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1 Corinthians 13.1-13 ‘I became a man’


This sermon was first preached at the 12:30 service on Monday 29 December 2014.

The Happiest Days?

When I was at primary school in East Hull, our deputy head-teacher – Mr Jones – had a sign on the wall of his classroom, which said, ‘School days are the happiest days of your life.’

I am at that age, where all my friends – and now my sister! – are having children. They aren’t quite at their school days yet, but it is so lovely to watch them play, to see them grow, starting to crawl, walk and then speak. It is particularly good for me at the moment, because I get all the fun playing with them, but none of the messy cleaning up afterwards...!

Childhood happiness is all about innocence and naivety. They are cared for, looked after, and don’t have the worries and cares that weigh down grown-ups.

It’s so easy to look back wistfully and think, ‘school days really were the happiest days of my life.’ But I think if St Paul found someone thinking like that, he would ask them to think again.

Growing Up

Listen to what St Paul wrote:

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

1 Corinthians 13.11-12 (NIV)

When we die, Paul says, it is like growing up. It is like a child realising there is more to the world than their family, toys and food. Now we know in part; when we die, we shall know in full. When we die we shall no longer see things like the reflection of a mountain on a rippling lake, but as they really are.

But now – now we are all quite good at looking happy because we are pretending everything’s ok; I imagine most of us would admit to doing that. You know the question: ‘Hi, you ok?’ We all know you’re not supposed to answer that with anything other than, ‘Fine thanks, you?’

The Truth

We are all good at pretending. It helps us to get through the day. We pretend as though everything is ok, at work and home, so we don’t give away our pain or sadness, what we really think.

And that’s ok – to a point. But the land of make-believe and pretending, that belongs to children and Hollywood movies.

At some point, we have to face the truth, we have to face reality. Because that’s the thing about the truth: it doesn’t go away. It doesn’t suddenly stop being true, because we pretend it isn’t.

And that’s why I’m not sure I agree with poems like the one we heard earlier.

I understand where they are coming from. I lost my Grandad four years ago, but at Christmas this year we were talking about his famous chestnut stuffing. I remembered how when I was a child he used to hide my Christmas presents around the house and give me little clues to help me find them.

And in that moment of memory, it was like he was still alive. I could picture him at the dinner table, with his glass of fizzy water, making us all laugh. Those memories will never die.

But he did die. I can’t make any new memories with him – which means I have to treasure the ones I have. He did die, but I can still remember him. Little things around me jog my memories, of what once was, but now is not.

So when a memory is sparked of a loved one, in a sight, a smell or a thought, remember them, as though they are still with you.

But when you feel the gut-wrenching sadness of loss, when you miss your loved-one so much it hurts, it minimises them and their memory if we pretend they are still around.

Because, they are gone, and it hurts. [They are not in the wind, the sunlight or the snow. They are not in the stars, birdsong or the rain. They are not there, they are dead, they are gone.] The pain is real, because the loss is real. Living with grief isn’t about forgetting, or pretending, it is about somehow finding a way to carry on day by day, having lost someone you loved dearly.

The Father

I would like to end with a final thought. There is a little phrase in our reading, which is easy to miss (12): now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. [Repeat]

Our Father in heaven knows us, and he loves us, each one of us. And like any good parent, he doesn’t try to shield us from life’s troubles forever. He wants us to learn how to stand with him, and see the world as it truly is, troubles and joys together.

I can’t pretend that my life is ok, that I walk around in a serene state of peace – because it isn’t, and I don’t. In this life, I know God my Father only in part. But that doesn’t stop me trusting that he knows me, every part of me, and still loves me.

And it is my prayer that all of us who mourn, would know God our Father’s love, and the comfort and strength that comes from knowing he is always with us. I pray you would know now in part, but one day in full, the Father and his great love for you.