Deut 18:15-20
1 Cor 8:1-13
Mark 1:21-28
So the early church in Corinth had a problem. They were a group of Christians whose members were at different stages in their faith journey, like all Christian communities. Some of the Corinthian Christians were very knowledgeable about their faith, presumably they'd been Christians for a while, they were strong in their faith, and nothing could sway them from that. Others of the Corinthian Christians were newer, they didn't have as sophisticated a level of interpretation when it came to the Scriptures, and their faith just wasn't as strong as their sisters and brothers.
But the church in Corinth ran into a dilemma. There were, at that time in the Roman Empire, a number of different religious cults that practiced animal sacrifice. Worshippers would buy some meat, take it to their religious leader to be sacrificed, and after the ritual was over, the priest would return some of the meat so it could be eaten, or even sell it back on the market. Now, if you were a worshipper in one of these cults, eating that meat didn't pose any kind of a problem. But what if you didn't worship in that cult? What if you were, say, a Christian? Was it right to eat that meat or not?
Well, the church in Corinth was divided. Those who were knowledgeable and strong in their faith said, "Well, we know that there's only one God, so even though the meat was used for idol-worship, those idols don't exist, so it's still just plain meat, no matter what ritual it was put through." And they would buy and eat the meat, and have no qualms about it. But other Christians, those whose understanding wasn't as sophisticated or who didn't want to take those kinds of risks, didn't see it that way. For them, eating that meat was the same thing as participating in the idol-worship - it was the same thing as worshipping other gods. And when they saw some of their Christian brothers and sisters, whom they admired as knowledgeable in the faith, taking part in those rituals, their faith wavered. They questioned the leadership of their church. It would be safe to guess that some of them even stopped coming around on Sunday mornings to worship because the matter troubled them so much.
So what was the church in Corinth to do? On the one hand, the more knowledgeable Christians were right - there was no harm in eating meat offered to gods who didn't exist. It was foolish of people to get worked up and lose faith over something that didn't matter. But on the other hand, their less knowledgeable sisters and brothers just couldn't go that far in their faith, and were so troubled by it that they were turning away. So the church asked Paul - which was better? To be knowledgeable, and to act on that knowledge, dismissing the ignorant concerns of those new to the faith? Or to give in to the weak consciences of those who didn't understand things the way they did and put aside what they knew to be right about the faith? In other words, which was better - to be right or to be silent?
We don't have quite the same dilemma in our own lives these days. That is, we don't worry about whether the food we eat has been offered to idols or been part of some kind of religious sacrifice. But we do still face the dilemma of whether it is better to be right or to be silent. Inside the church or outside of it, we are most of us in positions of some kind of authority. Whether as parents, or teachers, or supervisors at work, we all have moments when people look to us to know what they should do. And most of the time, it's easy to know what to do. When we know more than somebody else, there's usually no problem with telling them what we know. We see someone hooking up their jumper cables to their battery wrong, and we say, "Hey, don't do that." We see someone standing in line for something they don't need to, and we say, "Hey, you can skip the line and just go ahead." We're in the car with a new driver and they're going only 90 on the 401 and the traffic is piling up behind them and we might say, "Hey, it's okay to go 100."
But sometimes the situation isn't so black-and-white as that. Sometimes things are a little greyer. Sometimes, even though our knowledge might be right and true, that isn't the point. Take the driving example, for instance. In Alberta, where I learned to drive, the speed on divided highways is 110. So I know from experience that a car can safely travel at 110 on the highway, and nobody's going to get hurt. Those of us who have been driving for many years know that that's a reasonable speed for the highway. But does that automatically mean that if I'm in the car with a new driver, I can just say to them, "Hey, it's okay to go 110, don't worry about the speed limit, it's really old and outdated?" I don't think so. This hypothetical new driver might think I'm encouraging them to break all of the speed limits and end up completely disrespectful of any and all traffic laws. So what do I do? Is it better to be right or to be silent? We all find ourselves in situations where we have to ask, is it better for us to share what we know, to be right, or would doing so hurt the other person? Is it better to just keep our mouths shut? How do we solve the dilemma?
Well, Paul had a straightforward answer to the Corinthians' problem. "Knowledge puffs up," he said, "but love builds up." When it came to the question of meat offered to idols, Paul essentially said, "Yes, you strong Christians, you are right. You know the truth, that the meat is harmless. In your knowledge, you are free to eat whatever you want. But you are not alone in this church. You are in a community, and there are others who are watching you, and who are troubled by your actions and by how you interpret the rules. And they are losing faith. So for their sake, for love of them, and so as not to destroy their love for God, be silent. Don't eat the meat, even though there's nothing wrong with it. Be silent - suppress the desire to show off how sophisticated a Christian you are - constrain yourselves simply for the sake of those around you." For Paul, it was all a matter of love and building up the faith of others. If being and saying what was right led the other person closer to the love of God, well that's great. But if it meant that the other no longer felt close to God, well then for God's sake, literally, keep quiet no matter how much you know. For Paul, there were definitely times when it was better to be silent than to be right, and love let him know when those times were.
We can use the same principle in our dilemmas. When we are struggling with whether or not to speak, we can ask ourselves which option will lead the other person to see that God loves them, and which option will drive them away. I don't think I need to elaborate on the Christians out there who say things that are biblically correct but drive others away from God because all they speak about is judgement. According to Paul, it would be better for those guys to bite their tongue, no matter how wrong they think the other people are. And sometimes the same is true for us. Sometimes no matter how right we know ourselves to be, we just have to zip our mouths shut so that we don't weaken other people's faith in God or send them running away from God altogether.
The best example of this that I can think of comes from Les Miserables, the book by Victor Hugo that later became a musical. In the early stages of the story, there is a character named Jean Valjean, an ex-convict, who was sent to jail for stealing a loaf of bread. Within four days of his release, he ends up at the house of a bishop, starving and without any money at all. The bishop invites him in, feeds him, and gives him a place to sleep for the night. Well, at some point in the middle of the night, Jean Valjean wakes up and decides to leave, taking with him - stealing, actually - the very expensive silver-ware plates that the bishop has in the house so that he can trade them for money to start a new life. And he is gone.
Later that morning, though, some police show up at the bishop's door with Jean Valjean and the stolen silver plates. The bishop comes to the door and what does he say? Does he say, "Oh thank you, messieurs les gendarmes, for arresting this man and returning my plates?" That would have been the right thing to say - it would have been true. But it would also have destroyed Jean Valjean. And so the bishop, out of love, and hoping to bring Jean Valjean to God's love says, "I am glad to see you. But why didn't you take the two candlesticks that I gave you along with the silver plates?" And he explains to the police, quite falsely, hiding the truth, staying silent about what is right, that he gave the silverware to Jean Valjean to start a new life. The bishop, doing what Paul would have done, stays silent about what is right so that Valjean can know that the love of God means building others up, not tearing them down.
It's not easy in our culture to do as Paul suggests - to be silent. We prize knowledge so highly, and we're so insistent on having the last word, that being silent can be difficult. It means hiding what we know, it means appearing less knowledgeable than we are, it means stifling our pride at "knowing the right answer." But those are all small prices to pay to demonstrate the love of God to others so that they, in turn, come to love God. And after all, isn't that what we're called to do in the world? Not to show off how much we know, or how right we are, but to spread the good news of God's love to others, the love that we have received ourselves, through Christ Jesus our Lord. Thanks be to God. Amen.
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