Built
Together in Love
How Every Member Helps the
Church Grow
Ephesians 4:1–16
Text: Ephesians 4:1–16
Big Idea: Because Christ gives grace to every member and equips the
church for ministry, we must preserve the unity of the Spirit, speak the truth
in love, and each do our part, so the whole body grows into maturity.
Recurring phrase: In love, we grow together.
Picture
a body.
Not
an ordinary body. A strange one.
It
has one enormous mouth. A mouth the size of a stage. And it has hundreds of
tiny ears. Little ears, all lined up in rows.
The
mouth talks. The ears listen.
That’s
it. No hands. No feet. No heart pumping. No lungs breathing. Just one big mouth
and many little ears.
Could
that body walk? No. Could it lift a child? No. Could it carry
groceries to a neighbor? No. Could it hug a grieving widow? No. Could it run
toward someone in trouble? No.
It
can only talk and listen. Talk and listen. Week after week.
Church
family, that picture is funny. But it is also painful. Because that is what
many churches look like on a Sunday morning.
A
few people on the platform. Many people in the seats. The platform performs.
The seats watch. We come. We consume. We critique. We go home.
We
have learned this from our culture. Our world prizes the individual. My
choice. My preference. My journey. My playlist. We are
trained from childhood to be independent. To stand on our own feet. To need no
one.
And
then we bring that same instinct into the house of God.
We
shop for a church the way we shop for a phone plan. What do I get? How is the
music? How long is the sermon? Is the parking easy? And if something rubs us
the wrong way, we leave. We find another store.
So
here is the question that sits under this morning’s text:
How
does a congregation escape the pull of individualism, consumerism, and
relational friction, and become the living, breathing, unified, mature body of
Christ that Scripture describes?
Paul
answers that question in Ephesians chapter 4:1-16.
Look at the very first words of
chapter 4:1-16.
“I therefore, a prisoner for the
Lord, urge you…”
In Greek, Paul says Parakalō
oun hymas. “I urge you, therefore.”
That little word oun,
“therefore,” is a hinge. A big door swings on it.
For three chapters Paul has been
lifting our eyes to heaven. He has shown us
the Father who chose us before the foundation of the world.
The Son who redeemed us by his blood.
The Spirit who sealed us.
He showed us a wall torn down. The wall between Jew and Gentile. Hostility
killed at the cross. Two peoples made into one new humanity.
Chapters 1 to 3 are a mountain
view. You stand on the summit. The air is clear. You can see for a hundred
miles.
Then comes chapter 4. “Therefore.”
Now walk down the mountain. Walk
into the valley. Walk into your home. Into your small group. Into the church
parking lot after a long meeting.
Paul says, “Walk in a manner
worthy of the calling to which you have been called.”
The word is peripateō. To
walk. To walk around. To live step by step.
The Christian life is a walk. One
foot, then the other. Day after day. Sunday and Monday.
And Paul says, make that walk axiōs.
Worthy. The word pictures a balance scale. On one side, the calling of God. On
the other side, the way you live. Paul says, let the two sides balance. Let
your walk weigh the same as your calling.
Now notice something beautiful about the
shape of this passage.
In verse 2, Paul says, “bearing with one
another in love.”
In verse 16, the final verse, he says the
body “builds itself up in love.”
En agapē at the beginning. En
agapē at the end.
Scholars call this an inclusio.
Think of it as two hands cupped around a candle. Love on this side. Love on
that side. Everything in between is held and sheltered by love.
Unity. Gifts. Leaders. Maturity. Truth.
Growth. All of it is cupped in the hands of love.
And what kind of love is it? Agapē.
In Ephesians, agapē runs deeper
than feeling. It outlasts every change in the emotional weather. It is a choice
of the will. It is self-giving. It seeks the other person’s highest good in God.
And it does that without demanding anything back.
It is covenant love. It is rooted in
grace. It is the love that went to the cross.
That love is the lifeblood of the church.
Cut it off, and the body grows pale and cold. Let it flow, and every limb comes
alive.
Let me put it another way.
Think about medicine. You have
research labs. Scientists in white coats. Microscopes. Data. Careful study.
