Forgetting what is behind

Philippians 3:1-14

Finally, my brothers, rejoice in the Lord. To write the same things to you is no trouble to me and is safe for you.

Look out for the dogs, look out for the evildoers, look out for those who mutilate the flesh. For we are the circumcision, who worship by the Spirit of God and glory in Christ Jesus and put no confidence in the flesh— though I myself have reason for confidence in the flesh also. 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. But 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. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith— that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.

Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

It is easy for me to read this passage uncritically, to remember only the context in which it was written, and to find great value in St. Paul’s instruction not to rely on the righteousness that comes from the Law.  I can even take it one step farther without much difficulty, applying it to my own time.  I was raised in a Christian tradition that often placed much weight on outward expressions of faith by following certain traditions in the line of “Don’t drink, don’t smoke, and don’t go with girls who do.”  And even here, I find great value.  The richness of this text allows for much benefit without digging too deeply.

I would like to take it one step beyond what I am most apt to do.  Rather than simply asking myself how I try to prove my righteousness by righteous acts, I will ask myself “In what, other than Christ, do I place my confidence?”  Because the apostle here encourages us not to find our joy and confidence in the flesh, but in the Lord.

Like so many of my peers, I am forced to admit that the majority of my fleshly confidence comes from my intelligence.  I was well educated, brought up to know the scriptures, to reason soundly, to understand the sciences and the humanities, and to draw rational conclusions through valid arguments.  For many of us in our age, these are the markers of our ability to be found worthy of the call of God.  This is particularly true if we apply our reasoning to knowing theology and choosing the right things to believe about Christ, as I had done.  While I cannot say with St. Paul that I have more reason to be confident in the flesh than the vast majority, I can say that I have as much reason as any and more than many.

We live in an age of Reason.  It is not like the Enlightenment, in which the physical sciences were blossoming and philosophers believed that they were illuminating truths that were self-evident.  In that time they sought truth that everyone could verify through reason.  In our age we seek conclusions that we personally believe to be correct, without need for verification.  Given the number of voices, we seek these truths with what seems to be rigor, but we are inclined to discard those that disagree with us too strongly.  So we apply our ability to reason to every field, believing ourselves to be capable of judging which speakers are worth listening to and which are not.  Having chosen a side in advance, we build up a wall of well-reasoned arguments, blocking ourselves from the rest of the world and refusing to hear those outside.  But given the number of voices still within our walls, we feel ourselves open-minded and critical, well informed and thus able to distinguish truth from superstition.  Being so fortified, we know ourselves to be right.  And from this position, we approach the Throne of Grace.

This is not an injunction to tear down the walls and let more voices in.  It is not an encouragement to be more open-minded when considering what is true.  Those might not be bad things, but they are not my point.  More deeply, for myself and for the reader, it is an encouragement simply to stop believing in my right to reason.  It is to give up that authority.

I have had several conversations with my pastor in which I have asked him about specific points of doctrine, particularly surrounding issues such as Holy Communion.  It has always been a question of “What are the different ideas, what does the Church say is happening, and what do you say is happening so that I can make up my mind about what I think is happening and put my flag in the ground.”  His answer is generally something like “Here are the different ideas and, Dan, you should really be more willing to accept Mystery and stop worrying so much about mechanics.”  (This is a paraphrase.  It takes him a lot longer to say this and he is far less blunt and more kind than this statement would make it appear.)

Why, then, am I so unwilling to accept Mystery?  Simply enough, it is because I insist on being right.  One side of me would say that it is simply out of arrogance.  I want desperately to never be wrong, because being wrong is shaming.  And if I let myself stop there, I fear that I would never grow.  What is more true is that I am terrified that if I am not right I will be rejected by God.  I must build up my fortifications of sound doctrine so that I may draw near to the Lord without fear of his disapproval.

What then can I say to these fears?  St. Paul has said it.  “Christ Jesus has made me his own.”  It is in this that our confidence truly lies.  Not that he has given us his approval like a gold star because of how well we have done, but that he has adopted us and made us his children.  We are saved through faith in Christ, not faith in our own thinking.

So we may count those things in which we placed our confidence as rubbish.  We may discard our systems and the security of personal authority because they do not help us.  And having discarded those weights, we press on toward the goal of knowing Christ, of becoming like him in his suffering and death, and of being raised with him to eternal life.