Belonging to Another

Colossians 2:1-23

17th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

July 28, 2019

William G. Carter

Sometimes when we hear the Bible, we nod our heads in affirmation. There is something that resonates, something that rings as true. Perhaps it’s an insight we had never thought about, and when we hear it, we say, “Yes, that’s right.” We discover we were not alone.

But other times, when we hear the Bible, we grit our teeth. There is a voice that confronts us. It questions what we assumed was true. It shakes us up sufficiently that we push back against it, or have to rethink what we held close in our heart.

Such is the case when Paul and Timothy write, “See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deceit.” I have had a mixed history with that verse.

It got kind of quiet at the dinner table when I announced, “Dad, I am changing my college major to philosophy.” My little sister said, “What’s philosophy?” My brother rolled his eyes. My mother abruptly left the table. My dad grunted, wondering what kind of do philosophy majors get when they graduate?" Little did he know. And I expected those reactions.

What I didn't expect was the reaction from friends in my dormitory Bible study. They were absolutely outraged by my decision. "Philosophy is a pagan business," one of them declared, “and no true Christian would dare take a philosophy class."

"It's true," said another student. "I knew a guy who took a class on existentialism. He used to be a good Baptist who believed the Bible. Now he drinks whiskey and listens to jazz."

The loudest thunder came from Steven, a recently converted Jew. He stood up, unzipped his Bible, and turned to Colossians 2:8 -- "See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits of the universe, and not according to Christ." Then he sat down, zipped up his Bible, looked at me, and said, "You don't need philosophy. All you need is Jesus."

That happened almost 40 years ago. Since that time, I have learned a few things. First, you can never argue with a convert. They always want to be right. Second, it was my life, not theirs. I was the one who dropped physics for philosophy, after all, and I was the one who had to look for a job after graduation.

In my case, philosophy was a perfect way to prepare for Princeton Seminary, because philosophy is a discipline that challenged me to use my brain.

And third, even though he was a convert, even though it was my life, I have spent forty years coming to terms with what Steven said: "You don't need philosophy. All you need is Jesus." Now is that true? Is Jesus enough?

I was hard-headed enough to ignore the criticism from my classmates. And I discovered they really diddn't know what they were talking about. Philosophy is a way of working through the world. You try to build a coherent way to make sense of what we see and experience every day. You attempt to use your head to sift through what is true and what is false, what is beautiful and what is ugly, what is worthy of praise and what is worthy to be ignored.

When you study philosophy, you read writings of people who tried to work it out before we came on the scene and you learn how to discuss with people with whom you disagree. As I discovered, if you want to get an A in philosophy class, it’s not about getting all the answers right (like math or physics). It’s about asking the right questions.

The word itself is instructive. The beginning, "philo" comes from philia, the Greek word for friend. "Sophia" is the word for wisdom. At its root, the philosopher is a friend of wisdom. I like that: a friend of wisdom.

Last week, we heard Paul and Timothy say that Christ is the wisdom of the universe.        He was the primal mover of creation, and he is the firstborn from the dead. "In him, all things hold together." The Risen Christ is the glue for all reality. That is, Christ is the philosophical framework for all things seen and unseen. He gives meaning and purpose to everything else in the world.

Nevertheless Paul and Timothy say, "Don't let anybody take you captive through philosophy and empty deceit." What is he talking about?

Scholars aren’t sure. Obviously the apostle was referring to some screwy ideas in the small city of Colossae. That shouldn’t surprise us. There are screwy ideas everywhere. I made myself a short list of some of the screwy ideas in Clarks Summit:

·         Life is best lived on the dead run.

·         Giving money to your kids is more important than getting to know them.

·         We exist only for our weekends and our vacations.

·         It’s all about consumption. Consume, consume, consume.

Every one of those philosophies is a dead end, what Paul and Timothy call “empty deceit.” It’s empty, in the sense that it has no substance, and it will fool you into thinking otherwise.

Colossae was wiped out by an earthquake a few years after this letter was written. We don’t really know what Paul and Timothy were referring to, although we have three hints.

Apparently some in that church were insisting on self-abasement. That is, they were depriving themselves, or beating up on themselves, as a spiritual practice. Every church seems to attract these kind of people. We know what they say: "Look at me: I've been on that committee longer than anybody else." "Hit me again: I don't want to be happy, I want to suffer like Jesus." "Look here: I spend more time on my knees in prayer than everybody else in town."

