Burden Or Blessing?
Sermon
Sermons On The Second Readings
Series I, Cycle C
There is an ancient Chinese parable that goes like this:
There was once a farmer who lived in a tiny, country village. He was regarded as extremely fortunate because, unlike most of the villagers, he owned a horse. One day, though, his horse got loose and ran away. The neighbors all exclaimed how terrible this was, but the farmer responded, "Burden or blessing -- who's to say at this point?" A few days later the horse returned, bringing two wild horses with it. His neighbors began to rejoice at this surprising turn of events, but the farmer simply said, "Blessing or burden -- who's to say at this point?" The next morning the farmer's son tried to ride one of the wild horses. However, the horse threw him and broke the son's leg. The neighbors offered their sympathy at the farmer's misfortune, but he again replied, "Burden or blessing -- who's to say at this point?" The following week conscription officers arrived in the village to enlist young men for the army. They rejected the farmer's son because of his broken leg. When the neighbors told the farmer how lucky he was, he answered, "Blessing or burden -- who's to say?"
What this story suggests is that the meaning of any event is largely a matter of perspective. That is, the arrival of two wild horses is viewed by the villagers as fortunate, until it is seen in the context of the son's broken leg. Likewise, the broken leg seems to be bad in the context of a peaceful village; but when considered from the perspective of conscription and war, it suddenly becomes good. It's almost as if the event itself is neither good nor bad. It all depends on how you look at it.
To use another analogy, suppose you were to see a sign in a store window that read, "We Sell and Repair Watches." Most of us would immediately assume that this is a jeweler's shop. Maybe so, but if we applied a different frame of reference, we might discover that it is actually a shop which makes signs. A subtle shift of perspective, therefore, can often result in a radical change of meaning.
Among psychologists this technique is known as "reframing," and it has proved particularly helpful for people who are struggling with depression because they feel stuck in an intractable situation. It's not a matter of their being lost or confused. It's more that they think they've run out of options and have nowhere to turn. As hopeless as their dilemma may seem, however, by shifting the frame of reference and allowing them a different perspective on the problem, sometimes new possibilities can emerge. What was previously understood as an obstacle suddenly becomes an opportunity.
The reason I mention this is because long before psychologists coined the term "reframing," the Apostle Paul appears to have already been practicing it. In his letter to the Corinthians, for instance, he points out that we presently view life as "in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face" (1 Corinthians 13:12a). In other words, if we are having a difficult time making sense of things, it could be because we're not seeing the whole picture. We lack perspective, and hence, when we come across a detour, we tend to think of it as just that -- a detour. But when we've reached our final destination, suggests Paul, we'll be able to look back over the journey, and perhaps consider ourselves extremely fortunate that the path suddenly went one way rather than another. Burden or blessing -- who's to say at this point?
Possibly the best scriptural example of this is the Old Testament story of Joseph and his brothers. As you recall, Joseph was Jacob's favorite son. So much so, in fact, that he didn't have to work in the fields with his brothers. Instead, he was free to spend his days and nights dreaming of future glory. That was hard enough for his brothers to stomach. However, when Joseph kept recounting these dreams in sickening detail at the breakfast table each morning, they quickly lost their appetite for him altogether.
Their initial plan was to toss him into a pit and tell the old man that his fair-haired boy had had a fatal tangle with a wild animal -- thereby killing most of Jacob's dreams as well. But when some traveling salespeople happened by, they saw a chance to be rid of Joseph and turn a tidy profit besides. He eventually wound up as a slave in Egypt working for an army captain named Potiphar. After a brief stint in jail over an embarrassing misunderstanding with his employer's wife, Pharaoh got word that Joseph had a knack for interpreting dreams, and decided to see if the young Israelite could decipher some troubling ones that he'd been having lately. Joseph passed the exam with the same flying colors that had once adorned his coat, and Pharaoh promptly gave him a cabinet position as head of the Department of Agriculture.
Years later, when a famine struck up north, Joseph's brothers were forced to make the trek down to Egypt themselves. Because they had pretty well put him out of their minds, they didn't realize that it was Joseph at first. But he recognized them, and couldn't resist the opportunity of pretending that they were spies, just to settle the score. The charade didn't last long, however, since Joseph was starving for family as much as they were for food. When he finally revealed who he was, they fell into each other's arms -- laughing and crying and swapping stories -- almost as if it had all been a bad dream. "Don't be afraid," Joseph reassured them. "You may have intended to do me harm, but God intended it for good" (Genesis 50:20).
