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MY ONE PERFECT TREASURE #2
WRETCHED RESUMÉS
There's a cute story rapidly making the rounds, which
doesn't go very far toward proving that it's true. But back in Muhammed
Ali's heyday, when the heavyweight champion of the world could float like
a butterfly and sting like a bee, there was no one more impressed with
the power and the ability of Muhammed Ali than . . . Muhammed Ali. He
could give reporters and Howard Cosell plenty of lively, self-serving
copy; he truly was "the mouth that roared." And of course, having
scored a seventh-round knockout of Sonny Liston, he did have something
to crow about.
Just for fun, humorist Art Buchwald wrote about the trouble the U.S. Army
was having with its newest recruit. This young boxer, known back then
as Cassius Clay, didn't want to carry a gun. "I don't need no gun,"
he sniffed. "I am the greatest. You are wasting me as a private;
I should be a general. Just tell the Russians that Cassius Clay is in
the army, and they will shiver and shake. I'm your secret weapon. Send
me to Berlin." And of course, with his penchant for poems, he would
then recite: "Oh love, oh joy, I am so great. I got Liston in seven
and I'll get Khrushchev in eight."
Well, as the anecdote goes, he was riding on an airplane which hit a little
turbulence. So the flight attendants went up and down the aisles telling
passengers to get their seat belts on. But Muhammed Ali refused to fasten
his. When confronted, he gave the lady a high-and-mighty look. "Superman
don't need no seatbelt," he claimed. Well, the airline employee didn't
miss a beat. "Superman don't need no airplane either."
Well, for any of us who might wish to trust in our boxing resumés,
or our line scores, or our golf handicaps, the book of Philippians provides
for some sober reading. Because all joking aside, it is human nature,
and it has always been human nature, to think that our knockouts and our
victories in life count for something. They give us self-confidence. In
fact, they define, almost, who we are. We've done a few radio programs
about people who literally risk their lives to climb up a certain hill
in Tibet that stands 29,028 feet high. And if you've been to the top of
Everest, for the rest of your life, that's precisely WHO you are. You're
an Everest summiteer . . . and you make sure you're introduced that way
at Rotary luncheons from that moment on.
Well, here in Philippians chapter three, Paul is writing specifically
to Christians who place spiritual confidence in the fact that they are
circumcised people; they're orthodox. In fact, verse three talks about
the temptation to have "confidence in the flesh." Now, here
in 2001, this particular religious rite has ceased to have significance
for the people of God. But one of the driving motivations in the life
of any religious person is to place confidence - or, I should say, MIS-place
confidence - in something about himself or herself. A degree, or their
job, or their Bible-reading habits, or their attendance at church each
week. Involvement with a mission program. SOMETHING.
And so here in chapter three, Paul, after excoriating, or verbally blistering,
these "mutilators of the flesh" who believe and teach that there
is spiritual merit, salvation CREDIT, to be gained by a ceremony like
circumcision, he launches into his own resumé. As if to say, "Hey,
if heaven's going by diplomas and citations, I'll have the biggest mansion
on Salvation Street." The NIV comments describe what follows as Paul's
"pre-Christian confidence, rooted in his Jewish pedigree, privileges,
and attainments." Here's verse four and following, from the Clear
Word expanded paraphrase:
"If anyone could put confidence in what he has
done, I certainly could," he writes. "I could challenge anyone
for these reasons: I was circumcised an Israelite from the tribe of Benjamin
when I was eight days old."
Benjamin, by the way, was one of the two faithful tribes
that didn't secede from the House of David in the Old Testament. He goes
on:
"I grew up and was trained in the strictest Pharisaic
tradition. If there ever was a real Hebrew, I was one. I kept the Jewish
laws so well that I was made a member of the Sanhedrin, the Jewish national
council!" He continues: "Sincere? Was I ever! In fact, I was
so sincere that the Sanhedrin in Jerusalem entrusted me with the responsibility
to rid the country of Christians. As far as keeping all other rules and
regulations of the Jews is concerned, I was so thorough in what I did
that I was considered blameless."
Bible commentator Ralph Martin, writing for the
Tyndale New Testament Commentaries, points out that this is a classic,
ticking-off-on-your-fingers list of seven things, seven bragging points.
