“The question Paul raises for us is, do we live our lives with a center that

is larger than we are?

T he former pastor of my home church, Michael Lindvall, now pastor of the Brick Presbyterian Church in New York City, wrote a collection of short stories that, Garrison Keilor-style, take place in a small church in a small town in northern Minnesota. In one story he tells of a neighboring church that calls a new, young pastor who imagines he is really going to shake things up for his sleepy, aging congregation. The first thing he does is buy a wireless microphone so he can preach from the center aisle instead of the old high pulpit. (OK, that part hits a little too close to home!) Except one morning he turns the microphone on by mistake before he enters the sanctuary, and the mic picks up and broadcasts to the waiting congregation his visit to he bathroom just before the service, followed by his muttering under his breath some rather unflattering comments about certain members of the church. Embarrassed beyond recovery, the young pastor quickly tenders his resignation.

Then, in the more “sermonic” conclusion of the story, the narrator muses that, in a sense, the microphone is always turned on before God. God always knows what we’re doing, and saying, and thinking, and so we ought to live our lives in appropriate ways before God, whether others are listening in or not. It’s the same sort of hope we have for our children. We don’t want them to behave well just when we are standing over them, but to behave in the same way whether we are present or not. Cheryl and I are leaving Kelsey home alone for a few days this week while we are away, and we hope and expect that she will be as responsible while we are away and when we are at home. (Cross your fingers. If you pass by the manse this week and see a long line of cars outside, give me a call.)

That’s something of what Paul is expressing in his letter to the church in Philippi. Paul is in prison. He doesn’t know when he is going to get out. He doesn’t know if he is going to get out. He expresses confidence that he will see them again, and be with them to share in their life together. But either way, he urges them, whether he is with them again or not, “live your life in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ.”

It’s the sort of principal Paul sets out a various point in his letters. As often as possible, he tries to provide as many details as he can about what it means to live in God’s way, but at the end of the day, they must figure most of this out for themselves. So he gives them broad principals to follow: “Love your neighbor as yourself,” we heard two weeks ago from Paul’s letter to the Romans. “We do not live to ourselves, we do not die to ourselves,” we heard last week. And now, “live your life in a manner worthy of the gospel.”

J ust the sort of counsel a parent might give to a child. Except then Paul’s advice seems to go dangerously off the rails as he wraps up this section of his letter. “God has graciously granted you the privilege,” Paul tells them, “not only of believing in Christ, but of suffering for him as well.” Somehow, I don’t imagine those are words most parents would wish to convey to their children. Suffering is not something that most of us think of as a privilege. Yet here Paul lifts up the example of his own life. “You are having the same struggle that you saw I had and now hear that I still have.” Paul knows that whether he stays in prison, or re-joins the Christians in Philippi, struggle lies ahead.

Which is the greater sacrifice is the dilemma Paul is wrestling with as our passage begins. He knows that his own death by execution is now a very real possibility. It is not a prospect that he fears. In a show of theological bravado, he exclaims, “For to me, living is Christ, and dying is gain.” There is a part of him that almost welcomes death. “My desire is to depart and be with Christ.” Paul is not simply saying that the dead are united with Jesus and this brings him comfort. He is saying that his own suffering for the sake of the gospel unites him with Christ who himself suffered for the sake of the world. His death would make that union complete. Yet he knows also that God has much work for him yet to do on this earth. With equal passion he wants to be reunited with the Christians in Philippi, and to continue his ministry among the Gentiles to whom he has been called. “And I do not know which I prefer. I am hard pressed between the two.”

In the end, though he does not fear death, Paul chooses life– even though he knows that life in Christ will mean continued struggle and hardship. He does so for the sake of the Philippians themselves.

“To remain in the flesh,” he tells them, “is more necessary for you. Since I am convinced of this, I know that I will remain and continue with all of you for your progress and joy in faith, so that I may share abundantly in your boasting in Christ Jesus when I come to you again.”

This is what Paul means when he says, “For to me, living is Christ and dying is gain.” It is an echo of his words to the Christians in Rome. “We do not live to ourselves. We do not die to ourselves.” What makes Paul able to live without fear and to die without fear is his conviction that God has called him to a task that is greater than his own life.

I can’t say that I have experienced much suffering first-hand as a result of my Christian faith. There are not many in our context who face death because of their faith. We can think of some: the Christian Peacemaking Teams who served in Iraq. Christian missionaries who serve in countries where violence is an every present reality. Pastors who serve in certain areas of our urban centers where walking down the street can seem like taking your life in to your own hands. Most of the rest of us can expect that we will die for the same sort of reasons that everyone else around us will: heart disease, cancer, accidents, old age. Does that make our dying meaningless?

I think the question Paul raises for us is to live our lives with a center that is larger than we are, a passion that is stronger than our fear of death, a purpose that is more powerful than simply providing for our own needs and securing our own future. Can we look at our own lives and say with Paul, “We do not live for ourselves, we do not die for ourselves... For to me, living is Christ, and dying is gain”?

“The place where God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”

That doesn’t mean that we must each take on a grand calling that somehow places our lives in jeopardy. Sometimes the most faithful actions we take in this life on behalf of others are hardly even noticed. Caring for an aging friend. Coming to the aide of a neighbor. Tutoring a child after school. Preparing a meal for the homeless. Sometimes they take on greater significance: Working to end the war. Transforming a school system. Running for public office. But they need not. As we were reflecting over the summer on these texts from Paul, the word we kept coming back to is “authenticity.” It’s not that God is calling you to be someone else. God is calling you to be your own deepest and best self. Each of us, whoever we are, has a calling that is founded at the intersection of the love of God and the love of neighbor. One of the most important things we do together in Christian community is to help call out each other’s gifts. Sometimes we are very clear about the gift that God has given us for the common good. Other times it takes a friend in Christ to help us recognize a gift that we did not even know we had.

Through out this Homecoming Season, we are focusing on the theme, “Living in God’s Way.” To help us reflect more deeply on what that might mean, we are asking different members and friends of the congregation to share how they are living out their faith through particular practices. We don’t lift up these practices as exclusively Christian, but rather as examples of faith-inspired practices that grow out of our relationship with God in Jesus Christ. Together, these practices form a way of life, a way of life sorely needed by our hurting and broken world. ✞