Winning And Losing

"Winning And Losing"

Philippians 4:1-9
October 12, 2008

Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand
firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved. I urge Euodia and I urge Syntyche to be of the
same mind in the Lord. Yes, and I ask you also, my loyal companion, help these
women, for they have struggled beside me in the work of the gospel, together with
Clement and the rest of my co-workers, whose names are in the book of life. Rejoice in
the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone.
The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and
supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace
of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in
Christ Jesus. Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just,
whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any
excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on
doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and
the God of peace will be with you.

A few of you in the room are die hard Chicago Cubs fans, and I know that if you are
here in this place, worshipping with us, it’s because you’ve dragged yourself out of bed,
out of the deep depression you’ve been in since last weekend. And then, of course,
the White Sox lose in their bid to go further into the playoffs, which has got to be
devastating for their fans as well. There was all this talk about a possible Cubs/White
Sox World Series this year, for the first time ever, but that obviously is not going to take
place. Well, I guess we can take comfort that at least the Detroit Tigers didn’t lose in
the playoffs—oh, that’s right: they didn’t even make the playoffs!

Still, the Cubs are just a special case, aren’t they? “On October 14, 1908, the Chicago
Cubs won the World Series by defeating the Detroit Tigers. The score was 2-0 in the
fifth and final game of the series. This was their second World Championship win in a
row. It was also their last. For 100 years, the Cubs have been in a World Series
drought. Our country has changed radically over the past century, but the failure of the
Cubbies to win a championship has been a depressing constant in American life. When
they last won, Henry Ford was producing his first Model T. Orville Wright was
demonstrating his flying machine to the U.S. Army. The First World War was still years
away. Being “online” meant hanging your clothes out to dry. The Cubs have suffered
the longest dry spell between championships in modern sports history. No one else in
Major League Baseball, the National Football League, the National Hockey League or
the National Basketball Association comes close. In fact, the other three major sports
leagues were not even in existence when the Cubs last won the World Series. [Even
the Boston Red Sox have won a World Series since then!] And yet, despite this long
drought, Chicago fans remain incredibly faithful. They rejoice in the Cubs always.”
(Homiletics Online)

Again, a few of you in this room know that kind of love, remaining faithful even when the
one you love keeps breaking your heart, over and over again. Waiting for every
season to begin—not just waiting, but really looking forward to that new seasons,
because it is full of opportunity, full of possibility—rejoicing in the possibility that this
year, unlike all the other years, could be the year that Cubs finally win the World
Series. To love the game and the Cubs that much, to still be passionate about them—
that is remarkable! Still, is it all that crazy for us sports fans? In a New Yorker cartoon,
a man and a woman are seated at a restaurant. The man says, “Okay, Cynthia. I’ll tell
you my hopes and dreams, my joys and my passions. But be forewarned — they all
concern a particular sports team.” (Homiletics Online)

Well, to some degree, that kind of hope and passion, that kind of rejoicing is what Paul
speaks of her, in the book of Philippians, his most joyful tome. Now, before says it or
thinks it: no, the “rejoicing in the Lord always” spoken of here is not the spiritual
equivalent of rejoicing in the Cubs always—I don’t want to make that false equivalence,
because the rejoicing Paul speaks of here goes even deeper than being hopeful
despite that fact that your favorite team once again didn’t make it to the World Series.
Still, it does give us a hint of what Paul speaks of here, in these parting words he writes
to this small church in Philippi, in Asia Minor, or modern-day Turkey.   The whole book
of Philippians is one of the most joyful and hopeful books of the New Testament—joy
runs rampant through its verses, as we discovered some time ago in our church here,
when we did a Bible study of it two summers ago, I believe. Something is going on in
this church, and despite the troubles, Paul is asking these believers to embrace joy,
even in the midst of the difficulties. He even names some of the tension in that
church—two women who don’t seem to be on the same page, of the same mind, and
the disagreement is so well known that Paul comments on it here. And he asks his
other readers and listeners to help these two women find some common ground, some
way to find that mutual joy that had somehow bound up these two women up together
earlier in their relationship with each other.

