Priority Mail - May 6, 2018 Sermon

Dear Paul,

I hope this note finds you well.

Thank you so much for your letter!

Now you are probably asking: Which letter. After all you wrote quite a few.

In case you are desperately trying to remember what you wrote to a 21st century congregation in the American midwest: I can relieve you. It’s not your memory playing tricks on you. There isn’t actually a letter like that.

No, i’m talking about the letter you sent to the congregation in Philippi.

Now: I don’t normally open mail addressed to other people. (And those mailing that include “or current resident” are usually not that interesting.) But this letter that you wrote some 1,950 years ago, has made it into our hands — together with a whole collections of other letters you wrote to different congregations. And, believe it or not, we are still reading them today — at the other end of the globe!

You probably never imagined that. And probably nobody would be quite as shocked as you to learn that they have become a part of Scripture. (Plus, theologians love to argue about them!)

From what I know from your writings, I imagine all this would make you feel a little embarrassed. After all your writing was never about you.  Your mission was driven by what you had experienced yourself: that God was indeed revealed in the same Jesus whom the authorities had crucified: he is the anointed ruler and king. Something you had to share with everyone to the end of the world — and that’s what you did, spreading glad tidings all across the then known world.

In that sense I imagine you wouldn’t mind after all that we we today, even as unintended audience, caught a glimpse of your letter to the saints in Philippi.

***

It’s a beautiful letter. I am so moved by your opening paragraph, by it’s beautiful tone, by the love for this particular congregation that shines through every line.

I love the lack of formalities: there is no pretentious flashing of credentials.

I love that you write this letter to an entire community. You could have addressed his letter just to the elders there. You could have written directly to the bishop, telling him what to say to his flock and what to do next. You could have exercised a top-down “chain of command” that everyone in the Roman world understood. And yet you don’t. You write “to all the saints in Christ Jesus who are in Philippi”.

One can tell you had a very special bond with all the saints in Philippi, not just the leaders. You even call them your partners in sharing the gospel. I sense that you deeply care about them, and they cared about you.

***

Having said that, what bothers me a little bit, (can I say this?) is this display of joy.

Now granted, we don’t know your exact predicament: whether you were in jail awaiting a court date,  or somewhere under house arrest. Granted also, you were no stranger to prison cells. And yet somehow I imagine Roman prisons not exactly to be vacation homes. Not wanting to be the grinch, Paul: you are in dire straits!

And so it really boggles my mind that you sound so… positive…

almost cheery. It’s a little bit on-the-nose. So I wonder: Is this for real,  or are you just putting on a brave face so your readers aren’t all too worried about you?

Or does your joy indeed have such deep roots that they even reach deeper than the dungeon you’re in?

What strikes me is what an important role memory plays for your joy. As one of my contemporary readers, the late Fred Craddock, puts it: “In circumstances which could understandably breed doubt, despair, even bitterness,” you remember — and are grateful.

Which is fascinating! Thinking how much I tend to remember only the things that went wrong. (We even pay therapists to talk about nothing but the bad memories). You don’t do that. But rather you recall the memories that bring you joy. I wonder what might happen if I did that, too. And if we honored these memories by living in a way so that they are become more than just a memory.

***

You point out how the Philippians have been your partners in ministry. You remember how they shared with their money, their suffering, their work, their faith, their prayers, their preaching the gospel… And yes: when you were in prison, they visited you.

There is something to be said about community that surrounds someone like this. One would never choose it: but getting sick in the midst of a christian community can be a wonderful thing. When one is surrounded by folks who provide food and visits and rides and support…: this fills you with gratitude and joy.

Maybe this is what is at the root of your joy: it’s not about silver lining, not about feeling better, but about becoming connected again.

And here you go: and write this letter. from the isolation of your prison cell. You speak in terms that are not fearful, not angry, not bitter... instead just filled with thankfulness, and the grace of God…

and doing so you witness to the power of the gospel!

***

As I am reading your letter this week, I am reminded of all the beautiful and powerful writings that have come out of prison.

I’m thinking of Martin Luther King’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail”,
(smuggled out on scraps of newspaper), or Dietrich Bonhoeffer who in the darkness of a Nazi prison penned Letters and Papers to friends and family.

What strikes me them is that both their words are not just reactions to what is done to them. Their hope and faith are not suffocated, but rather, their words speak in the most life-affirming  way of love and justice and of a vision of a different world. It is as if in their dungeons they caught a glimpse of the One who brings a new creation even in the midst of the grave, who transforms even the tomb of the prison into a womb of the new world.

***

Dear Paul, I need to wrap this up. As you may have heard, our congregation celebrates their 65th anniversary next week. We feel it’s a good age! At the same time, in comparison with the story that traveled to us over some 2000 years, it may not be quite that impressive. And yet: We are very excited. You should join us!

As we look back,  I hope we will take the opportunity to practice joy and gratitude. And as we remember God’s faithfulness across the ages, we’ll also celebrate the connectedness: with you and many others across this planet who have partnered with us to proclaim the Good news of Jesus Christ.

In all this we know that God is not done with us, but as you say so confidently: “the one who began a good work among you
will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ”.

May it be so.

Grace and Peace,

- On behalf of Eastridge Presbyterian church

Thomas Dummermuth, Associate Pastor