And it's significant that the first four of these are just "birthright
things": Paul was just plain born INTO these advantages: circumcised
on the eighth day, meaning he was a natural-born Jew, not a convert, or
an Ishmaelite, who was usually circumcised after his 13th year. Number
two, he's an Israelite; three, from the prestigious tribe of Benjamin;
four, a "Hebrew of Hebrews." But he goes on and ADDS ON three
more resumé pads: he becomes a Pharisee, the strictest of all Jewish
sects; he demonstrates zeal in tracking down those heretic Christians;
in terms of law-keeping, he's blameless.
Here's the point. If THIS were the basis of salvation, if degree and pedigree
where the testing points, then Paul absolutely qualifies. By any scorecard,
these seven points would qualify a man or woman. But he goes right on
to declare in big red type, bold and italic and underlined and highlighted,
that this is NOT where a person finds his assurance of salvation. His
list of seven counts for zero; in fact, as we'll continue to study, it
counts up as a negative, a loss. Instead, Paul turns to two words: Jesus
Christ. Everything else is a loss except for knowing Jesus.
There's a man in my own Adventist denomination named Jan. A tall, dynamic,
scholarly, well-educated Christian with some real leadership talents.
He went to seminary and received a good education to be a pastor and administrator.
He served the Lord in Europe and was a great blessing to many believers.
He rose through the ranks and received various leadership opportunities.
And then, about two years ago, Jan Paulsen suddenly became president for
the entire denomination. Everybody! Eleven million Seventh-day Adventists.
Now, THAT'S a resumé!
But do you know something? For Pastor Jan Paulsen, the basis of his salvation
is quite simple: Jesus' sacrifice for him on the cross. Not his degrees
- honorary or earned. Not his frequent flier miles as he circles the globe
many, many times a year, dedicating churches and hospitals and meeting
heads of state. Not the books he writes, the Telepromptered sermons he
delivers via satellite to global audiences. No, if Jan Paulsen gets into
heaven, it will be because he accepted the shed blood of Jesus for him.
Nothing more than that, nothing less than that.
I mentioned here last week Pastor Adrian Rogers, who was elected to THREE
terms as the president of the Southern Baptist Convention. Now, in terms
of a resumé, that is decent! And of course, the Southern Baptist
denomination has my own Adventist church family beat by a few percentage
points in terms of size - not that we're competing. But does Pastor Rogers
point to those three terms and expect a mansion in heaven? Does he mail
up to God the computerized membership list of Bellevue Baptist Church
in Memphis, Tennessee, with its 24,000 names and addresses? Does he Fed
Ex up to the executive committee sitting at the pearly gate some VHS copies
of his Love Worth Finding TV program? No. And as I shared last week, Pastor
Rogers confesses: "I wouldn't count on the best 15 minutes I ever
had to get me into heaven." No, for him the only portfolio worth
mentioning is just two words long too: "Jesus Christ."
Maybe you've heard of a very devout Christian named Karol. Eighty years
old, dedicated to God's work, with many years of faithful service. Now,
Karol is a he, not a she, with the full name of Karol Wojtyla, otherwise
known as Pope John Paul II. If accomplishments and citations and medals
and pomp and glory and the votes of fellow cardinals, were to be considered
in heaven's court, this pontiff would be assured of a mansion on high.
But no. Friend, any pope, any president, any pastor, any common person
- high or low, good or bad, saint or sinner - will be admitted to heaven
only on one basis: because of Calvary.
We get a lot of letters here at Box 53055, and you know, some of them
come from people who aren't educated. The handwriting is poor, and the
grammar mixed up. Some envelopes have those mysterious box numbers on
them, and it takes a moment to figure out that this is coming from a prisoner.
Many people write in and confess major mistakes, blockbuster sins. In
terms of bragging rights, or college credits, or resumés, these
people have very little chance of making their mark in the world. And
if we didn't have Philippians chapter three, if somehow there was a thought
that only people who can type, or people who can stay out of Leavenworth,
or people who have been to Harvard or Yale can get to heaven, they'd be
doomed and so would a lot of us.
But these people writing in - praise God, somehow they usually seem to
know the necessary two words: Jesus Christ. Those two words are there
in the smudged, pencil-smeared handwriting. Jesus Christ is their hope,
and your hope, and the pope's hope, and my hope.
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