A slight disclaimer: What follows is the basic text (minus the occasional digressions) of a sermon that I preached at Comox United Church, Comox, B.C. on April 3, 2022.. It is not an essay. It is written to be spoken and in a manner that reflects my preaching style, which I suspect might be described as “informal.” Nor does it have the full assortment of citations, acknowledgements, and footnotes normally (and quite reasonably) expected in a more formal work. Please forgive the grammatical peculiarities!
Blessings
Phil Spencer
Philippians 4:1-14 “Don’t Worry About Anything”
I did a back of the envelope calculation as to how many times I’ve preached over the years and the best I can tell is that it’s somewhere north of 3000 times. And maybe your immediate thought could be, “So why didn’t he improve?”, a not unreasonable question. But that aside, I tell you this to explain that I don’t actually remember too many specific sermons—twice a Sunday for better than 30 years and lots of other occasions cause a kind of a “blending” to occur. But I do remember a few occasions with clarity and one that happened very early on in my career. I was preaching on this very passage from the 4th chapter of St. Paul’s Letter to the Philippians. Focusing in on the dispute between the two prominent church members at First United Church in Philippi—Euodia and Syntyche (and yes, I do like the way those names roll off the tongue) I remember experimenting with a kind of “first-person-role-play” sermon. I assumed the place of Paul in the letter—making my voice his—and through this crafty use of dramatic reading and also incorporating some current happenings in the life of the congregation I was able to weave a story that led to reconciliation for the feuding twosome, and so restore peace to a troubled church. With that kind of preaching, could the Kingdom be yet far away? What could possibly go wrong? After the service I was shaking hands with some folks at the door (remember those days?) and a woman grabbed my hand and said earnestly, “I’m very sorry to hear about this fight. So, who are these two people?” And her demeanor indicated that she was quite prepared to give them both a good talking to, God bless her. It was one of those occasional Sundays that led me to have some second thoughts about my ability to fulfill the calling! For the record: I’ve tended to use that preaching format sparingly since.
I think it’s an intriguing Bible reading. While we really don’t know very much about the history of the dispute between Euodia and Synteche—and yes, scholars have offered all sorts of rich theories as to the nature of their fight--what I know with certainty is that conflict is a fact of life in the church. You can’t get people together for any length of time without conflict, without differing points of view—that’s just the way we humans roll. Conflict’s inevitable in church life and honestly, that used to make me nervous, because it struck me as a bit unseemly, being that we’re all supposed to love each other and everything. But it kept cropping up, and it finally dawned on me that conflict’s not just an inevitability, but that it might even be a feature, and not a bug, that it can be useful and healthy, even a beneficial dynamic of any lively and faithful congregation.
Conflict is very much a major theme in the Book of Acts and in Paul’s letters, and I don’t think it’s unreasonable to say that a degree of conflict has helped the Church grow and thrive. In fact, I now come to suspect that those churches that don’t experience disagreements are those that are in decline. So, when you run into some conflict here at Comox United, it may just be a sign of life, oddly enough. On the other hand, I have to acknowledge that church differences can sometimes makes me a bit uncomfortable, which is odd, because in the rest of my life, I’ve always enjoyed a smattering of disagreement, felt invigorated by a good argument, now and then. I grew up in a household where dinner table debate was considered sport, where holding a contrary opinion to the majority was understood to be something of a virtue, that is, as long as you could put up a reasoned argument! I just recently listened to a conversation on a podcast between a couple of church folk who were exploring the possibility that we each might have a propensity toward either conformism or to contrarianism and I readily confess to having a leaning toward contrarianism, and finding a lively exchange of opinion to be invigorating. So, it wasn’t so much the fact that we have arguments and disagreements in the church that disturbed me—because that’s been a normal part of my life—but it’s been the way we occasionally deal with them. Sometimes we get it right, but I’ve also seen congregations deal with conflict in not especially healthy ways, resulting in painful battles, with people being hurt, with people leaving, or with people staying and fighting it out by increasingly destructive means. The cost of that can be the church’s mission.
So, what were Syntyche and Euodia arguing about? I’ve no clue. But it’s clear from the letter that Paul has great affection for them, holds them in high regard, respects their being co-workers with him sharing the good news of Jesus, is confident in their salvation. Knowing that the dispute needs to be addressed, he calls on someone to intervene. In some translations that “someone’s” described as “my loyal companion” or “yokefellow” and in others—like The Message—this individual’s named as “Zyzygus,” a Greek word that means, not surprisingly … “my loyal companion” or “yokefellow.” But whether it's someone’s name or a description of their character, they’re asked to bring some healing between these two. What follows that appeal is a series of encouragements: rejoice and keep on rejoicing … be gentle … and then he says something that catches me, and perhaps caught you too.
