Better By Far
TCF Sermon
April 10, 2011
Philippians 1:21-25 (ESV) For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me. Yet which I shall choose I cannot tell. 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 on your account. Convinced of this, I know that I will remain and continue with you all, for your progress and joy in the faith,
I have to admit something that some of you may think is a bit morbid, or at least weird. But the very fact that I have to explain my line of thinking at the outset of this sermon is a picture of one of the challenges we face as believers these days.
I have to admit that I’ve spent a lot of time in the past several months thinking about death and dying. It may be because I’ve been involved with the planning of several funerals. James Carpentier. Johanna Vesanen. Bill Sanders.
In fact, Jim Grinnell and I were talking about this the other day. I reminded him that I’ve sometimes referred to him as the weddingmeister. That’s because he seems to get asked to do a lot more weddings than the rest of us. And also because he’s very gifted in doing weddings – always does a great job.
I told him maybe I’m becoming the funeralmeister, because I seem to do a few more than the rest of us, at least recently. I’m not sure what that fact says about our respective giftings, but I’ll let you decide.
But, perhaps I’ve been thinking about death and dying because I was at the bedside of many of these people often, prior to their going home to be with the Lord. It may be because of the serious illness my mother’s experiencing, and my dad’s declining health. It may be because I’ve spent hours in the hospital with seriously ill people like Pam Buetow before she went to be with the Lord Thursday. It may be because I’m in the nursing home each week with Nette and some of her friends at the nursing home, many of whom have died.
I feel the need to explain why I’m thinking about these things because it’s not something many of us think about deeply, seriously, over a period of time. It seems strange, different, maybe morbid. It seems the only time we think of these things is when we have funerals. But many of us haven’t been to these funerals. Either we don’t have much of a relationship with the one who died, or our schedule didn’t permit us to take time off in the middle of the day, or perhaps just because we’re uncomfortable with the whole scene, but many of us just don’t ever think about death and dying, because we don’t want to.
However, when you look at the demographics of this church, that’s changing, or it’s going to have to change. It used to be we could go several years at TCF without a member passing away. Now, we have some people in this congregation in their 60s, 70s and 80s. More than that, we have a large segment of TCFers who have aging parents, making decisions about late-in-life care. In that large segment of TCF are many who already have parents facing debilitating illness, and many more who’ve lost parents in the past few years.
But it’s not just this segment of TCF that should be thinking about these things. It’s all of us. If you’re a teenager, or in your 20s, 30s or 40s, these thoughts I’m sharing with you this morning are things you should think about as well.
Because of what the apostle Paul tells us here in this passage, because of what we mark in the next few weeks – Jesus’ death and resurrection, and all that it means to us – it’s important for us to think about death and dying and all the related issues.
It’s important because, despite differences in individual circumstances, despite differences in medical decisions made in later life, there are some common themes that Christians have, throughout the centuries, thought about and taught about when it comes to death and dying.
Paul said to the Philippians that to depart, and to be with Christ, is far better. Far better than staying in our mortal bodies. The NIV says, “better by far.” We’ll take a closer look at this passage here in a minute.
But if it’s far better, why are we so distant from these thoughts? If it’s far better, then why when death appears imminent do we fight death so fiercely? Why are we so uncomfortable talking about these things?
I read a great book called The Art of Dying, by Christianity Today editor Rob Moll. In the forward, by Lauren Winner, we read:
We no longer allow people to say that they are dying – rather, they are “battling” an illness. Far from encouraging the perilously ill to recognize the imminence of their death, we encourage the sick (and their doctors) to fight death – but not to prepare for it. Some would say this evasion of death is an improvement. I would say our avoidance of death, far from being an advance, is false, costly, and alienating. We, the church, need to recover the art of dying. We need to allow dying Christians to be just that – dying Christians, who can rail against, but also prepare for, death. We need to make space for the exhausting, sad work of mourning.
A pastor said once that his church didn’t have enough funerals. It was because his church was made up of largely younger people, so they didn’t have many funerals. That highlights an advantage to having a church made up of a variety of age groups. It’s an advantage, because funerals are not just an important milestone with the individual family involved, but they are important in the life of the whole fellowship. They’re important because the things we think about and remember during a funeral are important for our spiritual formation – our discipleship in Christ, our understanding of His grace, and His salvation.
Our culture simply doesn’t know what to think about death. Through medicine and science we know more about death and how to forestall it than ever before. Yet we know very little about caring for a dying person. We don’t know what to expect or how to prepare for our own death. And we’re often awkward at best when trying to comfort a friend in grief. We have come to expect medical breakthroughs, vaccines and wonder-working drugs. It’s clear that our paradoxical approach to death is largely due to the fact that we are strangers to death – despite it being ever present. Rob Moll
We see death on TV programs and in movies, and it’s not real to us. We see it on the news from Japan, or the Middle East, and it’s not real to us. Death is also not real to us because of some significant changes in the way people die in modern times.
