Wilderness Wanderings

An extended Sunday Sermon edition of Wilderness Wanderings! The text is Luke 15 from the New International Version of the Bible. Dive In discussion questions are below for further reflection!

To see this sermon in the context of the worship service it comes from, find it here on YouTube. Or, head to our website to connect with the worshiping community of Immanuel CRC: immanuelministries.ca

DIVE IN QUESTIONS

1. When we hear the Pharisees and Teachers of the Law "muttering," what connection to earlier stories might Luke mean for us to make? How does that earlier story inform this one?

2. How is "muttering" like Self-Righteousness? Where do you 'catch' this sin, and what is it (self-righteousness)? Are you every guilty of this?

3. How does Jesus change the story across these three parables? Like around the idea of repentance, or the numbers and sorts of "lost" things/people that show up in the stories? What impact does that have?

4. In what ways can you see Jesus acting out this final parable of the Father with his sons through his interactions with the Tax Collectors and "sinners," Pharisees and Teachers of the Law in Luke 15?

5. The Father continues to invite us to join in the joyful celebration at the Lord's Table—will you take your seat there and join the meal?

"For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body (Philippians 1:21-24).

Pastor Anthony included the opening words of our text in his meditation yesterday. These verses in Philippians are worth extended reflection for the Christian living in North American today. They help to do deal with our own impending death, a topic many people go to great lengths to avoid.

I think that it is fair to say that many people among whom we work and live do not know what to do with death. Historically, most people died at home, with family present. In many places this is still the case. But in our context, people die in hospitals or nursing homes, more frequently than in homes. Many die alone and their bodies are quickly moved to the morgue where the embalmer's art rapidly restores the body to a lifelike appearance.

Death is the worst possible event for those who believe that they have an inalienable right to "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness". Our way of coping with it is to deny its existence. Thirty years ago, when someone died, it was expected that a funeral service would be held within three or four days. People had some notion of what they should do when their loved one died. Today, families will come to me and frequently say, "What are we supposed to do?" There are no cultural norms for responding to death. This is all part of the avoidance of it. Consider the effort people put into staying young and fit and the industries that promote the notion that getting old should be avoided at all costs.

Into this vacuum, Christians enter with a different story. Paul is writing from his prison in Rome. It is possible that he will be executed shortly. So, both Paul and the Philippians are confronted with the specter of his imminent death. Paul is conflicted in this passage. He sees advantages in dying and in staying alive to continue his ministry.

It's important to remember what Paul has been saying, "Living well means seeking the glory of Christ." That is what he has given his life to ever since he met Christ on the road to Damascus. When he dies, he will finally be with Christ, his sinfulness will no longer detract from Christ's glory. To borrow from another letter, "For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known" (1 Corinthians 13:12).

Christians believe that there is life after death, even resurrection of our physical bodies. And that life is better than this one. Many people living around us, do not have this hope. To be with Christ is far better than to be here, says Paul. Do you believe that?

Paul's conflict is that he also believes the Philippian church still needs his service. "I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body." He is willing to stay. He is willing to sacrifice his own gain for the sake of the church. Again, he is demonstrating what he will later write, "Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others" (2:4). Paul genuinely considers his choice to live rather than to die to be the more difficult and sacrificial choice.

Let me put it plainly, physical life or death are not of ultimate importance to Paul. Living means carrying out his calling to preach Christ and dying means both the gain of conformity with Christ's death and fellowship with Christ. He hopes for the outcome that will most clearly advance the gospel of Christ. This can only strike us as strange if we have allowed the comforts of our present physical existence to have higher priority than Christ. Paul is astonishingly indifferent toward his own death. He invites us to take the same attitude.

This is not, of course, to say that mourning is out of place for the Christian when loved ones go to be with the Lord. The fact that they are with the Lord does not take away from our experience of loss. Tears are proper for believers. Jesus himself wept. We can face our own death with assurance, but not with indifference to those who will miss us.

Yes, and I will continue to rejoice, for I know that through your prayers and God's provision of the Spirit of Jesus Christ what has happened to me will turn out for my deliverance. I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. (Philippians 1:19-21)

A reflection on the past now turns to a reflection on the future, and the hinge around which it moves in this present moment of Paul's writing, is the death and resurrection of Christ.

An older Christian tradition that we may have lost some sight of these days says that the role of the church is to prepare us for a good death. This happens through the regular practice of dying and rising with Christ. As Luke puts it in the mouth of Jesus in Luke 9:23, "whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me." Daily denying oneself. Daily facing one's death in the death of Christ. Daily experiencing the new life of Jesus.

