Either Or

Philippians 1:21-30
September 17, 2023
William G. Carter

For to me, living is Christ and dying is gain. If I am to live in the flesh, that 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— since you are having the same struggle that you saw I had and now hear that I still have. 

Last week, we heard the opening words of this affectionate letter. The apostle Paul was writing to a young congregation across the sea. We don’t know how large, maybe forty or fifty souls. He is in prison and the little church has heard about it. They were worried, so they collected money to send him a gift, a sizable gift. And they sent it through one of their members, a man named Epaphroditus.

That prison is about three hundred miles as the crow flies and the boat sails, significantly longer if the journey is taken by land. It was a risky enterprise to send a messenger that far with such a sum of money. The good news is that Epaphroditus delivered the gift to Paul. The bad news is that he got sick. He almost died. The folks in Philippi don’t know this. All they know is that the messenger had not returned. They had heard he was ill, but no more. 

So, Paul takes his pen, writes this letter, and returns it with Epaphroditus. It’s a thank-you letter, as we will hear when we get to chapter four. Before he expresses his gratitude, he feels the need to address a few matters.

First, he says, “I want you to know that prison life is going pretty well. It’s prison, of course. But my little forced vacation here has advanced the Gospel.” The guards know he’s there because of his passion for Jesus Christ. The other prisoners know he’s jailed because of his love for Jesus Christ. Some of them want to know, “Who is this Jesus that you’re talking about?” So, Paul tells him.

Prison is a great place to spread the Gospel. Many of the people there have a lot of time on their hands. Some of them are looking for relief from their distress, or mercy for their mistakes, or hoping for a fresh start. Paul says, “I’m telling them about Jesus (1:12-14).” The Word of God is advancing.

The second thing he says is a general commentary on preachers. No doubt all of you can offer commentary on preachers, but you ought to hear what the preachers say about one another. Go to a church gathering, as I will this afternoon, and the ministers clump together like dust bunnies. One will say, “How many people did you have in worship?” The other says proudly, “We had a hundred twenty.” The first says, “We had a hundred twenty-one.”

Paul says, “I know they are.” Jealousy or rivalry, comparison or competition. Some of them are always seeking the bigger or better church. As one of my professors was heard to say, “Let me describe the perfect clergy career: five years, ten years, and life.” Always sounded like a prison sentence to me.

Or the poet Wendell Berry, who has outlasted one career-climbing Baptist preacher after another in his small Kentucky town. “When they leave our congregation,” he says, “each one says, ‘I wish I could stay, but the Lord is calling.’” Berry says, “How come the Lord keeps calling them to a church with a bigger salary?” Would the Lord ever call one of those turkeys to stay?

Paul says, “I know how those preachers can be.” All the human striving and ambition, yet he says, “I rejoice because Christ is still preached.” That’s all that counts. Whether they preach from goodwill or jealousy, servanthood or self-striving, what matters is that the people hear about Jesus. It’s all about Jesus. It’s only about Jesus. We cannot get distracted about the humanness of the church, although a lot of people do. The Gospel is Jesus Christ.

“In fact,” he says, “life for me is all about Christ. Living is Christ. The only thing better would be dying.” OK, let’s pause there to ask what kind of person talks like that? It’s one of the many outrageous statements that the apostle Paul makes. Was it a burst of bravado? Or a well-polished slogan? We don’t know. “Life is Christ, dying is even better than that.”

If all he said was “Life is Christ,” we could admire him. He sits in a prison cell and remembers he is eternally loved. God knows him. God sees what he has done, good and ill. God forgives him. God gives him a commission. “Proclaim the Gospel to all the world, including those who are not Jews like yourself.” Paul has done that.

Now he sits in a prison cell. Was it because he was proclaiming the Gospel? Might have been. A world that does not live by forgiveness is quickly confronted by grace. This is the world created by God, and it pushed God onto a cross. This is the world that knows death and deals death. It cannot comprehend resurrection. And Paul preaches Jesus Christ, crucified by the world and raised from the dead by God.

Is this why he is in prison? We can speculate. Ultimately, we don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. He is a very unusual character. Throw him in prison and he sings, “Rejoice in the Lord always, again I say rejoice!” He is incarcerated on charges either real or fake, yet he says, “For me, living is Christ.” The Spirit of the living Jesus infuses him and drives him on.

The only thing better than living in Christ is dying, he says. How can he say that? Because death will carry him into the full presence of Christ. Either he can live in him here and now or he can die and be with Christ completely.

It is an astonishing statement to make. Living or dying, he will be OK. You don’t hear that sort of thing very frequently. Even Paul, in this letter, he’s either unsure or he does a little dance. “I want to be with you, but I can’t be with you. I want to keep living but I’m unsure how my situation will turn out. If I can come and be with you, I’d love that. But I’d rather die and be with Christ.” 

Yep, this is Paul. He is a rare bird. Most people would say, “If I can’t be with you, I would die.” Paul is saying, “I’d rather die!” And then he says, “For your sake, for the possibility that I can return and help you grow in faith, I hope to keep living.” What’s it going to be – life or death? Paul says, “Doesn’t matter. Living is Christ, dying is Christ, either way, I’m free.” And that is the point of it all.

I don’t know if you noticed. In the two brief paragraphs that we heard today, Christ is mentioned five times. Living is Christ. Departing with Christ. Boasting in Christ. The Gospel of Christ. Believing in Christ. On the basis of our text alone, we can know what’s the focus of this entire letter. Is it Paul? No, it’s Christ.

That’s why begins the letter this way. The Philippians collected money, sent it with Epaphroditus. Epaphroditus delivers the gift, got sick. They didn’t hear from him. Then they got word he was sick, and they were also worried about Paul. Is he alright too? Will they see him? And his response: it’s not about me. It’s about Jesus. “Living, I’m in his hands. Dying, I’m in his arms. Either way, I’m doing just fine. So, I hope to see you again.” How remarkable, how clear, how free! His clarity and freedom shine light on every relationship in our own lives, beginning with the relationship that the Lord Jesus has established with each of us.

As many of you know, last Sunday night, I lost one my best friends in the world. Al Hamme was the co-founder of my Presbybop Quartet. He was my mentor for forty-five years and my musical partner for forty-three of them. He played over thirty jazz communion services here and never took a dime for it. If we gave him a check, he handed it back. Al was scheduled to play music here two weeks ago but was hospitalized in mid-August. We talked on the phone, and he said, “I hope to be released in time to be there. Save a seat for me.”

I went to see him in the hospital. We swapped stories, laughed a bit, but Al was not well. When he was released into hospice care and the ambulance carried him home, I went again to see him. We spent an hour and a half together, a time I will never forget. We shared memories of making music in literally hundreds of churches and concert stages.

I joked how, whenever we traveled, he bought another pair of expensive shoes. He told me he was proud of me. I told him I loved him, which was something he would say to me at the end of every phone call. I thanked him for his impact on my life. In the final moment, he reached up and clasped my hand. Each of us held tightly. Looked into one another’s eyes and didn’t let go. And when we released one another, I could affirm he is in far better hands than mine. Living or dying, we are held by Christ.

This is the great mystery of the Gospel, which means it is the great mystery of our lives. In life and death, we belong to God. This is the truth that illumines and qualifies everything else. Through Jesus Christ, we belong to God, and Christ lives in us… forever. No worries. Not now, not ever.

How remarkable. How gracious. How free.

 

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