Sunday, March 13th: "You Belong Here"
The First United Presbyterian Church of Loveland
“You Belong Here”
Rev. Amy Morgan
March 13, 2022
Philippians 3:17-4:1
Brothers and sisters, join in imitating me, and observe those who live according to the example you have in us. For many live as enemies of the cross of Christ; I have often told you of them, and now I tell you even with tears. Their end is destruction; their god is the belly; and their glory is in their shame; their minds are set on earthly things. But our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will transform the body of our humiliation so that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself. Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved.
He arrived in the place they called “small Rome.” Entering Philippi from the South along the highway that stretched from the Adriatic to the Black Sea, the merchant discovered walls and gates, a theater, Forum, and temples that reflected the glory of the great city of the Emperor. He passed ladies dressed in Roman fashions and heard the lilt of Latin spoken in the marketplace. The woman who purchased his fabric paid with coins adorned with the face of the Emperor.
“These are people who know who they are, know their place in this world,” the merchant mused with envy. Though they resided thousands of miles from Rome, these people were citizens, with all the rights and privileges that carried, but, even more, with all the belonging that entailed. Most of these people had not lived in Philippi for generations. There were transplants from all over the region, even from Rome itself. Veterans of civil wars were settled here, passing merchants, like himself, decided to stay. Refugees from nearby conflicts rebuilt their lives here.
People with such dramatically different backgrounds and cultures all thrown in together could have created a city filled with conflict and division. But their shared sense of citizenship brought harmony, for the most part, and prosperity, for most.
As the merchant wandered back toward the main road from the marketplace, a strange, octagonal building caught his eye. He entered to find a small chamber with a domed ceiling and strange symbols – seashells and peacocks, anchors and Greek letters - carved into the stone. Mosaics adorned the floor.
Two women stood to the side of the room. They appeared to be in a heated argument.
“I don’t see why you think we need to be like them,” one of the women said. “It’s ridiculous, following those old customs, most of which we don’t even understand. There’s not a synagogue for miles, no one around here looks or acts that way.”
“I’m just saying it seems to make sense,” the second woman said. “If the Lord himself followed those customs, why shouldn’t we? Or would you prefer we all pay homage to the Savior Emperor, like everyone else around here?”
“Of course not!” the first woman said. “We’re not like them…But would it really hurt for us to just try and fit in a bit? You know what that one fellow who came through here said. It doesn’t really matter what we do with our bodies, all that matters is our spiritual selves. So would it be so terrible if we looked and acted like everyone else?”
“Euodia, you exhaust me,” the second woman sighed.
Just then, a man entered the room, looking worn out from a long journey.
“Epaphroditus!” exclaimed both women as they ran to his side.
“You look half-dead,” said the first woman. “Come, let us get you fed and rested, and then you can bring us news from Paul.”
The three moved to exit the room, but not before noticing the merchant standing near the door. The second woman stopped and asked, “Can I help you, brother?”
Embarrassed at being discovered, the merchant mumbled something inaudible and started to leave. The woman touched his shoulder and said, “Please, stay awhile and hear from our brother Paul. He’s sent us guidance. You must hear what he has to say. Wait here.”
The merchant waited, and wondered, who these people were, what the argument was about, who this person, Paul, might be. As people began filing into the room, they greeted one another with affection and talked peaceably. Everyone greeted the merchant warmly and made him feel a part of this fellowship. The merchant tried to sort out what kind of association this might be. Artisans, perhaps. Or maybe a political group of some sort. But there seemed to be people of every walk of life, men and women, wealthy and working-class, all gathering together with a common sense of belonging. “Even Roman citizenship could not create this kind of unity,” the merchant thought.
Finally, the man called Epaphroditus returned, looking much better after a meal and some rest. The group greeted him with loving enthusiasm, and then they quieted down to hear the message from the man called Paul.
The letter spoke of a man named Jesus, someone anointed by a god, and also a son of a god. But instead of being great and powerful and god-like, he was humble, a slave even. And this man, Paul, imitated Jesus, and encouraged this group of Philippians to imitate him as well. Paul said he was a Roman citizen, like them, and a Hebrew. He belonged to these communities, and yet, he said their citizenship was in heaven, not Rome, and their Savior would come from heaven, not Rome.
All of this sounded scandalous to the merchant. How could Roman citizens disregard such rights and privileges, such a powerful sense of belonging? How could a son of a god humble himself to the point of death on a cross, and expect his followers to imitate him? This was a strange group, and the merchant felt an urgent need to get out of this place and away from these people.
