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. 

Every Time I Think of You

Philippians 1:1-11
15th Sunday after Pentecost
September 10, 2023

 

Paul and Timothy, servants of Christ Jesus, To all the saints in Christ Jesus who are in Philippi, with the bishops and deacons: Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

 

I thank my God every time I remember you, constantly praying with joy in every one of my prayers for all of you, because of your sharing in the gospel from the first day until now. I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ.

 

It is right for me to think this way about all of you, because you hold me in your heart, for all of you share in God’s grace with me, both in my imprisonment and in the defense and confirmation of the gospel. For God is my witness, how I long for all of you with the compassion of Christ Jesus.

 

And this is my prayer, that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight to help you to determine what is best, so that in the day of Christ you may be pure and blameless, having produced the harvest of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ for the glory and praise of God.

 

The letter was discovered in an antique cabinet, lodged in the back of the second drawer. Its location was easily forgotten. There’s no telling how long it had been there. The postmark had faded on the envelope. The letter inside was simply dated “Wednesday.” That Wednesday was a long ago. The stationary had yellowed with age.

And when she read it, was like entering a different world. Addressed to somebody she didn’t know, composed by people she had never met, yet she was drawn to it with a healthy curiosity. Who were these people? What were they talking about? What were the issues that prompted the letter? And what might any of this have to do with her?

I don’t know if you’ve had that experience. These days, many folks don’t write letters. They tap out text messages or send emails. Perhaps we receive greeting cards with handwritten notes in the margins. Or there’s that holiday letter, reproduced with a personal signature, all the while sharing the news of the latest grandchild, the best vacation, or the last diagnosis.

But think of that curious experience of reading somebody else’s mail. Who wrote it? Who received it? When and why is the letter written? And what does any of this have to do with us?

These are good questions, especially when we read the Christian Bible. Most of the documents in the New Testament are pieces of correspondence. Somebody is writing to somebody else. What are they saying? What is the occasion? How do they put together the words?

Imagine this: “Dear John, I’ve been concerned about you. I’ve sent three letters and not yet received a response. Are you OK? Are we OK? I realize it’s been a while since you passed through town, but I haven’t stopped thinking of that moment when you took me in my arms. And I’m wondering when that can happen again…”

Or imagine this note, actually addressed to our church: “Dear Mr. Church: We are notifying you that we have not heard from you about your account. This is the third attempt to reach you about our special discount offer. If you do not reply within the next seven days, we will be compelled to make this special offer to somebody else.” Those are two completely different letters, aren’t that?

Here’s a letter from the apostle Paul to the churches of southern Turkey: “I am astonished that you are so quickly deserting the one who called you in the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel— not that there is another gospel, but there are some who are confusing you and want to pervert the gospel of Christ. So if anybody should proclaim to you a gospel contrary to what we proclaimed to you, let that one be accursed!” (Galatians 1:6-8) Whew, he’s angry! Sets the entire tone in the first paragraph. 

Contrast that to the opening words that we heard today: “I thank my God every time I remember you, constantly praying with joy in every one of my prayers for all of you, because of your sharing in the gospel from the first day until now. I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ.”

 

What do we hear from that? Affection. Appreciation. Gratitude. Confidence. And the very best of wishes. “I thank my God every time I remember you.” That’s the kind of letter any one of us would like to receive. It announces that there’s somebody out there who loves us, who has the highest regard for us, who wants the very best for us. And how remarkable it is that this is coming from the apostle Paul!

 

He’s writing from a prison cell. He was arrested and jailed when he was in Philippi. Now he’s been arrested and imprisoned, probably in the city of Ephesus. Paul wrote a lot of his letters from prison. Had a lot of time on his hands, I suppose, and he wanted to maintain his relationships from a distance. Out of sight, but not out of mind. And this letter is intended to create a bridge between his present circumstances and that small congregation that he initiated across the Aegean Sea.

 

“I remember you,” he says. He names some of them in the letter. He has kept in touch with their concerns. And he tells them outright that he is praying for them. There’s no greater bond than that.

 

Today, among the names on our prayer list, we will pray for Shirley and Steve. They’re two members of our church family and live a long distance away. The other day, Steve left a message on my voicemail at home. I returned the call and spoke with Shirley. She said, “Can you pray for us?” That’s the kind of request we can never turn down. Whether life is bumpy, or the road is clear, all of us are standing in the need of prayer. God know what we need – and when we pray for one another, we are participating in the grace of God.

