A Labor Not In Vain
Sermon
Sermons On The Second Readings
Series I, Cycle C
According to the book of Acts, when Saul set out toward Damascus with his satchel of arrest warrants, he was a man on a mission. Both would change by the time he got there. Somewhere on that dusty stretch of road north of Jerusalem, he encountered the risen Christ and ended up experiencing a resurrection of his own. It was such a radical conversion that when he later reported it to the Corinthians, he described the entire event in the third person -- as if it had actually happened to somebody else. And in a sense, it did. One person died that day and another was born. Saul the Pharisee became Paul the Apostle.
He was never the same afterwards, and of course neither was Christianity. Apart from Jesus, no one had a more profound influence upon the early church than did Paul. He moved back and forth across the Mediterranean world, planting congregations like a farmer scattering seeds. Even imprisonment didn't slow him down. If he had a moment to spare, he would write a letter. He seemed obsessed with keeping in touch with the churches. Only for him it was more a matter of keeping them in touch with Christ. The postage alone must have cost Paul a small fortune. But as it turns out, that was the least of his concerns.
"Five times I have received at the hands of the Jews the forty lashes minus one," he declared. "Three times I was beaten with rods. Once I received a stoning. Three times I was shipwrecked; for a night and a day I was adrift at sea; on frequent journeys, in dangers from rivers ... bandits ... my own people ... Gentiles ... false brothers and sisters" (2 Corinthians 11:24-26).
In other words, Paul didn't just run into trouble, he galloped into it. Everywhere he went there was controversy, and more often than not, he was at the center of it. He argued almost as much with his friends as he did with his enemies. He pushed. He prodded. He pondered. He praised. He preached. Anything to get his point across. However, even among those churches he had helped to establish, the reviews were usually mixed. Paul was revered by some and ridiculed by others.
To be sure, there were times when the pressure of it all got the better of him, and he became so discouraged that he could barely think straight. "I do not understand my own actions," he confessed to the Romans. "For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate ... I can will what is right, but I cannot do it ... Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?" Paul probably paused at that point; his hand shaking so badly he was unable to continue. He felt the awful weight of that question. In weaker moments, it was the one thing that had always tormented him. How can I be saved? Who will deliver me? And when the answer finally came to Paul, it may well have knocked him to the ground as forcefully as it had back on that dusty road years earlier. "Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!" he concluded (Romans 7:15-25).
You can say what you want about Paul, but you have to give him this: He possessed a confidence that even his harshest critics must have secretly admired. He was certain of how salvation worked, and it had nothing to do with how long or hard any of us worked. The way Paul saw it, there was no criterion we had to meet, precisely because there was no criterion we ever could. It was a gift, more or less -- which meant that, whatever we did, God wouldn't love us any more or any less.
Paul knew that! Indeed, stating so became one of his favorite expressions. Browse through the epistles sometime and take note of how often he used the phrase "I know." Not "I think." Not "I hope." Not "I have a hunch." Paul never hedged his bet with words like "maybe" or "perhaps." Nor had he been crisscrossing the continent, risking life and limb, just to venture his humble opinion or an educated guess. He was persuaded. He was convinced.
Once when he was in jail awaiting trial, he shared with his friends in Philippi that there was no telling how this would all turn out. To be honest, he wasn't even sure how he wanted it to turn out. As far as he was concerned, whether he lived or died, the end result was basically the same -- either way he would be with Christ. "But to remain in the flesh is more necessary for you," he wrote. "Since I am convinced of this, I know that I will remain and continue with all of you for your progress and joy in faith" (Philippians 1:24-25, emphasis added).
On another occasion he attended a potluck supper at one of the churches. Everybody brought a dish from home, and as Paul stood in the buffet line he saw that some of the food had been blessed at the local pagan shrine. So he simply had an extra helping of the kosher casserole, lest anyone be offended by what he ate. In reality, though, he recognized that there wasn't anything wrong with the food. "I know and am persuaded," he explained, "that nothing in the Lord Jesus is unclean in itself" (Romans 14:14, emphasis added).
Even when confronted with the likelihood of his own execution, and the stench of death loomed so close it stuck in his throat, Paul remained certain of God's grace. Will anything come between us and Christ's love? "NO!" he wrote emphatically, bearing down so hard the tip of his pencil snapped. "For I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 8:38-39).
