The “alleylon” (one another) passages in the New Testament, Part 2b:

Phil. 2:3 – In humility esteem one another as surpassing yourselves.

Today – Friday March 30 – the great majority of Christians in the world reflect on the events of the first of the three most important days in history, the three days encompassing Jesus’ victory over sin, death, and Satan, by which we are freed from the plague of our rebellion against God and welcomed into friendship with him. It’s the time of year when I can immerse myself, as often as I please, in the overwhelmingly sublime music of Bach’s Matthew Passion, and in the spare but ever-expanding biblical narrative of Jesus’ sacrifice, marveling at the depth of God’s love for us.

So you will have to believe me when I say that I did not plan for the topic of this week’s blog to coincide with Good Friday. I guess it’s just sovereignty, pure and simple. Be that as it may, today we have landed on a second humility verse, this one from Philippians 2, verse 3, in which Paul encourages us to esteem, or think more highly of others more than we esteem ourselves. I have to admit that I sometimes feel like God is just messing with us here. What does it mean that I count you better than I? Should I think of you as more intelligent, good looking, funny, exciting, gifted? What if you’re not those things; should I still believe them to be true? And if you are? What does humility demand of me if I am to fulfill this commandment?

The question needs a context, which Paul gives us in verses 5-8. He begins by exhorting us to gain and reflect the same “mind” that was in Jesus. It isn’t easy to find an English word that cor-responds to the Greek, phroneo, which combines cognitive and emotional understanding as well as internal thought that expresses itself in action. No wonder that the best description of mind of Christ appears in Paul’s portrait of Jesus, descending, step by step, into each level of humility and humanity.

The first step is the kenosis of the incarnation – Jesus’ emptying himself of his divine prerogatives through the incarnation. The Son of God, accustomed to the dignity and authority that compelled the angels to worship, instead is presented by his parents in the Temple – a building that could not have contained all of who he was –  to receive a blessing from flawed men whom he created; by contrast participates in the offering of worship in that same Temple; incomprehensibly submits himself, the sinless one, to the purifying ritual of baptism at the hands of one “unworthy to untie the lace of his sandals.”

The second step is that the Master becomes a servant, obedient to his earthly parents and even more so to his heavenly Father. Subject to the demands and foolishness of men and women who are entirely ignorant of what it cost for the Light to enter into their sin-constrained and darkened world. Enduring the petty squabbles of the twelve companions whom he chose to prepare for work in his ministry. Equipping and delegating responsibility to human beings who aren’t really all that capable of accomplishing his mission.

The third step goes deepest: The one who is life and the source of all life surrenders to death. This is not your ordinary life, and it’s not even close to your ordinary death. I don’t think I am – or you are, for that matter – really competent to comment much on it. I remember once during a Bible study on the suffering of Jesus as one without sin. All but one of us in the discussion were of the mind that we couldn’t relate; that Jesus’ high-priesthood was beyond our comprehension as those who have never endured the affliction of the truly innocent. We concluded that our part in the picture was surrender to the truth of our guilt and his perfection and a response of worship in the face of such unimaginable goodness. One brother, however, insisted that he could relate to the Jesus side of the equation, having been subjected to a recent act of unjust accusation and misunderstanding. The rest of us awaited the lightening strike, but mercy triumphed over justice, and the man lives to this day.

In essence, Paul is presenting the answer to a well-known bracelet phrase: WDJD? What did Jesus do? He set aside his legitimate claim to divinity; weakened himself to the point of utter helplessness; took on judgment that belonged to others – all with absolute confidence that the Father would care for him and would make good on the eternal relationship that they had from before the advent of time.

This is the mind of Christ that Paul exhorts us to adopt. It is a well-aimed contradiction to how I express my own bracelet query: WDPD – What does Paul (I, not the apostle) do? The problems begin with my illegitimate claims to divinity. While Jesus surrendered equality with God, I am often grasping at it, and holding on for dear life when I think I have it. And what a myriad of ways there are to “be as God.” I face a desire to purchase something that attracts me so much that I can barely pray about it, let alone talk to a brother or my wife. I struggle with a sin that I, like Adam and Even, insist on hiding from the Lord and my fellow-sinner/saints. I stubbornly clutch at opinions and ideas, unwilling to hear alternatives. Welcome to my little-g god world.

And then there is the step of servanthood. Yes, I passionately believe that discipleship involves Christians serving in humility, but my passion has its limits. I am usually the one who sets those very close boundaries around what I am willing to do, and with whom, or for whom. A small example occurred a couple of years ago when someone at church asked if I would be open to volunteering in the children’s program. I obviously pulled the grimmest face this poor woman had ever seen, since she dropped the matter before I could even answer. On the other hand, please don’t hesitate to ask me to give a talk or sermon. The more the merrier, I say. Welcome to my self-serving world.

And, of course, the humiliation of death, especially when we are unjustly accused, misunder-stood, on the outside, feeling unappreciated, slighted, overlooked. Jesus cried out in the abyss of true extremis; I raise my complaining voice at the slightest nick to my ego. I am easily injured when you forget to compliment me on how well I spoke in my recent sharing. We are deeply offended when someone takes our words at face value, rather than interpreting what we really meant – even though our intentions may not have been particularly honorable. We accost God with accusatory questioning: Why don’t you favor us, bless us, make our lives as prosperous or fruitful as his life/her life/their lives?

What would it look like for me to engage the same descent as Jesus’? What would happen if I esteemed you as more worthy, as better, as someone who surpasses me? I would, as I said last week, delight when you are honored, and would delight to be one of the honorers, even if that meant that you were chosen or preferred instead of me. I would ask the Spirit to open my eyes to your needs first, and for the courage to act on what he reveals to me (note to self: wife, children, and friends read this blog). I would continually plead with the Father to exert his sovereign rule in the circumstances, the decisions, the desires that appear in my life and in my heart – the places where I fear to let go in faith of my place in the pantheon. I would take on the simple prayer, as often as I falter, “I believe, help my unbelief.” I would, as often as grace reminds me, ask Jesus to exchange his way of thinking for mine.

I think you who know me might appreciate the different person emerging from the encounter with God’s transforming power. I make no promises, but rely on the ones that the Father made to us when he sent his Son to the cross on the Friday that was not just Good, but Best.

Blessed Easter to all.