Listen to Paul’s prayer: “I pray that your love may overflow more and more.” That’s good! “I pray you will have knowledge and full insight to help you to determine what is best.” That’s good too. “I pray that, in the day of Christ, you may be pure and blameless.” Wow – he wants what is best for them. That’s the essence of love. 

Likewise, he realizes that the people in Philippi remember him as well. We’re talking about a two-sided relationship, even though we have a one-sided letter. They have sent him a financial gift and he’s grateful. He says, “I know you hold me in your hearts, just as together we share in the grace of God.” There are no more affectionate words in the entire Bible. Take note of what we’re reading here. For he goes on to say, “I long for all of you in compassion of Jesus Christ.” In his day, they imagined that compassion was seated in the gut. Literally, “I long for you in the guts of Jesus Christ.” Can you tell that he loves these people? 

And how remarkable that it’s these people, the Philippian people! There’s trouble in that church. From what we can tell, there’s some competition among the members. That happens. I know a church where a couple of the key leaders are always trying to outdo one another. The way two of them is acting, it’s as if they are saying, “I can volunteer for more things than you can.”  And Paul says to the Philippians, “Knock it off. Be servants to one another as Christ has serve you.”

And then in chapter three, he’s starting to wind up the letter. He writes, “And finally…” Then he yawns and puts down the pen – and overnight, he hears about some troublemakers infiltrating the church, spreading some false doctrine, and acting squirrely. So in the morning, he picks up the pen and says, “Watch out for them!” He warns them because he loves them – and then he goes on for a good bit more.

Reminds me of an old church joke. Do you know what it means a preacher says, “And finally”? Not a darn thing.

And then, in chapter four, he calls out two women in that congregation who are fighting with one another. I’m sure you can’t imagine church people fighting, but there it is, beginning in chapter four: “I beg Euodia and Syntyche to stop arguing. Have the mind of Christ – and the rest of you, help them out.” And I’ve always wondered how Euodia and Syntyche felt when they realized the letter to the Philippians would become scripture and their names would be permanently enshrined as those two bickering ladies in Philippi.

But hey, if you know what churches can be like, if you know that churches are very human communities under the sign of the cross, you know that we are all unfinished, in process, and under construction. Which is precisely why Paul says, “I am confident that the One who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the final day.” He’s talking about Jesus, he’s talking to them, and he trusts that the Gospel is at work in them.

This is what we discover when we open an old letter. We don’t know any of these people, yet we know them all too well. And regardless of whether we know them or whether we like them, we can learn a lot about love by paying attention to their relationships. This is the overture to the sermons for this fall. We’ve going to take a deep dive into this epistle from the apostle. It’s a personal letter which means it’s intended for all of us. The church decided very early to hold tightly to this piece of correspondence, if only because it opens up the truth of what it looks like when we live as a very human community under the sign of the cross.

As a matter of introduction, let me give you a piece of homework. Take a pencil from the pew. Take your worship bulletin. Write down a name of somebody who comes to mind. Maybe somebody close at hand, maybe somebody far away. Maybe that person is in this room, maybe not. Can you picture someone in your imagination? Who is it? Why are they significant to you? How have they been a gift of God to you?

And then, your assignment is to write them a note sometime this week. When you do, begin with the words, “I thank my God every time I remember you…”

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

 

Sometimes a Song is Enough

Psalm 40
1 Samuel 16:14-23
Jazz Communion
September 3, 2023

One of the assumptions of American Christianity is that life always turns out well. We lean into optimism, always looking on the bright side of life.

This cheerfulness is often nourished by a selective view of scripture, particularly the Psalms. There are one-hundred fifty prayers in the middle of the Bible. Many of them start gloomy and conclude with a smile. For instance, Psalm 22 begins, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” That’s a brutally honest text, suitable for Jesus to quote from the cross. By the end of the Psalm, the poet declares, “Lord, I will tell of your name to my brothers and sisters; in the midst of the congregation I will praise you” (Ps. 22:22). Suddenly, Good Friday turns into Easter.

We want this, of course. We hope for this. We pray for injustices to be corrected and hurts to be mended. We wish for every illness to be healed and every evil to be banished. We want to trust there is a moral order to the universe and that “all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.” Those are the things for which I hope and pray – and there are enough joys and pleasures in this life to suggest life should be like this and ultimately will be like this. 

