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The Sincerest Form of Faith
Philippians 3: 17 - 4:1 |
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Summary
The Sincerest Form of Faith. “Imitation,” they say, “is ...” (you fill in the blank). Yes, you can do it — because this is a well-known aphorism indeed. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” The apostle Paul says, here in Philippians, chapter 3: “Brothers and sisters, join in imitating me ....” Whatever can he mean? More to the point, how can anyone make a statement like that? Paul sounds awfully full of himself, doesn’t he? Can you imagine a person saying, “I am the be-all and end-all, the very paragon of humanity. So here’s how to get through life: Just do as I do!” Read on in the letter, though, and you’ll see Paul’s goal is far more modest. There are times, after all, when the only thing we can possibly do is to imitate another person. Have you ever taken golf or tennis lessons? It’s hard to learn anything at all of the proper technique without first observing very closely how the pro swings the club or the racket. And which one of us has ever learned how to swim, without first observing a swim teacher demonstrating the crawl or the breaststroke? Sometimes imitation isn’t about flattery at all. It’s simply about learning, in the simplest and most efficient way possible. Surely, this is close to what Paul has in mind when he advises the Philippians, “Join in imitating me.” He wants them to get this faith thing right. On imitation The word “imitation” is not one that’s highly valued in everyday life. When you walk into a grocery store and see two bottles of vanilla extract on the shelf — one that’s labeled “pure” and the other “imitation,” which one would you rather reach for? If you scan the label on a soft-drink bottle and see the words, “imitation cola flavoring,” don’t you wonder what that flavor is made of? Is it some strange chemical compound with a name seven syllables long? Or is it something perfectly ordinary, like scrapings from burnt toast? No, imitation of anything is not very high up on our list of values. Most of us would rather have “the real thing” (as a certain soft-drink manufacturer realized years ago, building a major marketing campaign around that phrase). In another New Testament letter, we hear an even more extraordinary piece of advice. Ephesians 5:1 advises, “Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children.” This goes beyond any wisdom such as Paul is dispensing in today’s passage. Are we truly meant to be imitators not only of certain human teachers, but of God? Go figure. How can Christians in their right mind aspire to that? We who are created by God, seeking to imitate the Creator? How absurd! Yet, it’s only absurd if we take the word “imitation” in the ordinary sense. The people who make imitation vanilla extract are trying to create a product so close to the original that you can’t tell the difference. They’re trying to fool the taste buds. That’s not what the writer of Ephesians is telling us to do with respect to God — to take on a deceptive veneer of holiness. We aren’t meant to be little imitation gods; the apostle has something different in mind. The key that unlocks this problem with Ephesians 5:1 is the second half of the verse: “Be imitators of God, as beloved children.” You don’t have to be around children very long to know they love to imitate the adult world. That’s what play is all about. Over and over, children at play rehearse their perceptions of grown-up life. Children’s drive to play, to imitate, is very strong. Child psychologists attest that if children are not allowed to play — if they’re drilled too hard on how to read or count or play a musical instrument before they’re ready — they won’t grow up well adjusted. Imitation, in other words, is inevitable in human development. Imitation is also a great joy. Kids play because it’s fun. The games of imagination can keep them busy for hours. Imitation is also personal. The people children imitate most often are the ones they love. That’s the key to it all: that personal relationship. Kids don’t imitate just anyone. They imitate their personal role models, mentors they’ve come to know and love. At the top of that list are often their parents, but following close behind are teachers, pastors, coaches, scout leaders — any upstanding adult they’ve come to know on a firsthand basis. When Paul writes to the Philippians, saying, “Join in imitating me,” he’s not writing to strangers. He’s writing to dear friends, to people he’s come to know on previous visits to that Greek city-state. These are people with whom he’s lived, worked, enjoyed meals, shared joys and sorrows. Yes, imitation is personal. It’s very much as Martin Luther said, in an oft-quoted remark: “Those who merely study the commandments of God are not greatly moved. But those who listen to God commanding, how can they fail to be terrified by majesty so great?” Imitating Paul Just like learning to play a sport or drive a car, the path to Christian discipleship is built upon imitation. That’s why Paul’s not transgressing any boundaries of sinful pride when he advises the Philippians to imitate him. His advice is eminently practical: “Do what I do, and you’ll get it right.” How many of us have heard parents say to us something like, “Do as I say, not as I do”? It’s always a sad thing when a parent or some other authority-figure says such a thing to a young person. It’s a testimony to personal failure, of bondage to some addicting habit. Some of us can perhaps remember a parent standing there, cigarette in hand, saying, “Whatever you do, don’t take up smoking.” Or, how many of us have listened to a parent curse a blue streak — then, when we went out in our naiveté and uttered one of those very same words, we were called on the carpet for it? Doesn’t make such a good impression, does it? It would have made perfect sense for Paul to have done something like that, based on his personal history. You remember how it was with him: how he held the coats for the mob that stoned Stephen to death, how he went out and became the terror of Galilee and Judea and points beyond hunting down Christians and subjecting them to the most dreadful persecutions — in some cases, even death. Wouldn’t it have made sense for Paul to take such a line with those to whom he’s writing? “You know me,” he could have written. “You know who I used to be. Don’t be like me. Whatever you do, don’t follow my example. Just do what I say.” Yet, Paul says nothing of the sort. Paul, the former persecutor of Christians — the former terrorist, we might say today — is bold enough to bear witness to the fact that, by the grace of God in Jesus Christ, he’s become a transformed person, a new creation. “Join in imitating me,” he says. “Yes, me. I, who once perpetrated all manner of cruelties, but who has since become transformed by a love greater than I could ever understand, back in the bad old days. With me, the old is finished and done. Everything has become fresh and new. You can have this new life, yourself, if you but follow me. Follow me all the way to Jesus Christ, who is the fountainhead of grace.” The personal relationship In many ways, Paul’s words still sound strange today. Our world is scarcely comfortable with a God who knows and loves people personally. So, the world paints God as a stern lawgiver, an oppressive judge — or, some skeptics would even say, an absentminded professor who goes through the trouble of creating the universe, only to go off and leave it bubbling in the test tubes. In the end, what matters is not the accuracy of our imitation but our devotion as we go about it. What matters is the personal relationship that allows us to be imitators not only of our beloved teachers of the faith, but also of Jesus Christ, that one who serves as mediator between us and God. How could any of us ever expect to imitate God (despite what we read in Ephesians 5:1)? Yet, there’s something we can do. We can aspire to imitate, even in some small way, saints of the Lord who reveal the beauty of the spiritual life in all their frailty and faith — and who then go on to point our way to the Lord and Master they adore, Jesus Christ. The deeper we get to know him, and imitate him, the more we come to learn of the ineffable, unapproachable, most holy God. Imitation: It’s so much more than the sincerest form of flattery. It’s also the simplest and sincerest form of faith. |
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