Press On

 

Jesu Juva

Philippians 3:4b-14                                                 

 October 8, 2023

Proper 22A                                                      

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        No runner, having completed the race and crossed the finished line, would ever say “no thanks” to having a big, shiny medal hung around his neck.  I’ve personally crossed a fair number of finish lines in my day—sweaty, nauseous, racked with pain, legs like jelly—and nobody—ever—has said, “Keep the medal; I don’t want it.”  You might say “no” to the banana or to the Gatorade or even the beer.  But that medal is hardware you hang onto—the tangible proof that you crossed the finish line—a lasting legacy of your achievement.

        You may not cross many finish lines; but we all take at least a little pride in our past accomplishments.  We all draw at least a little comfort and security from our past successes.  At some level, we love our trophies, our ribbons, our medals, our framed certificates for faithful service.  They’re little symbols of our achievements.  I know some pastors who have four or more framed diplomas hanging on their office wall.  (Do you really need to know that I earned a Bachelor of Arts degree before I tell you about the Small Catechism?)  Now, there’s nothing wrong with a case full of trophies and medals and diplomas.  These things are part of our history.  They show how God has gifted us in various ways.

        But the problem is that our sinful nature always wants to translate our earthly success into heavenly merit.  At some level, our plaques and awards make a pretty good case for why God should love us, accept us, and just be grateful that we’re on His team.  This kind of thinking is nothing new.  Meriting God’s grace was at the heart of the religious system in which Luther grew up—a system in which your religious resume—your assortment of good accomplishments—had to counterbalance your sins on God’s scale of justice.

        In today’s epistle from Philippians three, the Apostle Paul engages in some serious boasting as he looked back over his life:  If anyone else thinks he has reason for confidence in the flesh, I have more:  circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness under the law, blameless.  Those are some serious credentials.  An Israelite with the papers to prove it.  The top of his class—listed on page one of Who’s Who Among the Jews.  He would have gone far, but for a fateful encounter with the risen Christ on the road to Damascus—an encounter that changed everything for Saul (including his name).

        Never again would Paul look back.  Never again would Paul look back to keep score on his achievements or to beef up his religious resume.  He writes, “Whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ.  Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.”  Now, as he looked back at his past in Judaism, all he saw was loss, rubbish, garbage.   All those trophies, merit badges and medals?  They’re worthless in comparison to knowing Christ and being found in Christ through faith.

        Paul refers to all of his past successes—to his entire religious resume—as “rubbish.”  That’s a gentle translation of the Greek word Skubala.  If you really want a first-rate, dead-on accurate translation of skubala, the best I can do for you would be to toss out a four letter word that begins with the letters “S-H.”  You do the math.  It seems the Holy Spirit inspired Paul to choose a rather vivid word to describe all of his achievements apart from Christ.  And it’s true for us too.  All the ways we invent to make ourselves feel good about who we are.  But in reality, it’s all just a hot, steaming pile of skubala.  Without Jesus Christ, all the religion in all the world is skubala.  Without Jesus Christ—all the piety, all the liturgy, all the good that do-gooders do—it’s nothing more than skubala. 

        And so, we have a choice.  We can either live each surrounded by the stink of skubala; OR we can live each day “in Christ.”  Those two words, “in Christ,” are the key to understanding Paul.  To be “in Christ” is to be a new creation—the old has gone and the new has come.  To be “in Christ” is to have a righteousness before God that’s not your own.  It’s not about your works, your merits and achievements.  Before other people, yes, those things can have some importance.  People can’t see your faith; they can only see your works.  But before God there is only one thing that holds—only one way that a sinner can stand before God justified, and that’s through faith in Christ, to be found in Christ, to be clothed with the righteousness of Christ—to believe that His death atones for your sins.

        Paul suffered for this faith.  And yet he considered his own suffering to be a share in the sufferings of Christ.  He considered it a privilege to suffer and become like Jesus in His death, so that He might be like Jesus in His resurrection.  The goal for Paul—the finish line—the end of the race—was resurrection.  Paul’s goal wasn’t a good life or even a good death, but resurrection from the dead. 

        Here in Philippians three Paul lays all his cards on the table.  This is why he suffers, labors, and toils—that I may know [Christ] and the power of His resurrection, and may share in His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.  That is the Christian hope—our hope.  That’s why Paul pressed on, forgetting what was behind and straining toward what was ahead.  Like me and my fellow runners who dart through these neighborhood streets, there was no looking back.  Runners who look backwards are just a few steps away from falling down or colliding with a lamppost.  There’s only forward progress toward the finish line—which, for us, is the resurrection.

        Now even if marathons aren’t your thing, your baptism entered you into the race of faith.  You were clothed with Christ, born again of water and the Spirit.  Now, no race is fun while you’re running it.  It can be painful, exhausting, and demanding.  Look at the runners’ faces at the next cross country meet you attend.  There’s not much joy in their expressions.  They aren’t very relaxed.  So, too, you and I shouldn’t expect the baptized life to be easy or pain-free—a series of open doors and easy paved roads.  No, it’s all uphill—with the devil, the world and our own sinful nature actively working against us every mile.  But for those who follow Jesus, the joy comes at the finish line, where all the pain pays off, where suffering gives way to eternal joys. 

        And as you are running this race of faith, don’t look back.  Don’t look back on your past successes; and don’t look back on your past sins.  It’s fun to remember our past successes; it’s painful to remember the times we’ve fallen and failed.  And no matter how much we like to forget our sins, those are the things of the past that we can’t quite let go of.  Paul, too, had a past that was scarred with sin.  He persecuted the followers of Jesus!  He condoned the murderous mob that stoned Stephen to death!  But Jesus Christ bore your burden of sin to death on His cross.  He bears it all away so that you can “press on” unencumbered and freely forgiven.  A fifty pound bag of guilt and shame will get you nowhere fast.  Christ bore that on the cross so that you don’t have to.  He bears your sins away even today in His holy meal, where the bread is His body and the wine is His blood.  Take and eat.  Drink of it all of you. 

Don’t look back.  Forget what lies behind and press on toward what’s ahead—the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come.  The only hardware that matters is a crown of righteousness.  And there’s one of those waiting for you at the finish line.  You haven’t earned it.  But it’s yours by grace, through faith, for the sake of Jesus.

        In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.