Yet there are enough troubles and difficulties to raise honest objections to any form of optimism. Health breaks down. Loved ones betray us. We make serious mistakes not easily undone. And there’s a whole lot of evil out there, both lurking in the shadows and glimmering in the sunlight. 

Perhaps you heard that in the reading of the psalm. Psalm 40 oscillates between pain and praise, damage and release, joy and anguish. The poem begins, “I waited and waited and waited for the Lord.” The Hebrew verb suggests a whole lot of waiting. And then God turned around and heard my cry. Lifted out of the quicksand of near death, the poet is placed on firm ground. The sorrow in the soul has been replaced. “God put a new song in my mouth.” Ah, yes, a new song.

That would be enough, right? Like the old story of King Saul, suffering with mental illness. His kingdom had come unraveled, and he sat in a deep slump. The castle staff was at wit’s end. They didn’t know what to do. Finally, somebody said, “I found this young man David. He plays the guitar. Maybe that will help.” And so it did. Every time young David played for the King, Saul’s spirits were lifted. Music can be medicine.

Now, we know King Saul continued to have trouble. The dark spirits kept swirling in his soul. In time, he came to a humiliating end. But his pain was interrupted by melody, harmony, and toe-tapping rhythm. And it was enough. Sometimes the song is enough.

As I mentioned, Psalm 40 oscillates. “I waited for the Lord.” “God gave me a song.” Then there was trouble again. It came from outside: “Evils have encompassed me without number,” he says. And there was trouble inside, as well: “My iniquities have overtaken me,” he says. To drop a footnote, what is an iniquity? The Hebrew word refers to the experience of being twisted out of shape. The soul is wrenched because of something we’ve done – or something we’ve failed to do. That’s an iniquity. And every one of us is prone to the experience.

When we first began playing jazz here years ago, one of the reactions was resistance. Simply phrased, “Why are you playing music by people so twisted out of shape?” My response has been, “Because that’s the only kind of music there is.” Not jazz, per se, but any kind of music – every kind of music – comes through skilled practitioners with their own set of personal issues. David, the young guitarist, would replace King Saul one day. He slew giants but couldn’t keep his tunic on.

By most accounts, Mozart was an immature genius, Franz Liszt was a drama queen, Richard Wagner was a bigot, Duke Ellington was a womanizer, and - God bless him - Jimmy Buffett never found his lost shaker of salt. Each one created amazing music. We would stay her all day if recounting the gifts and flaws of great musicians. It’s enough to reflect on trumpeter Lee Morgan, whose music we feature today.

Morgan got his first trumpet for his thirteenth birthday. By age eighteen, he was playing in Dizzy Gillespie’s band. A native of Philadelphia, he soared high, scoring record dates with drummer Art Blakey, pianist Herbie Hancock, and saxophonist Wayne Shorter. He was full of melodies, often played with confidence and a playful swagger. First time I heard him, it was a recording with John Coltrane, called “Blue Train.” Coltrane was amazing, but when the trumpet solo began, I said, “Who is that?” It was recorded when he was only nineteen. 

Like any great artist, Lee was a product of raw talent and hard work. He was nurtured by the creative musical community in Philadelphia. He soared high – and like the Greek myth Icarus, his wax wings melted when he climbed too close to the sun. As with too many young musicians of the 1950’s, Lee fell into a drug addiction, and was in and out of rehab a few times. Relationships were tumultuous, friendships often betrayed. And all the while, he created some amazing music. He was a fountain of creativity, pulling new compositions out of the air.

His biggest hit, if anyone could say that jazz musicians have “hits,” was “The Sidewinder,” that boogaloo blues that we played for the prelude. Morgan had come off a tough stretch. He’d been struggling with his iniquities and had been terribly twisted out of shape. Hoping for a comeback, he took the band into the recording studio to lay down some new compositions. They didn’t have enough music to complete a full album. After some frustration, Lee excused himself and went to the rest room.

The band waited and waited, a whole lot of waiting. After twenty minutes or so, the bass player feared Lee Morgan had fallen into an old bad habit. Suddenly the door opened, and Morgan emerged with two panels of toilet paper with musical notes written on them. Whenever the inspiration comes, you’ve got to write it down! He called the tune, “The Sidewinder.” They recorded it on the first take. The album sold so well that it climbed to #35 on the pop charts and saved his record company from financial ruin. The case could be made that the song was a gift from God. It was an unexpected gift.

