"Matters of Life and Death"

Philippians 1:21-19

It’s the middle of July and we’re somewhere in the middle of our summer sermon series on the apostle Paul.  Last week, we finished up with Galatians and today we encounter his letter to the church in Philippi. 

            For to me, living is Christ and dying is gain.  If I am to live in the flesh, this 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.  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. 

            Only, live your life in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ, so that, whether I come and see you or am absent and hear about you, I will know that you are standing firm in one spirit, striving side by side with one mind for the faith of the gospel, and are in no way intimidated by your opponents.  For them this is evidence of their destruction, but of your salvation.  And this is God’s doing.  For he has graciously granted you the privilege not only of believing in Christ, but of suffering for him as well.

It’s been interesting to hear Paul’s work again and again this summer.  A little challenging a times, I think—not necessarily because of content, but because of style.  Paul is just so didactic, and so his letters stand in sharp contrast stylistically to the Jesus’ parables, and the stories and poetry of the Old Testament.  San and I were talking a few weeks ago about preaching from Paul’s letters, and one of the things he said struck me.  He said that perhaps our task is not to try and repeat everything that Paul said; rather it is to do what Paul did—which was to encourage a growing, vibrant church. 

To do what Paul did—easier said than done, of course, especially when we consider the original context of Paul’s letters.  In Philippians, for example, he’s writing from a prison cell.  I don’t know what that’s like; I’m not in prison and, as far as any of you know, I never have been.  For us to do what Paul did, we must recognize the fact that Paul had no idea who we are when he wrote his letters.  The Christian Church as a powerful, global institution was the furthest thing from Paul’s mind when he scribbled his letters down onto paper.  Dare I say, Paul was not writing to us in his letter to the Philippians.  He was writing to a small new-church development on the coast of the Aegean Sea in the town of Philippi.  He was in prison, and he knew that the folks in Philippi were engaged in struggles similar to his own—namely persecution from Roman authorities. 

It is in this context that Paul states, “For me living is Christ and dying is gain,” which is a place we’re not apt to go.  I’d say that few of us could imagine our lives coming to a moment when we could make a claim like this—that to live is Christ and to die is gain.  Of course, we have our own shades of that commitment.  We might say, for example, that “Christ is Lord of our lives,” or that we “have found our way in the Way of Christ.”  We’ve got lots of ways that we articulate our faith, but if we boil it down to the bare bones, can we simply say that “living is Christ and dying is gain”?  Actually, I find myself somewhat suspicious of people who seem able to articulate matters of life and death in any phrase that could fit on a bumper sticker. 

And I wonder about the Church in 2007.  We live in a culture of sound bites, and I wonder if the modern Christian attraction to Paul has more to do with our appetite for succinct, memorable quotes, and less to do with our ability or even our desire to say that indeed, “Living is Christ.”  Because we don’t say that—not really—not with our lives.  With our lives we say that living is any number of things.  A thorough audit of American life—of American church life—might conclude that living is achieving.  Living is succeeding.  Living is earning, spending.  Living is finding it on sale.  Living is effective time management.  Living is getting the kids to soccer in time to pick up the dry cleaning in time to make that call on our way to pick up the kids from soccer and get home in time to get dinner on the table…  Living is keeping my head above water.  And yes, God help us all, living is Christ… sometimes. Sometimes living is showing hospitality to the stranger.  Living is breaking bread.  Living is watching the kids play soccer.  Living is being at table with family.  Living is true friendship.  Living is struggle for justice.  Living is peacemaking.  Living is Christ. 

And then what about dying?  Dying as gain?  What an absurd thing to say!  Then again, we’re not Paul and we’re not the church in Philippi.  Our lives aren’t at stake for our beliefs, we’re not in prison, and we’re not being persecuted day after day…  And yet at times the pain is too much.  At times we suffer in prisons of depression, loss, and grief—struggling with unbearable wounds.

I’m always grateful for poets and prophets who, in one way or another, are able to speak to these matters of life and death.  A friend recently shared these words.  They’re from Frederick Buechner.

"Today is the last day of your life.

The house is coming awake

because you who are a part of the house are coming alive.

And you will see this day as the first and last and most holy time.

Whatever promises you have to keep,

if you don't keep them today—they will never be kept.

Whatever it is you are to say,

if you do not say it today—it will never be said.

And the people—the ones who you love,

and those who bore you to death—

whatever life you have in you to live with them,

if you do not live it today—it will never be lived!

This is the last day of your life—because you will never see it again.

So, be as alive in it as you can."

Of course, some of what Buechner says here isn’t factual.  Indeed, this isn’t the last day of our lives.  But isn’t it wonderful that sometimes the basis for truth is not a simple collection of facts, but rather a word or two that point us in the deep, dark direction of life’s mystery? 

We struggle often to say unabashedly and completely, “Living is Christ.”  Why is that?  Could it be that we’re waiting for the simple facts to add up?  Are we waiting for the official time-depth analysis of our daily activities, complete with pie charts and bar graphs, to show that yes, to a reasonable degree of certainty, living is Christ?

What are we waiting for?

A good friend of mine works as an assistant principle for a private school in the Dallas area.  He and I were talking about his school – it enrolls students, grades kindergarten through 12, and it’s one of the more highly successful schools in the Dallas-Fort Worth area.  Students’ acceptance in the school is based solely on academic performance.

I asked him, “How can you test the academic performance of the pre-school-aged children?  How can you tell which ones should or should not be accepted as kindergarteners?”  He admitted that it was hard, and that a lot had to do with parents’ willingness to nurture their children’s educations.  He also shared, however, that the staff used some tests that helped determine students’ readiness for the program.  And then he told me this story.

One of the tests is called “The Incomplete Man.”  The test is simple:  A child is given a partially drawn stick figure of a man.  Maybe the head, an arm, and a leg are missing.  The child is asked to finish the drawing to make a “complete man.”  The staff can then evaluate the child’s sense of balance, proportion, symmetry, and so forth.  It’s not the only test they run, but it helps in creating an overall picture of the student’s ability.

A mother brought her son in for his first day of testing.  And this little boy did an incredible job on the incomplete man exercise.  Not only did he draw arms and legs, but he meticulously added shoes with laces, fingers, thumbs, clothes, and hair… Clearly the boy had some artistic ability and all were impressed by the drawing.  One thing, however, about the drawing stood out the most.  Despite the amazing level of detail, the figure had no eyes.  The boy said, “I’m done” and the staff member running the test said, “Are you sure?”  The boy said, “Yup.”  And so she replied, “Are you sure there isn’t anything else you’d like to add?”  “Yup,” said the boy.

The boy and his mother went home, leaving the staff puzzled by his drawing.  The next day they came back for another round of tests and interviews, this time accompanied by the boy’s father.  And then it became clear.  The boy’s father was blind.

Are you the incomplete man?  The incomplete woman?  The incomplete child?  What are you waiting for?  What, exactly, is your life waiting for?  Oh, that we had the sight and trust of a child to see our completion!  Somewhere along the line, though, we fall down at the feet of the lies that confirm our fears and insecurities.  And believing that “living is Christ” becomes something to one day attain rather than something that is already true.  But it’s here, in us, completely.  We were created to be this way—created to seek justice, to love kindness, to walk humbly with God—created to love God and to love neighbor as self. 

In the days ahead, may we as a family of faith celebrate “living as Christ” as we strive to recognize and nurture that completion in one another.  Amen.