Paul had followed Jesus in this daily practice with his own cross and in his own way now for many years—with a thorn in the flesh, much suffering and hardship endured, much grief to bear, many relationships to tend, and much sin to repent. But in this work of dying: of relinquishing control, of admitting weakness, of grieving well, of turning from sin, of offering forgiveness and blessing to enemies—Paul has learned what it means to face death well. To face it, indeed, with hope and trust that the Spirit works to bring the new life and fruitfulness of Christ on the other side of that death.

As Paul writes elsewhere in 2 Corinthians 4:10-11, "We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body." So it was.

Now near the end of Paul's life as he faces the very real prospect of his actual death, he speaks from this life lived by daily carrying around the death and resurrection of Jesus in his body. He says: "I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain."

This is an expression of the cyclical Christian habit of dying and rising with Christ. Across his life, Paul has discovered that dying always leads to new life in Jesus. And life in Jesus always leads to the cross. And the cross always leads again to the empty tomb of new life. Round and round it goes. In death, Christ is exalted and his life is received. In life, Christ is exalted as it is his life that is lived.

So, when it comes to Paul's actual death—he sees it now as part of this same movement at the literal crux of our faith. Living is Christ, dying is gain. One's mortal death met in this way is what the church has called a good death. A Christian death. A death saturated in the hopeful, practiced expectation of life.

Do you live in this way? Do you already now practice for a good, Christian death? As an Easter people of the Resurrection, we can. In Jesus, death no longer needs to be feared. It can be faced, even while we live.

It is true that some preach Christ out of envy and rivalry, but others out of goodwill. The latter do so out of love, knowing that I am put here for the defense of the gospel. The former preach Christ out of selfish ambition, not sincerely, supposing that they can stir up trouble for me while I am in chains. But what does it matter? The important thing is that in every way, whether from false motives or true, Christ is preached. And because of this I rejoice. (Philippians 1:15-18)

Paul says an odd thing here. How is it that someone can preach Christ out of false motives and a sinful heart, and yet for it to be a cause for rejoicing? This runs against the grain of our cultural sensibilities.

In a world that's become significantly polarized over the last decade, we are accustomed to operating on a one-strike-your-out policy. Any celebrity, social media personality, or leader that gets one thing wrong is cancelled and banished from polite society. Increasingly, this has happened in our own world of relationships too. There has been much estrangement within families over politics, pandemic, and church life these past few years. We've operated on basis that says: "if you believe x, y, or z, I cannot associate with you lest I become tainted." It is eerily similar to the Old Testament world of Kosher laws where clean and unclean things were clearly separated. It was believed that contact with an unclean thing would make you unclean too. So it goes with our polarized world and cancel culture reflexes.

Of course, the world is not so black and white in the offline world of embodied relationships. You can try to cancel someone: but you'll see them again at church, at school, in the store, at community events. They still exist. And you do too. The difference is that you're both estranged now, carrying hurts and hates that gnaw at your soul.

In Christ, this world of Old Testament estrangement was transformed. Ken Baily put it this way: the law stated that the clean becomes unclean upon contact. Jesus taught and lived a different principle: that the clean can restore the unclean—and again, all it takes is contact. Jesus' world is one where redemption, healing, forgiveness, grace, and mercy are possible. Where dividing walls of hostility are knocked down. Where people are reconciled together. It is a world where our lives and actions, our sin and impure motives no longer have the final say about who we are. Jesus does.

So whether from pure motives or false, out of goodwill or selfishness—if Jesus is there, so is the good news. Because, as John puts it in 1 John 4:4,"the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world."

In my young life as a pastor, I have already quite personally encountered those who preach Christ out of selfish ambition supposing that they can stir up trouble for me. Christ calls me to (die to myself and) love them anyway—trusting not in their motives, but in the work of Christ in their hearts, in their life, and in their churches—even through their preaching. As God declares of his word in Isaiah 55:11: "It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it." No Christian then—preacher or otherwise—can so quickly be dismissed if we recognize Christ within them—even if we otherwise might wish to dismiss them. Even if all the world tells us we should.

Jesus works more surprisingly and abundantly and in more places than our own categories and tolerances allow. Jesus works in your heart too. Will you let him call you beloved? Will you let him call your estranged friend or relative the same? Will you let him teach you how to forgive and love again? I pray you do so that together with Paul, you too might rejoice.

