The Corinthian Complex

Soon after ice – off in mid – April the male common loon arrives back at Lac La Hache from where he has had his stag winter vacation. He has been hanging out at the seaside off the coast of B.C. His lifelong mate arrives a week later from where she has been holidaying in a separate seaside location. April is re – acquaintance month in the loon world.

May is mating month and the noisy antics that these two committed companions go through for a single spring mating is inspiring if not instructive for mere humans. Finally, nesting takes place with both male and female birds sharing the brooding duties.

In June, two little balls of dark brown fluff are soon cruising the water with mom and dad. The devotion shown by both male and female loons for their babies seems to be incredible. Often, fluffy little chicks are carried on the back of either the male or female loon until the chicks are fledged out in their first feathers. Both sexes dote over their chicks—caring for, teaching, feeding and protecting their babies all through the summer. The parental and filial connection is apparently intense. These birds just seem to belong to one another.

And then September comes. One day, out of the blue, the male loon just up and leaves. The female hangs around a couple of more weeks and soon she just up and leaves, too. And there’s the baby loon, large now but still a baby with its immature dun – coloured plumage, swimming alone around the edge of the lake, still unable to fly. It is large but immature and sometimes gets so lonely that it will just hang out at the end of our wharf while we are sitting there. It will often almost swim up to us when we are paddling the canoe. And at night, aw man, the calls could break your heart. What happened to the sense of parental connection and belonging with those adult loons?

Well, if the truth be known, I don’t understand how parental connection and belonging is worked out in the loon world. But the loon parents do seem to have a strong sense that they don’t own their babies; that they are rearing baby loons primarily for the loon kingdom, not for themselves. And it is this perception that I have of loons and their young—and ownership or belonging that is species – or kingdom – oriented rather than individually claimed—that is challenging me this month of Pentecost.

It’s hard to not think about the gifts of the Holy Spirit during the season of Pentecost. So often, it seems to me, that when we Christians get talking about the gifts of the Holy Spirit we end up speaking in terms of “my spiritual gifts.” What is my spiritual gift? This is the question I often find myself wondering about. And it’s the question that is most often asked by folks who want to talk with me about spiritual gifts, too. The presence of the word “my” and “mine” when combined with a gift of the Holy Spirit is very revealing, I think. It raises the question, whose gift is it anyway?

The loons noisily carrying on outside my window as they engage in mating and raising another chick for loondom, the season of Pentecost, and questions about “my” spiritual gifts, inspire me to pore over the biblical texts that have to do with the gifts of the Holy Spirit. My poring over scriptures has taken me to a number of places, most notably Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians.

When it comes to the gifts of the Holy Spirit at Corinth, Paul seemed to be addressing the question of, whose gifts are they anyway? There seemed to be a lot of “my” spiritual gift talk going on in the church in Corinth. This kind of thinking and talking had apparently resulted in a comparing of gifts: My gift is more important and better than your gift. And the gifts were worthy of bragging rights too: gifts of special wisdom, of extraordinary knowledge, of outstanding faith, of healing the sick, of the working of miracles, of prophecy, of discerning spirits, of speaking various kinds of tongues and interpreting these same tongues (1 Corinthians 12:8 – 10). It’s hard not to brag with supernatural gifts such as these laid at your feet. The result was what I call the Corinthian Complex, a kind of real nasty spiritual pride, if that is not an oxymoron.

In my reading of 1 Corinthians 12 and 13, I think that all this chatter in Christ’s church about “my spiritual gifts” is oxymoronic. From my understanding of Paul, it seems to me that it is simply wrong to speak about “my” spiritual gifts” (12:7). I can speak about my natural talents but never my spiritual gifts. The gifts of the Holy Spirit are not my spiritual gifts at all. They are supernatural gifts given by the Holy Spirit through me to the church. They are the church’s spiritual gifts. They are functional (serve a present need in a church), transient (stay only as long as there is a need) and they are supernatural (beyond any natural skill and talent but given by the Holy Spirit). The gifts of the Holy Spirit are born in us as individuals for the benefit of the whole church (12:11 – 12). They are community – given and kingdom – oriented gifts. And for anyone who is given such a gift for the church, it has to be tremendously humbling.

One of my greatest personal disappointments when Christ first opened the door and I stumbled into his church was the chatter going on about who was and who was not apparently some kind of super – Christian based upon spiritual gifting. Some seemed to be going around with heads bowed because it seemed to them that they had no gifting at all. Others were strutting around because they thought themselves to be oh – so – gifted. Others were going off like noisy gongs about talents that seemed to me to have nothing to do with any supernatural spiritual gifting at all. And many were seemingly forgetting that any gifts they had were solely for the benefit of the community of faith. The result eventually was the disintegration of that little congregation, and much pain for everyone involved. As time went on, and as I went on in the church, I ran into other congregations who had similar stories. The Corinthian Complex was and is more common than I think even Paul could have predicted. And it leaves me uttering a Pentecost prayer: Oh God, as to spiritual gifts may we be more like loons as to their chicks.