4. Emulate Worthy Christian Leaders

4. Emulate Worthy Christian Leaders

4

Emulate Worthy Christian Leaders

Philippians 2:19–3:21

When I was an undergraduate at McGill University thirty years ago, studying chemistry and mathematics, another Christian student and I began an evangelistic Bible study in the men’s dorm where we were living. We were both a little nervous and didn’t want to be outnumbered, so we invited only three unbelievers, expecting that not more than one or two would show up. It was rather distressing when all three put in an appearance. I had never done anything like this before. Within a few weeks, sixteen students squeezed into my little dorm room, and still only two of us were believers. Doubtless some Christian observers thought it was going exceedingly well; as for me, I was exceedingly frightened. The Bible study engendered all kinds of private discussions, and I soon discovered that I was out of my depth.

Mercifully, there was a chap on campus called Dave, a rather brusque graduate student who was known to be wonderfully effective in talking to students about his faith and about elementary biblical Christianity. I was not the only one who on occasion brought friends and contacts for a little chat with Dave.

On the particular occasion I have in mind, I brought two of the undergraduates from the Bible study down the mountain to Dave’s rooms. He was pressed for time and, as usual, a bit abrupt, but he offered us coffee and promptly turned to the first student.

“Why have you come to see me?” he asked.

The student replied along these lines: “Well, you know, I’ve been going to this Bible study and I realize I should probably learn a bit more about Christianity. I’d also like to learn something of Buddhism, Islam, and other world religions. I’m sure I should broaden my perspectives, and this period while I am a university student seems like a good time to explore religion a little. If you can help me with some of it, I’d be grateful.”

Dave stared at him for a few seconds and then said, “I’m sorry, I don’t have time for you.”

My jaw dropped. The student thus addressed was equally nonplussed and blurted out, “I beg your pardon?”

Dave replied, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but I only have so much time. I’m a graduate student with a heavy program myself. If you have a dilettante’s interest in Christianity, I’m sure there are people around who could spend a lot of time and energy showing you the ropes. I can introduce you to some of them and give you some books. When you’re really interested in Christ, come and see me again. But under the present circumstances, I don’t have time.”

He turned to the second student. “Why did you come?”

After listening to the rebuff administered to the first student, the second may have been a bit cowed. But gamely he plowed on. “I come from what you people would call a liberal home. We don’t believe the way you do. But it’s a good home, a happy home. My parents loved their children; disciplined us; set a good example; and encouraged us to be courteous, honorable, and hardworking. And for the life of me I can’t see that you people who think of yourselves as Christians are any better. Apart from a whole lot of abstract theology, what have you got that I haven’t?”

This time I held my breath to see what Dave would say. Once again he stared at his interlocutor for a few seconds, and then he simply said, “Watch me.”

I suppose my mouth dropped open again. The student, whose name was Rick, said something like, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Dave answered, “Watch me. Come and live with me for a month, if you like. Be my guest. Watch what I do when I get up, what I do when I’m on my own, how I work, how I use my time, how I talk with people, and what my values are. Come with me wherever I go. And at the end of the month, you tell me if there is any difference.”

Rick did not take Dave up on his invitation, at least not in exactly those terms. But he did get to know Dave better; and in due course Rick became a Christian, married a Christian woman, and the two of them—becoming medical doctors—practiced medicine and lived out their faith both in Canada and overseas.

“Watch me.” At the time I worried about the sheer arrogance that such an invitation seemed to capture. At the same time, my mind recalled the words of the apostle Paul: “Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ” (1 Cor. 11: 1).[1] Sober observation and reflection assure us that much Christian character is as much caught as taught—that is, it is picked up by constant association with mature Christians.

The general importance of learning by a kind of existential mimicry is well established at every level. Why do Canadian children grow up speaking with Canadian accents? Why is it that if you are reared in Yorkshire you sound like a Yorkshire man and if you grow up in Dallas you sound like a Texan? We all know the answer: people grow up imitating those around them. For exactly the same reason, parents are concerned that their children have the right kind of friends; they know that children copy children. If all their friends are violent or vulgar or uncouth, the odds are much greater that their own children will be violent or vulgar or uncouth. This is no less true in the teen years. At that point, the unconscious habit of copying Mommy and Daddy weakens. And yet, thinking themselves wonderfully independent, all these teenagers become terribly eager to copy their peers. But they are still imitating someone.

Even television operates in this way. It provides a kind of vicarious friendship. In some ways, it might be judged better than a friend: it never talks back—or if, with the advent of interactive television, it does talk back, you can always switch it off. But if you watch thousands of violent deaths before the age of eighteen, it is bound to affect your personality. If you watch sexual promiscuity day in and day out, then—even if at one level you conclude that promiscuity is immoral—in fact your tolerance level has been subtly altered; you are no longer shocked. For many people, television provides a sort of moral “bottom line”: they have no other dominating reference point. Multiply such influence by the millions of people who watch, and the effect in society is inevitable: massive moral decline. That is why some wise parents, if they have a TV at all, limit how much they and their children watch. And when they permit their children to watch, they insist that one parent or the other be present, not least so that the content can be talked about and evaluated afterward.

But mimicry is not restricted to the secular arena. It is no less important in our Christian pilgrimage. How did you learn to pray? If you were reared in a Christian home, doubtless you learned to pray by hearing your parents pray. Perhaps, too, they taught you some very simple prayers to be prayed at bedtime: “Now I lay me down to sleep” or “Gentle Jesus, meek and mild.” If you spring from a Christian home where the King James Version introduced you to archaic English, your first public prayer (perhaps when you were six or eight years old) probably sounded like this: “We thank Thee, blessed God, that in Thy mercy Thou hast vouchsafed to us Thy grace through the merits of Thy Son and our Savior, Jesus Christ.” But if you were not converted until your third year at university, in an InterVarsity or Navigators or Campus Crusade group, and you spring from a home that never brought you to church at all, your first public prayer probably sounded something like this: “We just wanna thank you, Jesus, for being here.” In both cases you learned to pray by listening to others.

