This is a message on our expectations for one another. Originally, this message came between “A Tree and Its Fruit.” With the benefit of hindsight, I think it makes more sense to put it here. The other messages in this series are available here

Scripture Reading:
I Corinthians 12:12-23, 25-26

Body Parts in a Jar

Message Files / Archive / WHF

The old farmhouse was a masterwork of bay windows, steep gables and porch rails. In the unrelenting light of day, chipped paint and missing shingles would have betrayed its age. But in the storm, all its faded glory was restored. Each flash of lightning revealed its dramatic outline. Then, before the eye could capture any details, the light was gone.

Dr. Frankenstein sat inside the farmhouse, listening to the storm. He had always enjoyed a good storm. Drops of rain pounded against the window. Because the aging roof offered meager resistence to the howling rain, some portion of the storm could be heard dripping into buckets. Of course, the cannonade of thunder was the most spectacular sound of all.

The doctor sat near the fireplace. With each flash of lightning, the room became polarized into stark light and shadow. Between bursts, the room was soft around the edges. The room’s only light was an orange glow from the fire.

Frankenstein held a torso in his lap. It was wide open, like a salad bowl. It was also made of plastic. From collarbone to groin, the plastic torso was an empty cavity. Dr. Frankenstein worked methodically, filling the empty torso with a complete set of vinyl organs. Finally, he inserted a stomach into the empty space between the liver and the large intestine. Everything was in place. The doctor ran his hand over the surface of the interlocking organs. “Perfect,” he smiled to himself. “The handiwork of God.”

A door to this room creaked open. A small man with bulging eyes stepped into the parlor. He moved like a nervous squirrel. Every time he took a step, it appeared as if he were on the verge of running for his life. “Master,” he said, “there is someone on the telephone who wishes to speak with you.”

“How strange,” Frankenstein replied. “I didn’t even hear it ring.” Calmly, the doctor accepted the telephone and held it to his ear. “This is Dr. Frankenstein,” he said. “How may I help you?” The conversation was brief. When it was over, the doctor rose from his chair. He announced, “That was the pastor of Sour Creek Community Church. We have an appointment in the morning. Igor, prepare the carriage!”

Igor answered with great enthusiasm. “Yes, master! Right away! I will prepare the carriage, master!”

* * *

By the next morning, the storm had blown itself out. Igor stood in the driveway, beside the rusting remains of a Buick LeSabre. The car’s engine wheezed, asthmatically. Clouds of steam tinged blue by burning oil billowed from the tailpipe. Although it was in park, the car shuddered convulsively from side to side. Stirred by a sense of anticipation or perhaps by the example of the Buick, Igor hopped from one foot to the other.

Frankenstein erupted through the farmhouse door. He wore a dusty top hat and carried a black doctor’s bag in one hand. “Well done, Igor!” he called. “Let us make haste!”

Grinning, Igor pulled open the passenger door. It came open reluctantly, making a sound like twisting metal. When the doctor was settled, Igor scrambled into the driver’s seat. He poked his head out the open window . When Igor shifted the transmission into drive, the Buick backfired twice. Finally, the car started to move forward. Igor laughed with delight.

* * *

A short time later, the Buick screamed into the parking lot of Sour Creek Community Church. The car skidded to a stop, leaving 30 feet of burned rubber across the blacktop.

Completely unruffled, Dr. Frankenstein waited for Igor to open the passenger door. As he stood, the doctor placed the top hat onto his head. Then, he walked briskly toward the main entrance of the church.

* * *

When she heard the door, Pastor Vivian Shard stepped out of her office. There, in the foyer of the church, she encountered a gaunt man wearing a stovepipe hat. Clearly, this man was strange. And yet, there was something reassuring about him as well. He radiated an aura of calm. And he carried his doctor’s bag with the authority of a veteran.

“Hello,” said the pastor. “You must be Dr. Frankenstein.”

“Forsooth,” replied the doctor. “And you must be the Reverend Shard.”

“That’s right,” the pastor agreed. After shaking hands, Pastor Shard continued, “I must say, you don’t look like any church consultant I’ve ever seen. Yet you make some pretty impressive claims on your web site. You say that you know all about putting bodies together. You even say that you can take a lifeless church body and get it moving again. Isn’t that what you say?”

“Quite so,” Frankenstein agreed. “I assure you, madame, I am quite experienced in these matters. Earlier in my career, I worked with (ahem) physical bodies.” Frankenstein lifted his doctor’s bag, as if presenting it as evidence. “Getting a lifeless body to move is no problem at all. But getting it to think properly – well, that is a different matter altogether! It all comes down to the brain. I don’t mind telling you: brains are a tricky business. And that is why I became a church consultant. In the body of Christ, the brain never needs replacing. As I’m sure you realize, the body of Christ is subject to the mind of Christ. It’s a perfect situation for me. I can focus all of my attention on the body. No more fishing around for the right brain. It really has made my life much easier.”