And then Paul tells them not to worry about anything—anything, folks, anything. Hard
words to hear. But, instead, he says, they should offer prayers of thanks and
supplications: give thanks, folks—thanks!— amidst the tough time, Paul tells them
incredibly. Even when these two women are fighting? Even when the Cubs lose, and
the Lions can’t find the end zone, or more seriously, when the economy seems to be
slipping into the ditch in a major way? This is Paul’s advice?! Is that going to prop up
my retired clergy colleague’s UCC retirement, which is tied to the stock market—he just
got notice that his pension was plummeting, and so he should expect lower payments in
the coming months? How about our 401Ks—my mom doesn’t have much one, but its
tanking, and it’s all she’s got beyond social security? And here Paul wants me to say
thanks and to offer up prayers during a week when we just upped the federal deficit by
15% in one stroke of the President’s pen, beyond the cost of 10 billion dollars we
spend each month on the wars we’re engaged in? Give thanks, folks, give thanks?!
Doesn’t that ring a bit hollow at the moment?

I mean, there is a lot of anxiety in this country right now, and God knows that right here
in Michigan, we’ve been ahead of the curve when it comes the economy—we were
hurting way before everyone else was hurting—unemployment at 9%, factories closing
right here in Coloma, no one is hiring. I don’t know about you, but I’m scared myself,
and I am certainly scared for us as a community, as we try to figure out of this financial
and economic mess. And it certainly could hit right here at church—we’ve got a roof to
pay for and an upcoming stewardship campaign to begin thinking about. And yet, Paul
here in this text, he wants us to rejoice in the Lord always, and in everything by prayer
and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. Give
thanks during this really tough time, Paul, even in the midst of asking God to help us
out of this difficult stretch—really!?!?

“Yea, really,” I think, is what Paul would be saying to us today. I think what he says
here is absurd, of course…who wouldn’t really? I mean, you could give thanks that
things aren’t worse, but that isn’t rejoicing—that’s just plain old relief that our 401K
hasn’t slipped to 50% of its worth rather than 40% or that we have a new job, even if its
paying us only half of what we used to get paid, only a year ago. Sure, it’s better than
nothing, but not much better, right? In the midst of all that worry and tension, all that
disappointment, and outright fear, we have this voice echoing out of the past, written in
Greek, in some foreign language, written by a man of another time and country, telling
us to rejoice even during the times when the tension has gotten so hot that two former
friends in the church he is writing to are at each other’s throats? My friends, Paul is a
gutsy guy for telling us to do something like that, and he’s even gutsier for telling those
two women two thousand years ago to do something like that, rejoicing with each and
for each other in the Lord, when they can’t even stand to be in the same room with
each other.

Well, if he is serious about this rejoicing, this rejoicing that moves us to prayer and
supplications, all of which is undergirded by thanksgiving, real, actual THANKSGIVING,
a grateful heart for what is, right now, right here, a rejoicing that ends up in a peace
that passes all understanding, if he is serious about it, I have to ask this simple
question: is it really possible to do such an absurd thing right now, amidst our real life
worries? Is the absurd, the crazy, the laughable really possible, really doable, in the
face of our all worries—our real worries about futures here, in this country, in this state,
in this county, in this city? Our real worries about bank accounts and our families, and
our homes, and our jobs? Can we really rejoice in the midst of all these things, can we
really not worry about anything, as Paul calls for here?

Well, yea, I think so, I think so, but I say that with a lot of hesitation, a lot of humility, a
lot of skepticism mixed up with real faith in the One that Paul speaks of here, whom he
has placed his ultimate trust in. It really is times like this that call out to us to think
about what we ultimately trust in this world—the creation or the Creator? The stuff we
have or the One who has ultimately gifted us with everything, including all that stuff we
think will make us safe in this world. And it’s also times like this that call into question
whether or not life is really all about winning or losing, about ending up with more than
what you came in with in this life. If the measure of a life is about being a winner, about
having more than the next guy, or gal, then I think Paul is probably asking the
impossible of us during times like this—there is no way to rejoice in the Lord, there is
no way to go to God in prayer with thanksgiving because if the measure of a life is
winning, of getting richer, of being safe and secure in this life and in this world.

