Living on Purpose

In 1 Corinthians 3, Paul compares himself to a wise architect who has laid a foundation each person to build upon. What they would build on it would be up to them. But, he says, keep in mind that the strength and integrity of what you build will eventually be tested. His message is as valid and important for us today as it was for the people of Corinth almost 2,000 years ago. So, let's flesh this metaphor out a bit.

Paul writes that the foundation he has laid was Jesus Christ; however, I don’t think Paul was merely speaking about belief in a man, I think it had more to do with using what Jesus taught and stood for as the foundation for building one’s spirituality and one’s life. Faith, love, social justice, caring for the poor, equality, compassion, forgiveness, generosity and kindness were all at the heart of who Jesus was and what he stood for.

Despite the fact that churches today tend to harp on creeds, doctrine, and the Bible, Paul's foundation has nothing to do with any of these.

Once this foundation has been laid, Paul encourages us to think about what we’re building with our lives, and to build intentionally. He’s asking us to live on purpose, not necessarily for a purpose, as if you know you are meant to be a doctor or a teacher or something. But to live as many moments as possible intentionally, purposefully, striving to build a structure that will last. All our lives we have the opportunity to build upon this foundation, and it will be a work in progress, an evolving structure. Perhaps we’ll add on or demolish or renovate. Maybe we'll even move out of one house because it was built on a cracked foundation and start building a new house. What each of us builds will be different and will be a reflection of our spirituality and what is important to us, and that is ok.

When it comes to our building material, Paul is clear. It doesn't matter what we have to build with - gold, silver, precious stones, wood, grass or straw - it is wthe quality of your work that matters. In other words, it doesn’t matter what you have or own, it doesn’t matter what your experiences are or what your baggage is, it is what you make of what you have that is important. 

Then Paul goes into a Judgment Day sort of metaphor and a fire that will either refine or destroy, depending on the quality of the work. 

I don’t really do “judgment day” theology, instead I think we should ask ourselves what kind of life will last in a way that makes that life worth celebrating? And What doesn't?  Will people remember me and my life and what will they remember? What legacy will I leave and will it be one that the Spirit and I would be pleased with?  

I’ve done a lot of funerals over the years, buried people who were well loved and others whose families struggled to find something good to say about them. I’ve worked with families who were stoic and seemingly unmoved, and others who were overwhelmed with grief. Sometimes people have lots of stories to tell, sometimes they don’t know what to say, where to begin, or are drawing a blank. Sometimes the person’s history is well known, other times when I start asking questions, they find they don’t have many answers.

But, one thing people always know is how a person made them feel. 

When I meet with a family about a funeral or memorial service, I always asks two questions. First, I ask for each person to give me one word that describes their loved one. And second, I ask them what their loved one taught them that they will carry with them.

The answers to these questions tell me in a nutshell what a person has built in their life, and what kind of foundation they built it on. It often says quite a bit about how the person interacted with others, how they lived and what they gave (emotionally and spiritually) to those around them.

Rachel Remen, in her book Kitchen Table Wisdom, tells a story about how her “medical partner, who had never been ill a day in his life, died suddenly of a massive heart attack at fifty-six. He was a consummate healer and a magnificent friend and he left both his colleagues and his patients bereft. For weeks [they] numbly went through papers and made referrals for the many people who called in, many of them weeping. Finally, the last details were attended to and [they] settled down to a future without Hal."

"Then," Rachel said, "the patients started coming. For almost a year afterwards, several times a week I would open the door of my office and find one of Hal’s patients sitting in the common waiting room. At first I would worry that they didn’t know about Hal and I would have to tell them, but they all knew. They had just come to the place where they had experienced his listening, his special way of seeing and valuing them, just to sit there for a bit, perhaps to think about difficult decisions which currently faced them. Many patients came.”

The structure that Hal built was clearly one of caring, compassion, kindness and listening. He obviously created a safe, warm place where people could come in out of the storm and be cared for. I believe he also gave them a firm foundation of love and compassion to build their own lives upon.

Philip Gulley tells a story about a woman named Bernice. Bernice didn’t have an easy life. She lost her mother when she was eight in the flu epidemic of 1918, and then was shifted from one relative to another until she got married. She had a daughter who died at the age of 18, eventually lost her husband, her hearing, her sight, and ended up with pernicious anemia which turned her tongue black, but all she spoke about were blessings. Gulley reminds us that there is lots of things to learn in the world - science, English, poetry, math – and then "there are the things you learn sitting in Bernice’s front room, like prayer and goodness and faith and how to remember your blessings."

Thomas Merton once said:

If you want to identify me,
ask me not where I live,
or what I like to eat,
or home I comb my hair,
but ask me what I am living for, in detail,
ask me what I think is keeping me from living fully
for the thing I want to live for.

If someone were to ask you today what you are living for, what would you answer? And what keeps you from living fully for the thing you want to live for? Or using Paul's metaphor, what kind of structure do you want to build and on what foundation? And what is keeping you from creating that structure?

Someday when we look back on our lives, the answers to these questions may be the only thing that is important.

Love & Light!

Kaye