Alas, like Psalm 40, and like mad King Saul, the comfort and consolation did not abide. Morgan blew the $15,000 that he made on the record, fell into financial ruin and chemical disrepair. He put his trumpet in a pawn shop and lived on the street. A woman named Helen literally pulled him out of the gutter and got him back on his feet. She protected him, fed him, managed his money, kept him on his feet. But a few years later, they had a fight in a nightclub. She pulled a pistol. He was gone at age 33.

Now, I suppose we could stick with the happy tales, the success stories when everything turns out well. That’s how we want the plot to unfold. Yet that’s not always true to life. We wait and wait and wait for the Lord. Sometimes he comes and gives us a song. Then the evil surrounds us, the iniquities twist us, and we cry out for help again. And maybe there’s enough grace in the universe to give us some more help, to give us another new song.

That’s what I am hoping for, praying for, working for. There’s a lot of pain in our world, isn’t there? There’s anguish and sadness which can only be expressed by music in a minor key. But if we focus only on the anguish and sadness, we may miss the inspiration of creativity and the surprising grace that interrupts the despair. Life is both-and, not either-or.

And that lies close to the mystery of Christian faith. We gather at the Lord’s Table, which is a table that holds together death and resurrection. It’s both-and. At the heart of the Christian story is the memory of crucifixion, the clearest evidence that the human family has been twisted out of shape. The innocent man Jesus is killed by the very people he came to love. Yet the tragedy is flipped upside down, as the Christ is lifted again to life to preside over this Table with his wounded hands. It’s both death and resurrection.

Sometimes injustices are corrected, and hurts mended, the illness is healed, and evil is banished for a while. Sometimes we are surprised by how good life is, right when we were convinced that all was lost. And in the thick of it all, God can send us a song. God can put a new song on our lips.

So let me tell you why I like music like the music we hear today: because it’s real. Because it’s honest. Because it tells the truth about who we are – and the truth about who God is. Because it sounds like the old spirituals that Lee Morgan grew up hearing in his Baptist church in Philadelphia. He infused his music with the same yearning, passion, and hope that he heard in his church.

And so shall we. There’s a great old spiritual that we’re going to sing. It comes as a gift to our unfinished lives. It’s a new song placed on our lips. And it’s a reminder that sometimes a song is enough.

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

Living in the Spirit with Self Control

Galatians 5:16-26
1 Corinthians 9:24-27
August 13, 2023
William G. Carter

Live by the Spirit, I say, and do not gratify the desires of the flesh. For what the flesh desires is opposed to the Spirit, and what the Spirit desires is opposed to the flesh; for these are opposed to each other, to prevent you from doing what you want. But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not subject to the law. Now the works of the flesh are obvious: fornication, impurity, licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy, drunkenness, carousing, and things like these. I am warning you, as I warned you before: those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God. By contrast, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against such things. And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we live by the Spirit, let us also be guided by the Spirit. Let us not become conceited, competing against one another, envying one another.

The summer’s sermon series was prompted by a comment from a friend from California. Jim Kitchens is his name. He spoke at a meeting of Lackawanna Presbytery and said what most of us already know. The religious landscape in America is changing dramatically. Across the land, church attendance has dropped. Sanctuaries are shutting down. Energy is diminished. Good Christian folk are wringing their hands.

Then Jim said, “I suppose if anybody wants to turn this around, they ought to do what they can to grow the fruit of the Holy Spirit.” Zing – he got my attention! So this summer, we’ve worked through the list: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and – for today – self-control. It’s quite the list. And as you’ve offered helpful feedback along the way, you’ve agreed. We would all benefit from more love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, and gentleness. 

These are genuine Christian virtues. They reflect the mind of Christ. They reveal the character of God. They grow as the Holy Spirit works in our individual lives as well as our churches.

Today, the fruit of the week, the final week, is self-control. It’s different from the previous eight, if only because self-control is a human quality. It is a mortal attribute. I suppose a case could be made for God showing restraint, but that’s not the same thing as self-control.

