Philippians 2: 1 – 13
The apostle Paul wrote a third of the books in our New Testament. Most of those are letters to churches he founded during his missionary journeys to Turkey and Greece. Our text today comes from one of his letters, one written to the Christian community in Philippi, a city in Greece. This congregation had supported him both in Philippi and on his missions elsewhere. They had held fast to Paul’s teachings, submitting to his leadership—even when later Christian missionaries came along modifying the gospel he had preached. For these reasons Paul shared a particularly close relationship with the Philippian congregation. In his letter, we hear tenderness towards them. We also hear joy. Paul’s letter is joyful even though he writes it under house arrest.
Perhaps that joy bubbles up from the basic assertion of our faith: God is with us and for us. Tuesday night, the lectionary study group noted that in several of our translations, verses 6 – 11 are indented, set apart from the other print, formatted like poetry. That’s because these verses are from a confession—sung during 1st century church worship. Verses 6 – 11 are often called “The Christ Hymn.” Citing this ancient confession, singing this hymn, Paul reminds the Philippians what they believe and what they are to proclaim about Jesus Christ. Through Christ, God is with us and for us. But this confession proclaims God’s presence differently from how we have noted it over the last 3 Sundays. In the exodus story, God is with and for the Israelites in majesty and power. Parting the Red Sea, raining manna from heaven, and as we heard in our call to worship—providing water from desert rocks, God is with and for the Israelites through miraculous intervention. Paul’s confession offers a contrast of God’s presence through power. Paul’s confession proclaims God is with and for us in weakness—in the suffering servant—in Jesus the Christ.
Paul writes, Christ Jesus, “who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard
equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, . . . he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross.”
Christ, who was and is fully divine could have come to humanity as the head of a household, as a patriarch, as an emperor, as Caesar; but that isn’t God’s way. Instead, Christ who was and is fully divine came to humanity as one who washed his disciples’ feet. Lowering himself, bending his knee to them, getting his clothes dirty and wet, he bathed his disciples’ feet. Christ came as a servant leader. Christ, who was and is fully divine could have summoned angels to protect him from even “dashing his foot against a stone.” Instead, he allowed himself to be betrayed and arrested and executed. Christ came as an obedient servant, obedient to God, obedient even into death, obedient even into death on the cross. In ancient Rome, crucifixion was reserved for the lowest of the low in a society rooted in hierarchy. Only slaves and traitors were crucified. Christ, the one who was and is fully divine, became the most humiliated. In Paul’s confession, God is with us and for us in our humiliation. God is with us and for us in our suffering.
Paul’s letter is joyful, even though he writes it under house arrest. Perhaps his joy bubbles up from Christ’s exaltation. Christ emptied himself for humanity. He poured out himself for the people he ministered to in 1st century Palestine. Christ poured out himself for the 1st century Philippians. Christ poured out himself for us in the 21st century. Christ emptied himself, and God has exalted him—raising him from the dead. God has exalted him—calling forth all creation—earth, sea, and sky, plants, animals and humans—to worship Christ, to proclaim Jesus Christ is Lord.
Perhaps Paul’s joy bubbles up from the assertion that it is Jesus Christ who is Lord—It is not the head of a household, It is not a patriarch, It is not an emperor. It is not Caesar—It is Jesus Christ who is Lord! Paul’s letter is joyful even though he writes it under house arrest. Perhaps his joy bubbles up from the knowledge that God is with him and for him in his suffering.
“Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,” Paul says to the Philippians and to us, Emulate Christ. Pour yourself out. Empty yourself. But what does that mean? What does that look like?
Roy Mack Bible was born in a covered wagon on the banks of the Pedernales River on April 6, 1902. The youngest child in a dirt poor, transient family, he was motherless by age 2. When he was 8, he joined up with cowboys riding cattle to market—helping the cook on the trail. At 16, he was cowboying—ranching and rodeoing and sending most of his money home to help his dad and his siblings and their families.