In effect, Joseph reframed his entire life. Instead of seeing his brothers' treachery as a burden, he came to understand it as a blessing. And I think Paul is trying to do the same thing in his letter to the Philippians. Those of you who are familiar with this epistle know that he is writing it from a prison cell. We're not sure what precipitated his arrest or even what the accusations were, but inasmuch as imprisonment was for persons awaiting trial rather than a punishment following conviction, Paul's fate is now in the hands of the Roman authorities.
The Philippians, of course, are anxious to hear how he is faring. However, what they need from Paul is more than simply a news report. The fact that their pastor is sitting in jail has the whole congregation talking, and it requires some explanation. No doubt, the unbelieving community was already offering its interpretation, just as it had for the crucifixion of Jesus. "If this man were really the Son of God," the crowds murmured, "God would have rescued him." Likewise, some may have pointed out that if Paul were really following God, these painful and humiliating defeats would not keep occurring.
There have always been those who believe that there is a direct correlation between the kind of person you are and what happens to you. In fact, it is still popular in many Christian circles today to promote faith in God as the key to health, happiness, and prosperity. Very likely then, there were some in Philippi who were starting to wonder whether the church was really that good a deal. After all, what's the point of being Christian, if it doesn't offer you a measure of protection and security?
Make no mistake; Paul needs to interpret his current circumstances. In the first place, it will help silence his critics. But more importantly, almost any suffering or injustice can be endured if we are able to make sense of it. If some higher purpose is being served, most of us can tolerate whatever life throws our way. However, there is no pain quite as stinging as that which has no explanation, and no tragedy so heavy as the one where we are left groping in the darkness searching for what it all means.
Notice, though, how Paul goes about interpreting this for the Philippians. "I want you to know, beloved," he writes, "that what has happened to me has actually helped to spread the gospel, so that it has become known throughout the whole imperial guard and to everyone else that my imprisonment is for Christ" (Philippians 1:12-13). A little later, he confides to them that he hasn't quite made up his mind whether he wants to be released or executed. "I'm not sure which I prefer," he admits. "I am hard pressed between the two: my desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better; but to remain in the flesh is more necessary for you" (Philippians 1:23-24).
What an extraordinary thing to say! You would think that the choice was his to make. But since Paul is neither judge nor jury, his opinion one way or the other is of no consequence whatsoever. If any of us were to get a letter from a friend on trial informing us that they were having a difficult time figuring out whether to be sentenced or set free, we would seriously begin to question our friend's state of mental health. Has Paul suffered too much or simply too long? What is he talking about here? He has absolutely no decision in this matter. On the contrary, he is awaiting someone else's decision.
And yet, in another sense, Paul does have a decision to make. He can sit in his jail cell feeling sorry for himself, or he can embrace his current situation and use it for the glory of God. He can take the initiative and rise above his circumstances, or he can shrug his shoulders and conclude that the whole thing is out of his control. In other words, the choice is his as to whether to view this as a burden or a blessing.
Recently, someone shared with me the story of a concert that Itzhak Perlman, the renowned violinist, once gave at the Lincoln Center in New York City. Any of you who have had the privilege of hearing Perlman play can attest to what a gifted musician he is. During this performance, however, something went wrong. Just a few bars into the opening number, one of the strings of his violin broke. It was such a loud snap that the entire audience immediately realized what had taken place, and they all expected the concert to stop so that he could be brought another violin.
Instead Perlman closed his eyes, waited a moment, and then signaled to the conductor that he wished to continue. Understandably, the orchestra was somewhat apprehensive at first. After all, everyone knows that you cannot perform a major symphonic work with just three strings. You know that, and I know that. But on this particular evening, Itzhak Perlman refused to know that. Indeed, he seemed to play with a renewed passion and energy. You could see him modulating the chords and recomposing the piece as he went.
When he had finished he received a standing ovation -- not only from the audience, but from the orchestra as well. Perlman smiled, and then raised his bow to quiet everyone. "Sometimes it is the artist's task," he explained, "to see how much music you can still make with what you have left."
I think the Apostle Paul would have been able to appreciate that. In fact, when I read the opening paragraph of this letter, what I hear is a beautiful hymn of grace and gratitude being played from Paul's prison cell. "I give thanks to God every time I remember you, because of your sharing in the gospel with me," he tells the Philippians. "I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion. And my prayer is that your love may overflow with both knowledge and insight, in order to help you determine what is best. In this way you will be pure and blameless, having produced the harvest of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ for the glory and praise of God" (vv. 3-6, 9-11). Psychologists would call that reframing. Paul calls it faith.
Burden or blessing -- who's to say? According to Paul, we do. We get to choose our perspective. We can decide whether to be imprisoned by our circumstances or empowered by them. It all depends on how you look at life.
