Douglas Vandergraph

There are chapters in Scripture that feel warm, reassuring, and immediately comforting, and then there are chapters that feel like a sudden silence in the room, the kind that makes everyone shift in their seat because something hard is about to be said. First Corinthians chapter five is not gentle. It does not ease into its message. It does not soften its language for public consumption. It confronts. It exposes. It insists that love without truth is not love at all, and that holiness is not an outdated word but a living, breathing responsibility. This chapter refuses to let the church hide behind good intentions, religious activity, or spiritual language when moral decay is being tolerated in the name of compassion.

Paul is writing to a church that is vibrant, gifted, intellectually alive, and spiritually enthusiastic, yet deeply confused about what faith is supposed to look like when it collides with real life. Corinth was a city that celebrated excess. It was wealthy, influential, philosophically advanced, and morally permissive. Sexual freedom was not just common; it was culturally affirmed. Religious pluralism was normal. Self-expression was prized. In many ways, Corinth would feel very familiar to a modern reader. And that is precisely why this chapter still unsettles us. Paul is not addressing outsiders. He is not condemning the culture at large. He is speaking to believers who are proud of their spiritual maturity while ignoring a glaring moral collapse within their own community.

What makes this chapter so uncomfortable is not simply the behavior Paul addresses, but the reaction of the church to it. There is sexual immorality present that even the surrounding pagan culture finds shocking, and yet the church is not grieving, not correcting, not confronting. Instead, they are boasting. They are proud, perhaps of their tolerance, perhaps of their freedom, perhaps of their refusal to judge. Paul sees this not as spiritual progress but as spiritual blindness. He sees a community congratulating itself while quietly rotting from the inside out.

The issue Paul names is specific, but his concern is much larger. A man in the church is living in an ongoing sexual relationship with his father’s wife. This is not a rumor. It is not a hidden sin. It is openly known and apparently accepted. Under both Jewish law and Roman moral standards, this was forbidden. Yet the church has allowed it to continue without discipline or correction. Paul’s shock is not only at the sin itself but at the church’s response, or lack of one. He expected sorrow, mourning, and repentance. Instead, he finds arrogance.

This is where modern readers often begin to feel uneasy, because we have been shaped by a culture that equates confrontation with hatred and correction with judgment. We have been taught that love means affirmation, that boundaries are oppressive, and that calling anything sinful is inherently unkind. But Paul operates from a radically different understanding of love. For him, love protects the community. Love cares about the soul of the person involved. Love refuses to pretend that destructive behavior is harmless simply because confronting it is uncomfortable.

Paul does something striking in this chapter. He asserts his authority even though he is not physically present. He says that though absent in body, he is present in spirit and has already judged the situation. That word alone, judged, is one many Christians today are afraid to touch. Yet Paul does not apologize for it. He does not hedge. He does not soften the language. He makes it clear that discernment and judgment within the church are not optional; they are essential. Without them, the community loses its moral clarity and its witness.

He instructs the church to act together, not individually, and not impulsively. This is not mob justice or personal vendetta. This is a sober, communal decision made in the name of Jesus Christ. Paul’s concern is not punishment for its own sake. His goal is restoration, even if the path to restoration is painful. He uses strong imagery, speaking of handing the person over to Satan for the destruction of the flesh so that the spirit may be saved. This language is jarring, but its intent is redemptive. It describes removal from the protective boundaries of the Christian community so that the seriousness of the situation becomes undeniable.

What Paul understands, and what we often forget, is that the church is not simply a social club or a support group. It is meant to be a distinct people shaped by the character of Christ. When the church tolerates what contradicts that character, it does not become more loving; it becomes more confused. Paul knows that unaddressed sin does not stay contained. It spreads. It normalizes itself. It reshapes the culture of the community until holiness becomes optional and conviction disappears entirely.

This is why Paul introduces the metaphor of leaven. A little leaven, he says, leavens the whole lump. In other words, what is tolerated quietly will eventually shape everything. Sin is not static. It is dynamic. It moves, it grows, it influences. The church cannot afford to treat moral compromise as a private matter when it has communal consequences. This is not about policing behavior for control. It is about protecting the integrity of the body.

Paul reminds the Corinthians that Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed. This is not a random theological aside. It is the foundation of his argument. The old leaven, representing the former way of life, has no place in a community defined by Christ’s sacrifice. The church is called to celebrate not with the leaven of malice and evil, but with sincerity and truth. That phrase alone is a mirror held up to every generation of believers. Sincerity without truth becomes sentimentality. Truth without sincerity becomes cruelty. The church is called to hold both together.

