“Reasons to Stay”—September 25, 2019
If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me; and I do not know which I prefer. I am hard pressed between the two: my desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better; but to remain in the flesh is more necessary for you. [Philippians 1:22-24]
What freedom there is—what amazing, love-rooted liberty there is—when you can let your life not be all about you. It gives you the freedom to be where you have been planted.
And this is what gets me: of all the reasons Paul could have to keep on living, what finally settles the issue for him is how he can show up for the other people God has put in his life. Their good, their benefit, is ultimately what convinces Paul that death can wait for another day. They are his reasons to stay.
“To remain in the flesh is more necessary for you,” he writes to his friends in Christ at Philippi. That, I tell you, is what love looks like: the freedom not to make it all about you.
That is all the more amazing when you think about all the other factors surely competing in Paul’s mind to help him decide whether it would be better for him to go on living or for God to take him through death (remember, Paul is in prison, awaiting a trial before the Roman government—he’s not being melodramatic about the possibility of death).
There would have been the voice of insecurity, whispering in Paul’s ear, “You know, there is coming a day when these friends of yours in Philippi won’t need you anymore.” And with it comes the voice of jealousy, cajoling Paul by saying, “They’re going to replace you with someone else, Paul, after all the time and energy you spent getting to know these Philippians and caring for them!” And it would have been easy to look for an escape rather than risk the rejection—in other words, to give up on life and hope for death at the hands of the Romans. It would have been easy to wallow in self-pity, rather than staying in this life and giving himself away for the people God had put in his life. Those are strong temptations to struggle with, and they have a powerful pull.
Picture it: there’s Paul, sitting in some grungy prison cell, thinking about these fellow Christians he has come to love, and in the lonely silence, it would have been very easy to throw a pity party for himself, to feel like his friends in Philippi were going to abandon him and find somebody else to fill his spot. It would have been very easy for Paul to feel like he was all alone, and that he just wasn’t of any use anymore. And once you start down that spiral of feeling sorry for yourself because you feel rejected, it becomes awfully easy to slide into depression and desperation and to mentally check out on life altogether. That could have been the end of Paul’s story.
Lord Jesus, give us the courage to give ourselves away, and to find the freedom in a life that isn’t all about me.
If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me; and I do not know which I prefer. I am hard pressed between the two: my desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better; but to remain in the flesh is more necessary for you. [Philippians 1:22-24]
What freedom there is—what amazing, love-rooted liberty there is—when you can let your life not be all about you. It gives you the freedom to be where you have been planted.
This is, to me, one of the most beautiful, and yet humbling, passages in the New Testament. It humbles me, because the kind of selfless love Paul shows here is ever seeking the good of others rather than his own--despite the fact that Paul is going through quite a struggle in his own life at the time. But despite the darkness that is brewing in Paul (and around him, too), he is freed to strive only to be useful to the people he loves--and that is enough for him. More than enough.
And to be quite honest, that puts my often selfish love to shame. Paul knows the freedom there is to be found when you let your life not be all about yourself, but about others. He is so free that he is at peace, not just about the possibility of dying for Christ, but about the other possibility of going on living for others who belong to Christ. When Paul asks, “Is it better right now to keep on in life where I am, or to go to heaven to be with Christ?” he starts thinking of the people he can serve if he stays.
And this is what gets me: of all the reasons Paul could have to keep on living, what finally settles the issue for him is how he can show up for the other people God has put in his life. Their good, their benefit, is ultimately what convinces Paul that death can wait for another day. They are his reasons to stay.
“To remain in the flesh is more necessary for you,” he writes to his friends in Christ at Philippi. That, I tell you, is what love looks like: the freedom not to make it all about you.
That is all the more amazing when you think about all the other factors surely competing in Paul’s mind to help him decide whether it would be better for him to go on living or for God to take him through death (remember, Paul is in prison, awaiting a trial before the Roman government—he’s not being melodramatic about the possibility of death).
There would have been the voice of insecurity, whispering in Paul’s ear, “You know, there is coming a day when these friends of yours in Philippi won’t need you anymore.” And with it comes the voice of jealousy, cajoling Paul by saying, “They’re going to replace you with someone else, Paul, after all the time and energy you spent getting to know these Philippians and caring for them!” And it would have been easy to look for an escape rather than risk the rejection—in other words, to give up on life and hope for death at the hands of the Romans. It would have been easy to wallow in self-pity, rather than staying in this life and giving himself away for the people God had put in his life. Those are strong temptations to struggle with, and they have a powerful pull.
Picture it: there’s Paul, sitting in some grungy prison cell, thinking about these fellow Christians he has come to love, and in the lonely silence, it would have been very easy to throw a pity party for himself, to feel like his friends in Philippi were going to abandon him and find somebody else to fill his spot. It would have been very easy for Paul to feel like he was all alone, and that he just wasn’t of any use anymore. And once you start down that spiral of feeling sorry for yourself because you feel rejected, it becomes awfully easy to slide into depression and desperation and to mentally check out on life altogether. That could have been the end of Paul’s story.
Instead, Paul pulls out of that tailspin--or, maybe, he lets grace pull him out--by remembering that he is free from making life all about himself. In the end, he decides he is going to keep on keeping on in life, even if it would be easier to give up, lay down, and die. And he is going to keep on going, because that way, he can be more of use to the people whom he loves, the people God has sent him to. Paul decides that he needs to stay in this life, and in this flesh—which also meant for him the difficulties of living in a prison cell. And, mind you, it meant he was willing to live with those voices of insecurity and jealousy, too, always whispering in the background that he might get hurt by continuing to love these people.
But he did it because… well, because that is what love does.
I am reminded of an insight that has been poking at my heart these days, which resurfaced for me in a little notebook of quotations I keep. The author Cynthia Bourgeault offers this insight in her book, The Wisdom Jesus: "There is nothing to be renounced or resisted. Everything can be embraced, but the catch is to cling to nothing. You let it go. You go through life like a knife goes through a done cake, picking up nothing, clinging to nothing, sticking to nothing. And grounded in that fundamental chastity of your being, you can then throw yourself out, pour yourself out, being able to give it all back, even give back life itself. Very very simple. It only costs everything."
That is what love does when it has come face to face with Love incarnate, whom we name Christ. That is the freedom of letting go of ourselves and pouring ourselves out for the people God has sent us to love. That is the life offered to you and me today. The people God has put in our lives, who are the face of Christ for us and who are also sometimes causes of our pain as well, the people for whom we can be the face of Christ—they are our reason to stay.
Lord Jesus, give us the courage to give ourselves away, and to find the freedom in a life that isn’t all about me.
No comments:
Post a Comment