LOVE HAS GOOD MANNERS
January 14, 2001

FOURTH CHURCH PULPIT
John M. Buchanan

Faith can give us courage to face the uncertainties of the future. It will
give our tired feet new strength as we continue our forward stride
toward the city of freedom. When our days become dreary with low-
hovering clouds and our nights become darker than a thousand
midnights, we will know that we are living in the creative turmoil of a
genuine civilization struggling to be born.

Martin Luther King, Jr.
Nobel Prize Acceptance Speech
December 10, 1964

Fourth Presbyterian Church of Chicago
126 East Chestnut Street, Chicago, IL 60611-2094
(312) 787-4570

LOVE HAS GOOD MANNERS
January 14, 2000

JOHN M. BUCHANAN, PASTOR
FOURTH PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH

John 2:1-11
1 Corinthians 11:23-34

“So then, my brothers and sisters, when you come together to eat, wait for one another.”
1 Corinthians 11:33 (NRSV)

In the rushed busyness of the life we live, O God, sometimes we become obsessed with our own
concerns, schedules, goals, dreams. Sometimes we disregard those around us, even those
closest to us. Remind us, O God, of your infinite courtesy in Jesus Christ. Startle us again with

your truth and open our hearts and minds to your word. Through Jesus Christ, our Lord.
Amen.

A friend of mine, Donald McCullough, tells a story that sounds uncomfortably familiar—to me,
and perhaps fo you. He was walking briskly through an airport toward the departure gate with
just enough time left to purchase a newspaper and a candy bar. When he took his purchases to the
cash register, the young woman behind the counter was talking animatedly on the telephone.
“Great,” he thought, as he handed her a ten-dollar bill. She kept right on talking, made his
change, and made a mistake, gave him a few dollars less than he had coming. He got a little
angry; it reminded him of the decline of courtesy everywhere in our common life and he told her
so. “I’m sorry,” she silently mouthed to him but continued her telephone conversation. That did
it. He gave her a lecture on respect, courtesy, and manners in the public arena. Whereupon she
finally lowered the receiver, put her hand over it, looked him in the eye, and said, “You listen to
me. I’m talking to my elderly mother, a shut-in who lives out of town. We can talk only once a
week, and she really needs me. Now you apologize to me right now. I’m waiting, mister. You tell
me you're sorry.”

Don apologized and slithered, he said, down the concourse to his plane, thoroughly chastened.
He reflected that what he had just experienced—what he had just done—expressed unnecessary
impatience, was a thoughtless eruption of anger. It was not only hurtful to another human being
he did not know and would never see again, but it was part of a wider dynamic in our society, the
general decline in respect, civility, and courtesy, the absence of elemental manners.

A USA Today feature observed that it is impossible to ignore the growing rudeness, even
harshness of American life. Eighty-nine percent of us think incivility is a serious problem and
it’s gotten worse in the past ten years.

] told a story once that evoked more response by phone, mail, and in person than anything I have
ever said from the pulpit. It was about road rage on Michigan Avenue. I was in the left lane

driving south and needed to move to the center and then the right lane in order to make the turn
at Chestnut. A young woman in a BMW was in the far right lane and we both headed for the
center simultaneously. I should have yielded. I didn’t. I should have known better, but I
accelerated aggressively and took the place. At the light, she pulled up beside me, lowered the
window and seemed to want to greet me. So I lowered my window and she let me have it—a
stream of obscenities. I began to get angry because she was challenging me—and only the
possibility that she might be a church member prevented me from responding in kind. Instead,
thanks be to God, I smiled and said something innocuous like “Have a nice day.” And the light
changed, and as she drove away, she gave me the ubiquitous one-finger salute.

What a way to start the day! She had used language and a gesture that were not ever used in
public not so long ago, or mixed company, as we used to say. But since that happened, I have
concluded that it was my fault. I started it. I didn’t have to lay down the gauntlet by beating her
to the spot. And that’s exactly my friend’s point. He regards himself as a civil, well-mannered,
gentleman, to use an antiquated concept. But he stepped over the line almost unconsciously, just
as I did. He—and I—participated in the lowering of courtesy and general good manners. And if
we’re going to complain about it, we have to clean up our own act.

It is not just etiquette. Sociologists observe the continuing decline of a sense of community, a
sense of the common good, in American culture. Don McCullough thinks that the neglect of
courtesy leads to the collapse of community, that the heart of courtesy is respect for persons: that
it has less to do with manners than a manner of relating, a manner that acknowledges the worth
of human beings. And that at the heart of discourtesy is a disrespect, a disregard—sometimes a
disdain—for other human beings. (See Say Please, Say Thank You: The Respect We Owe One
Another, Donald McCullough.)