And you have clinics. Doctors and
nurses. Real patients. Real wounds.
What happens if you have research
but no clinic? You have brilliant discoveries sitting in a file cabinet. And
patients still sick in the waiting room.
What happens if you have a clinic
but no research? You have busy, caring doctors using outdated, even harmful
methods.
You need both. The lab and the
clinic.
The same is true of the Christian
life. Doctrine without a walk becomes lifeless orthodoxy. A beautiful textbook
in a dusty drawer. And a walk without doctrine becomes zeal without direction.
A car with a strong engine and no steering wheel.
Ephesians 1–3 is the lab. Ephesians
4–6 is the clinic. And Paul says, “Therefore.” Take what you know, and walk it
out.
So here is where we are going this morning:
Employing our spiritual gifts with
unselfish love leads to harmony and unity, and it builds up the body of Christ
into full maturity.
In love, we grow together.
I would like to share with you three points.
Verse 2: “with all humility
and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love.”
Four virtues. Think of them
as four seasons of weather. Four climates of the heart. Where these grow, unity
flourishes. Where they die, the ground cracks.
First, humility. Tapeinophrosynē. Lowliness of mind.
Here is something surprising. In the Greco-Roman world, this word was
an insult. It described a slave. Someone groveling. Someone small and weak. No
proud Roman would ever want to be called humble.
But then Jesus came.
The King of glory took off his robe. He wrapped a towel around his
waist. He knelt on a dirt floor. He washed dusty feet. Then he walked up a hill
and stretched out his arms on a cross.
Philippians 2 says he “humbled himself.”
And just like that, an insult became a crown. A slave’s word became
the family resemblance of God’s children.
Humility is the quiet refusal to make myself the center of the room.
It is the end of “me first.”
In an age of individualism, we often choose a church the way we
choose a restaurant: “Does it suit my taste? Does it meet my needs?”
Imagine a church member who prefers quiet, traditional worship. One
Sunday, younger believers lead with unfamiliar songs. His first thought is,
“This isn’t for me.”
Then he notices a young man singing with deep conviction. He listens
to the words. Afterward, he thanks the young musicians for helping the church
worship. That is humility.
Second, gentleness. Praÿtēs. Sometimes translated
“meekness.”
Meekness is strength. The Greeks used this word for a powerful war
horse that had been trained. All that muscle. All that speed. All that force.
And yet it responds to the lightest touch of the rider’s hand.
Power under control.
A gentle person could crush you with words. They have the strength.
They have the argument. They have the facts. But they hold the reins. They
handle you like something precious. Like fine china. Like a newborn.
Third, patience. Makrothymia. Literally, “long of temper.”
Long-tempered.
Some of us have a short fuse. You light it, and in two seconds, boom.
Makrothymia is a long fuse. A very long fuse. You can light
it, and it burns, and burns, and burns, and somewhere along the way, love puts
it out before it ever reaches the powder.
It is largeness of soul. A big soul has room in it. Room for other
people’s slowness. Room for their mistakes. Room for them to grow.
And fourth, “bearing with one another in love.” Anechomenoi
allēlōn en agapē.
Grammatically, this phrase carries the force of a
command. And the word anechomai means to hold yourself back. To put up
with. To endure.
Let’s be honest. Church is a family. And families
have quirks.
There is the brother who always sings half a beat
behind the worship team. There is the sister who sends very long text messages.
There is the elder who tells the same story every potluck. There is the young
couple whose toddler throws Cheerios across three rows.
And maybe, just maybe, something about you is being
borne by someone else this very morning.
Bearing with one another means I carry you. You carry
me. Like two hikers on a long trail, each one shouldering part of the other’s
pack.
No resentment stored up in the basement. No list of
grievances kept in a drawer. Just love that keeps choosing, again and again, to
hold on.
Now, verse 3.
This is a crucial verse.
“Eager to
maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.”
Look at the
verb. Spoudazontes tērein.
Spoudazontes
means to make every effort. To be eager. To spare no energy. It is an urgent
word. A word with sweat on it.
And tērein
means to guard. To keep. To protect.
