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October 2, 2005
When Loss is Gain
Philippians 3:1-12
No pain. No gain? It's the by-word of dieters and exercise enthusiasts everywhere, and a profitable advertising slogan. Paul's gain: ". . . the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord." Paul's pain: ". . . whatever gain I had, I counted as loss. . . . I have suffered the loss of all things. . . ." Paul's world had come to an end.
Like every Jewish male for generations, he had been circumcised on the eighth day, not as a matter of hygiene, but as a mark of membership among the people of God, the family of Israel. More particularly his clan was special, the tribe of Benjamin—rather like being a Kennedy, or a Roosevelt; a tribe from which leaders had come-King David; and from which leaders were expected-the Messiah.
A greater royalist than the king: that was Paul. A Hebrew of the Hebrews. Even more he was a devotee of the Pharisaic persuasion: reformers, urgently adapting the ancient law of God so it applied to the lives of people now. Then came the Christians, subverting all he held dear. He put himself among their strongest opponents, even a persecutor. Then things changed. ". . . whatever gain I had I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things . . . ." Amazing!
I'm not sure it's something I'd be able to say. Could you? After all, we are citizens of the United States of America, whose purple mountains' majesty and amber waves of grain are the home of the brave and the land of the free. Beyond that we are Midwesterners, than which you cannot find, year-in and year-out, a people more conscientiously, consistently religious, rock solidly conservative and actively patriotic. We're in Iowa, of legendary renown. When people are in trouble, we know how to help and we do. Avidly Americans, militantly Midwesterners, many native Iowans, lovers of Cedar Rapids and environs. How many of us could count that "all loss?" Is knowing Christ worth that? We know what we'd have to give up. What do we get? Paul believed that knowing Christ brings a peace that surpasses all understanding.
The peace that surpasses all understanding brings us to a new understanding. The peace that passes understanding brings us to a new understanding of God's world and our place in it. Look at it this way: "In a world that . . . takes the nation a hundred times more seriously than God," Paul's emphasis on "the surpassing worth of knowing Christ" underscores "what happens when God is taken a hundred times more seriously than anything else." (Paul Minear, [adapted], as quoted in Presbyterian Survey, 10/87, p. 44) Does allegiance to Christ put loyalties to our nation, our region, our state, our community, the Midwest, Iowa, Cedar Rapids, America in second place? It at least puts such loyalties in a very different perspective.
Peace is what Paul hopes for. He's pulled in several directions. He's drawn by loyalty to ancestral religion. He's pressed by the immensely powerful and persuasive political, social, cultural and economic realities of the Roman Empire. In his heart he'd rather go be with Christ. But his solidarity with Philippians and other companions in faith is more important than what he wants for himself. The peace we can't get our minds around brings us to such a new understanding.
In one ancient, anonymous letter, we learn how those who followed after Paul interpreted a quest like his. The letter was likely written sometime in the Second, or maybe the early Third Century after Christ. One of its key ideas is that Christianity is rather like a "third force," standing as an alternative both to Jewish religion and its pagan rivals. This is the way the writer puts it:
For Christians cannot be distinguished from the rest of the human race by country or language or customs. They do not live in cities of their own; they do not use a peculiar form of speech; they do not follow an eccentric manner of life. This doctrine of theirs has not been discovered by the ingenuity or deep thought of inquisitive [people], nor do they put forward a merely human teaching . . . . Yet, although they live in Greek and barbarian cities alike, as each [person's] lot has been cast, and follow the customs of the country in clothing and food and other matters of daily living, at the same time they give proof of the remarkable and admittedly extraordinary constitution of their own commonwealth. They live in their own countries, but as aliens. They have a share in everything as citizens, and endure everything as foreigners. Every foreign land is their [homeland], and yet for them every [homeland] is a foreign land. They marry, like everyone else, and they beget children, but they do not cast out their offspring. They share their board with each other, but not their marriage bed. It is true that they are "in the flesh," but they do not live "according to the flesh." They busy themselves on earth, but their citizenship is in heaven. They obey the established laws, but in their own lives they go far beyond what the laws require. ("Letter to Diognetus," Library of Christian Classics, I, pp. 216f.)
Dare we be as daring as they? Their course was steered between a high-minded Judaism and a powerfully imperial Rome. What are our choices offered us by the dominant culture?
One the one hand are we tempted to embrace a kind of private sentimentality of warm feelings and private thoughts that would just as soon ignore the troubles of the world: "don't bother me?" So long as troubles don't affect me personally, or those close to me, we needn't pay that much attention.
On the other are we drawn to a public philosophy like that espoused by the architect in Ayn Rand's novel, The Fountainhead? The heart of that philosophy may be summed up as the "virtue of selfishness." The "virtue of selfishness" emphasizes playing hardball, getting to the bottom line and getting what I want, whatever the cost to others. It is a philosophy that encourages a "me-first" morality.
"Me first" and "don't bother me" moralities. Both represent a kind of selfishness. As selfishness goes, they seem to work well together. They seem to be the private and public faces of self-centeredness.
It takes a disasters like Katrina and Rita to make us lay aside thoughts of "me first" and "don't bother me." Individuals, families, whole communities have responded to great human need with great compassion. But the moment passes. A mixture of "me first" and "don't bother me" rises to the surface like an oil slick. Already we're hearing about greed, gouging and grabbing in the aftermath of both disasters. "Me first" and "don't bother me" come quickly to the fore.
How does the mixture of a "me first" and "don't bother me" play out and how shall we seek to follow Christ? Do the "me first" and "don't bother me" moralities account for the many corporate buy-outs, that produce nothing except to throw people out of work, while making millions and billions for speculators? I wonder: does such a mixture of "me first" and "don't bother me" moralities keep people under-employed in part-time, minimum wage jobs with no health insurance or other benefits in order to assure profitability? I wonder: does such a mixture of "me first" and "don't bother me" moralities explain why rich people keep getting richer and poor people keep getting poorer and more numerous?
It's hard for me to imagine that such a mixture of "me first" and "don't bother me" moralities honor Christ. Rather it seems to me they are quite simply spiritually, morally, intellectually, politically bankrupt. I wonder if rather than "me first," and "don't bother me," knowing Christ and a life that tries to get it right rooted in Christ beckons us.
For my part, I'm ashamed to say I run between "me first" and "don't bother me." I don't know if I could give up my own interests enough consistently to put others' interests ahead of them. I seem to like my own ways and my own stuff way too much. I don't know if I could give up just wanting not to be bothered; I wonder if I could regularly pay attention to the needs of my neighbor.
Then I come to this table. It's kind of scary, really. The Lord invites us here. Christ promises to be present here. The surpassing worth of knowing Christ is offered to us in the bread and the cup. It's a strict diet; the Lord says we can live on it. It's a diet that means giving up stuffing "me first" with the junk food of "don't bother me."
We need a new "mind set." Having the "mind of Christ" is part of Paul's vision. The Lord gives the bread and the cup as rations so that we do not first of all look out for ourselves, or think first of our own gain, and follow patterns of easy selfishness. The bread and the cup are given as rations to strengthen us to have among us the mind of Christ. The Lord supplies it as food to all those who'd most of all rather not be bothered, who want nothing so much as our own peace and quiet, and who often give in to the temptation to follow the course of least resistance. The bread and the cup Lord supplies the food that strengthens disciples to have among us the mind of Christ.
I'm not there yet. Neither was Paul. But he pressed on. He pressed on to make it his own. He pressed on because Christ had made him his own. We can, too. I believe that's what's at stake when I come to this table. Come on. The Lord invites us all.
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Phone: 319-364-6148
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