Oak Chapel United Methodist Church

All Sermons are © Copyrighted and may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the express permission of the author.

Some scholars think that these beautiful words, in the fifth chapter of the letter to Philippi (words about how Christ emptied himself and was obedient even unto death, and how, as the result, every knee bends and every tongue confesses at the mention of his name) -some think they might actually be the words of an early Christian hymn. If so, obviously, the hymn is a very ancient one -- the oldest we have. For Paul wrote Philippians only twenty-five or thirty years after Jesus died. If he could quote the words of a hymn, and expect his readers to recognize them, the hymn itself must go back to the infant days of the church.

It is a magnificent text. Robert Wicks, a Bible scholar in our day, calls it, "the chief glory of The Epistle to the Philippians." If you like to memorize things (and I would commend memorization to you) -- if you like to memorize, these seven verses are well worth the effort.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.

Who did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited,

emptied himself, humbled himself,

took the form of a slave;

became obedient to the point of death,

even death on a cross.

A sign in a coffee house in Tucson, Arizona, reads, "At the feast of ego, everyone leaves hungry." So true! We can never get enough of ourselves. Self-love and self-indulgence is the water that leaves us thirsty and the food that leaves us hungry. It is spiritual junk food, yet we pig out on it day after day. How perverse! Actually, it's worse. Today we exalt the ego. We've always looked out for "Number One," but today we've given the whole process a rationale and a dignity it doesn't deserve. Listen to the talk shows, if you can keep from gagging on the psychobabble. The advice is always the same, and it makes you want to throw up: find yourself, be yourself, esteem yourself, stick up for yourself. Sometimes our national gurus even go so far as to define mental health itself simply as "ego strength." Well, as a Christian, I might buy that. If you would agree with me that the strongest ego is one that has learned to give itself away. Strong ego is ego laid aside, and laid aside not because it is afraid to assert itself, but because it knows that self-gratification is a poor and empty way to live.

If Jesus went to the cross because he hadn't the moral courage to stand and fight for what was right, then his death would simply be one more of those endless human tragedies. But, if he went of his own free will (if he "emptied himself", as Paul put it, "took the form of a slave", if he unpacked his Godness and laid it aside), then, in his death, he was hero of heroes, with an ego strong beyond our imagining. "Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus."

If you are the victim of someone, or of some situation, because you can't find the courage to speak up -- or speak out -- and put an end to your victimization, I pity you, and I offer you help. But if, on the other hand, as a strong and independent person, you choose to give yourself away (consciously and willingly to empty yourself, to become a servant, not to be flashing your credentials around and insisting on your rights all the time), then I admire you. You may look the victim, to those who don't understand, but you don't need my help. I want to learn from you. How terrible it would be if anyone here should come away from Holy Week this year thinking of Jesus as a victim. He knew what he was doing. He did it on purpose. He made himself obedient even unto death. And he wanted to be sure that his disciples understood that. "Nobody takes my life from me", he told them. How terrible it will be if I die and that's what you think! "Nobody takes my life from me. I give it away."

Words like "commitment", "discipline", "humility", "obedience" -- old-fashioned words -- come to mind when we seek the mind of Christ. But, in today's ego orgy, we've lost the sense of these musty old words. Commitment, for example, means to subordinate oneself, to decide to do something when times are good and then to stick with it even if times get bad. If we are committed, let us say, to a choir, we have to subordinate (to some extent) our individual egos. We can't refuse to sing songs we don't like, for example. We can't be the soloist every time. We have to practice, and that can get ugly. We have to discipline ourselves about arriving at practices and performances on time. We make a decision and stick by it. Commitment. It has to be there for the music's sake. It is not a sign of weakness, that we set aside personal convenience and comfort in such a way. It's a sign of strength.

You have to look at your own life and judge. Are you doing the selfless thing because you are afraid not to, or because someone is making you feel guilty? (In which case, it is not selfless at all.) If you are, stop. But if, in the strength of your person and of your faith, you have chosen to give away some part of you, as our Lord gave away all his parts (even unto death), then, I think, you are discovering in yourself "the mind that was in Christ Jesus." You are learning what has always distinguished Christians from their pagan neighbors.

"At the feast of ego, everyone leaves hungry." Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus." The text appears on Palm Sunday, because it was on this day, two thousand years ago, that Jesus made his decision to enter Jerusalem. After Palm Sunday there was no turning back. He puts his life on automatic pilot. Now, he has decided to empty himself completely, not to hold his divinity too close, not to call in legions of angels to save him, not to condemn, not to glorify himself but to glorify his Father in heaven. From this day, Palm Sunday, there is a script to be acted out. God knows how the story ends, and so does Jesus.

They waved branches at him. Shouted "Hosanna!" Tried to make him a movie star. We can understand that from a purely human point of view. So, he made a run at fame and fortune, and lost. We know that drill. But that is not what's going on here, not as Jesus rides through the streets of Jerusalem, rides on in lowly pomp to die. This is the ultimate winner choosing to be the ultimate loser. Maybe we, too, wave branches. Certainly we take off our hats. The mind of Christ Jesus is different.

On the day after Princess Diana died, a man from India sat in my office and said, almost reverently, "She touched the lepers." It was, obviously, an important memory for him. Evidently, on a trip to India, Diana had visited a leper colony and touched the patients, an apparently small thing. But it was as if, in her simple act of grace (for this man), the life of a beautiful young woman was summed up. I decided that people from India understand royalty better than we Americans. You see, royals don't have to touch lepers. They can avoid such contact in a hundred ways, and who would blame them? But Diana did. She touched the lepers, put her self on the same level with them, and did it of her own free will.

How much more profound it is that Jesus touches lepers -- touches us. This royal (who doesn't have to do it) takes the form of a slave, empties himself, doesn't think himself too grand. The people were right to proclaim him king. They just didn't know why they were right. Paul appeals to Christ's example: "Get his mind into your mind." "Think as he thought." He gave himself away, and now, as the result, at the name of Jesus every knee bends 85" To give yourself as he gave himself is to become like Christ, to know his joy and to experience his victory. There is no longer reason to be hungry, unless you're trying to feast on your own ego. Feast instead on him who gave himself for you, who "on the same night he was betrayed (for Christ's sake), took bread, and when he had given thanks," etc., etc.