Modeling, modeling; it takes place all the time, whether we take it into account or not. This is true even of adults. Of course, adults have a wider range of patterns to choose from than children do, but the modeling goes on. That is why advertising works. Companies spend billions of dollars every year selling toothpaste or cars or stereo systems visually linked to some beautiful blond or some amazing hunk. They wouldn’t do this if they didn’t think it worked. We may not be so naive as to think, “If only I used that toothpaste, I would look like that too!” Yet at some deep level, advertisements must affect us, or companies wouldn’t pay their billions to produce them.

Some of our habits of imitation are frankly amusing. When I was still a young preacher and still single, my mother—who was my best critic until my wife came along—asked me one day after a sermon, where I had picked up my grotesque leer. I assured her I did not have a clue what she was talking about. She told me that sometimes in full flow I would pause, lean over the pulpit, drop my bottom lip, and leer. Once I thought about it, I realized where I had picked up the habit. Another minister, who had befriended me, taken me aside weekly, and taught me the rudiments of intercessory prayer, had the same habit. I revered that man, and on him the facial contortion looked, in my eyes at least, thoughtful and reflective. Probably he was entirely unaware of his mannerism. But sure enough, I had picked it up, and on me it came across as though I were leering at the congregation.

How then shall new Christians learn to talk Christianly, think Christianly, evaluate society Christianly, live in families Christianly, learn to witness, learn to give, and learn to develop godly habits of life? Of course, much is said on all these topics in Scripture; many believers will find their lives shaped simply by reading and rereading Scripture. Nor would I want to minimize the powerful, inner work of the Holy Spirit. But the Spirit most commonly uses means, and those means include the modeling that more experienced Christians offer.

Perhaps I should pause and comment on one element of this challenge, an element that affects what I do every week. There was a time when the majority of those who came to our seminaries and theological colleges to offer themselves for the ministry sprang from Christian homes. Many of them were themselves children of the manse or of the mission field. Today this is decreasingly the case. Our students come from all sorts of colorful backgrounds. Many were converted only in their twenties, most were never enculturated in a particular ecclesiastical heritage, some come from broken homes, and not a few of them once took drugs. How on earth can we expect to prepare them for pastoral ministry, if we restrict ourselves to whatever we can put into their lives in the classroom? Oh, they are genuinely Christians all right—but many of them are carrying so much emotional baggage, and they are so inexperienced in mature ecclesiastical cultures, that three years in a seminary classroom will not resolve all the issues. Seminaries and theological colleges can do some things extremely well, but they must not be seen as pastors’ finishing schools. A great deal of the polish must be administered within the context of the local church. In that context, pastoral apprentices learn much more about how to live, minister, preach, interact graciously with obstreperous people, bear one another’s burdens, pray fervently, weep with those who weep and laugh with those who laugh—by observing how mature Christians excel in all these areas.

So the question is not whether we shall learn from others by conscious and unconscious mimicry, but what we shall learn and from whom we shall learn it. That question is massively addressed in the passage before us. It is implicit throughout the passage, and it becomes explicit at discrete points—for example: “Join with others in following my example, brothers, and take note of those who live according to the pattern we gave you” (3:17). A verse like this is not narrowly doctrinal; it is existential, it concerns how you live. Similarly, part of the reason why Paul describes Timothy and Epaphroditus at the end of chapter 2, and is so self-revealing about his own motives and habits in chapter 3, is that he is concerned to establish and reinforce good models. He is not stooping to cheap flattery of his colleagues, nor is he indulging in self-congratulation. His aim is to provide clear Christian examples that younger and less-experienced Christians ought to emulate. For if they do not have such models, or if they are not encouraged to follow them, they are likely to follow poor or misleading or even dangerous examples.

So whom should we follow? Which Christians should be our models?

Emulate Those Who Are Interested in the Well-Being of Others, Not in Their Own (2:19–21)

Paul’s opening words regarding Timothy constitute a wonderful accolade: “I hope in the Lord Jesus to send Timothy to you soon, that I also may be cheered when I receive news about you. I have no one else like him, who takes a genuine interest in your welfare” (2:19–20). One of the reasons Paul is sending Timothy is that when Timothy returns, Paul will find out how the Philippians are doing (2:19). But the other reason is that Timothy himself reflects Paul’s attitude exactly: he “takes a genuine interest in your welfare” (2:20). When Paul says, “I have no one else like him,” he probably does not mean that he knows no other Christians anywhere who exhibit the same kind of maturity. Rather, he means that of the helpers he has with him at the moment, Timothy is outstanding. None of the others can touch him in this particular: the transparent interest Timothy takes in the well-being of others.

There are many different styles of leadership. Some leaders live to be admired, to be praised. Without ever being so crass as to say so, they give the impression that the church exists and flourishes primarily because of their gifts, and the least the church can do in return is offer constant adulation. But that is not Timothy’s attitude. He lives for them; he is genuinely interested in their well-being.

Of course, in the light of the letter so far, this is nothing other than a sign that Timothy follows not only Paul but Jesus. Although Christ Jesus enjoyed equality with God, he did not think of such equality as something to be exploited, but adopted the form of a servant. He became a human being, a man, and then obediently went to his odious death on the cross. Those who follow Jesus Christ inevitably learn to cast self-interest and self-comfort and self-focus to one side. Paul knows that as a general rule “everyone looks out for his own interests, not those of Jesus Christ” (2:21). But Timothy has escaped that narrow snare.

So whom will you follow? What contemporary Christians will serve you well as good models? Emulate those who are interested in the well-being of others, not in their own. Be on the alert for Christians who really do exemplify this basic Christian attitude, this habit of helpfulness. They are never the sort who strut their way into leadership with inflated estimates of their own importance. They are the kind who cheerfully pick up after other people. They are not offended if no one asks about them; they are too busy asking about others. They are the kind who are constantly seeking to do good spiritually, to do good materially, to do good emotionally. They are committed to the well-being of others. Watch them. Watch how they act, how they talk, how they react. Talk with them; learn their heartbeat. Imitate them. Emulate those who are interested in the well-being of others, not in their own.

Emulate Those Who Have Proved Themselves in Hardship, Not the Untested Upstart and the Self-Promoting Peacock (2:22–30)

Paul reminds the Philippians that they “know that Timothy has proved himself, because as a son with his father he has served with me in the work of the gospel” (2:22). The analogy is a lovely one. In the ancient world, before the industrial revolution, most sons ended up doing vocationally what their fathers did. If your father was a farmer, the chances were very high that you would become a farmer; if your father was a baker, most likely you would become a baker. And your primary apprenticeship was to your father; it was your Dad who taught you the tricks of the trade, who gradually taught you all he knew, and, step by step, increased your load of knowledgeable responsibility.