Did you know that in 1908, only 14% of deaths occurred in a hospital or nursing home of some kind? By the end of the century, it was nearly 80%. Of course, there are good reasons for that. One of those reasons is that medical science has made advancements that prolong life, and the corresponding truth is that it has often prolonged the dying process.
Clearly, medical science has improved life in many ways, but one of the side effects is that we’re protected from what dying looks like. Usually only close family members and friends see a dying person in the hospital.
It is no longer acceptable for strangers to come into a room that smells of urine, sweat and gangrene, and where sheets are soiled. Access to this room must be forbidden, except to a few intimates capable of overcoming their disgust, or to those indispensable persons who provide certain services. Phillipe Aries
Unless we’re like some of you who’ve had a loved one pass away after a debilitating illness, we’re strangers to death, again, except at funerals, which don’t happen that often, and many of us don’t attend.
“All the things that once prepared us for death,” writes journalist Virginia Morris, “regular experience with illness and death, public grief and mourning, a culture and philosophy of death, interaction with the elderly, as well as the visibility of our own aging – are virtually gone from our lives.”
It hasn’t always been this way. It hasn’t been this way in our culture in general, and it hasn’t always been this way among believers. In every phase of Christian history, the church has wrestled with how to help believers die well, and how the family of God can join together to provide hope, help and support when one of their own dies.
Through much of church history, death hasn’t just been a medical event – a medical battle to be fought. It also wasn’t just about the loss of precious relationships to be mourned – though it clearly was, and is, that.
For the church, death was a spiritual event that required preparation. And not just for the person dying. Not just for their family and friends. But for the entire church – with the knowledge that it’s something we will all face.
Though it seems distant for many of us, in the scheme of things, life is just a blip on the radar screen of eternity. Yes, life is short.
In the 2nd half of the 15th century, the plague devastated Europe. The church was actively involved in preparing people for death, because so many were dying, sometimes nearly whole towns. No one was immune. Churches published booklets, tracts, on what was called the ars moriendi – the art of dying.
These were books about how to practice good deaths. There were some common themes in these booklets.
They included:
1. Death requires preparation
2. The dying process is a deeply spiritual event
3. Death is to be actively undertaken
4. Death is a public and instructive event
5. Death injures the community
The ars moriendi tradition blossomed not only because of the emergence of the plague, but also because Christian tradition asserted that the death of a follower of Christ was to be different from those who die without faith. This life is only the prelude to an eternal life with Christ. We, like Jesus, will be reunited with our glorified bodies. We will worship God corporately for eternity. So we have reason to hope and to be in peace as our life on earth comes to an end. Rob Moll
Today, we know more about death and how to delay it than ever before. Medical science, nutrition, general care for our health, are things many of us rely on, and that’s all well and good. But regardless of how well you eat, regardless of your genetic makeup and the longevity you might have in your family history, regardless of how much you exercise and take good care of yourself, the day will come.
Your life on this earth will end. If the Lord does not return first, you will die. It’s not if you die, it’s when you die. Does that seem like a morbid thought? Sorry if it does, but death is an undeniable fact of life for all of us. That and taxes.
Because of that, I think it’s important for the Christian to think about and prepare spiritually for this inevitable event in each of our lives and the lives of those we love. It’s at least as important as caring for our physical health and well-being, into which many of us invest huge amounts of money and time. Paul thought so, and told Timothy:
1 Timothy 4:8 (NASB95) bodily discipline is only of little profit, but godliness is profitable for all things, since it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come.
Here’s Paul, again, prioritizing, comparing and contrasting, in this case, bodily discipline on the one hand, with godliness, or spiritual discipline, and making the point that the promise of spiritual things benefits us both in the here and now, as well as in the life to come.
So, don’t hear me say you shouldn’t take care of your physical health. Paul didn’t say it was of no profit. It’s just that, by comparison to godliness, it’s of little profit. I’ll take advantage of the little profit that I can get from taking care of my physical well-being. Believe me, if I attached no importance at all to that, I wouldn’t work out six days a week, because it’s not that much fun.
But Paul tells us that godliness is profitable for all things, including the present life, and the life to come. That’s why, to Paul, the thought of death was not in the least bit morbid or out of bounds. He writes of it almost matter-of-factly. Let me read the passage we opened with again, this time from the NIV.
Philippians 1:21-26 (NIV) For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body. Convinced of this, I know that I will remain, and I will continue with all of you for your progress and joy in the faith, so that through my being with you again your joy in Christ Jesus will overflow on account of me.
