In Philippians 3, Paul gives us a resumé of sorts, all the reasons he could have “confidence in the flesh.” (Philippians 3:3) “Flesh” is Paul’s word for the ego and all its desires, insecurities, and ambitions. He “boasts” of his treasured membership in Israel and of the tribe of Benjamin, as well as his career accomplishments – becoming a Pharisee, being Israel’s greatest crusader against the Church, and being faultless in his obedience to Jewish law. And yet, he considers all of this to be loss, even rubbish, garbage. Compared to the “surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus,” (3:8) all his markers of righteousness are nothing more than waste for the waste bin. “I have suffered the loss of all things,” Paul says, the loss of all his status and accomplishments. Whatever he was born into (nationality and tribe) is loss. Whatever he achieved (becoming a Pharisee, a zealot, and blameless under the law) is loss. None of these are material accomplishments. His former “confidence” was not in money or possessions, but in righteousness. He’s not giving one of those “I had all the money and pleasure in the world!” kind of testimonies. No, his testimony here is, “I was righteous, zealous, and blameless.” Even that, to him, is loss.
Instead of the need to be constantly validated for our righteousness, our desire alongside Paul is to be found in Christ. (3:9) And Christ is only going to find us after we’ve stopped hiding behind all our man-made layers of status and achievement and piety. Christ will pull those layers off of us and crucify them, so long as we don’t put up a fight. What does it look like die with Christ, for Christ to crucify these false layers of meaning and righteousness? Ask yourself: What do I want people to see when they look at me? Strength? Wisdom? Beauty? Success? Righteousness? Authority? Talent?
Whatever it is, subtract all of it. Throw it all in the garbage, it’s all rubbish. Imagine life without any of it. Dump all of it except one thing: when people look at me, I want them to see Jesus. Everything else is loss, nailed to the cross. It’s not that these are all bad things. And it’s not that we would be wrong to experience these things. It’s that the cross of Christ has robbed these things of their power to actually define us. Nothing else has the capability to make us more important or less important, more loved or less loved. There is only being found in Christ. Compared to the surpassing value of that, everything else is completely expendable.
Paul expresses the desire to be like Christ “in his death.” Not in his wisdom, knowledge, or charisma, but in his death. The cross is everything. Everything we think, say, do, believe, and desire moves both toward the cross and from the cross. Wisdom and righteousness only count for anything when they lead us to the cross.
There are a host of places we can turn to find meaning and validation and righteousness, and Jesus will not compete with any of them. Instead, he will wait in the empty place underneath all those false places we hide from him. And from that emptiness he will gently and lovingly draw us toward him. Everything else can get lost. Are we willing to lose it? Are we willing to stop hiding?
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