You know, my father was one of the most incredible men I’ve ever met—he was a good
man with a good character, a good heart, and a generous spirit. But one the thing I
think I learned from him was something I suspected he hadn’t meant to teach me, his
son. My father, my family, had a lot of money, at one time, or at least we had a very
good life, in the seventies, during the oil boom, and I think my father sunk so much of
his identity into how much he made that by the time the oil bust of the eighties came
along, he didn’t have a lot left emotionally or spiritually when all the good times and the
money was gone. I watch him sort of fall apart because so much of who was invested in
how much money he made, and how safe money could make us as a family—and I
know he meant to care of us, and it was an act of care, but still… It was a
heartbreaking lesson that I am still learning from him, about what it means to base your
life on winning and losing, have more than the next guy. But you know, people change,
and my father, who was always surprising me, told me on his deathbed, he told his son,
who had not turned out as he expected in a lot of ways, he told me that he was proud of
me, someone he knew would not really ever measure up to the financial dreams he had
hoped for himself and for his family, including his son—ministry won’t make you rich, or
even all that secure in this life, and he knew that, and it concerned him. Still, I think he
had changed his mind about what it really meant to be successful in this life, and I am
glad he could offer that final gift to me—that he understood why I didn’t go for the
money and the safety it seemed to provide.

But what if winning and losing aren’t the measure of a life? What if the one with the
most toys at the end isn’t the yardstick that really matters in life, something my father
might have stumbled upon late in life, and something I hope to learn more than he did?
What if the point of being a Cubs fan is loving the game of baseball, and loving the
team that helped you to love the game of baseball, and being faithful and passionate
about that team, whether they win or lose? You can always tell fair-weather fans—the
stands empty, and you realize that they don’t love the Cubs or the Lions or whomever—
what they love is winning, more than they love the team they’re rooting for. That’s
natural, that’s human, that is what we do in life—we love the game when we’re winning,
we rejoice when the times are good, and there is something to be grateful and thankful
for—but its near impossible for most of us to just be thankful that we have beloved 0-6
Lions team to root for. You know you love a team when you’re just proud of them for
playing their hearts out, even in a losing situation.

I do think its possible to be thankful and grateful, and prayerful, and to get that peace
that passes all understanding, even in these difficult times. I know it sounds crazy, I
know it does, but if Paul can get there, then I think most of us can get there.   I mean,
the man spent a lot of time in Roman prisons because of his beliefs and his loud mouth,
and despite the fact that he was a Roman citizen—which carried with it some
privileges—he still knew it was probably going to get him killed in the end. But what he
didn’t believe is what my father believed for most of his life—what he didn’t believe is
what I so often and so many of us believe—that its about winning or losing in this life.
By all measures, Paul was a loser—poor, an prison inmate much of the time, doing odd
jobs just to get by. And yet, he seems to find some way to rejoice, and even to call on
us to rejoice, to immerse ourselves in the good game of life, not in the win or lose
columns. Sure, we would rather be in the win column, but being in that win column
doesn’t define us, it doesn’t make us or break us—the game itself, life itself, it’s just
something to revel in, to enjoy, to breath in deeply, because, well, we’re here, and we’
re just blessed just to be here, right here in the muck and beauty of life.

Rachel Naomi Remen, in a book called my My Grandfather’s Blessings tells about a
woman who was just glad to be in game, in the game of life—Remen writes:

Mae celebrated life. Her laugh was a pure joy. It made you remember how to laugh
yourself. All these years later, just thinking of her makes me smile. As she became
sicker, I began to call her every few days to check in on her. She would always answer
the phone in the same way. I would say, “Mae, how ya doin’?” and she would chuckle
and reply, “I’m blessed, Sister. I am blessed.”

The night before she died, I called, and her family had brought the phone to her.
“Mae,” I said. “It’s Rachel.” I could hear her coughing and clearing her throat, looking to
find breath enough to speak in a lung filled with cancer, willing herself past a fog of
morphine to connect my voice. Tears stung my eyes. “Mae,” I said. “It’s Rachel. How ya
doin’?” There was a sound I could not identify, which slowly unwrapped itself into a
deep chuckle. “I’m blessed, Rachel. I am blessed,” she told me. Mae was one of those
people. And so, perhaps, are we all" . . . blessed, that is. (Rachel Naomi Remen, My
Grandfather’s Blessings: Stories of Strength, Refuge and Belonging (Riverhead, 2001).

And we are blessed, I think, wherever we find ourselves, with as little as we may have or
with less than we want or even need. The peace that passes all understanding comes
to us in those moments when we can be thankful for what we have, whatever it is, and
we can bless and be thankful for what is, rather than complain about what is not. Some
we win, and some we lose…but that was never the point, was it? The point was to
enjoy the game as much as possible, and to give thanks for the opportunity to just be a
part of the wonder and heartbreak of it all. Amen.