Philippians 1:21-30

Click here to view the full sermon video, titled "Privilege"

Privilege is something of a loaded word these days. So much so that its mention can bring an otherwise friendly conversation to a grinding halt. So ingrained is the American gospel of the self-made individual that we tend to be resistant to the notion our lives may not entirely be what we make of them. Back before the pandemic, the Presbytery of Santa Fe (which is the regional council of Presbyterians to which we belong) devoted several meetings to the exploration of privilege. When it was announced there was almost immediate objection to the term and the language was changed to “unequal opportunity.” Even so, not everyone was having it. At one of the Presbytery meetings we engaged in an exercise to give us a visible and tangible way of seeing our degree of privilege. We were asked a series of questions about our experience in the world, things with which we either did or didn’t have to contend. For each scenario that we hadn’t experienced, we were asked to slide a paper clip on to our name tags. I have a photo of my name tag, with over 30 paper clips attached every which way. As a straight, white, able-bodied cisgendered male, you could say (as Paul will in so many words later in this letter to the church in Philippi) that I was covered in privilege. A few of the participants grew visibly irritated with the exercise and wanted to know what any of this had to do with Jesus. I don’t know that any explanation would have satisfied them, but I might have pointed out that the savior we confess emptied himself of the most privileged claim any person could hold- namely being God. So, maybe it was worth examining what burdens we and others may, or may not carry, as they navigate this world, for the sake of justice, mercy and peace. That isn’t being woke. That’s simply following Jesus. Like I said, it’s a loaded word. 

It's a loaded word that Paul uses in his letter to what is unmistakably his favorite of the churches he established. Only Paul doesn’t use it to describe any of the categories touched on in that exercise we did. That doesn’t mean that his use of the word is any less problematic because he says that, “[God] has graciously granted you the privilege not only of believing in Christ, but of suffering for him as well.” Excuse me? Let’s break that down for a second, shall we? Do you mean to say that our belief, our trust, in Jesus is not only something we didn’t choose for ourselves as some kind of spiritual achievement, but that it is a privilege? Yes. That’s exactly what he’s saying. He’s saying that rather than being a status that exalts us, faith is a gift that humbles us- precisely because we know that it doesn’t come from us. The second part, however is more problematic. Because Paul says that it is also our privilege to suffer for Christ. No thank you. I’ll pass.  

If only it were that easy, if only it were that easy to simply pass on suffering. Any suffering, really, but certainly suffering for Christ. What does that even mean any more? Back then, it was pretty clear. The Macedonian village of Philippi was sometimes referred to as the “little Rome.” To trust in Christ as Lord instead of Ceasar was to invite suffering. It wasn’t all Christians and lions, but there was a definite sense that to identify oneself as believing in and following this obscure Jewish Rabbi from a Galilean backwater over the Imperial cult of Rome, would invite only the disdain of your neighbors as someone whose loyalty to Rome was suspect. That really isn’t the same as refusing to make a wedding cake, or design a web site because of a misreading of scripture, or a misplaced understanding of what it means to love one’s neighbor. On the one hand there is our larger societal aversion to embrace or even acknowledge suffering at all, because no one wants to be a bummer. And on the other hand there is this culture war cliché of suffering for the religious freedom to discriminate. But what if suffering for Christ is as simple, and as hard, as being willing to share in the suffering of others in the same way that God in Christ shares in our suffering on the cross? 

A few years back the journalist Anderson Cooper conducted a remarkable interview with the comedian and late night host, Stephen Colbert. What makes it such a remarkable exchange is how candidly and deliberately each man speaks about their experiences of loss and grief and how it has shaped who they have become. Cooper had recently lost his mother, Gloria Vanderbilt, and Colbert lost his father and the two brothers closest to him in age when he was ten. At the outset of the interview, Cooper confesses how touched and comforted he has been by those who have met him in his grief by acknowledging the grief that they themselves are carrying. Later in the interview, Cooper asks Colbert about a quote he gave in a Vanity Fair interview back in 2014. “I have learned to love the thing that I most wish hadn’t happened.” To Cooper’s query, “do you really believe that?” He responds, “It’s a gift to exist,” he goes on to explain, “and with existence comes suffering. There’s no escaping that… If you’re grateful for your life, then you have to be grateful for all of it, you can’t pick and choose what you’re grateful for. And what do you get from loss? You get awareness of other people’s loss, which allows you to connect with that other person. Which allows you to love more deeply and understand what it means to be a human being. It’s about the fullness of your humanity. And that means acknowledging and ultimately being grateful for the things that I wish didn’t happen.” It sounds strange in a world that thinks that suffering can somehow be avoided. But in a world where everyone suffers in some way, to suffer for Christ’s sake is to see our suffering as that which connects us in a way that nothing else can, and bonds us to one another in love and compassion. That is indeed a privilege.  

I think it’s why, when Paul opens this section of the letter by declaring that, “living is Christ and dying is gain,” he ultimately comes down on the side of living. His own desire is to die and be with Christ, but the privilege of living, believing and suffering with and for Christ is what compels him to stay. 

In 2004, the actor Ewan McGregor and his friend Charley Boorman launched the first of what would be three epic documentary motorcycle trips. The first was called Long Way Round as they rode from London to the New York by going 19,000 miles east. McGregor tells the story about how they were four, or five days into Mongolia and having a rough go. It was muddy and wet and they were only able to make 20 miles or so per day. While the beauty and remoteness of the landscape were captivating, they were frustrated by their progress toward their destination, Ulaanbaatar, that was a good thousand miles away. They felt like they were never going to get there. So, they got out the maps and determined that a left turn would take them up to Russia and back on a main road, but they would miss Ulaanbaatar. He called his support team to talk about this decision to take a left instead of continuing straight ahead to Ulaanbaatar. His friend on the other end of the line counseled him, “don’t miss what you love about this trip. It’s once in a lifetime is all I’d say.” McGregor knew he was right, “maybe the point is that it is a struggle,” he observed, “and we struggle on.” And so they did. They made it to Ulaanbaatar, and visited a shelter there for street children. One of the children they encountered was only 3-years-old and had been found two weeks earlier. Even after they left, McGregor couldn’t stop thinking about that child. It took two years, but eventually he adopted Jamiyan as his own daughter. He continually looks back at the moment, that decision between taking the left that would have made things easier, or continuing on straight ahead and how it changed everything for this child and for him. 

Continuing on can be a struggle. It will undoubtedly bring suffering and things we wish didn’t happen. As any adoptive family can tell you, adoption begins with suffering. It begins with something we wish didn’t happen. We wish that the conditions that necessitated a child’s adoption didn’t exist. But we come to love the struggle, and yes even the privilege of suffering with and for one another that causes us to love more deeply than we knew was possible as we become what God intends for us all along, what God intends for us in Christ, and that is for us to be fully human.