2 Timothy 4:5-8
“But you be watchful in all things, endure afflictions, do the work of an evangelist, fulfill your ministry. … I have fought the good fight. I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.”
Glory to Jesus Christ! Glory forever!
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
I want to share something with you before formally beginning my homily, a little insight into my creative processes. When I write my sermon, I usually excerpt a small snippet of the text—a verse or verses—that I would like most to highlight, most to exegete over the course of my preaching, and I paste it, and italicize it, at the very top of my manuscript. Today’s excerpt is from the Apostle’s Second Epistle to Timothy:
“But you be watchful in all things, endure afflictions, do the work of an evangelist, [and] fulfill your ministry. … I have fought the good fight. I have finished the race, I have kept the faith (2 Tim 4:5, 7).
Now, over the course of writing my sermon, I will go back and (quote—unquote) “test the flow.” So, I will read this passage, out loud; many, many times over the course of writing my sermon. And, well, nearing the end of my composition process for this week, and trying very hard to imbibe the same timbre, the same attitude and authority with which I strive to deliver a Sunday sermon, I began:
“But you be watchful in all things, endure afflictions, do the work of an evangelist, [and] fulfill your ministry. … I have fought the food fight… .”
“I have fought the food fight.” I had read this quote—my own, hand-selected quote—nearly… ten times? I had never noticed the type-o; my brain had ignored it. And momentarily, in a rush of unchecked inspiration, I pictured the Apostle, throwing a handful of corn and mash potatoes at St. Timothy, as though across a high school cafeteria table. I audibly chuckled to myself at the image, and… the authority, delivery, tone of my rehearsal was blown. More than that, consequently, the crux of my sermon, thus far composed, was inevitably altered. So, if it was not for my own editorial goof, you would have received a very different lecture. God works in funny ways.
What this written gaffe revealed to me, however, is in part the very thing that, I believe, St. Paul was attempting to commend to St. Timothy. What do I mean by this? You know, in life, in our jobs, in our hobbies and aspirations, in our spirituality, in our ministry, in our roles as parents and friends and mentors: we take ourselves very seriously. We want to be perceived as “professional,” as capable, as intelligent, as serious, as committed, devoted; even, more committed and more devoted, and more intelligent and more capable than everyone else. We take ourselves very seriously. … And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Life can be very serious. There are moments that call for the utmost sobriety, the utmost focus, the perfect application of skill and intelligence. There are moments in which the jester, the joker figure, is entirely unwelcome.
But then there are also moments that require a smile, a laugh. There are moments in which a silly face and a laidback demeanor are most welcome. There are situations where the polished person appears as though he is “trying too hard,” and the intelligent man comes across only as a “know-it-all.” Yes indeed, the appropriateness of our attitudes, our words, our expressions are very situational, and it takes a great amount of emotional and social intelligence—a great amount of spiritual moderation—to “read the room.”
“Ok, Deacon, get on with it. What are you talking about?” It is the New Year. And around this time of year, so many people go about “re-inventing” themselves. It is the new year, so… it must be time to lose weight. It is the new year, so… it must be time to start a new hobby, or learn a new skill. It is the new year, so… it must be time to take our faith seriously, commit ourselves to more regular prayer, and Bible-reading, and church attendance. It is the new year, so… it must be time for a “new me.” It’s time to get fit! It’s time to get smart! It’s time to get handsome! “It’s time to get serious about a whole bunch of things that I have been far too un-serious about.”
If you have said these kinds of things to yourself over the last week, then truly—sincerely—I applaud you. Making a new beginning every day is at the heart of Orthodox spirituality. Perhaps you already saw it posted to our parish’s Facebook page, but there is a great quote from St. Porphyrios that (speaking especially for myself now) we could benefit to see at least once a year:
“At your work, whatever it may be, you can become a saint through meekness, patience, and love. Make a new start every day, with new resolution, with enthusiasm, and love, prayer and silence” (Wounded by Love).