As he made his way through the crowd toward the door, the two women he’d seen earlier saw him and asked what he thought of the letter.
“It was…unusual,” the merchant replied.
“Yes,” the first woman said. “It was unusual. But what did you think?”
“I…I suppose it seemed strange. You, who are Roman citizens, claiming heavenly citizenship. Yet you aren’t supposed to use this power to conquer others. Only to be humble. It makes no sense. Who is this person you’re supposed to imitate? Why would he give you this citizenship, and why would you want it, if it is useless?”
The two women exchanged a look, their expressions full of compassion, their earlier disagreement apparently forgiven. The second woman said, “The greatest power in the universe is the power that never has to conquer another. It is the power of love, of unity, of community. It is the power that gives life, and does not take it. It is the power that creates, and does not destroy. It is the power that even brings life out of death. This is the power of our God, and of his Son, Jesus Christ. This is the power of his Spirit, that flows through this community of believers. They call us Christians because we follow the Christ. Paul brought this good news to us, and he is even now in prison because of his work for the gospel.”
The merchant had been following the woman’s ideas until this last part. “The man who wrote this letter is in prison?!” he exclaimed. “Roman citizens, imitating a man who is imprisoned by Rome, imitating a man who was executed by Rome! This is very strange, indeed!” And he moved again to leave.
“Brother,” the second woman asked him “where do you belong?”
The question stopped him in his tracks. He lived in Neopolis. But he knew he didn’t belong there. His family had come there from the countryside to make money, move up in the world. Neighbors came and went. His parents had died while he was on the road. His children were growing up, and he was missing hit.
He paid homage – to the Emperor, to the gods, to the merchants’ guild, to whoever might show him favor. And for his loyalty, he was charged taxes and tolls and fees and fines. Soldiers marched their streets and Rome ruled them from afar.
He didn’t belong anywhere. All this was written on his face.
The first woman said, “yes, we have that coveted Roman citizenship. A few of us can claim to be Hebrews. Some belong to guilds and others even belong to the household of the Emperor. But none of those things tells us where we belong. But Jesus does. Imitating Jesus, we belong to God. We belong to each other. And, my brother, that is worth suffering and even dying. To know where we belong.”
The merchant looked around the room. The group was setting out a meal. As people began to take their places around the table, the merchant noticed that there was no place of honor, no deference shown to anyone. Well-dressed merchants sat next to soldiers and slaves. Women and men sat together. Everyone made room for each other and served each other.
“There is always a place for you here,” the second woman said. “You belong here.”
The women went to join the group around the table, and the merchant realized that, though the meal was humble – just some bread and wine – it was, in a way…glorious.
Beloved siblings in Christ, He will transform the body of our humiliation so that it may be conformed to the body of his glory. It is humiliating to realize how our desperation to belong has created such brokenness in our relationships and in our society. We have a stronger sense of belonging to our alma mater, our favorite sports teams, our political party, or our social media followers than we do to the community of those who imitate Christ. We strive to imitate people with power, status, style, and influence. We imitate the ideas we hear on the news, or from our friends, or from quotes of social media. We want to fit in, to belong, and so we value the belonging that comes from citizenship, membership, partisanship, and ownership. We have forgotten our heavenly citizenship, which values, relationship, discipleship, and fellowship. Our imitation of Christ is, more often than not, a humiliating failure.
What good news it is, then, that the transformation of this humiliation does not depend solely on us.
One Halloween, I wanted to dress up as Cousin It from the Addams Family. But the only thing I could find that would even come close was a long, blond Lady Godiva wig. So I wore an old bedsheet and put the wig on top with half of it pulled down over my face. As my friends and I trick-or-treated from house to house, my costume got some strange looks and a lot of questions. But occasionally, someone would open the door and laugh, “Cousin It! Very clever!”
It was a poor imitation of Cousin It, but some people still managed to get it.
And this is what the grace of God does for us. God has given us an example to imitate. And, much of the time, we make a poor imitation. We argue and judge. We exclude and ignore. And yet, even in our imperfections, we are the Body of Christ. We are conformed to the body of Christ’s glory. Our humiliating attempts at imitation are transformed into something that occasionally looks enough like Christ to be recognizable, to be transformational, to be glorious, even.
May we see this glory reflected in this community as we imitate Christ, rejoicing in our heavenly citizenship. No matter where we are from or how we have tried to belong, Beloved, there is always a place for you here. You belong here.
To God be all glory forever and ever. Amen.
Comments
Post a Comment