But Their Hearts Were Far From Me

There are passages of Scripture that invite us to wonder because they describe something spectacular—a sea divided, fire falling from heaven, a storm silenced with a word. Then there are passages that invite us to wonder because they turn our expectations upside down.

First Corinthians 1:18–25 does the latter. And, fittingly enough, Paul uses three big buts to do it.

For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. —1 Corinthians 1:18

Paul reaches backward here, quoting the prophet Isaiah:

“I will destroy the wisdom of the wise; the intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate.”

That comes from Isaiah 29:14. But to understand why Paul reaches for those words, it helps to back up one verse.

God says through Isaiah:

“These people come near to me with their mouth and honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me.” —Isaiah 29:13

There’s the deeper but behind all of Paul’s buts.

Their hearts are far from me.

Isaiah was speaking to people who knew the words. They knew the rituals. They knew how religion was supposed to look and sound. They could say the right things about God while somehow missing God Himself.

Centuries later, Paul sees the same problem. Some want wisdom. Others want signs.

Jews demand signs and Greeks look for wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles. —1 Corinthians 1:22–23

Think about that for a moment. The problem certainly wasn’t that God had failed to provide signs. Scripture is filled with them. Israel’s history is filled with them. Jesus’ ministry was filled with them.

There had been healings. Deliverances. Miraculous provision. Storms stilled. The blind seeing. The lame walking. Even the dead raised.

And still, Show us a sign. There is something sobering about that.

We can become so convinced about what God should do that we fail to recognize what God has done. We can look for something spectacular while standing in the presence of something infinitely greater. And what has God done?

Paul’s answer sounds almost absurd by human standards:

Christ crucified.

Not the sign they demanded. Not the wisdom they expected. A Messiah hanging on a Roman cross. A stumbling block to some. Foolishness to others.

But.

But to those whom God has called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. —1 Corinthians 1:24

There is the pivot.

What looks like weakness is the power of God. What looks foolish is the wisdom of God. What looks like defeat becomes victory. What looks like death becomes the doorway to life.

And perhaps that is where wonder begins.

Wonder isn’t always looking toward heaven and saying, God, show me something amazing. Sometimes wonder looks toward a cross and realizes: He already has.

The God who created galaxies stepped into His creation. The One through whom all things were made allowed Himself to be rejected by those He made. The Holy One entered our brokenness. The Author of life submitted Himself to death. And He did it for us.

Paul finishes the thought:

For the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength. —1 Corinthians 1:25

Maybe our greatest danger isn’t that God has failed to give us enough reason to believe. Maybe it’s that we can become so occupied with the God we expect—the signs we want, the answers we demand, the wisdom that makes sense to us—that our lips remain near Him while our hearts drift far away.

That’s Isaiah’s warning. And perhaps it’s Paul’s warning too. Which makes this a fitting place for worship.

Not worship because God performed for us this week. Not worship because every prayer was answered as we hoped. Not worship because everything suddenly makes sense.

Worship because Christ crucified is still the power of God and the wisdom of God.

So perhaps the invitation this Sunday isn’t, God, amaze me. Maybe it’s God, bring my heart near.

Open my eyes again to the wonder I’ve grown accustomed to. Let me see the cross without familiarity dulling its scandal or its beauty. Let me marvel again that grace came looking for me, that death did not have the final word, and that what the world called foolishness became my salvation.There will always be more of God to see. More to learn. More to wonder at. But before we ask Him for another sign, perhaps we should stand in awe of the one He has already given us. And worship.



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