Here is the
key. You can only guard something you already have.
Paul’s command
is simple: “Guard the unity.”
Who created it?
The Spirit did. Through the cross of Christ. Ephesians 2:14 says Christ
“himself is our peace.” He broke down the dividing wall. He made the two one.
So unity is a
gift already delivered. It is a treasure already placed in our hands.
Picture a
family heirloom. A precious vase, passed down through generations. It sits on
the mantle. You did not make it. You did not buy it. It was given to you.
What is your
job? Guard it. Keep the kids from playing ball in the living room. Dust it
carefully. Don’t let anyone knock it over in a careless moment.
That is the
church’s unity. A gift from heaven, sitting on the mantle of this congregation.
Each of us is called to guard it.
And how do we guard it? “In the bond of
peace.”
En tō syndesmō tēs eirēnēs.
A syndesmos is a bond. A
ligament. A cord that ties things together.
Imagine a bundle of sticks. One stick
alone? Snap. Easy. But tie a cord around twenty sticks, and no one can break
them.
Peace is that cord. Peace wraps around a
congregation of very different people, and holds them together.
Then Paul lifts his voice like a herald. Verses
4 to 6:
“There is one body and one Spirit, just as you
were called to the one hope that belongs to your call, one Lord, one faith, one
baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in
all.”
Seven times. One. One. One. One. One. One. One.
Like a bell ringing seven times across a
valley.
One body. One Spirit. One hope. One Lord. One
faith. One baptism. One God and Father.
Church family, if heaven rings that bell seven
times, who are we to splinter into factions? Guard the unity that is already
ours. Actively preserve that unity.
So what does this look like on Monday?
First, cultivate relational tolerance.
Practice anechomenoi. Bear with one another.
You will meet people in this church who are
wired very differently from you. Different personality. Different generation.
Different music taste. Different opinions on how warm the sanctuary should be.
Some like hymns with an organ. Some like
guitars and drums. Some want the sermon in English. Some want it in Chinese.
Some want it short. Some want it long. Most want it short.
On the essentials of the gospel, we stand
firm. On the non-essentials, we open our arms wide.
Second, reject factionalism. Guard the
vase.
Gossip is a baseball thrown in the living
room. Political division is a toddler climbing the mantle. Pride is the
careless elbow that sends the heirloom crashing to the floor.
Where does disunity come from? James tells us.
It comes from the passions at war within us. It comes from pride. From ego.
From needing to win.
And where does peace come from? From humility.
From the towel and the basin.
So before you forward that message, before you
vent in the parking lot, before you join the side conversation, ask yourself:
“Am I guarding the vase, or am I swinging the bat?”
Point to remember: We preserve the
unity God has given by walking in humility, patience, and love.
In love, we grow together.
Now Paul turns a
corner. Look at the first word of verse 7.
“But.”
“But grace was
given to each one of us according to the measure of Christ’s gift.”
For six verses
Paul has been ringing the bell of “one.” Now he zooms in. From the whole body
to each member.
Heni de
hekastō hēmōn. “But to each one of us.”
Each. One. Of
us.
Unity does not
mean uniformity. One body does not mean one kind of body part.
Think of an
orchestra.
One orchestra.
One symphony. One conductor. But it would be a terrible concert if all eighty
musicians played the tuba.
You need violins
and cellos. Flutes and clarinets. Trumpets and timpani. Different instruments.
Different sounds. One music.
That is the
church.
And notice the
word charis. Grace. Here grace is more than the grace that saves you. It
is the grace that empowers you. Grace for service. Grace with hands and
feet. Grace that turns outward toward your brothers and sisters.
And who receives
it? Each one. Every one.
No believer is
left out. No believer is a spectator.
There are no
empty seats in the orchestra. Every chair has a name on it. And one of those
chairs has your name on it.
The church was
never meant for a few people to serve while everyone else watches. It was never
meant to be one big mouth and many little ears.
Then, in verse 8,
Paul looks back to the Old Testament. He quotes Psalm 68:18.
“When he ascended
on high he led a host of captives, and he gave gifts to men.”