There was once a farmer who lived in a tiny, country village. He was regarded as extremely fortunate because, unlike most of the villagers, he owned a horse. One day, though, his horse got loose and ran away. The neighbors all exclaimed how terrible this was, but the farmer responded, "Burden or blessing -- who's to say at this point?" A few days later the horse returned, bringing two wild horses with it. His neighbors began to rejoice at this surprising turn of events, but the farmer simply said, "Blessing or burden -- who's to say at this point?" The next morning the farmer's son tried to ride one of the wild horses. However, the horse threw him and broke the son's leg. The neighbors offered their sympathy at the farmer's misfortune, but he again replied, "Burden or blessing -- who's to say at this point?" The following week conscription officers arrived in the village to enlist young men for the army. They rejected the farmer's son because of his broken leg. When the neighbors told the farmer how lucky he was, he answered, "Blessing or burden -- who's to say?"
What this story suggests is that the meaning of any event is largely a matter of perspective. That is, the arrival of two wild horses is viewed by the villagers as fortunate, until it is seen in the context of the son's broken leg. Likewise, the broken leg seems to be bad in the context of a peaceful village; but when considered from the perspective of conscription and war, it suddenly becomes good. It's almost as if the event itself is neither good nor bad. It all depends on how you look at it.
To use another analogy, suppose you were to see a sign in a store window that read, "We Sell and Repair Watches." Most of us would immediately assume that this is a jeweler's shop. Maybe so, but if we applied a different frame of reference, we might discover that it is actually a shop which makes signs. A subtle shift of perspective, therefore, can often result in a radical change of meaning.
Among psychologists this technique is known as "reframing," and it has proved particularly helpful for people who are struggling with depression because they feel stuck in an intractable situation. It's not a matter of their being lost or confused. It's more that they think they've run out of options and have nowhere to turn. As hopeless as their dilemma may seem, however, by shifting the frame of reference and allowing them a different perspective on the problem, sometimes new possibilities can emerge. What was previously understood as an obstacle suddenly becomes an opportunity.
The reason I mention this is because long before psychologists coined the term "reframing," the Apostle Paul appears to have already been practicing it. In his letter to the Corinthians, for instance, he points out that we presently view life as "in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face" (1 Corinthians 13:12a). In other words, if we are having a difficult time making sense of things, it could be because we're not seeing the whole picture. We lack perspective, and hence, when we come across a detour, we tend to think of it as just that -- a detour. But when we've reached our final destination, suggests Paul, we'll be able to look back over the journey, and perhaps consider ourselves extremely fortunate that the path suddenly went one way rather than another. Burden or blessing -- who's to say at this point?
Possibly the best scriptural example of this is the Old Testament story of Joseph and his brothers. As you recall, Joseph was Jacob's favorite son. So much so, in fact, that he didn't have to work in the fields with his brothers. Instead, he was free to spend his days and nights dreaming of future glory. That was hard enough for his brothers to stomach. However, when Joseph kept recounting these dreams in sickening detail at the breakfast table each morning, they quickly lost their appetite for him altogether.
Their initial plan was to toss him into a pit and tell the old man that his fair-haired boy had had a fatal tangle with a wild animal -- thereby killing most of Jacob's dreams as well. But when some traveling salespeople happened by, they saw a chance to be rid of Joseph and turn a tidy profit besides. He eventually wound up as a slave in Egypt working for an army captain named Potiphar. After a brief stint in jail over an embarrassing misunderstanding with his employer's wife, Pharaoh got word that Joseph had a knack for interpreting dreams, and decided to see if the young Israelite could decipher some troubling ones that he'd been having lately. Joseph passed the exam with the same flying colors that had once adorned his coat, and Pharaoh promptly gave him a cabinet position as head of the Department of Agriculture.
Years later, when a famine struck up north, Joseph's brothers were forced to make the trek down to Egypt themselves. Because they had pretty well put him out of their minds, they didn't realize that it was Joseph at first. But he recognized them, and couldn't resist the opportunity of pretending that they were spies, just to settle the score. The charade didn't last long, however, since Joseph was starving for family as much as they were for food. When he finally revealed who he was, they fell into each other's arms -- laughing and crying and swapping stories -- almost as if it had all been a bad dream. "Don't be afraid," Joseph reassured them. "You may have intended to do me harm, but God intended it for good" (Genesis 50:20).
