We Go High

Philippians 4:1-9
October 22, 2023
William G. Carter

Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved. I urge Euodia and I urge Syntyche to be of the same mind in the Lord. Yes, and I ask you also, my loyal companion, help these women, for they have struggled beside me in the work of the gospel, together with Clement and the rest of my co-workers, whose names are in the book of life.

 

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

 

Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you.

Some of us are old enough to remember camp songs. I have never forgotten one. We gathered round the campfire as our song leader strummed three enthusiastic chords on the guitar. That’s all the song required. He paused and pointed a finger at one of the kids and said, "What are you thinking about?"      

"I'm thinking about school." So, they sang, "Thinking about school, school, school. Thinking about school, school, school..."

"How about you?" he said, pointing to a young lady. She blushed and said, "I'm thinking about boys." So, they sang, "Thinking about boys, boys, boys. Thinking about boys, boys, boys..."

"What about you?" as he pointed to somebody else. “Basketball." They sang, "Thinking about basketball, basketball, basketball . . ." That was the point of the song. Whatever was on their minds provided what they began to sing about.

Today we hear the apostle Paul break into singing. We know what's on his mind. He taps his tin cup on the bars of his prison cell and sings, "Thinking about joy, joy, joy. Thinking about joy, joy, joy...” Or to put it in his words, “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, Rejoice!"

This is one of striking details of his letter to the Philippians, Paul keeps talking, singing, and thinking about joy. It happens at least 12 times in the four short chapters of this document. Joy bubbles out of his soul, despite his circumstances.

And there are plenty of circumstances. Most likely, he's an old man near the end of his travels. He is a prisoner of the Empire, deprived of basic necessities, and separated from those he loved. There is troubling news from the small congregation that he loved so deeply. In his absence, rival evangelists had invaded the church. “Beware of those dogs,” he says. Not only that, but there’s also an argument in fellowship hall between Euodia and Syntyche, whoever they were. 

Yet rather abruptly Paul interrupts himself to sing, "Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, Rejoice!"

We cannot escape the extraordinary character of the author of this letter. Pondering the uncertainty of his future, he speaks of freedom: "I can die, I can live, I can see you or stay away: yet in all circumstances, I am free." Addressing the cracks in the church’s unity, he quotes an old hymn: "Set your minds on Christ Jesus, who emptied himself for others." Last week, we heard Paul offer to scrap his own resume. "I'm willing to lose it all," he said, "if I might be found in Christ Jesus."

This is a most uncommon human being. He sings about joy. He encourages gentleness. He says, "Don't worry." Then he offers a benediction: "May the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, guard your feelings and your thoughts in Christ Jesus."

It would be sufficient to stop there, don't you think? Except Paul is a preacher. He has more to say, even after the benediction. No sooner does he say "Amen," than he goes on to say what's really on his mind... because he wants it to be on our minds, too. Let me paraphrase what he says:

Can you think of anything truthful? Anything honest?

Can you recall what is righteous? Remember what is pure?

Do you have a sense of what is lovely or reputable?

Can you imagine a virtuous action? Can you think of a good deed?

If so, wrap your brain around these things!"

At first, this sounds like a healthy dose of positive thinking. Look on the bright side. Keep your chin up. Turn that frown upside down - and all those familiar cliches. You can probably think of a few more. It’s a well-worn strategy to counter the negativity, and there’s so much of that. That toxic cloud can roll into any situation.

Somebody told me about going to a family reunion, the first reunion in a dozen years. The meal was tasty and a little bit fattening. The conversation was full of memories and laughter. But then the conversation moved on to the front porch and the family began to play a game. Bob said the game was called, “Ain’t it awful?” Maybe you’ve been privy to the game. It’s played by reciting a series of questions:

"Ain't it awful about Cousin Tom?"

"Ain't it awful about the steel plant closing down?"

“Ain’t it awful our new car turned out to be a lemon?”

Twenty minutes of that and all the pleasant feelings of the reunion had been snuffed out. “Ain’t it awful.” This is what was on their minds. Not the joy of being together, not the memories they shared, not the hopes common to every breathing soul, but a well-worn list of grumbles. Awful, indeed. 

When Paul addresses the Philippians, it sounds like he’s pointing over their heads, as if to say, “Look up!” He could complain as loudly as anyone but chooses not to do so. He could write to say, “Here in prison, the food is lousy, the bed is hard, the guards are brutal, the rules are oppressive, the people in charge are non-responsive. Ain’t it awful?” But he doesn’t go there. At least, not in this letter.

