Of all Paul’s letters to churches, this one to the Christians at Philippi is the one which reads most like a letter. Paul had a great affection, a great feeling of closeness and support with his friends in Philippi. He calls them his ‘joy and crown’. They are the ones who, above all others, show their care for Paul in a practical way – by sending him gifts: “Not one church shared with me in the matter of giving and receiving, except you only.” There is a greater sense of fellowship. Of course, the letter does contain exhortation and teaching – that is obviously a major part of Paul’s ministry – but there is much less feeling that he has to correct their wrongs. He can be open and straightforward with them, knowing they will be on his wavelength. So he can express to them, more simply and clearly than to anyone else, the philosophy which now rules his life, and which could rule ours: “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings.”
Paul is no stranger to sufferings, of course. This tent-maker tried to be as true as he possibly could to the laws he was brought up on. This (what we might call) extremism led him to the frightful point where he found himself giving his approval as an ugly crowd stoned Stephen to death, he himself being obliged to look after his clothes. Imagine that on your conscience as you head off for Damascus with authority to take Christians prisoner. The Lord says to Ananias, “I will show him how much he must suffer for my name.” And now, as he makes clear in this letter, he is suffering. Now he is the one who is in prison. And the worst thing is he doesn’t know what his fate will be: whether he will live or die.
Facing that great uncertainty, what is his attitude? Well, as we can see from the words he writes, he bravely maintains that either outcome will be equally acceptable to him, because whatever happens will happen to the glory of God and the advancement of the gospel. In fact he says that departing and being with Christ would be “better by far”. But brave words can only be called brave if they are an attempt to master a deeper fear. Without feeling the fear, you can’t claim to be brave, can you? And throughout this extract, he keeps returning to the uncertain outcome like something he can’t get out of his mind. As Christ’s disciple he shows supreme confidence, but as a mere mortal he is a worried man, and we feel for him. And if you were in that situation, wouldn’t you above all worry that if the worst happened, you might discover – and demonstrate – that your fear turned out to be greater than your faith. “I eagerly expect,” he says, “and hope that I will be in no way ashamed, but will have sufficient courage.” At least he has Stephen’s last words to help him – compassionate words that go well beyond ‘mere’ courage: “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit… do not hold this sin against them.”
Stephen expresses his confidence in the resurrection and lordship of Jesus when he prays to be received by him. This is the gospel of Christ which Paul serves too. “Stand firm … for the faith of the gospel,” he says, and he has the same desire: “to depart and be with Christ.” But while we can commend the saints at this distance for this outlook, closer to home the whole idea of the glory of suffering and dying for faith, and of such confidence in the after-life, I must admit I find a bit chilling.
You see, I was reading this not long after the time when those 150 Iraqis were being killed and wounded. And we heard, not so long ago, that video made by one of the failed London suicide bombers. Our whole world, it seems, is being driven into desperate fear by people who have just that same attitude: that there is glory in suffering and dying for faith, and that nothing is more sure than the reward of paradise. I sometimes feel like saying, “O God, are you sure that martyrdom is such a good idea?”
Now don’t worry! I wouldn’t for one moment suggest that the death in prison which Paul is thinking about here can be compared with the acts of terrorists. But the fact is that the same belief that a spiritual service that looks beyond this life to something greater, underlies both Paul’s love and the terrorists’ hatred. And as I say, that is rather chilling. Isn’t it true that many people, faced with this dilemma, aware of all the damage and danger that religion can and does cause, come to the conclusion that religion had best be avoided altogether? Doesn’t religion make the world a more dangerous place? Can’t we get on together better without it?
Well, what can you honestly say to that? Our religion, in its 2000 years, has been giving its approval to all sorts of atrocities, as well as perpetrating all sorts of stupidities. We don’t have so much to be proud of, do we? The harm we have done in the name of God’s love! And yet all we want is to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings. Why is it religion seems so hung about with shrouds? If only we could know good, and not know evil. And yet the tree from which Adam and Eve took the forbidden fruit was the “tree of the knowledge of good and evil.” We don’t seem to be able to know one without the other. Somehow in reaching for the good, we unleash the evil.
But we can’t exactly go back to the time before the fall, can we? However much we may desire not to know evil, we delude ourselves if we think we don’t share in the knowledge of both that Adam and Eve gained, and which was their sin. At every level, every good we delight in, comes with a dark side: everything: money; cars; nuclear power; love; and, yes, religion, too. And we have to live with it.
All these good things turn out to be much more complicated than we would want them to be. But I believe our task is not to hide, but to work together to manage the complications which we have brought upon ourselves. And to manage them, firstly, for our common benefit, and, secondly, to God’s glory. Let’s take money, for example. This has a pretty bad name, doesn’t it? The love of it is described as the root of all evil, and it’s only a step from there to thinking that money itself is the root of all evil. But which of you here tonight doesn’t have money in your pocket? You know as well as I do that money is a bringer of great good. We all love it. Money itself never was the root of anything, though. It may sometimes bring evil, but also – and mostly – it brings good. Who would deny that economic prosperity has brought abundant life, health and happiness to people, in a way that poverty never did? It’s economic prosperity pursued to the disadvantage of others that brings the evil. That’s why working together to manage this benefit for the well-being of the whole of humanity is the only way we will ever succeed in knowing the good without suffering the evil. Don’t you find all the stumbling progress towards making poverty history deeply encouraging, (even though it may also seem frustratingly slow)?
But as well as managing prosperity for our common benefit, I also said that it should be ‘to God’s glory’. Now at first glance you may think that affluence is completely at odds with God’s glory. But if you do, just picture this: it’s Christmas, the first Christmas. You come to the stable with your gifts. You’ve come a long way. In you go. You approach the child lying in the manger. You offer your gift of gold. All of a sudden the baby Jesus sits up, fixes you with a cold stare and says, ‘No, thank you very much. It’s evil,’? That wasn’t how it went, was it? The gold was just as acceptable as the more spiritual gifts of incense and myrrh. Like all gifts, it could be used in such a way that it would bring glory to God, or not. In their case, we presume they managed it appropriately. I’m sure they knew it could be used inappropriately. I think they were well aware of both good and evil, and, as we know from the results, they followed the path of good.
Now religion is just the same as money in that respect. It too has its dark side. And, because of that, some people now seem to be saying, “Religion is the root of all evil.” But just like money, or any of these other things, it may sometimes bring evil, but also – and mostly – it brings good. Would to God we could manage this great gift of religion to the benefit of us all, and to the glory of the God whom we all seek. Here, too, stumbling steps are being taken. Alleluia!
I am convinced, when we really work together without being exclusive, that this is work which delights God as well as benefiting ourselves. For whom, after all is the kingdom prepared? Remember the words of the Son of Man to those on his right side: “Whatever you did for the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.” At heart, what it represents, is a belief, articulate or hidden, that the good and the evil, which we know to exist, and which seem so equally balanced, are not as equal as they seem. Through God’s gifts of faith and service, we proclaim the greater power of good, and we are enabled to do our part in making that power a reality. Despite our knowledge of evil, we will “stand firm in one spirit,” as Paul knew the Philippians would. For us as well as for them, we say, good will prevail – or else what on earth did Christ die for?