Philippians 1:12-14
I want you to know, beloved, 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; and most of the brothers and sisters, having been made confident in the Lord by my imprisonment, dare to speak the word with greater boldness and without fear.
Greater Boldness, Greater Hope
“Having been made confident in the Lord by my imprisonment.” Not by my great success, not by my prosperity, not by the ways in which my life has gone along smoothly and without struggle.
It strikes me as being fairly easy to have faith when we don’t perceive ourselves as in need of it. When we’re not utterly dependent on God (or so we think), it’s not so difficult to trust that God is with us and for us. It’s another thing altogether to trust God’s steadfast love for us—and for all creation—when we can’t turn away from the injustices that plague our world, nor from the personal tragedies that rise up in front of us like interminable speed bumps or cavernous ravines. Our trajectory has changed, our timeframe has been altered, and we can no longer pretend that we’re in control of anything.
And yet, somehow, it has been in those moments of freefall (not always and not perfectly) that I have been undeniably aware of a divine, expansive, forever and always Love that holds me gently and assures me that the promise is still a future with hope.
October 2019 in Smoky Mountain National Park. This morning, this photo is speaking to me of renewed life on the other side of what appeared to be an obvious end.
This passage from Philippians invites us to consider not just what these times mean in our own lives, but also in the lives of those in our orbit. Those in Paul’s circle, aware of his unjust imprisonment for Christ, are made confident. They “dare to speak the word with greater boldness and without fear.”
It could have been just the opposite, right? It could have instilled in them greater fear, a need to remain quiet lest they too suffer Paul’s fate. It could have led them to see God as unworthy of trust. Why didn’t God keep Paul from being imprisoned? Why did God let this injustice happen?
Paul’s imprisonment could have silenced them; instead, by the power of the Holy Spirit, it frees them to speak boldly. It strengthens their convictions; it invites them to call on Jesus as this world’s Savior—the one who proclaims release to the captives and sets free those who are oppressed (Luke 4:18), the one whose heart beats in time with all who are burdened and undone, the one who is hope for the hopeless and strength for all who suffer.
I fear this is sounding all too perfect. I am in no way denying the power of all those “forces that defy God,” as our baptismal liturgy describes them. But I renounce them. I refuse to believe that they win in the end. I renounce them. I proclaim that they hold no ultimate power. I trust that what they have intended for death and destruction, God redeems and transforms for bold, courageous life.
In this season of yearning, greater hope persists.