Over and over again, Paul displayed this unshakable confidence. However, for some reason, at the close of this scripture passage, he suddenly decides to switch pronouns. He doesn't say, "I know," he says, "You know." After discussing the promise of the resurrection and of how we shall all be clothed with immortality, Paul encourages the Corinthians to be "steadfast, immovable, always excelling ... because you know that in the Lord your labor is not in vain" (v. 58, emphasis added).
That's a rather remarkable claim, when you stop and think about it. After all, how can Paul be so sure that we know our labors are not in vain? Even the writer of Ecclesiastes apparently had his doubts as to whether there was much of a point to any of our busyness. His skeptical take on life was that our frantic pace and hectic schedules accomplished little more than chasing after the wind -- which, at times, seems like a fairly apt description.
For example, consider a typical workday. You are jolted awake by the alarm and quickly get the children fed, dressed, and on the school bus. Then you get ready yourself and fight the traffic all the way to the office, where you dance between appointments and deal with a steady barrage of e-mails and conference calls. The same traffic is fought all the way home (only now you're sharing the ride with a stack of assignments that was dropped on your desk at the last minute). You have a hurried dinner with the family, help the kids with their homework, and trot them through the evening routine of bath, books, and bed. You finish up your own work, catch a few stories on the news, and call it a night ... so that tomorrow morning you can be jolted awake and do it all over again!
It's no wonder we occasionally ask ourselves, Am I really getting anywhere? Because despite our best efforts to stay on top of everything, it can often feel as if we're climbing stairs of sand. We finally get the car paid off and the transmission goes out. We send the youngest child to college and the oldest one can't find a job and needs to move back home. We take account of our lives and it winds up looking like a handful of loose change. A little is spent here, a little there. But in the greater scheme of things, does what we're doing actually amount to very much?
Paul seems to think so. Moreover, he is convinced that we should be certain of it too. "Keep up the good work and hold firm to the faith," he tells the Corinthians, "because you know that in the Lord your labor is not in vain." And maybe that tiny phrase "in the Lord" is the key to what he's getting at here. Paul is not suggesting that our individual labors will always prove fruitful and productive. He knew better than most that that wasn't the case. As a Pharisee, he had worked harder than anybody, only to find out that he was trying to earn an invitation to a party which didn't even require an RSVP -- it was "Come As You Are."
The reason our labors are not in vain is because the risen Christ continues to work through us. It's not a matter of how well we perform; it's how much we will one day be transformed. "Listen, I will tell you a mystery," writes Paul. "We will not all die, but we will all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet" (vv. 51-52a). Nor is this to be some disembodied life, where we all get mixed together into an ephemeral cloud of cosmic energy. The same qualities and characteristics that made us unique individuals here on earth remain intact. Only now we will be wearing a marvelous new version of corporeality -- not of flesh and blood any longer but of spirit -- imperishable and immortal.
You see, the way Paul figured it, if death did not mark the end of our Lord's work, then it won't be the end of ours either. Indeed, because we have the promise of another life, we can begin to live this one without all of the encumbrances that tend to weigh us down: things like fear and insecurity, guilt and greed, worry and regret. We now have the freedom to open our arms instead of clinching our fists, to start mending fences instead of slamming doors, to risk something great for something even greater. Simply put, we can be confident that our work here is not in vain, because in Jesus Christ, we know that life has a destination, and not just an end.
Picture it this way. Suppose you were on a cruise, and one afternoon the captain got on the intercom and announced: "Ladies and gentleman, I hope this won't panic anybody. We have plenty of food, plenty of entertainment, and plenty of activities to keep all of you occupied and content. However, we've decided not to head for a port. Instead, we are going to cruise around the ocean until we run out of fuel, and then drift idly along until we sink. Have a pleasant trip."
If you were on such a ship, what would be your reaction? Would you just sit back in your lounge chair and soak up the sunshine? I don't think so. You and I, as well as every other passenger, would be heading for the life rafts and paddling for shore. Not because the cruise wasn't still enjoyable, but because if there is no destination, it's meaningless. And the same is true of life. Enjoyment is not enough. If the only future we can expect is that tomorrow will be a duplicate of today, and the day before that, then our work here really is in vain. In effect, we are merely killing time until time kills us -- like an endless game of cards where we're never dealt a new hand.