Same thing can be said of Jesus. There’s an episode in the Gospel of Luke that doesn’t go so well. Jesus had decided to make his way to Jerusalem for the last time. As he goes through Samaria, he sends an advance team to prepare the way. The Samaritans refuse to welcome them. That’s a major Middle Eastern faux pas – to deny hospitality. James and John are incensed. “Lord, how about if we call down some fire to burn away these Samaritans?”

Jesus stops in his tracks, glares at them, and says essentially, “Knock it off.” I think that’s the sanitized version that makes it into the Bible. Like his Father in heaven, Jesus shows restraint – because James and John have no self-control.

Self-control is a term with a moral inference. It’s a learned behavior to keep us out of sin. It does not come naturally. If you remember from eight weeks ago, the natural human behavior is what the apostle Paul refers to as “the works of the flesh.” He has a nasty list of what the untamed human animal is prone to do.

• There are the sins of the body: fornication, impurity, licentiousness, and drunkenness.
• There are the sins of turning away from God: idolatry (worshiping the wrong thing) and sorcery (looking elsewhere for divine help).
• There are the sins of the soul: jealousy, anger, and envy.
• Most of the list consists of the sins that rip the social fabric: enmities, strife, quarrels, dissentions, factions, carousing, and what Paul calls “things like these.”  

And there’s one thing, one thing only, to keep all of us in check. Guess what? “Self-control.”

The Mediterranean world of Paul placed a high value on self-control. Plato, Aristotle, and all the big philosophical superstars thought of self-control as a virtue. Often out of reach, yet something to aspire toward, something to admire when you could see it.

In his commentary on Galatians, William Barclay states the “secular Greek uses (the phrase) of the virtue of an Emperor who never lets his private interests influence the government of his people. It is the virtue (he says) which makes a man so master of himself that he is fit to be the servant of others.”[1] Wow – imagine that! How refreshing! Imagine what level of chaos would ensue if an emperor lacked self-control and served only himself!

Paul speaks of self-control as an alternative. It’s another way of being, an alternative way of living. And it can be misunderstood. Especially if you read the King James Bible. In the King James version, the final fruit of the Spirit is listed as “temperance.” Temperance is a word that sets off all kinds of bells and sirens.

One of our church members grew up in a new church development just outside of Kansas City. The founding pastor refused to touch a drop of alcohol. Rev. Meneilly didn’t stop there. Every year he preached an annual “temperance sermon.” Not sure how a temperance sermon would have flown in Lackawanna County, but he would stand in Prairie Village, Kansas, to lecture the congregation on the evils of drink.

I would venture a guess that he told tales of people destroyed by drinking, which would be a good warning. He probably described what an addiction could do to a family, and how it tends to reoccur in the following generations. Yet he was rather selective about what he said about the Bible – no mention of Jesus pouring out the wine at the Last Supper, no allusion to St. Paul declaring “a little wine is good for the stomach.”[2] No, the prevailing message was simple: just say no. Always say no. Don’t even put yourself in a place of temptation.

Good advice, but if it were only that simple. The fact is a hard position on that kind of temperance has led to hypocrisy. A friend in Tennessee tells me about the Jack Daniels Baptists. Ever hear about the Jack Daniels Baptists? Those are the Baptists who don’t recognize one another in the liquor store. There are plenty of jokes like that, and stories, too. We’ll save them for coffee hour.

The better translation of Paul’s word is not “temperance” but “self-control.” Self-control is a matter of discipline, not merely a matter of abstinence. If you raise your kids in a dry household, it might go well until they go off to college. And then, without Mom or Dad hovering over them, they have that burst of complete freedom – and the animal impulses take over. What will save them is more than merely saying no (which is very difficult to do, especially in the pressure exerted by their peers. What will save them is self-control.

Paul uses this word in the brief passage we heard from 1 Corinthians. He describes the Christian life as an athletic event. It’s running a race. Nobody competing in a race simply starts running. They train. They start modestly, build up muscles and stamina. They work at improving their time. They challenge themselves by running against others. “It’s not an aimless pursuit,” says the apostle. There’s intention. There’s a goal. There’s a quest for continuing improvement.   

As he says, “Athletes exercise self-control in all things.” They watch what they eat. They monitor their weight. They focus on building the appropriate muscles to help them through the appropriate challenges. And he’s talking not only about sports. He is referring to the moral life, the Christian life, the Christ-like life. No one becomes an expert in anything without working at it.