The image is less forceful for us today, not only because most of our children will not follow the vocational path we have followed but because most of our children do not really see us at work. In the ancient world, children observed their parents working and learned the trade by working alongside them. But my children do not accompany me to the seminary where I teach. Only rarely do they accompany me when I go somewhere to preach. They cannot share with me endless hours in the library or in my study. Unless it takes place at the dinner table, they cannot listen in on the counsel I am expected to give to many who come to see me. So even if one of my children were to end up in vocational ministry, not much of their training would be grounded in working beside me. And so it is for most of us today.

But Paul’s analogy is based on the ancient model. Timothy has learned his Christianity and his first steps in Christian ministry from Paul, as a son learns from his father. Timothy was privileged to have Paul as his spiritual father, his mentor. In that context he has been tested; he “has proved himself,” Paul writes. So Paul is entirely at ease about sending him: “I hope, therefore, to send him as soon as I see how things go with me” (2:23). Timothy will serve as a kind of forerunner to Paul, who hopes to come along shortly himself: “And I am confident in the Lord that I myself will come soon” (2:24).

Then there is Epaphroditus (2:25–30). This paragraph of Scripture shows Paul to be a leader characterized by deep empathy and compassion. Wonderfully tender lines are found in verse 29, where Epaphroditus is held up as a man to be honored: “Welcome him in the Lord with great joy, and honor men like him. . . .”

The circumstances are relatively clear. The opening words suggest that Epaphroditus was himself from Philippi: “I think it is necessary to send back to you Epaphroditus, my brother. . . .” Epaphroditus had been the messenger of the Philippians to Paul, a messenger “sent to take care of my needs” (2:25), Paul writes. Epaphroditus had borne their financial gift to the apostle (4:10, 14–18). He had probably also supported Paul by his own hard work once he was on site. But now Paul wants to send him back to Philippi. That is what Epaphroditus wants, too, and Paul recognizes the fact: “For he longs for all of you and is distressed because you heard he was ill” (2:26). That is a remarkable assessment. Epaphroditus was not distressed because he was ill, but because he knew that by now his Philippian brothers and sisters in Christ had heard he was ill. Epaphroditus was distressed because he feared his fellow believers would be distressed on his account.

However much Paul applauds the attitude of Epaphroditus, he will not let him get away with downplaying the seriousness of the illness. The apostle carefully lays out the gravity of the trauma through which the Philippian emissary has passed: “Indeed he was ill, and almost died” (2:27). If he survived, it was a singular mercy from God, a mercy not only to Epaphroditus but also to Paul, who was thus spared a profound sorrow (2:27). Paul can scarcely imagine what he would have done if Epaphroditus had been taken from him. “Therefore I am all the more eager to send him, so that when you see him again you may be glad and I may have less anxiety” (2:28)—that is, my mind will be relieved if he reaches home safely and you enjoy a happy reunion.

Those, in brief, are the circumstances that lie behind this paragraph. But note how Paul casts the matter. He refers to Epaphroditus in the most collegial manner (“my brother, fellow worker and fellow soldier,” 2:25) and then concludes with an exhortation to the Philippians to hold up such leaders as Christians to be honored and emulated. “Welcome him in the Lord with great joy,” Paul writes, “and honor men like him, because he almost died for the work of Christ, risking his life to make up for the help you could not give me” (2:29–30).

In short, emulate those who have proved themselves in hardship, not the untested upstart and the self-preening peacock.

One should also ponder Paul’s choice of one particular word in this paragraph. Epaphroditus, Paul says, risked his life “to make up for the help you could not give me.” The word here rendered “help” is a strange one in this context. It is a word that might more commonly be rendered “religious service” or the like, a word that would be used in discussing worship. But what might Paul mean when he says that Epaphroditus risked his life to make up for the “religious service” that the Philippians themselves could not render?

In recent years, the Western church has produced quite a few books and discussions on the nature of Christian worship. Some want worship to become more liturgical; they are usually the people who do not themselves belong to liturgical traditions. Others want worship to become much less liturgical; they are usually the believers who belong to liturgical traditions. The “grass on the other side of the fence” syndrome works in this debate as efficiently as in other debates. For some people, worship means pipe organs; for others, it means guitars and synthesizers. For some, it means sonorous hymns written at least a century or two ago, and preferably longer; for others, it is not truly Spirit-driven and fresh if it includes any musical composition more than twenty years old. When people ask what worship is, charismatics tend to begin with 1 Corinthians 12 and 14, musicians tend to begin with David’s choirs, sacramentalists begin with 1 Corinthians 11 and other references to the Lord’s Supper, and New Testament specialists often begin by trying to identify hymn fragments in the New Testament. For many of us, worship is what you do before the sermon, but it certainly does not include the sermon itself. Thus we carefully distinguish between the “worship leader” and the preacher; the worship leader doesn’t preach, and the preacher doesn’t lead in worship. If you sing a little more after the sermon, you have returned to worship. But few have tried to construct a genuinely biblical theology of worship.

An exception is a recent book by David Peterson,[2] who rightly points out that under the old covenant, worship—along with all the vocabulary associated with it (such as sacrifice, prayer, adoration, praise, service, priest)—is primarily bound up with the Tabernacle and then with the Temple. But when one turns to the new covenant, the worship terminology is not so narrowly constrained. Worship terminology is not restricted to, say, the Lord’s Supper or to the public meetings of the church. What is remarkable about worship terminology under the new covenant is that it characteristically touches all of life. The well-known passage at the beginning of Romans 12 is a case in point: “Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship” (Rom. 12:1). In the New Testament, all genuine believers constitute a royal priesthood. In Romans 15:16, worship is bound up with evangelism. Jesus himself taught that worship is no longer tied to cultic acts performed in one geographical location or another, whether Jerusalem with its temple or the mountains of Gerizim and Ebal in Samaria (John 4). No, the Father seeks those who will worship him in spirit and in truth (John 4:23–24). Here, as elsewhere, worship embraces all of life and every location. Worship is the consistent offering of all of one’s life and time and energy and body and resources to God; it is profound God-centeredness. There is a sense in which true Christians should never not be worshiping.