However, in Jesus Christ, that's precisely what we're given. "For this perishable body must put on imperishability," announces Paul, "and this mortal body must put on immortality. When this perishable body puts on imperishability, and this mortal body puts on immortality, then the saying that is written will be fulfilled: 'Death has been swallowed up in victory' " (vv. 53-54). It is the farthest and deepest his eyes had ever seen into the future, and even though no one knows for sure when the last trumpet will sound, Paul is confident that we will be there to answer the call. In the meantime, of course, there is much work to be done. Yet because of the risen Christ, we now have the assurance that our labors are not in vain.
He was never the same afterwards, and of course neither was Christianity. Apart from Jesus, no one had a more profound influence upon the early church than did Paul. He moved back and forth across the Mediterranean world, planting congregations like a farmer scattering seeds. Even imprisonment didn't slow him down. If he had a moment to spare, he would write a letter. He seemed obsessed with keeping in touch with the churches. Only for him it was more a matter of keeping them in touch with Christ. The postage alone must have cost Paul a small fortune. But as it turns out, that was the least of his concerns.
"Five times I have received at the hands of the Jews the forty lashes minus one," he declared. "Three times I was beaten with rods. Once I received a stoning. Three times I was shipwrecked; for a night and a day I was adrift at sea; on frequent journeys, in dangers from rivers ... bandits ... my own people ... Gentiles ... false brothers and sisters" (2 Corinthians 11:24-26).
In other words, Paul didn't just run into trouble, he galloped into it. Everywhere he went there was controversy, and more often than not, he was at the center of it. He argued almost as much with his friends as he did with his enemies. He pushed. He prodded. He pondered. He praised. He preached. Anything to get his point across. However, even among those churches he had helped to establish, the reviews were usually mixed. Paul was revered by some and ridiculed by others.
To be sure, there were times when the pressure of it all got the better of him, and he became so discouraged that he could barely think straight. "I do not understand my own actions," he confessed to the Romans. "For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate ... I can will what is right, but I cannot do it ... Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?" Paul probably paused at that point; his hand shaking so badly he was unable to continue. He felt the awful weight of that question. In weaker moments, it was the one thing that had always tormented him. How can I be saved? Who will deliver me? And when the answer finally came to Paul, it may well have knocked him to the ground as forcefully as it had back on that dusty road years earlier. "Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!" he concluded (Romans 7:15-25).
You can say what you want about Paul, but you have to give him this: He possessed a confidence that even his harshest critics must have secretly admired. He was certain of how salvation worked, and it had nothing to do with how long or hard any of us worked. The way Paul saw it, there was no criterion we had to meet, precisely because there was no criterion we ever could. It was a gift, more or less -- which meant that, whatever we did, God wouldn't love us any more or any less.
Paul knew that! Indeed, stating so became one of his favorite expressions. Browse through the epistles sometime and take note of how often he used the phrase "I know." Not "I think." Not "I hope." Not "I have a hunch." Paul never hedged his bet with words like "maybe" or "perhaps." Nor had he been crisscrossing the continent, risking life and limb, just to venture his humble opinion or an educated guess. He was persuaded. He was convinced.
Once when he was in jail awaiting trial, he shared with his friends in Philippi that there was no telling how this would all turn out. To be honest, he wasn't even sure how he wanted it to turn out. As far as he was concerned, whether he lived or died, the end result was basically the same -- either way he would be with Christ. "But to remain in the flesh is more necessary for you," he wrote. "Since I am convinced of this, I know that I will remain and continue with all of you for your progress and joy in faith" (Philippians 1:24-25, emphasis added).
On another occasion he attended a potluck supper at one of the churches. Everybody brought a dish from home, and as Paul stood in the buffet line he saw that some of the food had been blessed at the local pagan shrine. So he simply had an extra helping of the kosher casserole, lest anyone be offended by what he ate. In reality, though, he recognized that there wasn't anything wrong with the food. "I know and am persuaded," he explained, "that nothing in the Lord Jesus is unclean in itself" (Romans 14:14, emphasis added).
Even when confronted with the likelihood of his own execution, and the stench of death loomed so close it stuck in his throat, Paul remained certain of God's grace. Will anything come between us and Christ's love? "NO!" he wrote emphatically, bearing down so hard the tip of his pencil snapped. "For I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 8:38-39).
Over and over again, Paul displayed this unshakable confidence. However, for some reason, at the close of this scripture passage, he suddenly decides to switch pronouns. He doesn't say, "I know," he says, "You know." After discussing the promise of the resurrection and of how we shall all be clothed with immortality, Paul encourages the Corinthians to be "steadfast, immovable, always excelling ... because you know that in the Lord your labor is not in vain" (v. 58, emphasis added).