We see several things here that are instructive. First, we see the very real tension between two good things. Bud Buetow wrestled with that in a different way with Pam. The doctors said about 8 days before she died that there was little chance she’d recover, less so as each day passed. Bud wanted to hang onto that chance, however small, so he prayed, as many of us did, for healing.
Yet, Bud also says he’d released Pam to the Lord, long before she died Thursday. He knows that scripture tells us it is appointed for us to die. He knows that God has numbered our days. He also knows what Paul tells us here in Philippians:
To be with Christ is better by far.
It’s true for Pam, and someday for each of us who are Christians. So Paul was torn. Bud was torn. Sometimes, we are torn. Sometimes, it’s hard to know whether to pray for healing, or pray for mercy and grace as God ushers a believer into eternal life. But sometimes I think we can pray for both, and rest in God’s perfect plans. The KJV puts it this way:
Philippians 1:23 (KJV) For I am in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ; which is far better:
Don’t you love that word? Betwixt. I wanted to use that translation, here 500 years after the King James Version was released, because I thought it would be cool to use a word like betwixt. Paul is essentially saying that he cannot determine easily between these two choices that are both good.
The word rendered "I am in a strait" συνεχομαι - means, to be pressed on or constrained, as in a crowd; to feel one’s self pressed, or pent up, so as not to know what to do; and it here means that he was in perplexity and doubt, and did not know what to choose. "The words of the original are very emphatic. They appear to be derived from a ship when lying at anchor, and when violent winds blow upon it that would drive it out to sea. The apostle represents himself as in a similar condition. His strong affection for them bound his heart to them as an anchor holds a ship to its moorings; and yet there was a heavenly influence bearing upon him—like the gale upon the vessel—which would bear him away to heaven." Barnes Notes
Now, as Paul considers this dilemma, it’s also clear where he begins. He’s thinking about what’s good for him, if there were no other considerations. At first, in verse 21 he says, “for me.” Or “for to me.” For Paul, both choices were good, but to depart and be with Christ was better by far, and that’s where his challenge begins.
I think it’s clear that if Paul didn’t have any other consideration but his own peace, safety and comfort, he would say, come take me now, Lord. Why else would he say, to be with Christ is “better by far.” How else could Paul so casually call his very death something so simple as “departing.”
It’s important to understand how forceful these words, “better by far,” really are. In the Greek, it’s a double comparative. It means "by far the more preferable"; In our vernacular, we might say, way way way better. It’s a very emphatic statement: better beyond all expression.
That’s how Paul understood his death, and the death of any believer in Christ. So, Paul had no fear of death. He was absolutely confident that when he departed this life, he would be with Christ. At the very moment he died, He’d be with Jesus.
He speaks of it as ‘departing,’ a metaphor which does not, like many of the flattering appellations which men give that last enemy, reveal a quaking dread which cannot bear to look him in his ashen, pale face. Paul calls him (death) gentle names, because he fears him not at All. To him all the dreadfulness, the mystery, the pain and the solitude have melted away, and death has become a mere change of place. The word literally means to unloose, and is employed to express pulling up the tent-pegs of a shifting encampment, or drawing up the anchor of a ship. In either case the image is simply that of removal. It is but the last day’s journey, and tomorrow there will be no packing up in the morning and resuming our weary tramp, but we shall be at home, and go no more out. So has the awful thing at the end dwindled, and the brighter and greater the land behind it shines, the smaller does it appear. The Apostle thinks little of dying because he thinks so much of what comes after. Alexander MacLaren
Paul reinforced this confidence, as well as this tension we all live with, in other places in scripture. He wrote to the Corinthians
2 Corinthians 5:1-10 (NIV) Now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked. For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. Now it is God who has made us for this very purpose and has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come. Therefore we are always confident and know that as long as we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord. We live by faith, not by sight. We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord. So we make it our goal to please him, whether we are at home in the body or away from it.
And here, with this last verse, we see another theme also present in the passage in Philippians. We make it our goal to please Him, either here on earth, or in the presence of God. In Philippians, Paul noted
it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body. Convinced of this, I know that I will remain, and I will continue with all of you for your progress and joy in the faith, so that through my being with you again your joy in Christ Jesus will overflow on account of me.
Paul, despite his struggle, despite being torn betwixt two good choices, was convinced that it was more necessary for his Philippian brothers and sisters in Christ, as well as the other churches he ministered in, that he remain. Even though it was better by far for him to be with Christ.
Now, of course, it’s not as if Paul really got to choose whether to live or die. But, the Holy Spirit gave him a confidence so that Paul could say, “I know that I will remain.”
