(Un)Successful Christianity
A Reflection on 2 Timothy 4:6–8, 16-18 for Proper 25C
FAITH AS MERITOCRACY
In John 6, there is a telling and tragically humorous exchange between Jesus and his disciples.1 After feeding around five thousand people, Jesus started telling the crowds that unless they ate his flesh and drank his blood, they had no life in them. Then, when some of his disciples complained about this, he told them that no one could come to him unless his divine parent enabled them. Needless to say, many disciples left (John 6:66), and so Jesus turned to the twelve and asked if they wanted to go, too. Peter’s response was one of those poignantly honest statements that revealed, perhaps, more than the big fisherman wanted to: “Lord, where would we go? You have the words of eternal life. We believe and know that you are God’s holy one.” (v.69). It’s like Peter didn’t want to say it, but what he was thinking was, Yeah. We would like to go too, but we can’t because we know too much. Things are getting a little weird, and this is not what we had in mind when we signed up, but now we’re in too deep. So we just have to stay.
Peter’s answer sounds very different from much of contemporary Christianity. Such ambivalence is strongly frowned upon, and firm, unyielding commitment to Jesus is the only acceptable way to be. But this resolve is not about embodying God’s reign, taking up the cross, or serving the least. Much like sports teams are told by their coaches to give it everything they’ve got, 21st century Christianity pushes for total commitment because that is the way to win at life, according to their narrative, at least. In our time, Jesus’ way is described with all sorts of winning words like ’victory’, ’prevailing’, ‘conquest’, ‘power-over’, and ‘triumph’. But this is not the faith we see in the Scriptures. When tempted with this way of fulfilling God’s call, Jesus utterly rejected it.2 Yet, in spite of Jesus constantly confronting those who used their religion as a way to win at life, power, and money, this version of spirituality continues to linger in our world, and sometimes it metastasises into a toxic and destructive distortion of faith.
We love the idea that having just enough of the right kind of faith will magically make us healthy, wealthy, and happy.3 But when we read Jesus’ predictions of his execution, and Paul’s willing acceptance of suffering and death, we begin to see a different picture of the faith of those who follow the crucified messiah. It’s not that we are essentially bad people. It’s that we live in an unpredictable world that spurs substantial anxiety, and we long for safety. And it’s because we just can’t seem to shake that old conviction that truly faithful people win. As Mark Yaconelli insightfully notes:
This is the message in our secular culture, and this is frequently the driving force within most Christians. Some voice inside of us tells us that faithful people are successful. Deep down we believe that if we pray, follow the Ten Commandments, and work hard, God will grant us a successful life. When our lives fail to match our expectations, we get anxious, work harder, and worry more. Eventually God moves to the margin of our lives.4
We are not sure who wrote the second letter to Timothy. Scholars are still debating whether it was Paul or someone writing in his name. But whoever the author was, he wrote what is known as a ‘testament’, “the parting words of a notable (historical or legendary) figure”5, to guide his young pastor friend in his life and ministry. In light of this, it makes sense to refer to the writer, at least for the purposes of this article, as Paul—because, whether actual or imagined, he is the speaker. It is tempting to read the letter as the words of a successful believer who is helping a younger companion to be just as successful. But as Dirk Lange suggests, “if that were all we found in these verses, they would be discouraging rather than encouraging; they would evoke regret rather than hope”.6 It is probably more accurate to read the letter as spiritual advice for losers—because that’s what it means, from our society’s perspective, to follow the radically hospitable, just, and sacrificial way of Jesus.
FAITH FOR LOSERS
When faith is framed as the way to success, and when success is viewed as proof of faith and faithfulness to Christ, we run into all sorts of social and theological problems. Poverty, suffering, grief, loss—any life experience that doesn’t conform to the ‘healthy, wealthy, and happy’ paradigm—become signs of unbelief and faithlessness. This is then taken to mean that those who struggle have only themselves to blame, which conveniently lets the ‘winners’ off the hook of compassion and generosity. But even a quick read of Paul’s words shows a strong contradiction to this view of faith. Again and again, Paul expresses comfort and a sense of honour at suffering for the sake of the Gospel (2 Timothy 4:6). When he speaks of fighting the good fight, running the race, and keeping the faith, he doesn’t mention winning in any way (v.7).7 Yes, he mentions the ‘champion’s wreath’ (v.8), but this does not refer to a literal wreath which he would receive in this life—it refers to the eternal life that he believed was waiting for him after his imminent death. Paul embraced the faith, and taught it, not as a way to win but simply because it was, for him, the best way to live.
There are many reasons we need the Gospel, but one of the most important is that it is good news for losers. It undermines all our insane categories and hierarchies of worthiness, and liberates us all to recognise the glory in our frail, flawed, and foolish humanness. In Luke’s Gospel, the writer often likes to mention the celebrities of the day, followed by speaking of God’s presence and activity with those who were unknown and unworthy by human standards. The Gospels often skim over the rich, beautiful, powerful, and successful people in first-century Israel, and put the focus on the ‘losers’, the shadow people, the unimportant, unvalued, insignificant people. It’s not through the few deserving ones that God’s dream is proclaimed, embodied, and made visible in the world, but through the ones who were least likely to be noticed, praised, or valued. God’s presence, activity, grace, and love have no concern with wealth, power, status, or beauty. They are embarrassingly indiscriminate, inclusive, and inappropriate. And for everyone who carries the shame of not being exceptional among human beings, this is very good news indeed.