So, well-instructed Christians must never suggest that they come together to worship, if by this they mean that during the rest of the week they have not been worshiping and now they gather on Sunday morning at 11:00 A.M. primarily to discharge their obligation to worship. For the Christian, worship embraces all of life. “But,” you reply, “does this mean that Christians do not or should not worship when they come together?” That is what some have suggested: Christian corporate meetings are not for worship, but primarily for instruction. But that, too, misses the point. It is not that we are to worship all week and refuse to worship when we come together! Rather, when we gather together, we worship corporately as we have been worshiping individually all week. This corporate worship includes corporate praise, mutual edification, instruction in the Word and Christian truth, and celebration of Christ’s death in the memorial that he left behind for that purpose. Thus the sermon itself is not un-worship; it is part of our corporate worship, both a sign of it and a profound incitement to it.

This is at least part of the structure of New Testament thought about worship. Once this material has been properly absorbed, it may be useful to discuss pipe organs and guitars. But before absorbing what the Bible has to say on the subject of worship, such discussion is likely to be premature.

In the context of these new-covenant emphases on worship, the reason why Paul chooses the particular word that he does when he addresses the Philippians becomes reasonably clear. Epaphroditus “almost died for the work of Christ, risking his life to make up for the [religious service] you could not give me” (2:30). The Philippian believers would very much have wanted to help Paul personally. All such help he viewed as “religious service”—part and parcel of their God-centered living, their God-centered service, their God-centered offering of themselves as a continuous sacrifice to God. Whether their help was money or prayers or moral encouragement or concrete evangelism or some other assistance offered to the apostle, Paul saw it as an element of their service, their worship. And if they were too far away to perform such service personally, then they were happy to send an emissary whose “religious service,” whose “worship,” was at the risk of his very life. There is nothing to suggest that this risk of life and limb was the result of persecution; probably Epaphroditus fell ill because of some very ordinary bug. But on the other hand, he may not have caught the bug if he had remained comfortably at home on the shores of the Aegean. It was his commitment to help Paul and further the gospel that brought him to Rome, a trip that almost cost him his life—and all of this is bound up with “religious service,” worship if you will, that is simultaneously a help to Paul and an offering to God. And very little of what Epaphroditus brought Paul had much to do with Sunday morning at 11:00 A.M.

Such a view of worship is not designed to depreciate what we do corporately on Sunday morning. It is designed, rather, to ensure that all of life is lived in faithful and delighted obedience to the gospel of God, with the result that what we do corporately when we come together on Sunday morning, or any other time, is the overflow of our experience of God and a place to be refreshed in the joy of the Lord as we think through his Word, express our praise and thanksgiving, and deepen our links of love with him and with one another. But the point to recognize is that under the terms of the new covenant, worship is bound up with all of life. We live holistically under the grace of God. Either we are God-centered in all that we do, or we are not. If we are, then God’s words and ways are precious to us, and all of our living is offered in worship; if we are not, we are in rebellion against God, and nothing that we do is true worship.

The reason why this excursus is important to my main point is that mature Christian living is inextricably bound up with this attitude of self-sacrificial service offered up to God, not least in the promotion of the gospel and the good of other believers. Emulate those who have proved themselves in hardship, not the untested upstart and the self-promoting peacock.

I well remember a Christian leader who a number of years ago used to give this advice to younger Christians: “One of the most important things in Christian leadership,” he would solemnly intone, “is never to admit any weaknesses. If you admit weaknesses, others will exploit them to your detriment.” Astonishing! Surely there are many areas in which Christians must acknowledge their weaknesses. Isn’t that Paul’s policy, when in 2 Corinthians 12 he insists he has learned to “boast” of his weaknesses so that Christ’s strength might be made perfect in him?

Indeed, in the same passage, Paul circumscribes what he says about his own spiritual experiences, precisely because he is fearful that people will think too much of him. If he must be assessed, he wants to be judged by what he says and does in the public arena, not by his claim to spiritual experiences no one else can test (2 Cor. 12:5–6). What is remarkable is the way Paul’s stance differs from our own. Many Christians today, even Christian leaders, go through life fearful that people will think too little of them. They quickly become irritable if someone, especially a junior, is praised more than they. But Paul goes through life fearful that people will think too much of him. Follow a leader like that! He has been tested by hardship, and he is not an untested upstart or a self-promoting peacock. Emulate such leaders.

Emulate Those Whose Constant Confidence and Boast Is in Christ Jesus and in Nothing Else (3:1–9)

Paul begins, according to most of our English versions, with the words “Finally, my brothers.” There have been a lot of jokes leveled at preachers because of that “Finally.” One child allegedly asked his dad what the preacher meant when he said “Finally,” and his father muttered in reply, “Nothing.” Some critics, eager to be skeptical about the Bible, argue that this word proves that this letter was not all written at one time by the apostle, but is a pastiche of sources, one of which ended up with this paragraph beginning “Finally.” Some clumsy editor slapped the paragraph into this location, and the result is nonsense.

In fact, our common translations have made things unnecessarily difficult for us. The Greek word used here often served, at this late period of Greek, as a loose connective particle, like our “So then” or the like. What Paul is doing is picking up the theme of rejoicing he introduced in 2:17–18. There he insists that as he is prepared to offer himself as a kind of drink offering, poured out on their self-sacrifice, he is glad and rejoices with all of them, and he wants them to rejoice with him. In the following verses, he has told of two helpers, Timothy and Epaphroditus, who have similarly displayed their willingness to suffer for the sake of others—a stance which, ironically, brings joy. “[So then], my brothers,” Paul now writes, “rejoice in the Lord!” (3:1).

That sounds very much like a transitional comment. In the verses that follow—although Paul will warn against some false teachers in the strongest language—the issues still turn, in part, on this willingness to put aside what the world and self-interest might choose, in order to pursue knowledge of Christ. But from Paul’s perspective, doing this is such a wonderful privilege, that what starts off as self-abnegation turns out to be exactly what the thoughtful Christian wants to do anyway, simply because there is nothing better and finer and more enjoyable than knowing Jesus Christ.