That's a rather remarkable claim, when you stop and think about it. After all, how can Paul be so sure that we know our labors are not in vain? Even the writer of Ecclesiastes apparently had his doubts as to whether there was much of a point to any of our busyness. His skeptical take on life was that our frantic pace and hectic schedules accomplished little more than chasing after the wind -- which, at times, seems like a fairly apt description.
For example, consider a typical workday. You are jolted awake by the alarm and quickly get the children fed, dressed, and on the school bus. Then you get ready yourself and fight the traffic all the way to the office, where you dance between appointments and deal with a steady barrage of e-mails and conference calls. The same traffic is fought all the way home (only now you're sharing the ride with a stack of assignments that was dropped on your desk at the last minute). You have a hurried dinner with the family, help the kids with their homework, and trot them through the evening routine of bath, books, and bed. You finish up your own work, catch a few stories on the news, and call it a night ... so that tomorrow morning you can be jolted awake and do it all over again!
It's no wonder we occasionally ask ourselves, Am I really getting anywhere? Because despite our best efforts to stay on top of everything, it can often feel as if we're climbing stairs of sand. We finally get the car paid off and the transmission goes out. We send the youngest child to college and the oldest one can't find a job and needs to move back home. We take account of our lives and it winds up looking like a handful of loose change. A little is spent here, a little there. But in the greater scheme of things, does what we're doing actually amount to very much?
Paul seems to think so. Moreover, he is convinced that we should be certain of it too. "Keep up the good work and hold firm to the faith," he tells the Corinthians, "because you know that in the Lord your labor is not in vain." And maybe that tiny phrase "in the Lord" is the key to what he's getting at here. Paul is not suggesting that our individual labors will always prove fruitful and productive. He knew better than most that that wasn't the case. As a Pharisee, he had worked harder than anybody, only to find out that he was trying to earn an invitation to a party which didn't even require an RSVP -- it was "Come As You Are."
The reason our labors are not in vain is because the risen Christ continues to work through us. It's not a matter of how well we perform; it's how much we will one day be transformed. "Listen, I will tell you a mystery," writes Paul. "We will not all die, but we will all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet" (vv. 51-52a). Nor is this to be some disembodied life, where we all get mixed together into an ephemeral cloud of cosmic energy. The same qualities and characteristics that made us unique individuals here on earth remain intact. Only now we will be wearing a marvelous new version of corporeality -- not of flesh and blood any longer but of spirit -- imperishable and immortal.
You see, the way Paul figured it, if death did not mark the end of our Lord's work, then it won't be the end of ours either. Indeed, because we have the promise of another life, we can begin to live this one without all of the encumbrances that tend to weigh us down: things like fear and insecurity, guilt and greed, worry and regret. We now have the freedom to open our arms instead of clinching our fists, to start mending fences instead of slamming doors, to risk something great for something even greater. Simply put, we can be confident that our work here is not in vain, because in Jesus Christ, we know that life has a destination, and not just an end.
Picture it this way. Suppose you were on a cruise, and one afternoon the captain got on the intercom and announced: "Ladies and gentleman, I hope this won't panic anybody. We have plenty of food, plenty of entertainment, and plenty of activities to keep all of you occupied and content. However, we've decided not to head for a port. Instead, we are going to cruise around the ocean until we run out of fuel, and then drift idly along until we sink. Have a pleasant trip."
If you were on such a ship, what would be your reaction? Would you just sit back in your lounge chair and soak up the sunshine? I don't think so. You and I, as well as every other passenger, would be heading for the life rafts and paddling for shore. Not because the cruise wasn't still enjoyable, but because if there is no destination, it's meaningless. And the same is true of life. Enjoyment is not enough. If the only future we can expect is that tomorrow will be a duplicate of today, and the day before that, then our work here really is in vain. In effect, we are merely killing time until time kills us -- like an endless game of cards where we're never dealt a new hand.
However, in Jesus Christ, that's precisely what we're given. "For this perishable body must put on imperishability," announces Paul, "and this mortal body must put on immortality. When this perishable body puts on imperishability, and this mortal body puts on immortality, then the saying that is written will be fulfilled: 'Death has been swallowed up in victory' " (vv. 53-54). It is the farthest and deepest his eyes had ever seen into the future, and even though no one knows for sure when the last trumpet will sound, Paul is confident that we will be there to answer the call. In the meantime, of course, there is much work to be done. Yet because of the risen Christ, we now have the assurance that our labors are not in vain.