New Year’s resolutions are not unhealthy spiritual practices. New day’s resolutions are even better! But, we should offer a word of caution to this practice: “Don’t try to bite off more than you can chew.” This is not necessarily a biblical principle. It’s really so commonsensical that even the New York Times’ Top 10 Best Self-Help books cannot fail to mention it. “Don’t bite off more than you can chew.” Don’t get too serious or too aggressive with what you are trying to accomplish. You want to lose weight? Start with 10 lbs. You want to read more books? Start with one book/month. You want to start a new hobby? How about just one new hobby? And do try not to open an Etsy store where you intend to sell your half-baked wares before getting a few years’ practice under your belt. The new year can be a time for reinvention, for re-invigoration, for stoking old fires. But so often, the new year (and our New Year’s resolutions with her) become an occasion for disappointment, sorrow, and self-loathing. “Well, we started out well! Then it all went to pot!” Our New Year’s resolutions, and subsequently, our New Year’s failures are indicative of a sort of spiritual vacillation—a spiritual ebb and flow—to the extremes of spiritual fervor and then spiritual depression that we must take caution against as believers.
Let’s return now to something I said earlier: “What this written gaffe revealed to me… is in part the very thing that, I believe, St. Paul was attempting to commend to St. Timothy.” You remember? I said this about my “food fight” type-o subverting the serious tenor of my sermon. St. Paul, in his encouraging words to St. Timothy, never says, “But you, become the most renowned preacher, the most exceptional bishop! Become the most travelled, most afflicted, most sacrificial, most eloquent evangelist to the nations! But you! Fight the good fight of faith like a rabid animal! Go: to infinity and beyond!” But what does Paul say?
“But you be watchful in all things, endure afflictions, do the work of an evangelist, [and] fulfill your ministry” (2 Tim 4:5).
These are firm words, serious words, yes; words pregnant with a kind of spiritual expectation; that St. Paul speaks to his ward in the faith. But do you know what these words shout at me when I read them? “Moderation! Moderation! Faithfulness, temperance, moderation! Keep doing what you’re doing, and be sure to do it well!” Sometimes, brethren, the gospel is spread in extreme ways by extreme men and women—fools for Christ; naked, dirty, crazy-looking people. But more often, in the history of our Church, the gospel has been spread, simply, by faithful men and women doing their duties, doing them regularly, doing them temperately, doing them humbly; sometimes with stern faces, sometimes with a smile and a laugh.
I will never forget a quote from Steve Robinson (you all know Steve, of Ancient Faith podcasts fame, “My Life in Christ”? He’s a pretty “gritty” guy, a “real” dude). Steve once said, and I believe it was on social media, but maybe he had said it elsewhere, on a podcast too: “Just try to act normal. … Just try to act normal.” Now, maybe that rubs a lot of you the wrong way. Maybe a lot of you go out of your way to be not… NOT… just that: “normal.” Well, I don’t think Steve meant by “normal” what a lot of people mean by “normal,” i.e., “conformity to social standards.” Oh no, God forbid! But what I think Steve was saying was more to the heart of the term itself: “normal,” from the Latin norma, “a carpenter’s square,” a tool for measuring “rightness.” I might be dating myself, or even some of the older generation in our congregation, when I ask, “Have you ever heard someone called a ‘square’?” Yeah, it’s getting at the same concept. Be square. Be not counter-cultural (now, really hear this) for the sake of being counter-cultural. You don’t need to be an Orthodox “jive cat.” You don’t need to be an Orthodox Einstein. You don’t need to become an Orthodox fitness guru, an Orthodox Top Chef, or America’s Next Top Orthodox Model (“Look at that beard! So long, so full!”).
What we need to do—in the new year, and the next year, and the next year, until our dying day—is to occupy a place of spiritual normalcy. We need to find a balance. We need to, in the words of the Apostle, “Be watchful in all things, endure afflictions, fulfill [our ministries], … [fight] the good fight, finish… the race, [keep] the faith” (vv. 5, 7). It has been said elsewhere that the spiritual race of faith is a marathon, not a sprint. A marathon takes endurance, proper breathing, training, conservation of energy, and most importantly: perseverance. It is my prayer for you all, beloved, in the new year, that through daily prayer, fasting; regular fellowship, faithful service, and a participation in the sacramental worship of the Church, you may be conformed slowly and surely into the image of our Savior, our perfect model of glory in all meekness and humility (cf. Heb 12:2).
Through the prayers of our holy fathers, O Lord, Jesus Christ, our God, have mercy on us and save us. Amen.
Glory to Jesus Christ! Glory forever!