Things aren’t right…

Like a lot of you, I’m for simple living in the New Covenant inaugurated by Jesus. This is living in his kingdom, after his ways. He called it the abundant life (John 10:10).

I talk about living like Jesus, but I subconsciously qualify it to imply a certain kind of living that keeps me safely sheltered from his experiences. He had nothing; I have everything. Frankly, to a great extent, I live nothing like him.

While I’m in this transparency mode, I might as well confess…I don’t really think like him either. He genuinely loved his enemies. I’m just trying to survive by ignoring mine. At the core is the fact that there is really a void in me at this moment. My love’s too shallow; his spans the dimensions (Ephesians 3:18); I need his love, not mine!

The chasm between my love and his, my life and his, evidenced itself last week. On Sunday, though, in mid-sermon, I experienced its immense weight. While studying and reviewing for Sunday something registered that, for whatever reason, had before been overlooked.

In Philippians 3:8-11, Paul states,

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. ESV.

Paul’s living after the way of Christ was much more genuine than mine. I know this because of the nature of his living versus mine. With this comes a certain measure of guilt. But to add insult to injury, he slaps me upside the face with his desire to “share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible (emphasis mine) I may attain the resurrection from the dead.”

His desire was to “share” in Christ’s suffering, not be sheltered from them. His desire was to become like him “in his death,” not evade it. His passion was, “by any means possible,” to cross the bar. If I understand him correctly, he actively pursued a course that would not insulate him from harm, but instead would thrust him possibly into the middle of it.

All of my life, I’ve heard prayers uttered, both in and out of the assembly, that center around “being free from harm and molestation,” “having the freedom to worship without fear of persecution,” and etc. Yet Paul’s Christ-likeness was so strong, that he pursued a course that would ultimately cost him his life. That’s simply not how I think. Nor is it how, most, if not all, Christians I know think. We yearn for insulation, but such thinking is clearly not in step with Jesus or Paul.

I’m not suggesting that we begin to pursue courses that should kill us. But before I pat myself on the back for the similarities I might have with the first century church, I’d better accept the fact that I’m nowhere near where they were.

So, where does this leave us? How true to form to the ways of the early church do we really want to be? I’ve got some serious thinking to do, especially, if I mean what I say. I’m not so certain that Jesus intends for his disciples to attach all sorts of caveats to living in the way, just so we can accommodate living in our world. Apparently, my thinking has a long way to go.