Paul has told the Philippians these things before. That is why he now says, “It is no trouble for me to write the same things to you again, and it is a safeguard for you” (3:1). The “same things” to which Paul refers are probably not things that Paul has already said in this letter, since there is no really close parallel between these next verses and what Paul has already written in this epistle. Paul is probably referring to what he had taught them earlier in person.

A little review in spiritual matters is entirely salutary, so he embarks on this review. “Watch out for those dogs, those men who do evil, those mutilators of the flesh. For it is we who are the circumcision, we who worship by the Spirit of God, who glory in Christ Jesus, and who put no confidence in the flesh . . .” (3:2–3). This is strong language. Almost certainly Paul is referring to a recurring problem in the churches that he founded. There were many devout Jews who were willing to believe that Jesus was the promised Messiah but who thought that Gentiles accepting this Jewish Messiah had to become Jews first. That meant they had to be circumcised and take on responsibility for observing the law of Moses. In other words, these Jews thought of Christianity as Judaism plus a little extra, almost as a sect of Judaism.

Paul does not share their view. He insists that they are misreading the Hebrew Bible, what we call the Old Testament. The old-covenant Scriptures do not establish eternal structures of religious observance that are capped by the coming of Jesus. Rather, they anticipate his coming, they look forward to his coming, they announce his coming, but it is his coming that is the ultimate hope. In this view, although the Temple in the Old Testament had many functions, one of its most important functions was in pointing to him who would be the “temple”—that is, the supreme place of sacrifice and the supreme meeting-place between God and his people (John 2:21). The priesthood of the old covenant looks forward to the one, supreme high priest “after the order of Melchizedek” (Heb. 5 and 7). The sacrifices ultimately anticipate one who would shed his own blood, not the blood of bulls and goats that can never finally take away sin (Heb. 9:11–28). The Passover not only looked back to the blessed night when the angel of death “passed over” the homes of those who put the blood of the Passover lamb on the two doorposts and on the lintel, but it looks forward to Christ our Passover lamb who was sacrificed for us, as Paul himself argued (1 Cor. 5:7).

For many conservative Jews, the sign of entrance into the covenant was circumcision. That is why circumcision was such a crucial issue for them. If Gentiles had to become Jews before they became Christians, then they had to be circumcised before they became Christians. To put it the other way round: when Jews told Gentile Christians that they had to be circumcised before they could be real and proper Christians, they were saying, in effect, that Gentiles could not really enjoy the blessings of the gospel, the blessings of Christ Jesus, until they had undergone the rite of circumcision and solemnly pledged themselves to live under the ancient Jewish law. But Paul’s point is that those who argue in this way do not really understand what the Old Testament Scriptures say about circumcision. Already in the Old Testament, the biblical writers make clear that circumcision of the heart is more important than literal circumcision (Deut. 10:16; 30:6; Jer. 9:25; Ezek. 44:9). Paul agrees, but he goes a step further: under the terms of the new covenant inaugurated by the Lord Jesus, circumcision of the flesh is no longer the sign of entrance into the covenant community. The distinguishing feature of a Christian, of a new-covenant believer, is that he or she has undergone “circumcision of the heart, by the Spirit, not by the written code” (Rom. 2:29).

That is the background to the challenge Paul faced. Very often after he had preached the gospel in some town or city and then moved on to the next needy place, other Jews would dog his path and try to convince his new converts that, if they were to view themselves as Christians at all, they must submit to circumcision and thus indicate their willingness to live in obedience to the law of Moses. Whether such people had arrived in Philippi and were beginning to trouble the church or, alternatively, Paul feared that their arrival was impending and dangerous, he takes the opportunity to warn the Philippian Christians about them and thus to arm them with sound information so that they will be able to withstand the assault.

“Watch out for those dogs, those men who do evil, those mutilators of the flesh” (3:2). Paul’s point is that although many conservative Jews spoke of themselves as “the Circumcision” and of Gentiles as unclean “dogs,” in reality by rejecting Jesus Christ they are themselves the “dogs,” and their vaunted circumcision is nothing more than mutilation, if it claims prerogatives for itself beyond its proper place in redemptive history. In particular, if it relativizes Christ and fails to acknowledge that he is the fulfillment of Old Testament types and models, it is positively “evil.” For in fact “it is we who are the circumcision” (3:3)—not, of course, the circumcision of the flesh, but that of the changed life and heart brought about by the gospel. It is “we who worship by the Spirit of God, who glory in Christ Jesus, and who put no confidence in the flesh . . .” (3:3).

Paul is not saying these things out of barely suppressed jealousy, as if he were frustrated because he himself enjoyed none of the privileges of status, training, and discipline that were a godly part of the heritage of the old covenant. Far from it: Paul himself, if he were so minded, could cheerfully boast about the many grounds of religious “confidence” that he himself enjoyed. “If anyone else thinks he has reasons to put confidence in the flesh, I have more” (3:4), Paul writes, and then he lists what he has in mind, the kinds of things that would fly very well in some conservative Jewish circles in the first century.

For a start, he himself had been “done” on the eighth day of his life: he was circumcised, a full-blooded Jew, covenantally belonging to the people of Israel. Not only so, he sprang from the tribe of Benjamin, one of only two tribes that did not rebel against the Davidic dynasty. Culturally he was “a Hebrew of Hebrews”; though born in Tarsus and thoroughly acquainted with Greco-Roman culture, Paul was steeped in the language and culture of his racial and religious heritage, receiving his educational formation in Jerusalem. So far as the various Jewish “sects” or parties were concerned, and their varied stances on how far the law of Moses was to be observed, Paul was brought up a Pharisee: strict, disciplined, informed, widely respected. Nor was he a Pharisee in name only; he had understood the claims of the fledgling Christian community well enough to realize that they could not be ignored, and he had gone after them with persecuting zeal. In fact, as for the full sweep of righteousness under the law (a better rendering of the Greek than the NIV’S “legalistic righteousness”), Paul was, quite frankly, “faultless” (3:6). By this he does not mean he had attained sinless perfection. Far from it: the law provided the remedies for sin, prescribing certain sacrifices, teaching earnest young Jews to look to the God who was addressed each Day of Atonement by the high priest, who sprinkled the blood of animals in the Most Holy Place to atone both for his own sins and for the sins of the people. Paul carefully followed the entire pattern of religious life. He was utterly exemplary.