Picture an
ancient victory parade.
A king has gone
out to battle. He has defeated the enemy. Now he rides back through the city
gates. Trumpets blare. Crowds line the streets. Behind him march the captives
he has conquered.
And as the king
rides through the city, he reaches into the treasure chests. He throws gifts to
the people. Gold. Silver. The spoils of war.
That is Jesus.
Paul says in
verses 9 and 10, he “descended into the lower regions.” He came down. Down from
heaven to a manger. Down to a cross. Down to a tomb.
And then he rose.
And he ascended “far above all the heavens, that he might fill all things.”
The victorious
Warrior-King has won the battle. Sin, death, and the devil are led in chains
behind him. And now, from the throne, he pours out gifts on his people.
So when you use
your gift, remember where it came from. It is plunder from the cross. It is a
trophy from the empty tomb. It cost Jesus everything to win it. And he gave it
to you.
How could we
leave it wrapped in the closet?
Verse 11: “And he
gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the shepherds and teachers.”
Notice the phrase
“shepherds and teachers.” In Greek, tous de poimenas kai didaskalous. A
single article covers both words. Most likely Paul has one group in view.
Shepherd-teachers. Pastors who teach. Teachers who shepherd.
And then comes
verse 12. This verse can change the culture of a church.
Christ gave these
leaders
“to equip the
saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ.”
Three little
prepositions. Like three stepping stones across a stream.
Pros — for
the equipping of the saints. Eis — unto the work of ministry. Eis
— unto the building up of the body.
Watch the flow.
Leaders equip. Saints serve. The body grows.
Who does the work
of ministry? Read it again. The saints. You.
The pastor’s
primary job description is to equip you so that you do the ministry.
Some of us have
the picture backward. We hire the pastor like we hire a plumber. “Here’s your
salary. Go fix the church. I’ll watch.”
Paul hands the
pastor a different job. A coach. A trainer. A dad teaching his kid to ride a
bike. Running alongside. Holding the seat. And then letting go, so the child
can ride.
The word for
“equipping” in verse 12 is katartismos. And it is a beautiful word.
Greek medical
writers used the related verb for setting a broken bone.
Picture an
ancient physician. A man comes in with a fractured leg. The bone is out of
line. Every step is agony. The physician takes the limb in his hands. He feels
for the break. And with one firm, skilled motion, he sets the bone back into
place.
It hurts for a
moment. But now the leg can heal. Now it can bear weight. Now it can walk
again.
The same word
family shows up in the Gospels. In Mark 1:19, James and John are in their boat,
mending their nets. The ropes were torn. Fish slipped through the holes.
So they sat on the shore, knotting, repairing, restoring.
Why? So the nets
could go back into the water and catch fish.
That is pastoral
ministry. Setting bones. Mending nets.
Some of you have
come into this church broken. Out of alignment. Wounded by life, by sin, by
other people, maybe even by other churches. And the Word of God, taught with
love, gently sets the bone.
Some of you have
holes in your nets. Gaps in your understanding. Places where the gospel has not
yet reached. And the Word of God, taught patiently, mends the net.
Why? So you can
push off from the shore. So you can go back out into the water. So you can walk
again. So you can catch fish.
Leaders help
believers serve effectively.
First, let’s tear down the wall between
“clergy” and “laity.”
There is no first-class and economy-class
seating on this plane. Every baptized believer is a minister. Every member has
a grace-gift from the King.
If you are in Christ, you are in ministry.
The only question is whether you are using what you’ve been given. There are no
passive spectators. Every member has a part to play.
Second, serve horizontally.
Take your gift and turn it toward your
brothers and sisters.
Brothers and sisters, individualism asks,
“How does this church meet my needs?” Love asks, “How can I help meet yours?”
We come with real needs. But Christ has also given us something to offer.
Your gift has a purpose beyond yourself.
Someone needs the encouragement you can give. Someone needs the welcome you can
offer. Someone needs the help you keep putting off.
Maybe your gift is encouragement. Write the
note. Make the call. Send the text that says, “I prayed for you this morning.”
Maybe your gift is hospitality. Open your
home. Set an extra plate. Make the newcomer feel like family.
