“I Thought It Might Be You.”

Philippians 3:4b-14
March 25, 2007
Saint Paul United Methodist Church

Rev. John Andrew Fleming

Imagine the scene. A father takes his two oldest daughters to Sea World in hopes of giving them some time together and their mother a little at home rest. So the three of them spent the better part of the day watching the dolphins dip, the walruses waddle, and the penguins paddle. By the end of the day, this father is carrying around enough souvenirs to open up his own shop. That is when he sees the plastic ball pit and guided his crew towards it.

This father says that the plastic ball pit is a reason to keep your season pass current. It is a large, shaded, cool, and soothing pavilion for parents who are just about at the end of their ropes. Under the awning is a four feet deep pit. It’s size equals a backyard, underground swimming pool. It is filled with thousands of small, plastic balls.

In the middle of the pit is a table. There are holes in the table where jets of air blow. It is a favorite place for those in the pit. Most kids grab a few of the plastic balls, and make a beeline for the table and scream for joy when the air sends the balls way up into the summer sky.

This father tells that his oldest daughter did great. Her six years had taught her the ins and outs of the plastic ball pit. His three year old, Andrea, though, had not learned the lessons. It seems that it is hard enough to walk through the pit with your arms extended without losing your balance. It is impossible to do it with your arms full of plastic balls. His younger daughter’s arms were full. She took one step and fell deep into the pit.

Picture the scene. She tried to wrestle her way up without letting go of the plastic balls. When she couldn’t, she began to cry. Her father did the kind of thing any compassionate father would do. He walked over to the edge of the pit, called out to her, and said, “Honey, let go of the balls and you will be able to walk.” She screamed where most of Sea World could hear her. “No!” She once again fell into the abyss of the sea of plastic balls. Her father reached out to grab her. He pulled her up. In her arms were the six or seven balls that she had refused to drop. her wise father said, “Andrea, if you will let go of the balls, you will be able to walk. Besides, there are plenty of balls near the table!” She screamed out another “No,” took two steps, and fell again into the pit.

By now she was too far from her father’s reach. And since parents aren’t supposed to enter the plastic ball pit, he employed his other daughter, Andrea’s sister. She waddled through the balls towards her sister. She reached down into the pit and tried to help her sister to her feet.

She wasn’t strong enough and her little sister was of no help. The father yelled out to his youngest one more time. He pleaded with her. Somewhere from the depth of the pit, he heard her words, “NO!”

And now he was running out of options. What could he do? He did what any compassionate father would do, given the circumstances. He told his older daughter to take the plastic balls away from her sister, no matter what it cost.

Under the sea of plastic balls, mortal combat was going on. By now every parent who was enjoying a time of rest and relaxation, was watching. They were also whispering and pointing. The kid whose summer job it was to watch over the plastic ball pit looked at the father. He motioned with his arm. Words were not necessary. The father was soon a part of the battle.

He waded into the pit, broke the death locks his daughters had on each other, put one girl under each of his arms, and carried them to the center of the pit. He tells that the other kids ran in fear. When he had dropped them off, he marched out of the pit and found a seat on the bench.

He watched his girls play for a few more moments. His heart rate went down. Then and there he asked himself, “What is it that makes children immobilize themselves by clutching to the toys so tightly?” He winched as the answer entered his heart. “Whatever it is, he admitted, they learned from their parents.”

Try this. Try taking away clothes from someone who loves clothes. Try taking away anything from anyone who hangs on to it so tightly. There we lie, submerged in a pit, desperately hanging on to the things that cause us so much grief. It is a wonder that our Father doesn’t give up!

That is life and so it is refreshing to come across someone who is willing and in fact ready to chunk it all, to throw it all away, not for something new and something better, but for the surpassing value of knowing Jesus Christ and being found in Him.