And perhaps the way into this problem, the way to do something to reverse the decline of civility
and community, is simply to remember to mind our manners.

At least that’s St. Paul’s approach in a letter he wrote to the tiny first-century Christian
community in the Greek city of Corinth. The lectionary, which assigns texts for each Sunday,
takes us to Corinth for a few weeks to ponder Paui’s memorable images in the twelfth chapter,
images of the church’s inclusivity, its welcome to a diversity of human beings, and the wonderful
image of church as a body with many members, the body of Christ, in fact. But as I read through
these familiar texts this time and began to relate first-century realities to the distressing divisions
across the church and in my own denomination, I found myself thinking about the material
immediately preceding in that famous letter—material not often used in sermons-—at least I
never have. The eleventh chapter begins with, of all things, instructions on hairstyles and
lengths—not an area of discourse in which J have much interest, frankly. It also contains Paul’s
observation—or opinion—that the husband is head of his wife, an allusion our Southern Baptist
brothers and sisters have recently incorporated into their official documents—but which is not
heard much around here.

And then Paul goes on to discuss head coverings—important for women, unnecessary for men;
hair lengths—long is in for women, short for men—a “custom,” Paul is careful to say; and then

he proceeds to address basic table manners for when the church gathers to eat together, the
Lord’s Supper, a weekly meal.

What in the world is going on here? Nobody is sure. Margaret Mitchell, a fine New Testament
Professor at the University of Chicago, has written a scholarly analysis of | Corinthians and
suggests that hairstyles and head coverings were based on ethnicity and maybe even party
politics in that little church. Corinth was a very worldly, cosmopolitan place. There were, in that
church, people from many nations and races. In addition, they had different styles of living, and
to make matters worse, they differed theologically. Professor Mitchell’s analysis suggests that we
envision a Sunday morning worship service in which all the Republicans are proudly wearing
Cubs hats and the Democrats are defiantly sporting White Sox caps. Or, as happened a few
decades ago, the conservatives had crew cuts and the liberals, beards and pigtails. Head
coverings and hairstyles were symptoms of deep divisions in the community, and it is that which

Paul cares about. Long, short, covered, uncovered are important only because they are dividing
the church.

And then, when they gather to engage in the ritual that should be the basis of their unity, instead
of getting better, things get even worse. “Al! hell breaks loose in the Corinthian church,”
Frederick Buechner suggests, literally. It is a common meal: everybody contributes something—
and some of the folks are elbowing their way to be first in line and eat all the good food. There is
wine—and some are drinking too much and actually getting drunk. The very ritual to express
their oneness has broken down and made their divisions worse. And so, Paul, like a patient
parent, instructs, “Take turns.” Like Robert Fulghum’s unforgettable title A// J Really Need to
Know I Learned in Kindergarten, the apostle says, “Take turns, share. My brothers and sisters,
when you come together to eat, wait for one another. If you are hungry, eat at home.”

Now at this point, anyone brought up in or exposed to twentieth-century American Protestantism
cannot help but start thinking about that venerable religious institution—the potluck supper. It is
almost impossible to imagine in a church with thousands of members, but with one hundred
members and families it is not only manageable but often central to the life of the congregation.
Garrison Keillor observed somewhere that cream of mushroom soup is the glue that holds the
American Midwest together. And combined with green beans, it makes a staple potluck casserole
to go along with Jell-O molds, potato salad, macaroni and cheese, scalloped potatoes, baked ham,
fried chicken, and angel food cake.

In anew book, Whitebread Protestants: Food and Religion in American Culture, Daniel Sack
analyzes the deep symbolic and theological meaning food has and points out that you can learn a
lot about a church by the way it eats.

Personally, Paul’s admonition to wait for one another brought to my memory the skill,
strategizing, and positioning I observed many times at potluck suppers. The good food goes fast
and first. Someone always brought Kentucky Fried Chicken, a real treat, and there was never any
left for the minister, who went last. But I do recall seeing, out of the corner of my eye—as I was
returning thanks for the meal—-two little boys, my sons, surreptitiously edging their way to the
table of Kentucky Fried Chicken.

In a wonderful translation of the thirteenth chapter of 1 Corinthians, Paul’s famous soliloquy on

love, British New Testament scholar J. B. Phillips rendered the traditional “love is not rude” as
“love has good manners.”

