8.10.25 – Sermon written and preached by Leigh Rachal @ FPC Abbeville, LA

The Body of Christ: Reclaiming Faith from the Idol of Institutionalism

1 Corinthians 12:12–27

John 17:20-23

Some people hear the word church and think of family, community, worship, and hope.

Others hear that word and feel a knot in their stomach.

They remember exclusion, rejection, or hypocrisy.

They remember when the church closed its doors—literally or figuratively—because someone didn’t fit the mold.

The Church is the Body of Christ,

but too often we have lived as if we were something else entirely. 

Too often we have acted as a body that exists to protect itself,

keeping certain people in and others out,

and holding onto power and comfort,

even at the cost of the gospel.

History is full of moments when the church aligned itself with the wrong side of justice because it benefited the institution. 

The church has defended slavery and segregation,

suppressed women’s voices,

turned away from the poor,

and protected its own image rather than confronting abuse.

And yet…

Paul’s words to the Corinthians still call to us:

“You are the Body of Christ, and individually members of it.”

Paul didn’t write these words because the Corinthian church was thriving in unity.

He wrote this to them because the church in Corinth was fractured.

Corinth was a bustling port city, a crossroads of culture, commerce, and religion.

It was also deeply divided, not only by class and wealth but by ethnicity, status, and power.

And the same divisions that marked the Corinthian society had seeped into the church.

The wealthier members treated worship like a private dinner party, arriving early to feast

while the laborers, who had to finish working before worship, were left with scraps.

Some prized certain spiritual gifts above others, treating them as badges of superiority.

Factions had formed, each claiming loyalty to a different leader

(some claimed to follow Paul, others Apollos, others Cephas or Peter),

as if Christ himself were divided.

Paul’s response was brilliant.

He uses a metaphor they can’t ignore: the human body.

Every part belongs.

Every part needs the others.

The eye can’t say to the hand, “I have no need of you.”

The head can’t say to the feet, “I have no need of you.”

And in this body, Paul says, the parts that seem weaker are actually indispensable.

The ones we might be tempted to hide or discard deserve special honor.

This wasn’t just a call for niceness.

It was a complete inversion of the social order—a redefinition of worth and belonging based not on status or ability, but on grace.

Paul’s image of the Church as a body is so vivid you almost can’t help but picture it.

Eyes and ears and hands and feet — all needing one another, all connected.

Sometimes, to bring this point home, I’ve pulled out a Mr. Potato Head.

And not just with children. I’ve used it in rooms full of pastors and church leaders.

Because there’s something delightfully humbling about holding up a plastic potato while talking about the Body of Christ.

I’ll usually start with the bare potato.

Then I hold up the eyes:

“What if the whole body were an eye?” Paul asks.

Imagine a giant eye just staring at you from the pew.

Creepy.

And also… pretty useless for walking anywhere.

Or I hold up the ears: “What if the whole body were an ear?”

A big potato that just sits there listening to everything….

maybe helpful at a committee meeting, but not much else.

It’s silly. And it makes people laugh.

But that’s the beauty of a childlike image - it lowers our defenses just enough for the truth to slip in.

We need each other.

Not in spite of our differences, but because of them.

And Paul’s point isn’t that a body needs to be physically complete or perfectly “functional” to be whole.

Bodies come in many forms -

some with missing parts, some with extra parts,

some with parts that work differently,

some that carry pain or limitation –

and they are all still whole, still beautiful, still fully alive.

In fact, Paul takes the parts some might consider “less desirable” and insists they deserve the most honor.

The parts others might try to cover or hide, Paul says, are indispensable and worthy of special care and attention.

That’s the exact opposite of the world’s hierarchy.

And that’s the kind of Body we’re called to be.

The Body of Christ is like THAT.

Wholeness is not about uniformity or every part doing the same thing.

Wholeness is about belonging.

Every part - seen or unseen, strong or fragile, typical or different - is necessary for the life of the whole.

No one is disposable. No one is less needed.

This is where we reclaim the church from the idol of institutionalism.

Because institutionalism says: 

We’re fine the way we are.

Don’t rock the boat.

Keep the budget steady.

Protect the brand.

But the Body of Christ says: 

If one part suffers, we all suffer together.

If one part rejoices, we all rejoice together.

Institutionalism values efficiency and control.

The Body of Christ values relationship and mutual care.

Institutionalism is afraid of being wounded.

But the Body of Christ trusts that God’s light can shine even through our deepest scars -

just as it did through the scarred body of the risen Christ.

Henri Nouwen wrote that no one escapes being wounded.

We are all wounded people.

And yet, in God’s grace, we can become wounded healers: people whose own scars become a source of compassion for others.

And this is not only true for individuals, it is also true for the Church.

The Church is always Christ’s Body,

but our credibility and ultimately our impact on this world comes not from perfection or power.

It comes from the humility to admit where we have failed,

the courage to repent,

and the willingness to be transformed.

In communion, we hear Jesus say, “This is my body, broken for you.”

But that is not only true about the bread we break.

It is also about the Church itself.

The Body of Christ - the Church gathered at the table - is broken for the sake of the world.

Like the bread, we are lifted by Christ, blessed, broken, and given for the world.

Our wounds - physical, emotional, or spiritual - are not defects to hide,

but places where grace can flow.

So I don’t believe in a church that clings to power.

I believe in a church that lays power down for the sake of love.

I don’t believe in a church that builds walls to keep the “wrong” people out.

I believe in a church that pulls up more chairs to the table.

I don’t believe in a church that pretends to have it all together.

I believe in a church that shows up wounded and still dares to serve.

The Church is and will always be the Body of Christ.

And because of that, we must be honest about the ways we have failed to live as Christ’s Body in the world.

Institutionally, we have sometimes mistaken self-preservation for faithfulness.

We have ignored the suffering of our neighbors while guarding our own comfort.

We have shut the doors Christ meant to leave open.

And in so doing, we have wounded those Christ calls beloved.

We must lament these things.

We must repent of these things.

Because we belong to Christ 

and belonging to Christ means continually turning back toward him,

and allowing his Spirit to reshape us in love.

And so, let us seek the grace and the courage to live more fully into the truth of who we already are:

a body that reflects the love, mercy, and justice of Christ.

A body that gives special honor to the parts the world overlooks.

A body that knows its own wounds, and allows God to make those wounds a source of healing for the world.

Friends, the world is still aching.

And Christ is still calling.

So let us, together, be the Body of Christ: 

A diverse, interdependent, wounded, yet serving and healing Body 

that is given in Love for the life of the world.

We have been made by love, in love, for love.

We have been saved by love, in love, and for love.

And we are given by love, in love, and for love. 

May it be so….