Now I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that what has happened to me has actually served to advance the gospel. As a result, it has become clear throughout the whole palace guard and to everyone else that I am in chains for Christ. And because of my chains, most of the brothers and sisters have become confident in the Lord and dare all the more to proclaim the gospel without fear. (Philippians 1:12-14)

It is easy to become discouraged. There is a constant flood of bad news that we confront each day: Another shooting. Another country that bursts into internal conflict and war. Another disaster. Another political or cultural fight that sours our hope. Another health scare in our own family. How quickly our horizon can become clouded with nothing but bad news. We begin to despair.

There is nothing new under the sun, of course. Even though we get more information faster and from further away, the Philippians certainly had their own flow of bad news. This new little Christian community was under threat and ostracized from their pagan neighbours already, and now news comes that their founding pastor, Paul, is in prison. If Paul was jailed—when would their time come? Was it really worth it to follow this Jesus?

Suffering, or a prolonged exposure to the suffering of others (personally or through the news) can very quickly lead to despair and some pretty hard questions. Fear begins to creep in. Trust begins to erode.

Paul has already attempted to cut this hopelessness off at the roots by beginning his letter with prayers of thanks and joy for the Philippians. Here he goes a step further by addressing the situation directly. Yes, he's in prison. But "I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that what has happened to me has actually served to advance the gospel," he writes. Paul's chains are not what they seem. They have become an opportunity for witness—an opportunity to live in the humble, self-giving way of Christ—and others have taken notice. Not only that, but the other Christians in the city—seeing that some of the worst of their fears have already happened in Paul's imprisonment—are now emboldened to risk losing more for Jesus' sake, the one who gave everything up for them.

Hopelessness, despair, and fear are always creeping up on us. It is easy to become discouraged. But the chains of Paul flip the narrative. Paul lives in the power of Jesus, has everything he needs in Jesus, and remains in communion with the church through Jesus. What might have become a context of lost hope now becomes the launching pad for it. Because Jesus is alive, Paul does not need to fear death. Because Jesus is alive, Paul has a good word of hope and life to speak, even to his captors.

Paul had already lost all things in Jesus, what more could Caesar do to him? In that place, Paul was free to live for Jesus with joy and thanks, despite his chains—bearing an uncommon word of hope to all. And that utterly unexpected, counter-cultural witness to Jesus in the way of Jesus, is what turned heads and empowered the church.

These verses come to us to encourage us. As Paul writes elsewhere: nothing can separate us from the love of God that is ours in Christ Jesus. And as Jesus himself says: "I am with you always, to the very end of the age." So as with Paul in his chains, take heart today and do not be afraid—Jesus is with you, no matter the suffering you face.

And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ—to the glory and praise of God. (Philippians 1:9-11)

Just as Paul gave two words of thanks, so he gives two petitions at the end of his opening words of thanksgiving. That fact makes me wonder how balanced my prayers are—am I just as full of thanks to God as I am of requests to him? Being thankful can be spontaneous, sure, but it is also a disciplined habit of faith: to learn to give thanks and to search for the good that can be given thanks for in all situations. In fact, in the long run, I think this is the only way to remain a person of gratitude and generosity, by intentionally searching out just how much of our lives are given us and not earned—how much of our lives are gifts from God for which we can give thanks.

But here Paul moves on to requests. The first of them is that "your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight so that you might be able to discern what is best." Paul joins two seemingly contradictory things here in this petition. Love and knowledge. Heart and mind. There are a few culture war battle lines in the church that are (seemingly) drawn directly between these two worlds of the heart and the mind. A side of "you don't love correctly" shouts out at a side of "you don't know correctly," which gladly shouts back.

Perhaps this is why it's a prayer and not a given: Paul prays, knowing that we tend to split these two things apart and fight each other over the space between. But Paul also prays, knowing that both are required to "be able to discern what is best." When either heart or mind are flattened or squeezed out of the conversation, the church is impoverished. We need both. We need each other. All the gifts of the body of Christ have their place.

The second petition is that you "may be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ—to the glory and praise of God." This one is interesting. Paul prays for things that seemingly come simply by God's doing anyway. That the Philippians be pure and blameless: are they doing it, or is God? That they are filled with fruit—does Jesus fill them with this fruit, or do they have to cultivate it? Is fruitfulness a natural implication of life in Christ without any extra effort on our part, or do we have some role to play?