Maybe your gift is teaching. Join our
teacher-training. Lead a children’s class. Open the Word for a small group.
Maybe your gift is administration. Bring
order to chaos. Help a ministry run smoothly so others can flourish.
Maybe your gift is mercy. Sit with the sick.
Bring a meal to a family walking through a long season of treatment. Hold a
hand in a hospital room.
You cannot practice “one another” alone. You
have to know people. Make room in your schedule. Let someone else’s burden
matter enough to change your plans.
This week, choose one person. Ask, “What has
God given me that could strengthen this brother or sister?” Then take one
concrete step.
Small groups. Care teams. Local outreach.
There is a chair in the orchestra with your name on it.
Take your place. Bring your gift. Serve one
another.
No individualism. Serve one another.
Point to remember: Christ gives grace
to every member and equips the church so that all may serve.
In love, we grow together.
Where is all this
going? What is the destination?
Verse 13: “until
we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God,
to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ.”
That is a
staggering goal.
The church is
meant to grow up until it looks like Jesus. The whole body, together,
reaching the full stature of Christ.
Now, let me
describe this maturity. What does it look like?
“The faith” means the truth we believe about Jesus Christ. We learn to
evaluate teaching and cultural pressures by the gospel.
Our preferences and methods may differ. But we share convictions about
who Christ is, what He has done, and how we should follow Him.
2. “The knowledge of the Son of God”: we grow together in knowing
Christ.
We come to know Christ’s love as we pray, suffer, and serve together.
His forgiveness teaches us to forgive. His care reaches us through one another.
The Christ we confess shapes the relationships we share.
3. “To mature manhood”: we become one mature body.
Paul uses the singular: one mature person. The goal is a whole church
growing together.
Leaders equip. Experienced believers guide newer believers. Each member
contributes. Those who struggle receive support.
Are we helping one another grow?
4. “To the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ”: we grow
together to reflect Christ.
Christ gives the gifts. Christ supplies the power. Christ sets the
standard.
As each member uses what Christ has given, the whole body increasingly
reflects His character. Complete perfection awaits His return. But real
maturity is possible now.
A small-group member encounters an online teacher who distorts the
gospel. The group listens to his questions. Someone opens Scripture. Others
offer insight and encouragement. Together, they help him discern the truth.
Or a family faces serious illness. One member brings meals. Another
provides transportation. Another listens and prays. Different gifts express the
care of the same Christ.
Brothers and sisters, what Christ gives to each of us should strengthen
all of us.
Ask yourself: “Is my spiritual growth helping the body grow?”
Spiritual Infancy
But in verse 14, Paul shows us the
danger. He says,
“so that we may no longer be children,
tossed to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by
human cunning, by craftiness in deceitful schemes.”
Let’s walk through that picture slowly.
Nēpioi. Infants. Little children.
Now picture an infant in a small boat.
Alone. On the open sea.
No oars. No rudder. No compass. No map.
Klydōnizomenoi. The waves toss
the boat. Up. Down. Back. Forth.
Peripheromenoi panti anemō tēs
didaskalias. Carried about by every wind of teaching. A wind from the east.
Then a gust from the west. The boat spins. The child has no idea where he is
going.
That is a Christian who never grows up.
Every new podcast is a new gust. Every viral video is a new wave. Every clever
book spins the boat around.
Then Paul names the people blowing the wind.
En tē kybeia tōn anthrōpōn. “By human
cunning.”
The word kybeia comes from the world of
dice. Gambling. Picture a back-alley dice game. A charlatan smiles at you. He
rolls. He wins. He rolls again. He wins again.
Why? Because his dice are loaded. Weighted on
one side. The game was rigged before you ever sat down.
Then Paul adds, en panourgia pros tēn
methodeian tēs planēs. “By craftiness in deceitful schemes.”
Methodeia. You can hear our word
“method” in it. A strategy. A plan of attack. A carefully designed trap to lure
the gullible into error.
Church, there are loaded dice in our world.
Teachings that look shiny and promise you everything. Health and wealth with no
cross. Spirituality with no Savior. Self-help dressed up in Bible verses.