Some students of this letter believe Paul is appealing to the intellectual heritage of his listeners. If you’re from Philippi, you are ankle deep in the thinking of the great Greek philosophers. Plato, Aristotle, and the rest spent a lot of mental energy exploring the great virtues of the universe. “The truth is always dangling above our heads,” said Plato. Down here, all we see are dull shadows and thin representations. But if we pursue the truth, the real truth, it can free us from the mortal ills that come from being human.

No doubt, then, if a few of the Macedonian minds in Philippi nodded in agreement when the apostle appeals to the true, the honorable, the just and pure. “Isn’t that the intellectual quest for all of us?” they said. Don’t invest in the illusions of this shadow world. Look beyond them. Penetrate through them. Pursue the wisdom hidden from casual observers. Search for the truth.

Noble thoughts, to be sure. Except that the truth is precisely that the food is lousy, the bed is hard, the guards are brutal, and all the rest. And there’s precious little in Paul’s present circumstances that could be construed as commendable, excellent, or worthy of praise. Philosophical thinking can ease human pain only so much. I can say that with authenticity since I was a philosophy major in college. Plato was no help when I had a roommate who snored. Aristotle taught me nothing to improve my undergraduate love life.  

Certainly, Paul is raising his sights. At the end of each of his letters, he loves to give advice. That’s what he is doing here in chapter four. Earlier in the letter, he told his friends, “Don’t worry about me.” In the middle of the letter, he said, “Think about others, and not only about yourselves.” As he begins to sum up his thoughts, he reveals his own deep spiritual training. He won’t be sidetracked by the small stuff or the temporary difficulties. He will stay focused on the matters that count most.

This is good advice. What are you thinking about these days? Whatever occupies our spirits will shape who we are. If we lose a day watching mindless television shows, it does something to us – it takes something away. If we’re constantly tapping our phones, we risk losing connections to those at the dinner table. If all we do is worry, worry will shrink us.

By contrast, I remember a remarkable Presbyterian who brewed a cup of coffee and memorized three psalms every morning. That was his breakfast. That was his spiritual discipline. And he explained, “If I ever lose my memory, I want something else to be there.” A deep reservoir of scripture filled his mind.

Sometimes it happens by repetition without us realizing. The father of a friend did lose his memory. Alzheimer’s Disease erased his mental blackboard. But when the carolers came by at Christmas, he knew all the words to every carol and sang along. They had been engraved upon his soul by way of his mind.

His mind. Did you notice that Paul is always talking about the mind? He encourages his friends to “have the same mind.” He says his opponents “set their minds on earthly things.” Most important, Paul says, “Have the mind of Christ.” And that gives me a hunch about what is most on his own mind. What matters most to Paul is not Paul. As distracting as they might be, he is not fretting over his troubles. As much as he loves the Philippians, his favorite church, he does not think obsessively about them.

No, he has already told us: Christ Jesus is of “surpassing value.” There’s nobody more important than him. He is the One who is true, honorable, just, pure, pleasing, commendable, excellent, and worthy of praise. This is the One who did not regard equality with God as something be exploited, but emptied himself in service, giving himself for world in need. This is how Jesus thought. How he still thinks. There isn’t anything more excellent than that. Paul says, “If there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.” They will sustain your joy.

My first trip to Scranton was in the fall of 1986. The Presbyterians gathered in a big church downtown to welcome the Rev. Benjamin Weir as their guest. Ben and his wife Carol had served as mission workers in Lebanon. One day in Beirut, Ben was abducted by terrorists and kept in captivity. He was held as a prisoner for 16 months. Just like the apostle Paul.

We strained forward to listen to his story. At first, he admitted his fear, even his despair. Yet he held onto a verse from the book of Proverbs: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight. In all your ways acknowledge (the Lord) and he will make straight your paths (3:5-6).” The more he recited that verse, the more he noticed in his cell.

• The chain that bound him to the radiator was a reminder that he was bound to Christ.
• The light bulb on a strand of wire resembled Michelangelo’s painting in the Sistine Chapel, of God reaching out to spark Adam with life.
• Two electrical outlets with plastic covers reminded him of the ears of God who hears our cries.
• Three pegs on the wall recalled the Holy Trinity.
• The French doors in his room were full of slats, almost too many to count, resembled the cloud of witnesses, those saints both living and dead who knew the faithfulness of God first-hand.

 On and on, his imagination kept spinning as he looked around the room, correlating common things with the virtues of a God who loves us. Sixteen months later, Ben Weir emerged mentally intact, spiritually fit, emotionally grounded. A reporter asked, "Rev. Weir, how did you survive sixteen months of captivity without falling apart?

 Ben answered, "I guess it depends on what you spend your days thinking about."

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