Corinthians show him taking the community to task for doing just that.)
So maybe Paul's boasting is his way of keeping himself oriented. By reminding his readers, but more importantly, himself, of his deep roots in Jewish identity on the one hand, and his direct encounter with the risen Jesus on the other, Paul may be trying to keep his balance in the delicate dance of discernment. We understand now that this argument was crucial in Christianity's taking root among the Gentiles and this new religion's ability to adapt to a wide range of ethnic and religious contexts. At that point, however, Paul was making it up as he went along the tightrope, with both eyes on his goal of proclaiming freedom in Christ and his feet gripping the foundation of the faith of his people, the gift of the Law, the lovingkindness of God in covenant.

So, that was nice. I hope I've redeemed Paul a little bit for those who find him difficult. He will always be "that kid," but sometimes the "that kids" make good points.
What about us? I suspect few of you, except those with newborn boys, have had to think about circumcision lately (unless you have walked by the Barnes & Noble over on campus). But we also walk these sorts of tightropes between the new things God is calling out of us and calling us toward and discerning how far, how fast, how much. When the Council of Jerusalem finally met in the year 50 CE, they heard stories of the "all the signs and wonders that God had done through [Paul and Barnabas] among the Gentiles" Then it was decided that the Gentiles need not be circumcised, but that they should "abstain only from things polluted by idols and from fornication and from whatever has been strangled* and from blood." (Acts 15:19b-20) The tightrope, at least as far as we can tell, was successfully crossed.

All of us are called at some time or another, perhaps not in such dramatic and world-changing ways as Paul, out onto the tightrope. We will be drawn into something so new that we wonder if we will lose some important part of our identity, and yet we can't not respond, for what beckons us has God's fingerprints all over it.

At those points, we may feel the need to repeat the litany of our qualifications to do this crazy thing: I am a beloved child of God, member of the Body of Christ, member of the royal priesthood, called by God to proclaim the Good News to the world. It may seem like boasting, or the defensive self-promotion that belies shaky self-esteem. So what. It is who you are. It is who we are, and we are reminded of it each time we recite the Creed or hear the invitation to Communion.

There is one other little detail that risks getting lost in all of Paul's bluster. For all that he and other parts of the early Church fought and argued and clashed, he stayed in relationship with them. He calls Peter to task for his hypocrisy, yet still goes to Jerusalem to seek resolution. When we take our steps out on the tightrope, it is, as I said before, a delicate discernment, a balancing act between God's calling out of a new thing, and God's presence in foundations of our faith. We learn to negotiate that in community, communities that will always have tensions and conflicts, yet are committed to staying bound together.