In effect, Joseph reframed his entire life. Instead of seeing his brothers' treachery as a burden, he came to understand it as a blessing. And I think Paul is trying to do the same thing in his letter to the Philippians. Those of you who are familiar with this epistle know that he is writing it from a prison cell. We're not sure what precipitated his arrest or even what the accusations were, but inasmuch as imprisonment was for persons awaiting trial rather than a punishment following conviction, Paul's fate is now in the hands of the Roman authorities.
The Philippians, of course, are anxious to hear how he is faring. However, what they need from Paul is more than simply a news report. The fact that their pastor is sitting in jail has the whole congregation talking, and it requires some explanation. No doubt, the unbelieving community was already offering its interpretation, just as it had for the crucifixion of Jesus. "If this man were really the Son of God," the crowds murmured, "God would have rescued him." Likewise, some may have pointed out that if Paul were really following God, these painful and humiliating defeats would not keep occurring.
There have always been those who believe that there is a direct correlation between the kind of person you are and what happens to you. In fact, it is still popular in many Christian circles today to promote faith in God as the key to health, happiness, and prosperity. Very likely then, there were some in Philippi who were starting to wonder whether the church was really that good a deal. After all, what's the point of being Christian, if it doesn't offer you a measure of protection and security?
Make no mistake; Paul needs to interpret his current circumstances. In the first place, it will help silence his critics. But more importantly, almost any suffering or injustice can be endured if we are able to make sense of it. If some higher purpose is being served, most of us can tolerate whatever life throws our way. However, there is no pain quite as stinging as that which has no explanation, and no tragedy so heavy as the one where we are left groping in the darkness searching for what it all means.
Notice, though, how Paul goes about interpreting this for the Philippians. "I want you to know, beloved," he writes, "that what has happened to me has actually helped to spread the gospel, so that it has become known throughout the whole imperial guard and to everyone else that my imprisonment is for Christ" (Philippians 1:12-13). A little later, he confides to them that he hasn't quite made up his mind whether he wants to be released or executed. "I'm not sure which I prefer," he admits. "I am hard pressed between the two: my desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better; but to remain in the flesh is more necessary for you" (Philippians 1:23-24).
What an extraordinary thing to say! You would think that the choice was his to make. But since Paul is neither judge nor jury, his opinion one way or the other is of no consequence whatsoever. If any of us were to get a letter from a friend on trial informing us that they were having a difficult time figuring out whether to be sentenced or set free, we would seriously begin to question our friend's state of mental health. Has Paul suffered too much or simply too long? What is he talking about here? He has absolutely no decision in this matter. On the contrary, he is awaiting someone else's decision.
And yet, in another sense, Paul does have a decision to make. He can sit in his jail cell feeling sorry for himself, or he can embrace his current situation and use it for the glory of God. He can take the initiative and rise above his circumstances, or he can shrug his shoulders and conclude that the whole thing is out of his control. In other words, the choice is his as to whether to view this as a burden or a blessing.
Recently, someone shared with me the story of a concert that Itzhak Perlman, the renowned violinist, once gave at the Lincoln Center in New York City. Any of you who have had the privilege of hearing Perlman play can attest to what a gifted musician he is. During this performance, however, something went wrong. Just a few bars into the opening number, one of the strings of his violin broke. It was such a loud snap that the entire audience immediately realized what had taken place, and they all expected the concert to stop so that he could be brought another violin.
Instead Perlman closed his eyes, waited a moment, and then signaled to the conductor that he wished to continue. Understandably, the orchestra was somewhat apprehensive at first. After all, everyone knows that you cannot perform a major symphonic work with just three strings. You know that, and I know that. But on this particular evening, Itzhak Perlman refused to know that. Indeed, he seemed to play with a renewed passion and energy. You could see him modulating the chords and recomposing the piece as he went.
When he had finished he received a standing ovation -- not only from the audience, but from the orchestra as well. Perlman smiled, and then raised his bow to quiet everyone. "Sometimes it is the artist's task," he explained, "to see how much music you can still make with what you have left."
I think the Apostle Paul would have been able to appreciate that. In fact, when I read the opening paragraph of this letter, what I hear is a beautiful hymn of grace and gratitude being played from Paul's prison cell. "I give thanks to God every time I remember you, because of your sharing in the gospel with me," he tells the Philippians. "I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion. And my prayer is that your love may overflow with both knowledge and insight, in order to help you determine what is best. In this way you will be pure and blameless, having produced the harvest of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ for the glory and praise of God" (vv. 3-6, 9-11). Psychologists would call that reframing. Paul calls it faith.
Burden or blessing -- who's to say? According to Paul, we do. We get to choose our perspective. We can decide whether to be imprisoned by our circumstances or empowered by them. It all depends on how you look at life.