In his twenties, he left his job as ranch foreman, married and bought a house in town. He and his wife, Mae, invited the previous homeowners, an elderly couple, to stay in the house and live with them. These “old people” had no one else to care for them. Roy and Mae’s children grew up with a succession of “old people” living in their home—adopted grandparents. After the 1932 hurricane blew off the 2nd story of his house, Roy built a “storm house” out of old railroad ties, a bunker for his family for the next hurricane. But when a lonely old man wandered into town one day, Roy invited him to live there.
During the Great Depression, Roy and Mae stuffed their nieces’ and nephews’ Christmas stockings with fruit and nuts and a toy. 50 years later, these nieces and nephews would reminisce how “Uncle Roy and Aunt Mae always made sure we had Christmas.” Trucking watermelons, chopping firewood, hauling dirt, collecting scrap metal and rubber, Roy provided for his family and for the old people who lived with them and for the teenager with no parents he had hired on. A big, strong man, it was Roy the sheriff came to when he had to stop bar fights that got out of hand. Always a prankster, Roy played jokes on friends, acquaintances and strangers.
Throughout his long and joyful life, Roy gave—food, money, shelter, advice, friendship, belly laughs. Roy gave from his limited resources. He poured himself out—creating space for people to live, creating space for people to laugh, creating space for long-lasting relationships. Roy emptied himself and created space in his home, his heart and in his life for others. Maybe that’s what emulating Christ looks like.
In this letter, after singing the confessional hymn, Paul tells the Philippians—“work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure.”
The Greek words for you and your here are plural. This salvation that Paul talks about here is not individual destiny. It is the quality of our corporate life, the quality of our relationships with each other. The Greek word translated as work also means energy. According to Paul, God is energizing us, to pour ourselves out, so that our community of faith enjoys the quality of fellowship God wants for us.
What might that look like? Could it be actively listening to others as they share their fears and sorrows? Could it be actively listening to others as they share their hopes and dreams? Could it be emptying ourselves of our own needs for a short time, so that we can be fully present with someone else?
God is energizing us to pour ourselves out. What might that look like here, in this congregation? Could it be recognizing when someone is passionate about a particular aspect of our church life—about worship or study, about fellowship, about mission or evangelism. Could it be recognizing when someone has a gift or a skill that would enhance our church life or our mission? Could it be that pouring ourselves out means inviting each other to share our passions? Could it be that pouring ourselves out means empowering each other to use our gifts? Could it be that emptying ourselves means creating space for others to lead—creating space for others to serve?
Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus. Emulate Christ. Paul’s words call us to servant leadership—not to a hierarchical, privileged position of power but to work, using the energy God gives us, to serve one another and to serve with one another. We who can claim God is with us and for us because it is the core of our faith are filled with God’s love. We are filled with Christ’s grace. And we are called to pour ourselves out—to empty ourselves for others. The good news, friends, is that the love of God is super-abundant and the grace of Christ is bottomless. Whenever we pour ourselves out, we are re-filled; we are renewed. It’s a paradox, I know. It doesn’t make sense. But God’s ways often don’t make sense. After all, Christ, the one who was and is fully divine chose to be fully human, not as a powerful Caesar, but as a servant leader.
God is with us and for us. This is the claim we Christians make. We may not have experienced God’s presence through miraculous interventions—manna raining from heaven or seas parting before us. But perhaps we have experienced God’s powerful and protecting presence in healing, in safe travel, in reconciled relationships. God is with us and for us. This is the claim we Christians make. We—the privileged, the healthy, the well-to-do by global standards—we may not know humiliation, we may not know oppression, we may not know what being the lowest of the low is like, but perhaps we have experienced God’s presence—in our suffering—God’s peace when death claimed a loved one, God’s comfort when health failed.
God is with us and for us—because we are justified by Christ in his incarnation, his death, and his resurrection. God is with us and for us—because we are claimed by God in the waters of our baptism. God is with us and for us—because we are and empowered and renewed by the Holy Spirit. God is with us and for us. So with confidence, let us pour ourselves out for others—creating space for growth, creating space for relationship, creating space for service—creating space for our continued journey together.
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