This petition echoes with something Paul already said. There is a trust that "he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." God will do it, but it is not yet done—the day of Christ has not yet arrived. So in this interim time between the beginning of God's work and its completion in the day of Christ, Paul joins his prayer to the work and will of God. It's a way of praying "your will be done on earth as it is in heaven." In the very same way, we are still invited to work and live into these fruitful gifts of God—recognizing that it is always God working in us and not our own doing, but also that we have a calling to join and participate in this good work until that day of Christ Jesus.

Because the emphasis does finally fall on God's accomplishment though, there's no reason to fall into despair or cynicism when it seems like sin, evil, and the grief of this world have the upper hand—whether in us, our families, or in our church—because God is nevertheless, still at work. And God will see it done. The day of Christ Jesus is coming. So until that day, let these verses also be our work and prayer.

An extended Sunday Sermon edition of Wilderness Wanderings as we welcome guest preacher, Peter Kranenburg. The text is Matthew 28:16-20 from the New International Version of the Bible. Dive In discussion questions are below for further reflection!

To see this sermon in the context of the worship service it comes from, find it here on YouTube. Or, head to our website to connect with the worshiping community of Immanuel CRC: immanuelministries.ca

DIVE IN QUESTIONS

1. Matthew does not spend a lot of time explaining details and events after Jesus rose from the dead. What do you wish Matthew had recorded about this time? Are there things you would have liked to hear from Jesus?

2. Matthew was very clear that the people worshipping Jesus also doubted. Do you bring any doubts to worship today?

3. How do doubts or perceived 'failures' impact your worship or your ability to carry out the great commission? Are you still willing to be present and available to the work Jesus wants to do in and through you?

4. Are there times you have experienced Jesus walking with you in places you could not have gone alone?

5. What does it mean to show the world how to be disciples of Jesus? Is it ok that this looks 'messy' at times?

6. How can you invite and allow Jesus to work alongside you this week?

It is right for me to feel this way about all of you, since I have you in my heart and, whether I am in chains or defending and confirming the gospel, all of you share in God's grace with me. God can testify how I long for all of you with the affection of Christ Jesus. (Philippians 1:7-8)

Does Paul feel that he needs to defend his joyful, thankful attitude in prayer for the Philippians? This next verse starts off as if he feels he does. "It is right for me to feel this way" he begins.

Always giving thanks when he remembers this church, always praying with joy—it does sound a little too good to be true. I mean, come on: have you ever met The Church? Have you met each other? Could you say of all your fellow church members: "I thank God every time I remember you." "In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy." "I have you in my heart." "I long for all of you with the affection of Christ Jesus." Even if you think you could truthfully say those things in absolute terms about everyone within our church—could you say them about everyone in our denomination? Or, in the wider Church of Jesus Christ?

If you said yes—either you're a Christian on par with Paul, or you've forgotten something. Like, for instance: the way that that one person cut you off in the parking lot or told you to move out of their pew; or the time when someone made light of your pain or avoided you all together when you were going through it; or the way that someone acted toward you or people you care about online or in public forums. The church is full of sinful, broken people (just like you and me) and it's nigh near impossible to walk through a place like this and not find yourself frustrated, angry, or hurt by someone.

And why would you want to partner in the gospel with people like that? With judgmental hypocrites and insensitive administrators, bleeding hearts and short-sighted enthusiasts, culture warriors and political partisans? It's often easier to strike out on your own: to another church, to another denomination—to be spiritual, but not religious somewhere off on your own.

I'm sure it was the same with the Philippian church. It was full of sinful, broken people too. Paul will allude to some of those realities later on in this letter. And yet, despite who they were, Pastor Paul still writes these words of thanks and joy in response. Knowing these statements might be hard to believe though, Paul also gives rationale.

"It is right for me to feel this way about all of you." Why? "Because all of you share in God's grace with me."

In other words, Paul says: "when I look at you—when I remember you—I don't think of all the wrinkles and stains. I know they're there. But that's not the most important thing about you. When I look at you—I see the good work of God. I see the saints—the holy people of God in Christ Jesus who have believed in Him and so have received His grace to cover all their failures and faults. And, we share in that grace together. We share in that Koinonia, that fellowship and partnership in the Gospel, together. We share in the bonds of Christian love, together. And because of that—because you and I are in the heart of God and he in ours—you are in my heart as well."

It is only with this fundamental recognition of Christ and his grace in the other that we can come to love this unlovely person before us as we ourselves have been loved. Only then, in recognition of and sharing in the grace of God can we always given thanks in joy for all our fellow church members. Only then can we truly and Christianly hold them in our hearts. So: may your eyes be open to see the grace and face of Christ in your fellow Christians and in the church this week.