In the Bible, when something gets repeated—when you hear the same thing over and over—it usually suggests something, perhaps even, “pay attention to this.” If you read through the writing of John for example, and you count up the connections made between “God” and “love” you can reasonably walk away thinking that God is loving.
Or if you read repeated references in the pages of Scripture about care of the poor, it might not be out of the ballpark to be thinking that God’s people have some obligations to those living in poverty. Or if you peruse the 130 some odd references to “justice” in the Bible you’ll likely get the impression that issues of fairness are to be important to us.
Or if you start noticing Jesus’ repeated calls on people to follow him, you’ll be forgiven in thinking that Jesus might want us to follow him, and perhaps even try to figure out what that looks like on the west coast of Canada in 2022. Repetition often means: “this is important” and wouldn’t you know it, the phrase “Don’t be afraid” gets used more than 60 times in the Biblical story. References to being fearful actually run well into triple digits in the Scriptures, and Jesus was constantly reminding his disciples to not be afraid and he did so … why? Because they were afraid! Because they often found themselves in worrisome and dangerous places, were often called to step out in faith, live and act without 100% certainty and so they were regularly struggling with fear.
It’s fair to say that finding oneself afraid isn’t exactly abnormal for Christians. In fact, I dare say it isn’t abnormal for people who claim no connection to the Christian faith in our culture. Fear is one of the more powerful motivating emotions and you and I are regularly being given messages that are designed to make us afraid. If you have any doubt about this, please pick up a newspaper or go to any news website and critically examine the messages you’re being given. In in our culture fear is used incessantly: “If we do this, catastrophe” … “If we don’t do that, big trouble.” A pipeline through BC? Environmental collapse! No pipeline through BC? Economic disaster! Health care and schooling doomed! Fear of terrorism. Fear of population explosion. Fear of religions. Fear of no religions. Covid. Russia and Ukraine. It’s sometimes hard to keep my fears current with the times.
Health-related fears are a growth industry. When I was young I was supposed to be out in the sun, and now I apply enough sunscreen to apply for the starting job in a greased-pig contest. I’ve got to watch my diet, I’ve got to eat naturally, got to take supplements, go easy on the red meat, mustn’t eat anything from more than 100 miles away (there go the bananas) and this all may be 100% true, for all I know! The problem is that too often even true stuff is presented in a way that’s makes us fearful, and sometimes to elicit a particular response. This is done because fear, like negative advertising, often works. I’m online regularly just to keep abreast of what I’m supposed to be fearing. We even have a term for this practice: “doom scrolling,” or “doom surfing,” spending disproportionate time online following negative news stories. It’s what you do when Covid keeps you home. We swim in a culture that that regularly sees fear employed as a motivator.
This might just remind us of the important role that you and I have in this world, because one of the characteristics of Jesus’ people is how we deal with fear. It’s not that we won’t have fear—fear can at times serve us, can prevent catastrophe. Worry or fear as we see someone advancing toward us with clenched fists isn’t unreasonable. But how we as Jesus’ people deal with fear is a bit different. My impression in perusing the sweep of the Biblical story is that the only real thing we’re advised to fear is … what?
The “fear of the Lord!” That’s the phrase we’ve heard, right? “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge …” Proverbs 1:7 and many more. But even as I say that, I also know that I need to say that, the phrase “fear of the Lord” isn’t an encouragement to live in terror of God, of being frightened by God. I don’t see that as a faithful interpretation, and I suspect that in too many times and places, the Gospel has been shamefully obscured by that usage. Will a meeting with God, an awareness of being in the presence of the holy sometimes produce a feeling akin to fear? Quite possibly—realizing that you’re chatting with the One created the universe and yet who loves you to the point that the number of hairs on your head are counted … well, that might just throw you off your game a-might. But this sense is better associated with breath-taking awe and reverence, than with terror, with a fall-on-your-knees love, with an awareness of the need to align our ways with God’s way, than it connects with horror and dread.
So, yes, “fear the Lord,” but I’m not so sure that there a need to be afraid of God—that’s a lie.
You’ve noticed this—our fears are often based on lies. There’s a lie in there somewhere if you take the time to look. The trick in combatting fear is to expose what that lie is, which means Christians—disciples, Jesus’ followers—are uniquely placed, because we’re in the lie-revealing business. When we’re on, we’ll dare to turn over the rock to reveal the lie. This isn’t unrelated to what Jesus was saying when he called on his followers to be salt in the world, to be yeast in the world, to be light in the world.