“I can tell,” Pastor Shard replied cautiously... “that you are very sincere.”

“Enough about me,” Frankenstein said with a wave of his hand. “Tell me about your church body. What seems to be the problem? Has the eye said to the hand, ‘I don’t need you!’ Or perhaps everyone wants to be a epiglottis. I’ve seen that before. Too many epiglottises can be a big problem for any church. It can cause a massive gag reflex.”

Before Dr. Frankenstein could demonstrate the massive gag reflex, Pastor Shard said, “Actually, all the different parts seem to be healthy. That’s what I don’t understand. We have regular affirmation exercises. We really do make an effort. If you’re a hand, that’s great with us. If you’re an aorta, more power to you. Seriously. Be the best darn aorta in the whole state. Do your thing. That’s fine with us. We even appreciate all the obscure body parts, like bile ducts and the tail bone. When we found out we were missing a metatarsal-phalangeal joint, we want out and got one. We know that everything is important. We value and appreciate every part of the body.”

Dr. Frankenstein was intrigued. “Yes,” he said, “That does sound like a challenge. Perhaps I should have a look for myself. Is everyone here?”

Pastor Shard nodded. “Of course,” she replied. “Everyone is waiting for us in the sanctuary, just as you instructed.” The pastor led Dr. Frankenstein to the church sanctuary. All 200 members of the congregation were gathered inside.

After a quick introduction from Pastor Shard, Dr. Frankenstein opened his doctor’s bag. “Where,” he asked, “are the kidneys?”

Two hands went up. “Over here, your honor. I’m Edgar Stone, and this is my wife Edwina. We’ve been kidneys for about as long as we can remember.”

Dr. Frankenstein pulled a stethoscope from his bag and proceeded to examine the Stones. He checked everything about them, right down to their shoelaces. As he performed the various tests associated with his profession, the doctor chatted to them in a very casual way. “Did you hear that fretful storm last night?” he asked them. “Did it keep you awake? And oh, by the way, what do you think about the liver?”

“We fully support the liver,” Edwina replied. “We want the liver to be very happy.”

Edgar added, “God bless the liver, your honor.”

Dr. Frankenstein went on to question several other parts of the body. Every bit was healthy. And every bit spoke kindly about all the other bits. There was no sign of disease or conflict. And yet, somehow, something was not quite right. Somehow, those who loved Sour Creek Community Church the very most felt there was something was missing from their life together. It just didn’t add up.

Finally, Pastor Shard glanced at her watch. With a sigh, she stepped forward and said, “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Dr. Frankenstein. We’ve already stumped half a dozen consultants. So far, no one has been able to diagnose our problem.”

Dr. Frankenstein removed his top hat, and ran a hand through his thinning, white hair. “Actually,” he began, “I think I have it.”

Everyone leaned forward in their seat.

“As it turns out,” he said, “you are not a body at all. You are an assemblage of very kind parts.”

“‘Assemblage of very kind parts?’” Pastor Shard echoed. “What does that mean?”

Dr. Frankenstein explained, “There is more to a body than its constituent parts. Trust me on this. You can’t simply dig up body parts, toss them on a table in the center of your castle and expect them to live. For a body to function as a body, all the parts have to work together. The parts have to knit together, support one another, feed one another.

“You, on the other hand, are more like the meat department at Safeway. Each part rests on a separate styrofoam tray. Each part is wrapped in its own layer of plastic. I must say, as you glance across the display case, you are very kind to all the other parts. You genuinely wish them well. Even so, in the last analysis, you remain separate. You do not share one life. Each of you has a separate life.

“If you want to be a body, then you must knit yourselves together. Your part must feed the other parts and be fed in return. You must come together as one.”

* * *

In thinking about our expectations for one another, I was struck by this image of the Body. I’ve encountered this image a million times. In the past, I always thought that the point was one of tolerance. I thought that Paul was trying to get the church to appreciate all the different ways a person can serve Christ. And of course that is part of it. But Paul is saying more than, “Think kindly about the other parts.” Paul is saying more than, “Be tolerant of your differences.” Paul is saying, “Now you are part of one body. You together are the Body of Christ.”

To what extent has Christ knit us together into one body? To what extent are we an assemblage of very kind parts? Do our lives interlock in a way that nourishes us? Is that something we expect from each other?