A mature church does not get tossed around
like that. A mature church knows the gospel deeply. And it has brothers and
sisters who help one another see clearly.
So what keeps us
from being infants in a rudderless boat?
Verse 15: “Rather,
speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the
head, into Christ.”
The phrase
“speaking the truth” is one word in Greek. Alētheuontes.
It is a present
active participle. And you could almost translate it with a word that doesn’t
exist in English: “truthing.”
Truthing in love.
It covers our
speech. It also covers our lives. It means being truthful. Living truthfully.
Being the kind of person whose words and deeds match.
Truth in the Bible
is more than correct information. It is faithfulness. Reliability. Covenant
loyalty. The kind of truth you can lean your full weight on, like a sturdy
bridge over a deep river.
Now picture a road with a ditch on either
side.
On one side is the ditch of truth without
love.
That ditch is full of sharp rocks. It looks
like harsh legalism. Arrogance. Orthodoxy turned into a weapon. Bible verses
thrown like stones. It wins arguments and loses people. It is right, and it
crushes.
On the other side is the ditch of love
without truth.
That ditch is full of soft mud. It looks like
sentimentalism. Avoiding every hard conversation. Smiling while a brother walks
off a cliff. Throwing a blanket labeled “grace” over a fire that is still
burning. It feels kind. But it lets people sink.
And between the two ditches runs the road. Alētheuontes
en agapē. Truthing in love.
Love shapes how we speak. Truth guides what
we say.
Truth is the medicine. Love is the spoon. You
need both. Medicine without the spoon gets spilled. A spoon with no medicine
heals no one.
Go back to that infant in the
boat.
Night has fallen. The storm is
rising. And along the coast, there are lights.
Some of those lights are
false. In centuries past, wreckers sometimes lit lanterns on dangerous rocks.
Ships would steer toward them, thinking they had found a safe harbor. And they
would crash on the reef.
Deceptive coastal lights.
Loaded dice on the water.
But there is another kind of
light on that coast. A lighthouse. Built on solid rock. Deep foundations. Its
beam sweeps steadily across the waves. It does not move with the wind. It does
not flicker with the storm.
A church rooted in gospel
truth and filled with unselfish love is that lighthouse. Steady. Anchored.
Shining. Guiding the little boats home before they hit the rocks.
So how do we live this?
First, practice redemptive
confrontation.
When you and another believer are in
conflict, or when you see sin causing real harm, go to the person. Directly.
Privately. Gently. With the goal of restoration.
Jesus gave us this pattern in
Matthew 18. Go to your brother. Just the two of you.
Don’t go around him to everyone
else. That’s gossip. That’s the bat in the living room.
And don’t stay silent while the
house burns. That’s the ditch of mud.
Go to him. With the medicine and the
spoon.
Paul says in Galatians 6:1, “restore
him in a spirit of gentleness.” Restore. That’s the same word family again. Katartizō.
Set the bone. Mend the net.
Wherever possible, the goal of every
hard conversation is a healed limb and a mended net.
And when there is abuse or danger,
please don’t carry it alone. Come to the pastors and elders. Some situations
need more than a private conversation. They need protection.
Second, practice doctrinal
discernment.
Check the dice before you play.
When you hear a popular teaching on
social media, on a podcast, in a bestselling book, hold it up to the light of
Scripture. Ask: Does this exalt Christ? Does this match the whole counsel of
God? Does it lead me to the cross, or around it?
The Bereans in Acts 17 heard the
apostle Paul himself. And they still went home and searched the Scriptures
daily to see if these things were so. Luke calls them noble for it.
Be a noble Berean.
And now Paul
brings it all home in verse 16. This is one of the most beautiful sentences in
the New Testament.
“from whom the
whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped,
when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds
itself up in love.”
Christ is the
head. Everything flows from him.
And the body is
“joined and held together.” Picture the human body. Bones connected by
ligaments. Muscles anchored by tendons. Joints that bend and flex. Thousands of
connections, each one small, each one essential.
“By every joint.”
Every one.
“When each part
is working properly.” Each part.