“But whatever was to my profit,” Paul writes, “I now consider loss for the sake of Christ” (3:7). Everything in the credit column has been transferred to the debit column; Christ alone stands in the credit column. And then, fearing perhaps that his point has still not been made with sufficient force, Paul resorts to even stronger language. “What is more,” he writes, “I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things” (3:8). And lose them he did. He was written off by his former friends and intellectual peers. He lost the security of a home, becoming a constant traveler with no fixed abode. The kinds of sufferings he endured make for an astonishing list (see 2 Cor. 11:23–29). Yet none of this is uttered by way of complaint. We would be misrepresenting Paul in the worst possible way if we were to conclude that these lines betray an apostle who sometimes indulges in a little pity-party. Regarding the things that were taken away from him, Paul calmly asserts, “I consider them rubbish, 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 is through faith in Christ—the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith” (3:8–9).

Here, then, Paul exposes his fundamental values. On one side stands everything the world has to offer, including the privileged world of learned and disciplined Judaism. On the other side stands Jesus Christ and “the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith.” Paul insists that there is no contest; Jesus and the righteousness from God that Jesus secures are incomparably better.

We should pause a moment to reflect on why Paul would make this judgment. The word “righteousness” could equally be rendered “justification,” and often is. Despite the criticisms voiced by some scholars, in Paul’s letters the word regularly means that God on account of the death of his Son declares certain people “just” or “righteous.” Paul quickly and allusively makes three points about this “justification” or “righteousness”:

Paul does not think that those under the old covenant were not really obligated to abide by its stipulations or that no one in those days could be right before God. Rather, now that Christ Jesus has come in fulfillment of the law, he sees the legal requirements of the law in a new way. He holds that even under the old covenant men and women were saved by God’s grace, appropriated through faith, but that such faith manifested itself, under the old covenant, in terms of obedience to that covenant. Paul is not depreciating obedience. Rather, he is insisting that many Jews, including himself in his pre-Christian days, had come to think of the law in a way that God never intended. Instead of seeing the law as one of the preparations for the righteousness from God that would be secured by the coming and death of the Messiah, the law had increasingly become the basis for being “righteous” before God. That is why some Jews, as we have seen, urged that Gentiles had to commit themselves to keeping the whole law—symbolized by submitting to circumcision—before they could properly become Christians (see on 3:2–3, above). Paul will have none of this; as far as he is concerned, everything else is rubbish in comparison with gaining Christ, with receiving this righteousness from God that is by faith.

Paul understands that justification is God’s work, secured by Christ’s death and appropriated by faith. God looks at me through the death of his Son, and he declares me just. Paul recognizes that in God’s universe, the most important thing is to know God. In a flow of history that inevitably runs toward the judgment—the great judgment in which only God’s verdict matters—to be declared righteous by this Creator God, this Judge, is infinitely more precious than anything else one can imagine. It is infinitely more important than having all the laurels in the world—whether ecclesiastical, academic, societal, financial, or personal. Since that righteousness from God depends absolutely, at this point in redemptive history, on gaining Christ and being found in him (3:8–9), Paul wants it above all things. Everything else is just rubbish.

In the flow of the chapter, then, Paul makes these points, at least in part, to insist that the Philippian believers emulate those whose constant confidence and boast is in Christ Jesus and in nothing else. Most who read these pages, I suspect, will not be greatly tempted to boast about their Jewish ancestry and ancient rights of race and religious heritage. But we may be tempted to brag about still less important things: our wealth, our status, our education, our emotional stability, our families, our political or business successes, our denominational alignments, or even about which version of the Bible we use. Be careful of people like that. They tend to regard everyone who is outside their little group as somehow inferior. Somewhere along the way they inadvertently—or even intentionally and maliciously—imagine that faith in Christ Jesus and delight in him is a little less important than their personal accomplishments.

Instead, look around for those whose constant confidence is Jesus Christ, whose constant boast is Jesus Christ, whose constant delight is Jesus Christ. Jesus is the center of their worship, the center of their gratitude, the center of their love, the center of their hope. After that, doubtless we shall sometimes need to argue about relatively peripheral matters. But in the first instance, emulate those whose constant confidence and boast is in Christ Jesus and in nothing else.

Emulate Those Who Are Continuing to Grow Spiritually, Not Those Who Are Stagnating (3:10–16)

Verse 10 is often cited by Christians today. What is astonishing is that it was first written by an apostle who had known Christ for almost thirty years. “I want to know Christ,” Paul writes, though of course he does know him. What he means, of course, is that he wants to know him better and better. If you love someone, then you know that person, at least in measure. But your love for that person makes you want to know that person more and more. A good marriage uncovers to the eyes of one spouse more and more about the other spouse, as long as that marriage endures.

That is the way Paul views Jesus. The riches bound up in him are unending. We shall spend all eternity getting to know him better, and we shall discover that knowing him is knowing God, and the exploration is eternal and inexhaustible. And already, during our pilgrimage here, it is our delight as well as our duty to know Jesus Christ better and better.

In particular, Paul says, “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death . . .” (3:10). What does that mean?

In Paul’s usage, the “power of his resurrection” is the power of God that raised Jesus from the dead. According to Paul, that same “incomparably great power” (Eph. 1:19)—the power that raised Jesus from the dead—is the power that is at work in us to make us holy, to make us a fit place for Jesus to dwell, to enable us to grasp the limitless dimensions of God’s love for us (Eph. 3:14–19), to strengthen us so that we have great endurance and faith and lives constantly characterized by thanksgiving (Col. 1:11–12). It takes extraordinary power to change us to become like that. In fact, it takes nothing less than the power of God that raised Jesus from the dead. What the aposde wants, then, is not power so that he might be thought powerful, but power so that he might be conformed to the will of God. Only the power that brought Jesus back from death will do.

That is not all Paul wants. He wants “the fellowship of sharing in [Christ’s] sufferings” (3:10). Here again is the word “fellowship” or “partnership” that we considered in the first chapter. Paul wants to identify with Christ in his sufferings, to participate in those sufferings, to know Christ better by experiencing sufferings just as Jesus did. After all, this is the apostle who earlier wrote, “For it has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe on him, but also to suffer for him . . .” (1:29). Clearly, Paul is not the sort of leader who is prepared to tell his converts how to suffer but who is unwilling to suffer himself.

