I have to confess…

as I get older, there are times when I wonder, “What if?”

 

What if I hadn’t got married at such a young age––

long before I was mature enough…

or before I knew what I wanted or needed?

What if I had been able to afford it…

and I had gone and done my PhD at the University of Cambridge… 

or at the University of Glasgow––

when I received an offer of a place––

rather than stay behind in little old Adelaide?

What if I had held out a bit longer…

and received the offer of that academic position in America–– 

for which, I discovered later, I had been short-listed––

rather than taking the one that I did in Melbourne?

What if I had not pursued ordination but had remained as a full-time academic?

What if I had chosen to stay in Melbourne––

and the reasonable prospect of a good Uniting Church position there––

rather than trying to return to Adelaide…

and banging my head against the dysfunctional Church system here?

What if, two years ago…

my GP had ordered follow-up tests…

and the surgeon hadn’t been so quick to dismiss some of my symptoms…

and my thyroid condition had been properly diagnosed––

and treated––

rather than removed?

I have to confess…

as I get older…

it’s tempting to look back and ponder the ‘what ifs’…

as well as to remember the ‘what was’––

both positively and negatively.

It’s tempting to ponder how things might have been different––

and how my life might have unfolded––

if circumstances had been a little more favourable;

or if I could go back and change some of the mistakes that I have made.

 

In different ways–– 

and to different degrees–– 

I think that, perhaps, many of us are haunted by our past.

We’re haunted by the things that we have done––

things that we’re ashamed of;

things that we regret;

things that we wish we could undo or change––

but with which we simply have to live.

And yet…

in a way… 

I think that we’re often haunted by our achievements and by our successes as well––

by the things that we have done that we’re proud of,

but which, perhaps, we have spent the rest of our lives trying to repeat… 

or to live up to…

or simply trying to bask in their glory.

We can be haunted by those moments of sheer exhilaration…

when life seemed wonderful and everything was perfect––

a far cry from the more common everyday reality that we experience.

And we can be haunted by our pleasant memories––

especially as we get older:

when the present increasingly becomes a struggle––

with the body wearing out or racked with pain,

the short-term memory fading…

making distant memories more immediate;

and when we begin looking back over our lives…

living in our memories…

living in the past.

And subtly, or not so subtly, we can actually stop living in the present––

a present that so often seems fraught and fearful.

But I think that we’re also haunted by our past collectively—

as a church.

Faced with dwindling numbers…

and dwindling finances…

it’s easy to dwell on memories of the past––

memories of glory days…

when Sunday services were packed with people hanging from the rafters…

a large choir belting out anthems…

and the Sunday School teeming with children;

a past when the world was a much simpler place;

when, as a church, all you had to do was open your doors…

and maybe put leaflets in letterboxes…

and people would simply flock in.

But not now.

As we grow older, wearier, and smaller in number…

we’re increasingly haunted by our past.

 

When Paul wrote to the Philippian Church, he was an old man…

sitting in prison…

facing a fraught and fearful future;

facing what could well turn out to be a painful and shameful death.

And here––

in our reading this morning–– 

it seems that he’s caught up in a sense of nostalgia.

He appears to be reflecting on his life and examining his past:

the privileges into which he had been born;

his achievements; 

and his mistakes and failings.

But, then, in one fell swoop…

he appears to completely write off his past, describing it–– 

quite literally in the original Greek––

as “crap”:

“Whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ…I regard them as rubbish”.

 

Despite how it appears…

Paul claims that he is not dwelling on the past––

nostalgically or otherwise––

“This one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal”.

Notwithstanding his advancing years…

his predicament…

or the uncertainty that he faces…

Paul claims that he isn’t seeking to escape into the past;

nor is he trying to escape into dreams of a distant future.

Rather, his focus is on the present.

In effect, what Paul is saying is…

“Yes, that’s where I have come from––

I was born with certain privileges.

I have accomplished some things of which I was proud…

and I have also made mistakes.

But, ultimately, none of that matters.

What matters is how I live now––

in this moment.

I want to keep striving.

I want to continue to grow, to learn, to change.

I want to endure what I face with dignity and honour.

I want to be faithful to God in how I live, and speak, and act.

I want to reach out and make Christ’s love known––

in the way that I face the challenges of the present.

I want to become more Christ-like… even now”.

 

Maybe there’s a sense, here, in which Paul is trying to convince himself.

Maybe there’s a sense in which he’s trying to steel himself for what lies ahead.

Maybe there’s a touch of rhetoric and bravado.

And yet, clearly, he’s also writing this for the benefit of the Philippians––

who face their own uncertain future…

as they encounter their own difficulties and struggles…

as they seek to live as God’s people in their particular place…

and as they faced a future without him.

So, Paul is trying to encourage them:

whatever you face and whatever you encounter…

avoid the temptation to dwell on the past.

Reflect on it, yes.

But keep pressing on.

Keep living out your calling as the people of God in this place.

Keep striving to be more Christ-like:

welcoming…

accepting…

loving…

and pursuing justice, mercy, and peace.

Keep being who you are called to be.

 

As this Lenten season draws to a close…

and we begin our journey towards Good Friday and Easter Day…

and all of the symbolic and metaphoric richness of ‘dying’ and ‘rising to new life’…

which it offers us…

perhaps Paul is reminding us that that dying-and-rising happens in many, different ways…

if we’re open to it:

in our memories and our hopes;

in our dreams and our yearnings;

in all that was and all that’s yet to be.

But…

through it all…

and through whatever lies ahead…

we’re called to face our ‘dying’s and our ‘rising’s as Paul did––

we’re called to face it in a Christ-like way.