Growing up, I had a very close relationship with the son of one of my sisters. Frankly, we were more like brothers than uncle and nephew. And part of this, I'm sure, was because there were only four years between our ages. Still, me being older, I was typically "in charge" in the games we'd play, usually assuming a leadership role of sorts.
For instance, when we pretended we were Ghostbusters, I was always Peter Venkman; my nephew was always Egon Spengler. When we got older, and imagined we were Chicago Bulls, he was always the Scottie Pippen to my Michael Jordan. But perhaps the way in which I exerted my leadership most came when we played Super Mario Bros.; I was, without fail, Mario. For those who remember the original Nintendo console, you know how big a deal that is: the person playing as Mario essentially controlled the game as the only one who could pause or restart it. (I admittedly used this ability to my nephew's detriment on more than one occasion, stopping the game just as he was jumping Luigi over a chasm; un-pausing, he'd fall to his demise so it'd be my turn again. Yes, I was an evil child.)
Even so, my nephew never complained. He never gave in to frustration. He didn't stop playing. To the contrary, he often embraced his role--even exhibiting gladness that he got to be Luigi.
When St. Paul writes to the church at Corinth, he speaks of a number of different roles that members of the body of Christ fill. He acknowledges that not everyone is a teacher or a preacher or a prophet or an apostle, but notes that every part of Christ's body is important to the body's vitality. An eye, he says, shouldn't desire to be something else; nor should a hand desire to not be a hand. Everything must be in its place, utilizing its abilities which were gifted by God, for the body to function properly.
A problem that's long plagued the Church is that too many of us who'd call ourselves Christ-followers want to do all the leading. We can't allow ourselves to be in a role that's anything less than the one which is most important or most prominent or most visible: the one wherein we'll get noticed more, or garner more praise for our efforts. We sometimes feel jealousy at the accomplishments of those around us: arrogance welling up inside, causing us to wonder, "Why them? Why not me?" Even if inwardly, we complain. We give in to frustration. And sometimes we simply stop playing. If I can't be Mario, I'll just go home.
The problem is that Mr. Jordan was great, but basketball championships aren't won by individuals; they're won by teams. As great as he was, he needed Mr. Pippen in order to be even greater. As good a general as Peter Venkman was, how successful would the Ghostbusters have been without the genius of Egon? And really, could Mario have rescued the princess alone? I'm doubtful.
So it is with the Church. Whether speaking congregationally, denominationally, or universally, we all have something to do; as members of Christ's body, we all have a role to fill. Hands are necessary; they reach, and hold, and offer. But if everyone's an eye, who'll be the hands? Feet are necessary; they take the body where it needs to go. But if everyone's a hand, who'll be the feet? Arms are necessary; they embrace and they carry. But if everyone's an arm, who'll be the eyes?
May we therefore recognize the variety of roles which are necessary for the Church to thrive, and the significance of each. May we recognize as well the variety of gifts God gives, so that we might live into our roles well. And may we prayerfully support and encourage one another in our various roles--not seeking glory for ourselves, but for God: not seeking to build ourselves, but the kingdom.
For instance, when we pretended we were Ghostbusters, I was always Peter Venkman; my nephew was always Egon Spengler. When we got older, and imagined we were Chicago Bulls, he was always the Scottie Pippen to my Michael Jordan. But perhaps the way in which I exerted my leadership most came when we played Super Mario Bros.; I was, without fail, Mario. For those who remember the original Nintendo console, you know how big a deal that is: the person playing as Mario essentially controlled the game as the only one who could pause or restart it. (I admittedly used this ability to my nephew's detriment on more than one occasion, stopping the game just as he was jumping Luigi over a chasm; un-pausing, he'd fall to his demise so it'd be my turn again. Yes, I was an evil child.)
Even so, my nephew never complained. He never gave in to frustration. He didn't stop playing. To the contrary, he often embraced his role--even exhibiting gladness that he got to be Luigi.
When St. Paul writes to the church at Corinth, he speaks of a number of different roles that members of the body of Christ fill. He acknowledges that not everyone is a teacher or a preacher or a prophet or an apostle, but notes that every part of Christ's body is important to the body's vitality. An eye, he says, shouldn't desire to be something else; nor should a hand desire to not be a hand. Everything must be in its place, utilizing its abilities which were gifted by God, for the body to function properly.
A problem that's long plagued the Church is that too many of us who'd call ourselves Christ-followers want to do all the leading. We can't allow ourselves to be in a role that's anything less than the one which is most important or most prominent or most visible: the one wherein we'll get noticed more, or garner more praise for our efforts. We sometimes feel jealousy at the accomplishments of those around us: arrogance welling up inside, causing us to wonder, "Why them? Why not me?" Even if inwardly, we complain. We give in to frustration. And sometimes we simply stop playing. If I can't be Mario, I'll just go home.
The problem is that Mr. Jordan was great, but basketball championships aren't won by individuals; they're won by teams. As great as he was, he needed Mr. Pippen in order to be even greater. As good a general as Peter Venkman was, how successful would the Ghostbusters have been without the genius of Egon? And really, could Mario have rescued the princess alone? I'm doubtful.
So it is with the Church. Whether speaking congregationally, denominationally, or universally, we all have something to do; as members of Christ's body, we all have a role to fill. Hands are necessary; they reach, and hold, and offer. But if everyone's an eye, who'll be the hands? Feet are necessary; they take the body where it needs to go. But if everyone's a hand, who'll be the feet? Arms are necessary; they embrace and they carry. But if everyone's an arm, who'll be the eyes?
May we therefore recognize the variety of roles which are necessary for the Church to thrive, and the significance of each. May we recognize as well the variety of gifts God gives, so that we might live into our roles well. And may we prayerfully support and encourage one another in our various roles--not seeking glory for ourselves, but for God: not seeking to build ourselves, but the kingdom.
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