One of the most misunderstood aspects of this chapter is Paul’s clarification about judgment. He is not calling believers to withdraw from the world or to judge those outside the faith. He explicitly says that he is not referring to judging non-believers, because doing so would require leaving the world entirely. His focus is internal. The church is responsible for its own witness. It is accountable for how it lives and what it tolerates within its own community. This distinction matters deeply, especially in a time when Christians are often accused of being overly judgmental toward the world while neglecting accountability within their own ranks.

Paul’s closing instruction is blunt: remove the wicked person from among you. Again, this sounds harsh to modern ears, but it must be read through the lens of responsibility and care. This removal is not about erasing someone or condemning them permanently. It is about creating space for repentance by refusing to endorse destructive behavior. It is about saying, with clarity and love, that following Christ means something, and that the community will not redefine obedience to avoid discomfort.

What makes 1 Corinthians 5 so challenging is that it forces the church to examine its own priorities. Are we more concerned with appearing inclusive than being faithful. Are we more afraid of being labeled judgmental than of losing moral clarity. Have we confused grace with permissiveness and love with silence. Paul does not allow the Corinthians, or us, to hide behind vague spirituality. He insists that faith must shape behavior, and that the community has a role in helping one another live in alignment with the gospel.

This chapter also exposes a subtle form of pride that often goes unnoticed. The Corinthians were proud of their knowledge, their gifts, their freedom, and perhaps even their tolerance. Paul sees this pride as part of the problem. True humility does not ignore sin; it acknowledges the need for correction. True spirituality does not boast in freedom while ignoring responsibility. True maturity does not shy away from hard conversations; it embraces them for the sake of growth.

For modern readers, 1 Corinthians 5 raises uncomfortable but necessary questions. What are we tolerating in the church today that Scripture clearly addresses. What behaviors have we quietly normalized because confronting them feels unloving or divisive. Where have we replaced biblical accountability with vague affirmations that leave people stuck rather than healed. Paul’s words challenge the church not to retreat from the world, but to be honest about its own identity within it.

This chapter also speaks to leaders and communities about courage. It is easier to preach inspirational messages than to address sin. It is easier to talk about grace in abstract terms than to apply it concretely. Yet Paul models a form of leadership that is willing to risk misunderstanding for the sake of truth. He does not write to shame the Corinthians but to wake them up. His tone is urgent because the stakes are high. The health of the community and the integrity of its witness are on the line.

Perhaps the most important thing to understand about 1 Corinthians 5 is that it is not about condemnation; it is about restoration. Everything Paul says is aimed at bringing the community back into alignment with who they are called to be in Christ. Discipline, in this context, is not rejection. It is an act of serious love. It says that people matter enough to be told the truth, even when the truth is painful.

As we sit with this chapter, we are invited to reflect not only on church structures and policies, but on our own hearts. Where do we resist correction. Where do we confuse kindness with avoidance. Where have we allowed fear of conflict to override faithfulness. Paul’s words cut through religious noise and force us to confront what it really means to be the people of God in a world that constantly pressures us to compromise.

First Corinthians chapter five does not offer easy answers or comforting platitudes. It offers clarity. It draws lines. It calls the church to be honest about sin, serious about holiness, and committed to restoration. It reminds us that grace is not the absence of standards, but the power to live transformed lives. And it challenges every generation of believers to decide whether they will shape their faith around the culture, or allow the gospel to shape them instead.

This chapter still speaks because the tension it addresses still exists. The struggle between truth and tolerance, between grace and accountability, between belonging and transformation, has not disappeared. Paul’s words echo across centuries, asking the same question of every church and every believer: who are you becoming, and what are you allowing to shape you from the inside out.

This is not a comfortable chapter. It was never meant to be. It is meant to wake us up, to call us back, and to remind us that the gospel is not only something we believe, but something we live together, even when that living requires courage, honesty, and difficult love.

One of the reasons First Corinthians chapter five remains so relevant is because it exposes a quiet fear that still exists inside many churches: the fear of being misunderstood. The fear of being labeled harsh, outdated, unloving, or judgmental. Paul understands this fear, but he refuses to let it guide the church’s decisions. For him, the greater danger is not public criticism but private compromise. A church that avoids clarity to preserve comfort slowly loses its soul, even if it gains approval.

There is a sobering honesty in the way Paul refuses to spiritualize the problem away. He does not blame trauma, background, or culture, even though all of those factors undoubtedly exist. He does not excuse the behavior as a misunderstanding of freedom or a misapplication of grace. He names the sin plainly, not because he lacks compassion, but because compassion without truth offers no path forward. Healing cannot begin until reality is acknowledged.

This is where modern Christianity often struggles. We have become very skilled at talking around issues rather than through them. We speak in generalities, avoid specifics, and hide behind slogans that sound kind but leave people unchanged. Paul’s approach is different. He believes that clarity is kindness, that truth spoken in love is not violence but mercy, and that pretending sin does not exist is far more damaging than confronting it.

