19th Sunday after Pentecost – The Rev. Mark S. Winward, MDiv,ThM
Proper 22A
“…forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 3:13b-14
Suffering and Joy – Philippians 3:4b-14
It’s amazing that Paul wrote this in his letter to the Philippians from prison. Ironically, Philippians is perhaps Paul’s most joyful letter of all those passed down to us in the New Testament. The words “joy” and “rejoice” appear in it again and again. For Paul, he affirms he can know joy even while suffering, because his joy doesn’t depend on his circumstances. It depends on to whom he belongs.
That’s the key, because God doesn’t promise to spare us from suffering. We live in a broken world, and sooner or later that brokenness touches every one of us, through illness, through loss, and sometimes through things we can’t explain at all. Now I don’t believe God necessarily sends suffering just to teach us. But I do believe he can meet us in our suffering. Paul says at the beginning of his letter that even his imprisonment has advanced the gospel. Still, God didn’t need Paul to be in chains to work good – God worked good despite them.
So what does knowing Christ offer us when we suffer? Paul tells us three things.
Relying on Christ
First, Christ offers us something to rely on when our own resources run out.
Earlier in this chapter, Paul lists his credentials: the right family, the right training, burning zeal, a sterling resume. “If anyone else thinks they have reasons to put confidence in the flesh,” he says, “I have more.” Paul had every reason to brag.
Then he says something shocking. Everything that he could brag about he now counts as loss, all for the sake of knowing Christ. He adds that he considers their loss as “rubbish” (but shall we say the Greek isn’t quite as polite). Regardless of this, he seeks to know Christ and not rely on his own righteousness but on that of Christ through faith.
Most of us, like Paul, have things we trust. It may be our competence, our health, our carefully made plans. Most of us go through life assuming that with enough effort and good sense we can keep things under control. Then a diagnosis comes. You sit across from a doctor and hear words you didn’t expect. Then on the drive home, it dawns on you how much has changed in an hour. Yesterday you were making plans. Today you’re wondering whether those plans are still possible.
Faith doesn’t ask us to take that news calmly. We may be frightened or angry. But in the middle of it, we can set aside our frail confidence and put it in the hands of one on whom we can always depend. Paul let go of his confidence long before any crisis forced him to. But for us, suffering often reveals where we’ve been placing our trust. And what’s left, when everything else is stripped away, is Christ.
Christ Has Taken Hold of Us
Second, Christ has already taken hold of us.
Paul writes, “I press on to make [the goal] my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own.”
Notice the order. Before Paul reaches for Christ, Christ has taken hold of Paul. Paul is honest, though, that he hasn’t arrived. He knows that his race is unfinished. But his perseverance doesn’t begin with his grip on Christ – it begins with Christ’s grip on him.
That’s should be encouraging to anyone whose faith feels fragile. We don’t earn Christ’s love by enduring well. We don’t have to be brave enough, cheerful enough, or faithful enough. Some days we may pray with confidence, and some days we may barely manage to turn toward him. In both cases, we’re held by someone whose grip doesn’t depend on ours. We belong to God in life and in death. And if Christ is risen, as Paul fiercely believes, then death doesn’t have the final word.
Sharing in Christ’s Sufferings
Third, Christ invites us to share in his life, including the costly love with which he entered the suffering of this world.
This is probably the hardest part of this passage. Paul writes that he wants to know Christ “and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death.” Paul doesn’t mean that we should seek pain or refuse relief. (I know some people, for example, who refuse local anesthetic during dental procedures in order to share in Christ’s sufferings.) But there’s nothing holy about suffering pain. Christ’s work is finished, and our pain doesn’t add anything to the power of the cross. It is Christ’s suffering that does.
What Paul is trying to get across here is that to know Christ is to follow him – and that love has a cost. In the previous chapter, Paul describes how Jesus emptied himself and took the form of a servant, to the point of death on a cross. If we embrace that love, lived out it cannot help but make demands on us. It may mean sitting beside someone through a long illness. It may mean speaking truth when silence would be easier. It may mean doing what’s right when it has a high personal cost. Paul knew the cost of such love – and he suffered because of that devotion to his Lord.
But this need not be a burden we carry alone. Paul speaks of “fellowship” with church at Philippi. He tells us they sent Epaphroditus and a gift to him in prison, and Paul says they shared in his suffering. We share in Christ’s sufferings together. That’s part of what a church about: to carry one another when we can’t carry ourselves, and to allow ourselves graciously to receive that care.
Christ offers comfort amidst our suffering. We follow a Lord who knows grief, rejection, pain, and death. He’s already suffered what we fear most. And sometimes having known suffering ourselves, in ways we would never demand of anyone else, we may find we can listen more patiently and empathize with those we once overlooked.
Pressing On
Paul ties up this section of his letter by using the image of himself as a runner, pressing on toward the goal. He begins by affirming something easy to miss: “Forgetting what is behind.” That should be encouraging to anyone carrying grief or regret. Paul doesn’t say that the past doesn’t matter. He says it doesn’t have to have the final word. He doesn’t need to remain in that place, because Christ has taken hold of him and is calling him forward.
Now I’m not a runner by nature. When I picture runners, I think of two kinds. One is pure poetry in motion, long strides and feet barely touching the ground. The other plods along, working for every step. I’m the plodder. We plodders have several things in common. We often spend a lot of time looking down at our feet, deciding whether to give up, and fretting over not doing as well as everyone else. But Paul isn’t talking about competing with professional runners, but a marathon of ordinary plodders like you and me. For a plodding runner like me, Paul’s point is perseverance, pressing on in the right direction, keeping our eyes on our ultimate destination.
Paul calls it “the prize” and “the heavenward call.” This isn’t a trophy handed only to the best performers. The prize is Christ himself: to know him fully, to share his in resurrection, to be at home with God. Our present sufferings don’t tell the whole story of our lives. But a future we can’t yet see in full is awaiting us, and the resurrection gives us reason to put our hope in that future.
The Source of Our Joy
This is the source of Paul’s joy. When he urges the Philippians to rejoice in the Lord, he isn’t urging them to just be happy. He’s telling them to delight in the one who holds them, redeems them, and will never forsake them. Suffering can take a lot from us, but it never take that away.
Paul’s endurance comes from being held by Christ – and Christ will do the same for us if we only let Him. When we do, we discover that whether we are running strong or plodding along exhausted, we still belong to Him. As we press on toward the goal, the One who holds us will ultimately bestow the prize that can never be lost.
Amen.