Yet there is no trace of spiritual masochism in this. Paul does not want to suffer simply because he likes to suffer, as if suffering gives him a kind of perverted joy. Rather, Paul understands that the Master was “a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering” (Isa. 53:3), and he feels that following him in this way is part of knowing that Master. It means “becoming like him in his death” (3:10); that is, just as Jesus had been crucified, so also Paul wants to take up his cross and follow him. For the privilege of knowing that Master better, no suffering is too great.

Is it not obvious how adoption of the same stance would transform our witness and values? If Philippians 3:10 were our watchword or if we, like the first apostles, learned to rejoice under persecution because we “had been counted worthy of suffering disgrace for the Name” (Acts 5:41), inevitably our own perspectives would change when we faced a whiff of opposition. We might say, “Thank God! He is finally entrusting me with a little bit of persecution. I want more of it, if it means I may know Christ better.”

One reason why Paul adopts this stance is because he holds the End in view: he wants to know Christ in these ways, he says, “and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead” (3:11). By this wording he does not mean to inject doubt as to whether or not he will himself attain the resurrection from the dead. The word “somehow” in the original probably suggests that Paul is uncertain as to the timing and circumstances of this experience. Might it come to him in his lifetime, so that he receives a transformed, resurrection body without passing through death? From his first letter to the Thessalonians we learn that this is what Paul teaches will befall those believers who are alive when Jesus returns (1 Thess. 4:13–17). Or will he die and then rise from the dead? Either way, “somehow,” he will “attain to the resurrection from the dead.” And in Paul’s mind, attaining that glorious end, the final resurrection, the new heaven and the new earth, the home of righteousness, is bound up with persevering in the knowledge of Jesus Christ. So for knowledge of Christ Paul yearns.

In other words, Paul is not stagnating. And it is this attitude, more than any other, that ensures that when Paul tells us we are to imitate him (3:17), he is not setting himself up as a guru who has already “arrived.” If Paul knows that he is a model to be imitated, he also knows that he is a model in transition to greater glory. If he wants to be followed, he wants to be followed as he himself is still following hard after Jesus (1 Cor. 11:1). He is pressing on. He does not think of himself as having already been made perfect. Indeed, he explicitly disavows the suggestion: “Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me” (3:12). What he is aiming for is the attainment of the very purpose for which Christ called him. Anything less would be a betrayal of that calling.

As if the one disavowal is not enough, Paul repeats himself: “Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus” (3:1314). Refusing to stand on past triumphs, Paul eagerly strains forward to the glories to come.

Not for a moment is Paul suggesting that his stance is unique, or one that is expected only of apostles. Far from it: “All of us who are mature should take such a view of things” (3:15). This is how any mature Christian should think. And by implication, those who are immature should think this way too; that is, they should become mature in order to think this way. This is why Paul adds, “And if on some point you think differently, that too God will make clear to you” (3:15). And meanwhile, all Christians without exception should live up at least to the level of what they already know: “Only let us live up to what we have already attained” (3:16).

The implications are staggering. Christians should never be satisfied with yesterday’s grace. It is a shocking thing for Christians to have to admit that they have grown little in their knowledge of Jesus Christ. As Paul would later exhort Timothy, we are to be diligent in the Christian responsibilities laid on us, so that others may see our progress in both life and doctrine (1 Tim. 4:15–16).

Obviously these things apply with special urgency to preachers and teachers of the gospel. If you have been on the same plateau of both knowledge (“doctrine”) and experience (“life”) for the past twenty years, there is something dreadfully wrong. It is mandated of all of us that we grow: “All of us who are mature should take such a view of things” (Phil. 3:15). We are not to leave old truths and prior steps of holiness behind, but as new truths and applications of old truths open up before our eyes, they should shape our knowledge and our living so powerfully that others see the improvement. Our sins become less and less excusable; those who are most saintly are invariably most deeply aware of how sinful they are and of how odious sin is to God. Holiness becomes more and more attractive. The glories of the world-to-come make all the glories of this world fade into dull grays by comparison.

Sadly, not all believers, not even all Christian leaders, adopt the stance that Paul views as normal and normative. So look around carefully, and emulate those who are continuing to grow spiritually, not those who are stagnating. Beware of those who project an image of smug self-satisfaction. Imitate those who keep on imitating Christ.

Emulate Those Who Eagerly Await Jesus’ Return, Not Those Whose Mind Is on Earthly Things (3:17–21)

Verse 17 is transitional; it applies to what precedes as well as to what follows. Clearly, it brings to a focus what precedes. In case we have not discerned that Paul has talked so much about his own attitude toward growth and maturity precisely because he wants others to follow his pattern, he now makes the point explicitly: “Join with others in following my example, brothers, and take note of those who live according to the pattern we gave you” (3:17). The “others” to whom Paul refers are probably those in other churches. Paul’s point is that he is not laying some special responsibility on the Philippians. If they follow Paul, they are doing no more than Christians are doing in other churches he has planted; they are simply aligning themselves with them. And since Paul cannot be everywhere at once, the Philippian believers are to take careful note of Christians in their own number who live according to the pattern that Paul gave them and let them be their guide.

Two ideas are implied in this verse. (1) Part of what Paul taught new converts was how to live. He speaks of “the pattern we gave you,” which in the context clearly means the pattern of life—what we would call the “lifestyle”—that he showed them. (2) The apostle assumes that many aspects of Christian discipleship are more easily caught than taught. That is why the Philippians are told to look around them for models, models who are clearly approximating the apostolic model, and to follow them.

Equally clearly, verse 17 leads on to the thought of the last few verses of this chapter. By insisting that some of the believers make excellent models for others to follow, he implies that some others do not. “For, as I have often told you before and now say again even with tears, many live as enemies of the cross of Christ” (3:18). Who exactly are these people?

It is hard to be certain and precise about their identity, but we can draw some reasonable inferences. That they are probably not self-confessed unbelievers is clear for the following reasons:

It is unlikely that Paul would find himself in tears over complete unbelievers who were dangerously likely to lead the Philippian believers astray.

In the context, Paul is contrasting the model he and other mature Christians provide with what these people are doing, and it is unlikely that the Philippian Christians would be tempted to model themselves after people who didn’t at least claim to be Christian.