It’s true in sports. It’s true in the arts. My ears are still ringing from the glorious music from Friday night’s concert by The King’s Brass. It was superb. If you missed it, you could listen to the concert recording on our church’s YouTube channel, which you can access through our church’s website. 

[View the concert by clicking here: https://www.youtube.com/live/OMe3Vog7ijs?feature=share&t=723]

That concert began at 7:00 p.m. The band arrived at 2:00 to set up and do a sound check. Our arts team prepared a meal for them at 4:30. So what did they do between 2:30 and 4:30, and between 5:00 and 6:45? Every one of them practiced. There was music in every conceivable corner of this building. Lip trills, scales, working through difficult passages, working through possible mistakes. Those guys have been on the road for ten weeks, playing six or seven concerts a week, traveling together, playing together – and they still practice, practice, practice?

Of course. We can’t become good if we don’t work at it. It’s true in music, it’s true in sports, it’s true in the moral life. That’s what Paul is saying about self-discipline. It’s an ongoing process. We must keep at it.

We were reflecting on temperance and alcohol a few minutes before. Every single morning of the week, our conference room is the home for a group of people who are learning to live without addiction. My friends in that community say it is a daily discipline. Every single day, they are paying attention to their souls. They are listening to what Paul calls out “passions and desires.”

And they know they will only win the race if they surrender. That’s the key verb for the recovery community. Stop faking it. Give up the vanity of appearances. Hand over all our creaturely impulses. Let Jesus crucify those burdens on his cross – and welcome the Risen Christ to live in us. Surrender is the essence of self-control. Every single day. And it opens within us - and among us - the love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, and gentleness of God.

So we conclude where we began. Each day we begin again. We welcome the Holy Spirit to work within us.

When I began to prepare for this sermon series, I came across a prayer offered daily by a British scholar by the name of John Stott. He was one of the great teachers of the Bible, and I had the privilege to sit at his feet years ago. Those who knew him personally remarked on his consistent Christ-like personality. Never in a hurry, never prone to fits, but Christ-like.

And then, it was revealed that he began each day by praying this prayer:

Heavenly Father, I pray that this day I may live in your presence and please you more and more.

Lord Jesus, I pray that this day I may take up my cross and follow you.

Holy Spirit, I pray that this day you will fill me with yourself and cause your fruit to ripen in my life: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.[3] 

If we pray a prayer like that, it will most certainly be answered. May it be so.

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

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[1] William Barclay, Letters to the Galatians and Ephesians (Philadelphia: Westminster Press) p. 57.

[2] 1 Timothy 5:23

[3] Christopher J, H. Wright, Cultivating the Fruit of the Spirit: Growing in Christlikeness (Downers Grove: IVP Books, 2017) p. 13.

Living in the Spirit with Gentleness

Matthew 11:28-30
John 7:53-8:11

August 6, 2023

William G. Carter

“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

We are making our way through the apostle Paul’s list of Christian character traits. What does it look like when God is at work in our lives? How do we walk in the power of the Holy Spirit? Where is the evidence that we are becoming more like Christ and less like our natural animal instincts? Today, the fruit of the Spirit is gentleness. Gentleness.

It’s an open question whether gentleness comes naturally to any of us. Some people seem gentle, at least on the surface. Yet if they feel the least bit intimidated, anxious, or suspicious, something else can bubble up. The most timid of kittens will strike out with claws bared. The most mild-mannered of grandparents might explode with harsh words. Even the quiet, peaceful pastor is capable of blowing the horn in traffic. Other things, too.

Gentleness does not come naturally for many of us. Especially if we are not yet full of love, joy, peace, patience, or generosity. If there is any gentleness in our souls, it must be God working in us.

Consider how we were raised. I was raised under the shadow of a mushroom cloud, with memories of “duck and cover” drills to prove it. 78 years ago today, Mr. Oppenheimer’s device exploded in public for the very first time. Pretty soon, there was a race to ensure Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD for short). Any sane person knows retaliation is a form of madness, especially as a preventative strategy. It’s simply difficult to get anybody to think that way.

Some of us are acquainted with punishment as an incentive to steer away from bad behavior. Maybe we were raised that way: if you get in trouble, you’ll get a licking. There’s some of that in the Bible. “Spare the rod, spare the child,” in the 23^rd chapter of Proverbs. “If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off so you don’t get thrown into hell.” Matthew 5:30. It’s harsh, it’s meant to scare us into good behavior.

