Dr. William L. Pettingill used to say that gain in Greek is always more of the same thing. So, if to live is Christ, to die means more Christ. This is so logical. No longer will we live apart from Him. After death, We will live in His very presence, and that can only be gain.
This verse is divided into two parts, living and dying. We’ll look at the first part first, of course: What does it mean, “For to me, to live is Christ?” Obviously, it means to live a life differently than if life was all about us. It means to live with Christ at the center of our lives where everything we do, we do for Him.
But, this means more than Christ being the center of our lives. It means Christ is our life. Look at what Paul says in Galatians 2:20:
“I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.”
When Paul says, “to live is Christ,” he’s not just saying he lives for Christ, but literally he lives Christ’s life as Christ lived through him. Paul’s body becomes Christ’s eyes, ears, mouth, hands, and feet. This is certainly part of what it means to be the body of Christ in Ephesians 1:22-23, where God tells us He made Christ “to be head over all things to the church, which is His body, the fullness of Him who fills all in all.” Every genuine believer becomes Christ’s eyes, ears, mouth, hands, and feet.
So Paul acted out the will of Christ. Even our wills become His, our minds become His, as we are transformed into the image of Christ becoming more and more Christ-like.
How else do you suppose that God can transform our lives like He does? How else can He take us, who are reprobate sinners, and make us like Jesus? He does it as he lives through us. He comes to live within us, and energize us with His own power and love
St Francis of Assisi is an example of a man transformed by Christ:
Shortly after he trusted Christ, he sensed God telling him, “Francis, all those things that you have loved in the flesh you must now despise, and from those things that you formerly loathed you will drink great sweetness and immeasurable delight.”
As Francis rode his horse out of town, he saw what he once despised most – a leper. “During my life of sin,” Francis wrote, “Nothing disgusted me like seeing victims of leprosy.”
What would Francis do? Exuberant in his new found faith, and with joy flooding his soul, and remembering that he was now in love with and even treasured those things he once loathed, Francis leaped from his horse, knelt before the leper, and proceeded to kiss those deformed, diseased hands that had probably not felt human touch in years. Then he pressed money into those hands. But he didn’t stop there: He jumped on his horse and rode to the nearest leper colony. And, as he recounts it, he “begged their pardon for so often having despised them.” Then gave them each money. And he wouldn’t leave until he had kissed each one of them.
Francis was transformed. Francis was no longer the same man. Christ now lived in and through Francis. And God was transforming Francis into the image of His Son. That’s what God does for each of those who are His.
What else could explain the myriad of martyrs for Christ down through history? In our flesh, how could any of us face the excruciating pain and degradation that this world’s hatred piles upon us? We can’t, but Christ can through us. Christ can empower us through His Spirit living within us so that we can do “all things through Christ who strengthens me,” as recorded in Philippians 4:13.
Listen to the story of Perpetua. She was a noble woman, wealthy, well born, and a young mother in North Africa. But her Christian faith was outlawed in the third century Roman Empire. Emperor Septimus Severus had forbidden conversion to Christianity and required all citizens to offer sacrifices to him as god, but she refused. Perpetua’s father argued with her to abandon her Christian faith. He begged her not to throw her life away. “Was it really such a big deal,” he asked, “to make such a small ceremonial sacrifice to the emperor?”
Perpetua pointed to a ceramic pitcher and asked, “Father, do you see this pitcher?”
Yes, of course I see it.”
“Can it really be called by any name other than what it is?”
“No.”
“So I also cannot be called anything else than what I am, which is a Christian.”
In her own diary, she wrote, “Enraged by my words, my father came at me as though to tear out my eyes.”
On March 7, 203 AD, Perpetua and her servant were stripped naked and led into the amphitheater to face gruesome death. But even the bloodthirsty crowds couldn’t stomach the sight. A medieval sourcebook records the crowd’s reaction:
“The people shuddered seeing one a tender girl, the other her breasts yet dropping from her late childbearing. So they were called back and clothed with loose robes.”
The officials chose a bull for the execution. A bear kills too quickly, but a bull would gore repeatedly. Yet, after a bloody mauling, the young women were torn, but not dead. The crowds cried, “Enough,” so the officials sent in the gladiators to behead the women. But as they approached, these hard hearted killers began to tremble, and the first strike again did not kill, again sickening the crowd. Perpetua showed all of them mercy by clutching the gladiator’s hand and guiding the sword to her neck for a killing blow.
What could give her, and so many others, such courage? It’s not normal in our own strength, but we can if Christ lives through us. Those who simply play at their faith would never do that, never be willing to make that kind of sacrifice. For those “Christians” who are content to simply go through some rituals . . . for those who are content with a tame religion, this kind of faith and sacrifice seems beyond imagining. For them, almost any sacrifice is too much.
Way too many people see Christianity as no more than having to give up listening to the music they like, and having to wear ugly, unstylish clothes. Yet, they rebel at those sacrifices. But that isn’t the Christianity that fired the hearts of a Francis of Assisi or a Perpetua. A Christianity that worries about giving up a few sins isn’t the Christianity that will sacrifice their lives for Christ. Only Christians who are transformed by Christ’s presence will do that. Only those who allow Christ to live through them.
These are the ones who answered Paul’s call in Romans 12:1:
“I beseech you, therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that you present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service.” This is what God expects from us.
No comments:
Post a Comment