The expression “enemies of the cross of Christ” may suggest people who claim to be believers but who are really “fifth column” enemies. Such an expression would surely be unlikely to refer to all unbelievers without distinction, and if instead it referred to strong unbelievers who actively opposed the gospel, then we return to the previous point: it is difficult to imagine why the Philippians would be tempted to follow them.

So it appears that these people make some sort of profession of Christian faith and draw away some, but in reality they are “enemies of the cross of Christ.” Every generation produces some of these deceivers. They are not to be confused with Christian preachers whose motives may sometimes be mixed, like those Paul mentions in 1:15–17. Nor are they to be confused with pagans or others who make no pretense of faith in Christ but whose opposition to the gospel may become very intense. Rather, they talk a good line, dupe the unwary and the undiscerning, parade themselves as Christian leaders, and perhaps even exhibit a good deal of “power.” But what is missing, judging by Paul’s expression, is a focus on the cross, a focus like his own. Paul wants to know more of both the power of Christ’s resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death (3:10). Enemies of the cross of Christ never adopt that stance.

Doubtless both Paul and the Philippians knew who these people were. Paul adds enough details that the first readers could make a clear identification: “Their destiny is destruction” (3:19)—that is, they are not real believers, however much they say otherwise. Further, “their god is their stomach, and their glory is in their shame”: far from being drawn to suffering for Christ’s sake, they are endlessly drawn to creature comforts. They please themselves; their god is located no higher than their belly. The kinds of things they really value, far from being inspiring and glorious and worthy of emulation, are downright shameful. In brief, “Their mind is on earthly things” (3:19). It is not that they focus on explicitly wicked things. They are to be pitied because all their values and cherished goals are tied to what belongs to this world and this earth, and no part of them breathes with the passion of Paul, who wanted “somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead” (3:11). But certainly, they are to be avoided, so far as any modeling is concerned.

Paul’s vigorous denunciation is not callous or spiteful. He issues it “even with tears” (3:18). He is grieved to find professing Christian leaders who in fact are idolaters (“their god is their stomach”) and wretchedly lost (“their destiny is destruction,” 3:19). We are reminded of the tears of Christ, whom Paul is emulating. When Jesus denounces the religious charlatans of his day, he ends up in grief as he looks over the city (Matt. 23). For our part, we must not become people who denounce but who do not weep. Neither may we become people who weep but who never denounce. Too much is at stake both ways.

In any case, Paul insists that genuine Christians cannot adopt the stance of these enemies of Christ. In contrast to them, Paul insists, “our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body” (3:20–21). Paul insists in the strongest terms that genuine Christianity, the kind that he wants imitated, lives in the light of Jesus’ return. It is the kind of Christianity that joins the church in every generation in crying, “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus” (Rev. 22:20).

In short, it is Christianity that is preparing for heaven, for that is where our true home is, our true citizenship, our true destiny. Only that stance is sufficient to make Paul’s attitude toward suffering sensible and reasonable. If cheerful identification with Christ and his sufferings in this world finally issues in the spectacular glory of the Lord’s return and the splendor that follows, then we too are vindicated in a fashion somewhat analogous to Christ’s own vindication (see my comments on Phil. 2:5–11 in chapter 2).

Genuine spirituality cannot live long without an attitude that is homesick for heaven, that lives with eternity’s values in view, that eagerly awaits Jesus’ return, that anticipates the day when Christ himself will “bring everything under his control” and “will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body” (3:21; a theme Paul treats more fully in 1 Corinthians 15). Thoughtful Christians will not see themselves first of all as citizens of Great Britain or the U.S. or Canada or Pago Pago. We are citizens of heaven. Only that citizenship has enduring significance. Happy the believer whose epitaph was the couplet,

Of this blessed man let this praise be given:

Heaven was in him before he was in Heaven.

Emulate those who eagerly await Jesus’ return, not those whose mind is on earthly things.

Cotton Mather, an American Puritan of great influence and learning in his day, wrote,

Examples do strangely charm us into imitation. When holiness is pressed upon us we are prone to think that it is a doctrine calculated for angels and spirits whose dwelling is not with flesh. But when we read the lives of them that excelled in holiness, though they were persons of like passions with ourselves, the conviction is wonderful and powerful.

But of course, there is a stinger in the tail of all that I have written in this chapter. I have cast it all in terms of our responsibility to emulate worthy Christian leaders and then followed the text in discovering the characteristics of these worthy Christian leaders. But if we Christians are responsible for finding suitable examples to emulate, then of course when we do, we shall become suitable examples whom others will emulate. Not all ministry in the church is verbal; not all ministry is prominent. But all Christians are called upon to set a standard of talk and life that influences a new generation of converts in a godly and Christ-honoring way.

In some ways, the needs are becoming more urgent. There are rising numbers of Christian families that have given no thought to family devotions. Who will model for them what is to be done? Homes are ripped apart by divorce; what Christian parents will model for a new generation of young people, sometimes brought up with little love or with confusing models, what a Christian marriage looks like? It is common knowledge that abusive people are often the offspring of abusive people. Will we not simultaneously proclaim the gospel and model what generous, self-denying, content Christian homes look like? Christians have always been known as those who know how to die well. Will we not show a new generation of believers how to die, how to grieve, how to trust, and how to disagree with another believer without turning belligerent and while still cherishing forbearance and humility? Will we show by our example how to stand up for righteousness in our society? Did we not learn to pray by listening to others? Whom, then, have we taught to pray? Whom have we taught the rudiments of self-discipline?

Yes, we must emulate those who are interested in the well-being of others and not in their own, but we ourselves must be such people. Yes, we must emulate those who have proved themselves in hardship, not the untested upstart and the self-promoting peacock, but we must become such people. Yes, we must emulate those whose constant confidence and boast is in Christ Jesus and in nothing else, but that must be our boast too. Yes, we must emulate those who are continuing to grow spiritually, not those who are stagnating, but of course if we do, we shall grow ourselves. Yes, we must emulate those who eagerly await Jesus’ return, not those whose mind is on earthly things, but then our minds will be on heavenly things no less than theirs. And we shall seek out a new generation whom we may influence for Jesus’ sake. That is the mandate: to go and make disciples.

Brothers and sisters in Christ, we are called to emulate worthy Christian leaders. We are called to be worthy Christian leaders whom others will emulate. God help us.

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