Paul is not impressed. He diagnoses it as the sickness of "spiritual self-indulgence.” He refers to the person who insists on being super pious in every circumstance. "There's no freedom in that," he says. "It's a form of captivity."

Others in the church were taking part in a little angel worship: angels on the Christmas tree, angels on the mantle, angels on the wall. "Let's get ourselves a good angel who will become our personal guardian."             People like this also show up in churches now and then. Most of us can understand the attraction of angels. Angels do not get born among peasants and placed in mangers. Angels don't suffer humiliation and abuse. Angels don't carry crosses, and they don't give their lives for the salvation of the world.

                       

"Who needs Jesus?" some of them said. "Let's just find a few good angels."

Still others were caught up in rule-keeping. Rule-keeping has always been a favorite hobby among religious folk. “Don’t sit too far up front. The preacher may spit on you.” “Don’t arrive too early. The ushers may press you into service.” We love to keep our rules, whether they are written or not.

           

I wonder what regulations Paul and Timothy were referring to. They quote some of them: "Do not handle. Do not taste. Do not touch." Most likely, it meant, "Do not handle the holy silverware." "Do not taste the wrong kind of food or drink." "Do not touch the wrong kind of people."

           

Paul says, "These rules come from people; these laws are not eternal, like God; they are human notions. "Why do you live as if you still belonged to the world?" That, you see, is really the issue.

These people were baptized. They were initiated into the mystery of the Gospel. They were adopted into a relationship with Jesus Christ, not merely the Palestinian who was crucified, but the Risen Christ who reveals the grace of God. In a manner of speaking, the apostles are saying, "All you need is Jesus." That’s the fullness of the philosophy of God. As they say, “In Christ are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge." (2:3)

Years ago, on our first trip to Haiti, a woman stopped by who was an expert on the voodoo religion. She told us about the roots of voodoo, how it came from Africa on the slave ships. She explained some of the beliefs of voodoo, which are based in human relationships with the primal elements, like wind and fire. She told us how voodoo dolls are supposed to work. Apparently you get a doll, write somebody's name on the forehead, and poke it with pins. The pins don't inflict pain; rather, they repel that person from you. They keep them away. (Some days, a dozen or so dolls like that might come in handy!)

Then she said something very striking. "In Haiti, 80 percent of the people are Roman Catholic. 100 percent of them practice voodoo." "How can that be?" we asked. "When people get in trouble," she said, "they turn to the place where they find the most help. On Sunday morning, they go to church and act respectable. But if they ever get in trouble, they turn to wherever they can find help."

It haunted me, because she was indicting the church! It is possible to attend every Sunday, give your money to the poor, go through all the rituals, and remain distant from the Lord who is the source of our help. So Paul and Timothy say, "See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits of the universe, and not according to Christ."

The truth of the Gospel is that our help comes from Jesus Christ. In Jesus, God dwelt in all fullness. When we are filled, we are filled up through him. When we sank down in the waters of baptism, we were buried with Jesus who died for us. When we were raised up out of the water, God made us alive with Christ who lives.

The dark power of our trespasses has been cancelled. Our human failures have been forgotten. Our sins have been nailed to the cross of Jesus and taken away. And there is no power to break us, no earthly ruler to destroy us, no demonic artillery that can finally damage us. God has disarmed the world. Our help has come in Jesus.

                                               

The invitation of the Christian faith is to remain focused on Christ alone, to see the world through the One in whom all things are made and redeemed.

           

It's easy to get distracted, and easy to get tangled up or turned around. Every once in a while, I find myself in trouble. I frequently put myself down and try to look humble enough for God to love me. Or I look for a good, strong angel to help me get what I want. Or I get firm about the rules of the universe and how I think they should be kept. I do whatever I can to help myself out . . . and it's always a miserable flop.

Sooner or later, I start thinking: how am I going to get through this? It's only then that I realize: I don’t belong to my troubles. I don’t belong to my inadequacies. I don’t belong to the empty promises of a consumer society. I don’t belong to the empty vanity of any earthly empire. My only comfort, in life and death, is that I am not my own, but belong with body and soul, in life and in death, to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ. And that’s enough.

So here is the philosophy of Paul and Timothy, as a gift for us: "As you therefore have received Christ Jesus the Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving."  (2:6)

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.