You probably will remember that when Paul writes the words that have become our scripture lesson for today, he was in Rome, under house arrest. While he was there, he received a letter from his beloved church in Philippi. Paul and Silas had founded the church there some ten years before. Paul reads about a group of people that we have come to call Judaizers. If Paul had arch enemies, these were his. They followed him to every town and to every church. Once he was out of town, they would whisper to the church leaders, “You know, Paul has it all wrong.” The Judaizers believed that you had to be circumcised first before you could truly follow Christ. That is not what Paul taught. Paul simply said that if you confessed with your lips and believed in your heart, then you could be Christian.

Paul calls these Judaizers, dogs. You can sense the anger in his voice. Paul makes his case. He reels off his heritage and his accomplishments one by one. Listen to them. They are impressive. “Circumcised on the eighth day. A member of the people of Israel. A member of the tribe of Benjamin. A Hebrew born of Hebrews. As to the law, a Pharisee. As to zeal or passion, a persecutor of the church. As to righteousness under the law. Blameless.

Now look at Paul. We don’t have a man here who regrets his past. In fact, he could not have been more proud of it. Paul isn’t a man who is torn up inside. He is not burdened with guilt. He is not having trouble sleeping. He is not depressed. Paul never asks himself, “What am I going to do?” No. That’s not Paul…

All of his zeal and all of his achievements are good. He is not even like some folks you have heard about, who come to the church later in their lives. He is not a new Christian who is being asked to give up old and bad habits. No one had to say to him, “If you’re going to follow Christ, you are going to have to clean up your language and not do the things you have come to do on Friday nights!” No, it’s not like that!

Paul is the kind of person any church would be proud to have as a member. If you looked at his past, all you would find would be good things. And yet, says Paul, I throw it all away. I consider it rubbish. To me it is trash.

Paul’s anger turns inward and becomes reflection. What does Paul want now as he languishes there in chains in Rome, near the end of his life? He wants to head in the right direction. I think it was the great theologian, Yogi Berra who said, “If you don’t know where you are going, you are likely to end up someplace else.”

Paul knows where he wants to go. But more importantly than that, he knows who he wants to be like. He writes, “I want to be like Christ.” Paul may never see freedom again. He may never visit the churches he started. But passion is still inside him. Passion for knowing Christ fills his entire soul.

Paul, you see, believed that if you were going to be a Christian, then you ought to act like Jesus. Jesus, you see, wasn’t interested in upward mobility, he came from heaven to be with the world. Jesus came from the ivory palaces and the throne and the glory and the angels and the praise to be with us. And thinks Paul, “How can I do the things I want to do? How can I keep my pride? How can I keep my investments and just throw the church in every now and then? How can I do the things I have come to love and just tack on the church every once and a while? How can I do that when I worship a savior, Jesus the Christ, who gave it all up, came down here, and taught us to be servants.

Now, what do you do with your own life? What do you do with your own agenda? What do you do with your independence and your selfishness? What do you do with your own calendar? Well, I guess you are supposed to throw it all away, just like Paul did.

Paul had the idea that the ideal Christian would love like Jesus loved, care like Jesus cared, give like Jesus gave, serve like Jesus served, suffer like Jesus suffered, and sacrifice like Jesus sacrificed.

Paul isn’t quite finished yet. He says, “I’m not there yet. I don’t want you to get the idea that I am.” He added, “I haven’t arrived. I haven’t met the goal. Oh no, but I will tell you this. Being like Jesus is the one thing on my mind. I am running towards it. I am running towards it with my temples pounding, my heart pumping, my bones breaking, my muscles aching, my face sweating, running. If only I could be like Jesus.”

I know. I know. Paul is unusual. You may never in your lifetime meet anyone who takes Jesus as seriously as Paul did. But I thought that I should bring it up to you this morning, because every once and a while someone does take Jesus that seriously. I had the feeling it might be you. Let us pray.

(Special thanks to Max Lucado for the opening story in this sermon. Special thanks also to the writings of Fred Craddock who helped me with some ideas and some words in this sermon. My hope is that we will all try to be like Jesus).