conviction that the situation in which he finds himself will result in his salvation. Even his imprisonment, and even the almost hostile preaching of his personal enemies, will in the end turn out to be his salvation. What does he mean by his salvation? The word is sōteria, and here there are three possible meanings.
(1) It may mean safety, in which case Paul will be saying that he is quite sure that the matter will end in his release. But that can hardly be the meaning here, since Paul goes on to say that he cannot be sure whether he will live or die.
(2) It may mean his salvation in heaven. In that case, Paul would be saying that his conduct in the opportunity which this situation provides will be his witness in the day of judgment. There is a great truth here. In any situation of opportunity or challenge, we are acting not only for the present time but also for eternity. Our reaction to every situation in time is a witness for or against us in eternity.
(3) But sōteria may have a wider meaning than either of these. It can mean health, general wellbeing. Paul may well be saying that all that is happening to him in this very difficult situation is the best thing for him both in the present and in eternity. ‘God put me in this situation; and God means it, with all its problems and its difficulties, to make for my happiness and usefulness in time, and for my joy and peace in eternity.’
In this situation, Paul knows that he has two great supports.
(1) He has the support of the prayers of his friends. One of the loveliest things in Paul’s letters is the way in which he asks again and again for his friends’ prayers. ‘Beloved,’ he writes to the Thessalonians, ‘pray for us.’ ‘Finally, brothers and sisters,’ he writes, ‘pray for us, so that the word of the Lord may spread rapidly and be glorified everywhere’ (1 Thessalonians 5:25; 2 Thessalonians 3:1). He says to the Corinthians: ‘You must help us by prayer’ (cf. 2 Corinthians 1:11). He writes that he is sure that through Philemon’s prayers he will be given back to his friends (Philemon 22). Before he sets out on his perilous journey to Jerusalem, he writes to the church at Rome asking for their prayers (Romans 15:30–2).
Paul was never too full of his own importance to remember that he needed the prayers of his friends. He never talked to people as if he could do everything and they could do nothing; he always remembered that neither he, nor they, could do anything without the help of God. There is something to be remembered here. When people are in sorrow, one of their greatest comforts is the awareness that others are bearing them to the throne of grace. When they have to face some backbreaking effort or some heartbreaking decision, there is new strength in remembering that others are remembering them before God. When they go into new places and are far from home, they are upheld in the knowledge that the prayers of those who love them are crossing continents to bring them before the throne of grace. We cannot call people our friends unless we pray for them.
(2) Paul knows that he has the support of the Holy Spirit. The presence of the Holy Spirit is the fulfilment of the promise of Jesus that he will be with us to the end of the world.
In all this situation, Paul has one expectation and one hope. The word he uses for expectation is very vivid and unusual; no one uses it before Paul, and he may well have coined it himself. It is apokaradokia. Apo means away from, kara means the head, dokein means to look; and apokaradokia means the eager, intense look, which turns away from everything else to fix on the one object of desire. Paul’s hope is that he will never be shamed into silence, either by cowardice or by a feeling of ineffectiveness. Paul is certain that in Christ he will find courage never to be ashamed of the gospel, and that through Christ his labours will be made effective for all to see. J. B. Lightfoot writes: ‘The right of free speech is the badge, the privilege, of the servant of Christ.’ To speak the truth with boldness is not only the privilege of the servants of Christ; it is also their duty.
So, if Paul courageously and effectively seizes his opportunity, Christ will be glorified in him. It does not matter how things go with him. If he dies, his will be the martyr’s crown; if he lives, his will be the privilege still to preach and to witness for Christ. As Charles Ellicott nobly puts it, Paul is saying: ‘My body will be the theatre in which Christ’s glory is displayed.’ Here is the terrible responsibility of all Christians. Once we have chosen Christ, by our lives and conduct we bring either glory or shame to him. Leaders are judged by their followers; and Christ is judged by us.
IN LIFE AND IN DEATH
Philippians 1:21–6
For living is Christ to me, and death is gain. And yet – what if the continuance of my life in the flesh would produce more fruit for me? What I am to choose is not mine to declare. I am caught between two desires, for I have my desire to strike camp and to be with Christ, which is far better; but for your sake it is more essential for me to remain in this life. And I am confidently certain of this, that I will remain, and I will be with you and beside you all to help you along the road, and to increase the joy of your faith, so that you may have still further grounds for boasting in Christ because of me, when once again I come to visit you.
SINCE Paul was in prison awaiting trial, he had to face the fact that it was quite uncertain whether he would live or die – and to him it made no difference.
‘Living’, he says, in his great phrase, ‘is Christ to me.’ For Paul, Christ had been the beginning of life, for on that day on the Damascus road it was as if he had begun life all over again. Christ had been the continuing of life; there had never been a day when Paul had not lived in his presence, and in the frightening moments Christ had been there to tell him not to be afraid (Acts 18:9–10). Christ was the end of life, for it was towards his eternal presence that life always led. Christ was the inspiration of life; he was the dynamic of life. To Paul, Christ had given the task of life, for it was he who had made him an apostle and sent him out as the evangelist of the Gentiles. To him, Christ had given the strength for life, for it was Christ’s all-sufficient grace that was made perfect in Paul’s weakness. For him, Christ was the reward of life, for to Paul the only worthwhile reward was closer fellowship with his Lord. If Christ were to be taken out of life, for Paul there would be nothing left.
‘For me,’ said Paul, ‘death is gain.’ Death was entrance into Christ’s nearer presence. There are passages in which Paul seems to regard death as a sleep, from which all at some future general resurrection shall be wakened (1 Corinthians 15:51–2; 1 Thessalonians 4:14, 4:16); but, at the moment when its breath was on him, Paul thought of death not as a falling asleep but as an immediate entry into the presence of his Lord. If we believe in Jesus Christ, death for us is union and reunion, union with him and reunion with those whom we have loved and lost awhile.
The result was that Paul was wavering between two desires. ‘I am caught’, he says, ‘between two desires.’ As the Revised Standard Version has it, ‘I am hard pressed between the two.’ The word he uses is senechomai, the word which would be used of a traveller in a narrow passage, with a wall of rock on either side, unable to turn off in any direction and able only to go straight on. For himself, he wanted to depart and to be with Christ; for the sake of his friends and of what he could do with them and for them, he wanted to be left in this life. Then comes the thought that the choice is not his but God’s.
‘My desire is to depart’, says Paul – and the phrase is very vivid. The word he uses for to depart is analuein.
(1) It is the word for breaking up a camp, loosening the tent-ropes, pulling up the tent-pegs and moving on. Death is a moving on. It is said that in the terrible days of the Second World War, when the Royal Air Force stood between Britain and destruction, and the lives of its pilots were being sacrificed, they never spoke of a pilot as having been killed but always as having been ‘posted to another station’. Each day is
