On Not Becoming Soul Raisins--March 19, 2025

On Not Becoming Soul Raisins--March 19, 2025

"He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself." (Philippians 3:21)

At some point, this body of mine is going to wear out.  It's not the most fun subject to think about, and it's not the most sparkling banter for making small talk, but it's the truth.  This body of mine--and yours, too--has a shelf life, and they will only last so long, even if we do everything right.  To be a human is basically to be a walking meat sack; we are made up of muscle, sinew, bone, and an assortment of organs, and all of them will eventually get to a point where they fail us some way or another.  

That's nothing to be embarrassed about or to pretend isn't so. It is simply a part of "life as we know it," to borrow the old line from Star Trek.  I don't know about you, but already at only four and half decades of life on this planet there are greyer hairs (and as my children remind me, fewer of them) on my head then in my high school days.  My eyes strain sometimes to read tiny print, and I find that there are aches and pains that don't go away as quickly as I remember in earlier chapters of my life.  All around me--and even within me--are signs that the miles on the ol' odometer are racking up on this body, which is both something I have and also something I am.  We can each do our best to eat well, get enough sleep, take time for exercise, and avoid harmful things, but each of us in more or less the same situation as human beings: our bodies last for a season, and eventually they wear down.  It is a difficult truth to face because it is so humbling, knowing that each of us will come to rely on other people to help us doing the things we used to be able to do alone, and none of us will be able to avoid having some part of our bodies give out at some point. That's part of the price of the ticket.

Of course, none of this so far needs any Bible verses as proof.  Our own aging selves are the evidence that our bodies are finite and fragile.  And in a sense, that means that our vitality--the energy of life itself--is a limited commodity.  We may have seemingly inexhaustible energy in our youth, pulling all-nighters in college or filling our days jam-packed with activities, but over time it becomes clear to each of us that we have limitations to our time, strength, endurance, and spark. At some point each of us decides that we don't have the ability to volunteer for fifty things, but maybe we can handle three or four manageably.  And all of that raises the question of scarcity.

Once you realize that there is only so much energy that anyone's body can expend, it is really easy to become stingy with sharing any of it.  It becomes really tempting to say to ourselves, "You can't afford to volunteer your time to help strangers--you only have so much to go around!"  It starts to sound very rational to tell ourselves, "Don't spend your energy on doing things for people who won't immediately be able to pay you back, because you've got to conserve the limited amount of strength you have and use it for yourself!" It becomes very persuasive to convince ourselves that because our bodies only have so much vitality in them, we need to hoard it rather than share it.  And from there, we convince ourselves to turn our whole mindset inward on our own self-absorbed interests, our own benefit, and putting "Me and My Group First!"  If that isn't conventional wisdom, I'll eat my hat.

But there is a hidden cost to that kind of approach to life.  When we become focused solely on how to maintain our grip on MY limited energy, MY finite time, and MY meager strength, it's like something inside our spirit starts to shrivel up--our souls become like old, hardened raisins.  Our older brother in the faith Martin Luther used to talk about "sin" in similar terms--that at its core, sin is when the human self becomes bent or curved in on itself, like an in-grown toenail in our hearts (okay, that part isn't from Luther, but the notion of sin is supposed to be repulsive, not merely a minor annoyance).  And that's just the thing: it is very easy--damnably easy, to be honest--to tell ourselves we are only being rational, reasonable, and logical as we withdraw from concern for others around us, all with the logical justification that we are creatures with limited amounts of energy and time to give, and we can't go around sharing it with others because it's going to run out someday!  And all the while, that scarcity-driven fear cuts us off from others, and we don't realize how we are actually less and less alive because we are severing our connections to neighbors, community, and the world that God loves. (Not to go all Marvel Cinematic Universe on us, but like the late Chadwick Boseman said as King T'Challa in the Black Panther movie, "In times of crisis, the wise build bridges while the foolish build barriers. We must find a way to look after one another as if we were one tribe.")  In other words, when we surrender to the fear of losing ourselves because our time, energy, and passion are scarce resources, we end up actually dying inside in a different way. 

There is, however, an alternative. And I think this is what the apostle Paul has in mind as he writes to the Philippians.  In today's verse, following on the one we looked at yesterday from the passage many of us heard this past Sunday in worship, Paul honestly admits that these bodies of ours are fragile and fleeting.  Our physical selves have limitations and a lifespan, and Paul knows it.  Our "body of humiliation" or "humble bodies" (depending on how you translate his turn of phrase) only gets so many miles before the tread is all worn down on the tires.  But Paul's conclusion about this reality isn't simply to conclude that we need to be selfish and stingy with ourselves because we only have so much vitality to give.  He doesn't say, "Therefore, don't waste time caring about your neighbors near and far, because you've got to look out for Number One first!" Rather, Paul turns our hope to the crucified and risen Jesus, the One who is able to "transform" these dusty selves to they will "be conformed to the body of his glory."  The resurrection of Jesus tells us that we don't need to deny or run away from our human finitude, but rather we can spend ourselves in love because we know that ultimately ours is the God who raises the dead and will make us and all things new.  We don't have to hoard our limited energy, but we can freely share it, as we also we be filled up by others around us who will share themselves with us as well. And we can do all this, risking that we will give ourselves away fully, because the God in whose hands we are placed is the God who raises the dead, fills the empty, and brings us to new life.

Look, I'm not saying that any of us should reckless use up all of our time and energy all at once so that we get burned out.  But I do think it is a terrible shame if we become so fearful of giving up our limited energy or attention that we allow it to harden our hearts so that we never give ourselves away.  A wise mentor from my past used to talk about the different between "burning out" and "burning up." He would say that if you spend your energy too fast and too "hot" all at once the wick goes out while you still had candle-wax or oil left to use, but if you pace yourself, you can get to the point of giving yourself away completely and fully, spending your whole self, energy, love, and time, by the end of your life with nothing held back that could have been given.  The first one is burning out, and it is indeed a shame when it happens.  The second is what he called burning up, which is exactly what you want a candle to do--to offer all that is has over the course of its existence.  For us who are resurrection people, we do not have to be afraid or stingy about giving ourselves away--about the "burning up" way of life--because we trust that the One in whom we have placed our trust is able to transform these finite bodies that do indeed have limits into new creations in resurrection.  I don't have to hold back my time, ability, love, energy, or passion from others in the futile attempt to prolong my life or stretch out my supply, but rather I can see my whole life as the well-paced offering over all my years of giving it all away in hope that God will breathe new life into my dusty self in an act of new creation. 

Because of Jesus, we do not have to be stingy with our strength.

Because of God's resurrection power, we do not have to try to preserve our power for our own sake or span of life.

Because the One in whom we place our trust is both the Crucified and Risen One, we can allow our love to flow beyond the narrow confines of "Me and My Group First" or our own self-centered interests, because our lives are not determined by how fiercely we hoarded our physical stamina.

Today, let's dare to give ourselves away, knowing that there is no way to avoid the mortal limits of these present bodies of ours, but also knowing that we will have used our lives well if we have shined with all the light we had to give in our days... and that the God who raised Jesus has promised to make us new as well.

Lord Jesus, keep us from stinginess with our lives to offer all that we have to you in trust.