We don’t always know like Paul knew. And we don’t always have a sense when our time is short, like Paul did later in his life when he wrote this to Timothy:
2 Timothy 4:7-8 (NIV) I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day--and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.
Commentators have noted that 2 Timothy has sort of a somber tone. Here’s Paul imprisoned again. But unlike when he wrote to the Philippians, and at that time had confidence that he would survive that ordeal in prison, Paul apparently had a clear sense here that his life on earth was nearly over.
Unlike Paul’s first imprisonment in Rome, when he was in a house (Acts 28:16, 23, 30) where he continued to teach, this time he was probably confined to a cold dungeon, awaiting his death (4:6-8). Emperor Nero had begun a major persecution in A.D. 64 as part of his plan to pass the blame for the great fire of Rome from himself to the Christians. This persecution spread across the empire and included social ostracism, public torture, and murder. As Paul was waiting to die, he wrote a letter to his dear friend Timothy, a younger man who was like a son to him (1:2). Written in approximately A.D. 66/67, these are the last words we have from Paul. Life Application Bible
So, while the circumstances were different, while the understanding of his fate was different, because his fate had changed, the confidence in where he was headed remained. And the sense that it was better by far was unchanged.
Now, because Paul was human like we are, he probably was apprehensive about death, at least in the sense that he’d never done it before, and didn’t know what the process would feel like. But what was beyond the moment of death was what gave him confidence and hope, and mitigated any fear he felt about the moment of death itself.
He has calmness in his confidence. There is nothing hysterical or overwrought or morbid in these brief words, so peaceful in their trust, so moderate and restrained in their rapture. Are our anticipations of the future moulded on such a pattern? Do we think of it as quietly as this man did? Are we as tranquilly sure about it? Is there as little mist of uncertainty about the clearly defined image to our eye as there was to his? Is our confidence so profound that these brief monosyllables are enough to state it? Above all, do we know that to die will be gain, because we can honestly say that to live is Christ? If so, our hope is valid, and will not yield when we lean heavily upon it for support in the ford over the black stream. If our hope is built on anything besides, it will snap then like a rotten pole, and leave us to stumble helpless among the slippery stones and the icy torrent. It is Christ and Christ only who draws us across the gulf to be with Him, and reduces death to a mere shifting of our encampment. Alexander MacLaren
Paul’s only reason for wishing to die was to be with Christ. It’s not because he was sick of life, not because of the sorrow or pain he experienced. He wanted to be with His Lord and Savior. He preferred it.
The great 1800s Scottish preacher Alexander MacLaren said:
Many of us cling to life with a desperate clutch, like some poor wretch pushed over a precipice and trying to dig his nails into the rock as he falls. Some of us cling to it because we dread what is beyond, and our longing to live is the measure of our dread to die. But Paul did not look forward to a thick darkness of judgment, or to nothingness. He saw in the darkness a great light, the light in the windows of his Father’s house, and yet he turned willingly away to his toil in the field, and was more than content to drudge on as long as he could do anything by his work. Blessed are they who share his desire to depart, and his victorious willingness to stay here and labour! They shall find that such a life in the flesh, too, is being with Christ. He is no more in a strait betwixt two, or unwitting what he shall choose. He chooses nothing, but accepts the appointment of a higher wisdom. There is rest for him, as for us, in ceasing from our own wishes, and laying our wills silent and passive at His feet.
One of the many things we can be certain of is that we are immortal until our work is done. Paul knew when he wrote to the Philippians that his work wasn’t done. When he wrote to Timothy, he had a sense that his work was nearly complete.
Whatever medical decisions we make, under any circumstances, we can live out our faith in God, our love for one another, and our confidence in the resurrection.
Death is still, as Paul wrote, the last enemy. It’s not a part of God’s primary purpose for His creation. Yet, for the follower of Christ, death is part of God’s mercy. It’s the last of life’s miseries. It’s the beginning of new life in the presence of the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.
…there is no evil so great that God cannot bring joy and goodness from it. This is why death deserves attention in life. Because we instinctively want to avoid it, to turn our face away, it is good to look death in the eye and constantly remind ourselves that our hope is in God, who defeated death. Rob Moll
St Isaac the Syrian: Prepare your heart for your departure. If you are wise, you will expect it every hour…and when the time of departure comes, go joyfully to meet it, saying, “come in peace. I knew you would come, and I have not neglected anything that could help me on the journey.”
Let me close with a scripture that isn’t often heard outside of funerals. So if you haven’t been to a funeral recently, it’s worth hearing today. If you have been to a funeral recently, may it bring you hope and encouragement in the Lord.
1 Corinthians 15:50-58 (NIV) I declare to you, brothers, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed-- in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: "Death has been swallowed up in victory." "Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?" The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my dear brothers, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.