Well, yes, it does. Don McCullough writes, “People deserve to be treated with respect, not
because they have earned it, not because they are always kind or easy to get along with, but
because they are part of something bigger than themselves. They partake of humanity and that
means they occupy a pretty important place in the scheme of things.” And C. S. Lewis: “It is
with awe and the cireumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with

one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people” (Say
Please, McCullough).

Love has good manners. Thirteenth-century mystic Julian of Norwich said it even more
eloquently and powerfully when she talked about the “infinite courtesy of God.” Jesus, she said,
nourishes us with himself, with the utmost courtesy. God the creator, who, in Jesus Christ, loves
every creature, loves every human being as if he or she were an only child, relates to us not from
power but from humble courtesy that respects our freedom. God the lover does not force or
invade or coerce but allows each human being freedom to be, to choose. God the lover, who in
Jesus’ unforgettable gestures, opens the doors of the kingdom and holds a seat at the table for all
who would come—and who, on the night of his arrest, washed the feet of his friends and his
betrayer as they prepared to break bread and drink wine together—God, of infinite courtesy,
invites us to that same respect and courtesy, invites us to show the world something of the reality
of God, the infinite courtesy of God, in the way we relate to one another. Invites us to that same
respect and courtesy toward one another and toward everyone, all God’s children we encounter
every day—neighbors, friends, lovers, spouses, children, strangers. Love has good manners.

Jonathon Kozol, whose books have brought the plight of inner-city schools and inner-city
children to public attention, was interviewed recently by the Interfaith Alliance. Kozol, who is
Jewish, has studied and interviewed and come to know and love many inner-city children, almost
all African American and Christian. Sometimes the infinite courtesy of God is conveyed by the
children. Kozo] tells about Anthony—-so sensitive that he used to notice that, at morning worship
at St. Anne’s School, Kozol was the only one who didn’t participate in the Eucharist. He asked
Mother Martha what was wrong, and she explained that Kozol was Jewish and that Jews don’t
take communion in Christian churches. The next time the sacrament was celebrated at St.
Anne’s, Kozol was sitting with Anthony and this time Anthony did not go forward for the
elements. Kozol asked why, and Anthony explained that he didn’t feel well. A few weeks later it
happened again. Again, Kozol asked why he hadn’t gone forward, and Anthony said he wasn’t in
the mood for bread and wine that morning.

So Kozol asked the principal, Mother Martha, about it. She explained that Anthony had come to
her, concerned about Kozol not participating in the sacrament and had decided—Kozol
explains-——“‘that he would refuse to take communion so I would never be alone.”

Love has good manners.

PRAYERS OF THE PEOPLE
Steve Runholt, Pastoral Resident

We do greet thee, Lord, who art our sure redeemer. We greet you who meet us in so
many ways—-as creator, as infant, rabbi, and friend, as father, mother, and savior.
We thank you for the varied calls that come to us in these encounters, these bright
and startling epiphanies: calls to follow, to serve, to love, to take risks for justice, to
work hard, in our own way, at turning water into wine, turning the everyday

elements of our world into opportunities for people to see and know the miracle of
your saving love.

In all your manifestations, God, you come to set us free. And so we pray for all who
are not free. We pray for those held captive today by armies and governments, by
hunger and poverty, by power and wealth. You have given us the keys to your
kingdom, O God. Help us use those keys responsibly, courageously, to open, where
appropriate, the doors of real prisons. To open them so that, forgiven, mothers and
fathers might be returned to their children and homes and communities. Give us
boldness and grace to open hearts locked in fresh pain or old hatred, minds bound
by doubt or ignorance.

We thank you today for your constant call to unity in the body of Christ. We thank
you especially for the visit of Cardinal Cassidy. Bless him in his efforts to promote
Christian unity that your church might thereby be strengthened in its service and
empowered in its witness.

We thank you for this glorious space in which we worship, for windows that glow so
beautifully, for music that echoes the voice of angels, for the Word, which inspires,
convicts, and transforms us. We worship in a literal sanctuary and we are glad to be
here and to meet you, again and again. Send us out when we go to follow you, Lord
Jesus, where you would be found. Help us touch with our lives and our time the
people of our day whom you would touch — the homeless, those who are broken in
body, mind, and spirit, the least, the last, the lost, the lonely. Give us energy and
vision to work for your kingdom, that longed for reality for which we pray, saying
together, Our Father...