In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. (Philippians 1:4-6)

Three interesting tidbits of church life spill out in this second item Paul gives thanks to God for in his prayers for the Philippians.

Firstly, he's giving thanks to God because of the Philippians' partnership in the Gospel. The word used for partnership is the word often used for community, communion, fellowship, or sharing. With the Philippians however, it was quite tangible. They were together in this ministry of spreading the good news of Jesus. As we hear at the end of the letter: this little church had often supported Paul—right from the very beginning—through gifts and encouragement in times of need as he went about his missionary work. The Philippians were invested in this spreading of the gospel—partnering as full communion partners in the work of sharing the good news of Jesus.

Secondly, what the Philippians were working out in partnership with Paul, were the very same things that God was working into them. The Gospel was being knit into the lives of the Philippian church through a sharing in the sufferings of the cross and the joys of the new resurrection life of Jesus: a dying and rising, a taking up the cross and following. God had once and for all saved these people through Jesus, and through the Spirit, God would continue to sanctify these people into the likeness of Jesus until the day of Christ's return. Paul was confident of this, and the gospel he preached everywhere confirms it. As does Jesus in John 5:17, where he says: "My Father is always at his work to this very day, and I too am working."

Thirdly, when these threads were taken together as the gospel's fruitfulness in the life of the Philippians—for Paul, it was a cause for joy. Even if church life still had conflicts, even if Paul was in prison and being poured out like a drink offering, even if hardship faced the daily life of the Philippian Christians—even still—God was at work, and what God was working into them was working itself out in a good word about Jesus that they, by their very life, were living.

It's true: church life is not always beautiful. At times we fight. At times we feel in the cultural minority and rather ineffective. At times our heroes and leaders in the faith fall or are lost. But that does not mean that God is not at work or that his church is no longer fruitful.

No matter how dark the situation, there is always a reason for joy and thanks before God. Because God always carries on his work. And if God is any God at all: the gospel news of Jesus that he works into us cannot but be fruitful as our life is lived out. Ultimately, Paul can give joyful thanks and we can too, because the emphasis does not rest finally on our work, but on God's.

I thank my God every time I remember you. (Philippians 1:3)

This first little sentence of the letter is worth lifting up all on its own.

On the one hand, we know that Paul did not begin all of his letters this way (for example, see: Galatians 1:6). But Paul did begin many of them this way—with thanks to God for the church he was writing to.

Gratitude is not always—perhaps not even very often—our first reaction when someone pops into our minds. Often we think of someone because that person is connected to something we have to do, or something we have felt that we still need to process. For example: a person could pop to mind because of some challenging interaction we've had with them that we're mulling over, or something challenging going on in their life that we're thinking of supporting them in, or some task that we still have to complete with or for them. People may certainly come to mind for other reasons, but I think that covers the bulk of them.

So people become to-do lists in our minds or they become situations rife with emotional complexity. But how often is it that our very first act is giving thanks to God when a new name or face comes to mind?

Perhaps these are not immediately people that we are thankful for. Nor even that we want to be thankful for. But what if we did it anyway, as Paul does here? In Christ and in the humility of Christ, there is always a reason to give thanks for another person created in his image—another subject of his love. Indeed, as Paul said in his words of greeting: the grace of Christ was already with and among this church and its people.

In the Greek language Paul wrote in, "grace" (charis) and "thanks" (eucharisto) are nearly identical words. Grace is the "charis" that God gives to us, and "eucharist" is the grace that we give back to God in response. You may, in fact, recognize an older, but common word for the Lord's Supper in this second word "eucharist." In Greek, this is simply the word thanks, which is how the meal came to be known early on in the life of the church. But to come back to the main point: in response to the grace of God given to and through the Philippian church, Paul responds by thanking God.

CS Lewis once noted how the best way of learning to love someone was to start to do the actions of love toward them. Start acting like you love someone, and eventually you may just find that you do. Not all at once, of course. But slowly you may find that you are annoyed less, that you begin to notice positive or clarifying, nuancing qualities in them more. New possibilities open up that weren't there before. Eventually forgiveness and love begin to flow as well.

It all starts with a word of thanks. If not at first a true thanks for the person that's come to your mind, then at least a responsive word of thanks to God for the self-same gift of grace that he gives both to this person and to you.

Try it out in the next day or two. Every time you remember someone, respond in thanks to God for them before you do anything else. In this small, repetitive act of faithful response, just see what God might do within you to increasingly transform your mind to that of Christ—and transform your relationships too.