Pastorally, can I simply say this? It doesn’t work. Bad behavior persists all around us. The threat of punishment merely provokes some people to promise retaliation. Mutually Assured Destruction. In the words falsely attributed to Mahatma Gandhi, “An eye for an eye will leave the whole world blind.”

And so, the alternative is gentleness. It’s a heartwarming alternative. It’s a strange alternative.

Like the story we heard about Jesus, who one day was caught in the middle of a dispute. A crowd caught a woman in the act of adultery (for our kids, we call it adultery because it’s something adults do). The mob literally pulled her out of bed. Doesn’t mention who she was with. Apparently, they let him slip away.

As she cowers in the village square, the mob throws Bible verses at Jesus. “Jesus, Moses commanded us to purge the evil among us by throwing stones at the sinner. Don’t you agree?” They are thinking punishment, capital punishment. That’s how they propose to clean up the town.

And what do we know about Jesus? He is not willing to lightly dismiss the scriptures. He knows what it written there. Yet he has no interest in taking part in a mob’s rampage. So he slows it down. He writes in the dust. He takes his time. He writes a little more. The mob grows impatient. So, he writes some more.

The scholar Ken Bailey reminds us[1] the setting of this story is the day after a festival, which means it’s the Sabbath. It’s a sin to write letters on paper during the Sabbath, but not considered a sin write in the dust. So Jesus indicates silently there is a difference between the harsh letter of the Law – and the practical expression of the Law as a love of God and neighbor. He chooses a third way between rock-hard literalism and letting the matter go.

 Then in his deep wisdom, he says, “Let the one without sin cast the first stone.” There’s stone silence. And then the thud-thud-thud as the accusers drop their rocks and shuffle away. “Lady,” he says, “where are your accusers?” Pause. “Neither do I accuse you. Go your way, and don’t fall into sin anymore.”

You know what that is? Gentleness. Perfect gentleness. He’s not soft on sin. He’s not excited about punishment. His gentleness is primary concerned with restoring her soul. This is the testimony about Gospel Gentleness. It’s concerned about the person, and not merely with the rules.

Paul says this is what develops in us as we live in the power of the Holy Spirit. Gentleness grows. He ought to know. One of the popular caricatures of the apostle Paul is that he was ornery and fierce. But if you read his correspondence, a far richer perspective of his character is revealed.

To the Galatian church, with whom he was most upset, he writes, “My friends (he called those arrogant enemies his “friends”), if anyone is detected in a transgression, you who have received the Spirit should restore such a one in a spirit of gentleness. Take care that you yourselves are not tempted.”[2] Gentleness is the word.

To the church in Thessalonica, still immature in the faith, he writes, “We could have made demands on you as apostles of Christ, but we were gentle, like a nurse tenderly caring for her own children.”[3] Gentle.

To the church in Philippi, whom he loved deeply, he writes, “Let your gentleness be known to everyone.”[4] He knows the church of God must be publicly known for its gentleness. The world needs to see gentleness in us.

To the church in Corinth, tangled up in immorality and conflict, he writes, “What would you prefer? Am I to come to you with a stick, or with love in a spirit of gentleness?”[5] I’m sure they preferred the gentleness.

But then he had to write a second time to the Corinthians to get their attention, so he writes, “I myself, Paul, appeal to you by the meekness and gentleness of Christ.”[6] Ah, yes, the great reminder of all – that our behavior must imitate the behavior of Jesus, that all our thinking and doing reflects the mind of Christ. It’s the alternative to the dog-eat-dog world that we live in.

And it’s the invitation to root our souls in the soul of Jesus. For it is Christ says to us, “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”

I can’t think of a better invitation to his table. Here is where we are welcomed, no matter where we have wandered. Here is where we are encouraged, no matter if the world tries to trample us down. Here is where we are forgiven and restored, renewed to keep living and loving for the next few miles of our journey.

Above all, here is where we are taught by Christ how to treat one another – with the same gentleness that he wants to show to you and me.

 

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

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[1] Kenneth J. Bailey, “The woman is not for stoning,” Jesus Through Middle Eastern Eyes (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2009) 227-238.

[2] Galatians 6:1

[3][3] 1 Thessalonians 2:7

[4] Philippians 4:5

[5] 1 Corinthians 4:21

[6] 2 Corinthians 10:1