Think about your
little toe. Small. Hidden in a sock. Nobody ever compliments your little toe.
But break it, and suddenly you notice. You limp. You can’t run. The whole body
slows down.
There is no
unimportant part of the body.
So how do we
measure the health of a church?
Look past the
platform. Look past the lights and the sound system. Look at the joints. Look
at the ligaments.
Look at the woman
who quietly prepares communion every month. Look at the man who arrives early
to unlock the doors and turn on the heat. Look at the grandmother praying for
the youth group by name. Look at the young adult who sits with the new family
at lunch. Look at the volunteer driving someone to their medical appointment.
Look at the generous giver who never wants to be thanked. Look at the small
group leader texting a struggling member at eleven o’clock at night.
That’s where the
health of a church shows up. In a thousand quiet joints, each doing its part.
And what happens
when each part works? The body “builds itself up in love.”
There it is
again. En agapē. The second hand cupped around the candle. We began in
love. We end in love.
So this week:
Test what you hear. Hold popular
ideas up to Scripture. Check the dice.
If conflict arises, speak directly and
privately when appropriate. Seek restoration. Avoid both gossip and
silence.
Choose one concrete way to use your gift
to build up one other person this week. One person. One act. One joint
doing its part.
Point to remember: The body grows
toward Christ as each member serves in love.
In love, we grow together.
Let’s
step back and look at the whole road Paul has walked us down this morning.
He
began with a gift. The unity of the Spirit. A precious vase on the mantle. Our
call is to guard it with humility, gentleness, patience, and love.
He
moved to grace. Grace given to each one. Gifts thrown from the victory parade
of the risen King. Leaders who set bones and mend nets, so that every saint can
serve.
And
he ended with maturity. A church that grows up into Christ. No longer an infant
in a rudderless boat. A lighthouse on the rock. Truthing in love. Every joint,
every ligament, every part working together.
Now
let me bring back that strange body we started with. One big mouth. Many little
ears.
Church
family, God has something far better in mind.
Picture
another body. A body with a head. And the head is Christ. Picture strong hands
that serve. Feet that go. Shoulders that carry. Eyes that notice the lonely.
Ears that truly listen. A heart that beats with agapē. And joints and
ligaments, thousands of them, holding it all together.
That
body can walk. It can lift a child. It can carry groceries to a neighbor. It
can hug the grieving widow. It can run toward the one in trouble.
That
body is Christ’s body. And you are part of it.
So
here is my invitation. Before you leave this room, choose one step for this
week.
Maybe
there is someone you need to receive again. Someone you have been
holding at arm’s length. Guard the vase. Reach out.
Maybe
there is an honest conversation you have been avoiding. Pray. Pick up
the medicine and the spoon. Speak the truth in love.
Maybe
there is a gift you have left wrapped in the closet. Unwrap it. Bring it
to the body. Sign up. Show up. Serve one person.
Choose
one person to encourage or serve this week, using the grace Christ has given
you.
Church
family, we are Christ’s body. Joined together. Equipped for ministry. Growing
as each member does its part.
So
let’s say it together one last time. Three times.
In
love, we grow together.
In
love, we grow together.
In
love, we grow together.
Let’s
pray.
Lord Jesus,
risen and ascended King,
You came down to
the depths for us, and you rose above all the heavens. You have poured out
grace on every one of your people. Thank you.
Holy Spirit, you
have made us one. Forgive us for the times we have treated your gift
carelessly. For our pride. For our sharp words. For our silence. Clothe us with
humility, gentleness, and patience. Teach us to bear with one another in love.
Make us eager to guard the unity you have given.
Lord Christ,
thank you for the gifts you have placed in this congregation. Wake up every
gift that is sleeping. Set the bones that are broken. Mend the nets that are
torn. Equip every member of this church for the work of ministry.
Father, grow us
up. Keep us from being tossed by every wind. Anchor us in your truth. Fill us
with your love. Make this church a lighthouse in Fort Bend.
And as each part
does its work, build up your body in love, until we all reach the full stature
of Christ.
In love, help us
grow together.
In the name of
Jesus, our Head, Amen.
