“Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age?” Philosophy, religion, politics—it all gets turned upside down by the cross. There’s not much wiggle room for reasoned thought, dogmatic theology, deliberative decision-making. Such harsh and sharp words from Paul! They cut to the core, because in fact we value the wisdom of the philosopher, the scribal accuracy and passion of the religious, and the politician’s persuasive power. We grant degrees, ordain, and elect. We give honor where honor is due.
What would it mean for us to take seriously the claim that God’s foolishness is wiser that human wisdom, God’s strength is stronger than human strength? Of course, in the church, we could claim that we’re already living that upside down life. We who follow the way of the cross are already measuring on a different standard, metric measures in an avoirdupois world. After all, we stand up for the poor and needy, run soup kitchens and food pantries, clothes closets and hand-me-up shops. We fly the not-for-profit banner in the capitol of capitalism and get arrested in Selma.
But we haven’t really transformed the world. The Nazi death camps are the most egregious symbol of our failure, but the killing fields are still wet with blood, and the Congo River runs red. Terry Gross interviews Tim LeHaye and John Hagee, men who inspire millions of Christians to ignore threats to creation as theologically insignificant, all the while constructing elaborate houses of scriptural-sounding, self-righteous cards that show the end-times are here (oddly, they copyright their work!). If we who see the world through the concave emptiness of the cross want foolishness, we simply open our eyes, but we hardly want to claim such nonsense as God’s wisdom.
What would our preaching look like if we really preached the foolishness of a crucified savior? We couldn’t offer the popular, pious insights of self-help. We’d acknowledge that the gospel overturns not only our worst but our best. Then we’d have to preach that our expectations are too small. We want tiny miracles, a parking space close to the door, a diet that sheds the final fifteen pounds. We don’t really want resurrection. We don’t really believe people can change. We want Dr. Phil to be right and Oprah to sound prophetic. But the true stranger in our midst? The absolutely other? The one who appears dangerous and threatens decent order with crazy claims about the Confederacy or bizarre notions that cilantro is the devil’s food? Clearly they are fools. But isn’t it just such as these whom God might use to shame the wisdom of the wise? Can we see in the crazy lady on the corner a glimpse of the kingdom at hand?
The cross is a scandal, not a piece of jewelry. We domesticate it at our peril. Instead, we need verse 30, in which true righteousness, sanctification, and redemption become visible in the one who takes the cross, the Christ who “became for us the wisdom of God.” Right relationships include true justice. Holiness reclaims the original goodness of the garden in the face of serpents and fruit. And redemption frees us from any system that accepts as worldly wisdom, faith or politics that slavery is acceptable or that bondage is ever good. The wisdom of the cross is that anything less than death is folly, so long as death holds the power to claim to be our end. Jesters know what is true, for if they didn’t make us laugh, we’d cry. Our purpose is life that turns death on its ear, that answers Paul’s question by pointing to the scandal of Jesus crucified, saying, “There’s your wise, your scribe, your debater. There’s God’s wisdom. Crucify me upside down.”