It normally just takes a few people to name the lie, and when they do, things can change. But we Christians live in the world and sometimes—often, even—instead of us being salt or light or leaven in the world, we bring the world’s ways in here. It’s hard not to, I find. That’s because, as we rightly pinch and incorporate lots of really helpful stuff from our culture, sometimes it’s hard to discern what’s life-giving from what’s death-dealing.
It seems a bit funny today, but if you read the debates about church organs in Protestant churches 500 years ago many people were convinced that using this “worldly instrument” or any musical instruments at all, was one step away from the Church’s descent into hell. And yet, as our history reveals—the organ in particular, and instruments in general—have proven to have enriched the Church’s life enormously.
So, we borrow lots of good stuff from culture. But sometimes we can bring in some nasty stuff, and one of the most destructive things that we keep trying to bring into the Church and we have from the first days of the very first congregation is fear. Fear as a motivator in Churches kills because it’s based on a monstrous lie, and that lie is this: that God isn’t faithful to God’s people. Somehow, we misplace or even choose not to believe that lovely Hebrew word, hesed, which is used something like 250 times in the Hebrew Scriptures, the Old Testament, and it describes a critical part of God’s character, God’s steadfast and unshakable love. In falling for the lie, we become timid, and like the 3rd servant entrusted with the employer’s treasure that Jesus speaks about in the Parable of the Talents we’re reluctant to risk, and so try to bury away the very thing or things we’ve been purposely given to join in God’s Kingdom project.1
I understand that you had some good conversation with Deb about that this last weekend as you were reflecting on congregational values and I wonder if this might be a bit of a “God wink,” being that I’d chosen this passage and topic a couple of months ago. Fear and reluctance to risk is—in my experience, anyway—one of the great challenges for any congregation, and especially for one in a time of transition like ours is. Just as some creatures freeze in place to protect themselves, so can churches. “We’re in danger—don’t let’s do anything.”
Okay, what are some of the fears that trap congregations into immobility? Well, there are worries about the ABC’S: ATTENDANCE, BUDGETS, & CASH. And there are other fears, like decline in the denomination, decline in formal religious belief, that the world is passing us by, that we’ll have to change, that we’ll lose something precious, and much more. These fears aren’t without some substance, but my hunch is that there’s also a lie there in every one of them, as well. Amongst all the lies that exist behind the fear, the chief one is the belief that the One who dwells in us—the Holy Spirit—can’t pull this thing off. And as one rather colourful pastor I knew decades past used to say, “That smells like sulphur to me.” Do we believe in the power of the Holy Spirit and what she can do? Do we look at the Scriptures and think, “Well, yeah, that was back then and they were a simpler and less sophisticated people”? No—the Bible’s not a quaint book about “back then”—it’s the living word and about “now and always.” As our most recent denominational statement of faith, A Song of Faith asserts: “Scripture is our song for the journey, the living word passed on from generation to generation to guide and inspire …”2 Knowing our propensity for slipping into fearfulness, Paul wrote to the Philippians and he said to them—and is saying to us this morning: “Don’t worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.” Don’t be afraid … you don’t have to worry, but if you do find yourself afraid, just take it to God, and do so with thanksgiving.
Paul chooses to use a really rich Greek word here: take it to God with thanksgiving, take it with eucharistia—literally “with grateful worship.” And if that word eucharistia rings a bell somewhere, if it gets you thinking about what’s arguably our central Christian practice, the sacrament of communion, good on ya, because indeed those two terms, eucharist and communion, are the same thing. The prayer we use is called the eucharistic prayer, or the great thanksgiving. Now, what happens when we commune with God and each other at the table is rightly referred to as a mystery—not a puzzle, for which there is an answer or a solution, but a mystery—something we can wonderfully glimpse, but never fully know and grasp. There’s a lot that happens when we gather at the table: we remember Jesus’ faithfulness, who he was, and what he said and did, we receive forgiveness, we anticipate the messianic banquet, there’s healing and strengthening, and much more. Today, as we each receive the elements, the bread and the grape juice, I encourage you to take a moment to reflect on what might be the fear or fears that stir within you this morning or that might be troubling your sisters and brothers in this fellowship. Let’s leave them in our God’s scarred hands with eucharistia, with thanksgiving, for as Paul so clearly reminds us, we really don’t need to worry about anything. To which I say, thanks be to God. Amen.
1. Matthew 25:14-30
2. A Song of Faith, 2006, p. 5.