First Corinthians five also confronts the idea that faith is purely personal and private. In Western culture especially, we have been taught that what someone does in their personal life is nobody else’s business. Paul dismantles that assumption within the context of the church. When someone publicly identifies as a follower of Christ, their life becomes part of a shared witness. The church is not a collection of isolated individuals; it is a body. What affects one part affects the whole.

This does not mean the church should become invasive or controlling. Paul is not advocating surveillance or suspicion. He is addressing a situation that is public, ongoing, and unrepentant. The distinction matters. Discipline is not about catching people in moments of weakness. It is about responding when destructive behavior becomes normalized and defended. There is a difference between struggling and refusing to turn around, and Paul is addressing the latter.

Another uncomfortable truth in this chapter is that tolerance can sometimes be a form of neglect. When a community refuses to intervene, it may feel like kindness, but it can also signal indifference. Paul’s response shows that he takes both the holiness of the church and the soul of the individual seriously. He believes the person involved deserves more than silent approval. He deserves honesty, even if that honesty disrupts the community.

Paul’s insistence on removing the person from fellowship is often misunderstood as harsh exclusion, but within the context of early Christianity, community was everything. To be removed from fellowship was not a casual inconvenience; it was a profound loss. Paul understands that sometimes the most loving thing is to allow someone to experience the consequences of their choices rather than cushioning them indefinitely. Comfort without correction can delay repentance. Pain, when rightly understood, can become a doorway back.

This chapter also forces the church to reckon with hypocrisy. Paul will not allow the Corinthians to condemn outsiders while excusing insiders. He draws a sharp boundary around the church’s responsibility, making it clear that moral accountability begins at home. This challenges a modern tendency to focus outward, critiquing culture while avoiding introspection. Paul flips the lens. The credibility of the church’s message depends on its internal integrity.

It is worth noting that Paul does not end this discussion with despair. His goal is not to shame the Corinthians into submission but to awaken them to who they are meant to be. He reminds them of Christ’s sacrifice, of their identity as a redeemed people, of their calling to live as a new creation. Discipline is not presented as an end in itself but as a means to restoration. The hope of repentance, reconciliation, and renewal remains implicit throughout the chapter.

This perspective reframes the entire conversation. Holiness is not about superiority. It is about alignment. It is about living in a way that reflects the reality of Christ’s presence. Paul does not want the church to become smaller, colder, or more rigid. He wants it to become healthier, clearer, and more honest. A church that knows who it is can engage the world without losing itself.

For individual believers, First Corinthians five invites personal reflection as much as communal evaluation. It asks us to consider how we respond to correction, how we understand freedom, and how we define love. Are we willing to be challenged, or do we equate disagreement with rejection. Do we welcome accountability, or do we avoid communities where our lives might be questioned. Paul’s vision of church life is one where growth is communal and transformation is expected.

This chapter also reminds us that grace is not fragile. It does not shatter under the weight of truth. In fact, grace becomes meaningless without truth. Forgiveness presupposes repentance. Restoration presupposes honesty. Paul’s approach does not diminish grace; it protects it from becoming cheap. He understands that a gospel without transformation is not the gospel at all.

There is a quiet courage in Paul’s writing here. He knows his words may offend. He knows they may be resisted. Yet he writes anyway because the health of the church matters more than his reputation. This kind of leadership is rare, but it is desperately needed. It requires a willingness to endure misunderstanding for the sake of faithfulness, to speak clearly in a culture that prefers ambiguity.

First Corinthians chapter five does not ask the church to withdraw from the world, nor does it ask believers to become moral enforcers. It asks for something far more demanding: integrity. It asks the church to live what it proclaims, to take its identity seriously, and to love one another enough to tell the truth. This kind of love is not flashy, and it is not always celebrated, but it is transformative.

As we read this chapter today, we are invited into a deeper understanding of what it means to belong to the body of Christ. Belonging is not just about acceptance; it is about formation. It is about becoming, together, a people shaped by the character of Jesus. That process is not always comfortable, but it is always purposeful.

Paul’s words still echo because the church still faces the same choice: to define itself by the culture around it or by the Christ it follows. First Corinthians five does not let us avoid that decision. It calls us to courage, clarity, and a form of love that is willing to risk discomfort for the sake of truth.

This chapter stands as a reminder that the gospel is not only something we receive, but something we steward. How we live it out matters. How we treat one another matters. And how willing we are to hold grace and truth together may determine whether the church becomes a place of genuine transformation or a reflection of the very confusion it was meant to heal.

Your friend,

Douglas Vandergraph

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