PHILIPPIANS 2:16

16 as you hold out the word of life - in order that I may boast on the day of Christ that I did not run or labour for nothing.

Verse 16 “Holding out” is vague language. The Greek word epechontes could mean “holding on to” (and therefore “applying your mind to, attending to, paying attention to”) – and that would fit perfectly in a passage which is about working out what we already possess, staying close to God’s Word, aiming to be found without fault or twist in our nature. Or it could mean what most translations have taken it to be saying: “holding out”, i.e. offering to others.

But again: does it matter? And could Paul even have intended both?

You frequently find bits of Paul’s writing where he seems to be deliberately blurring two senses of a word, so that he can get two meanings for the price of one. (There’s a thesis to be written somewhere about whether or not Paul had Scottish ancestral roots.) My favourite example is Galatians 2:20, where he says that he lives by the pistis of the Son of God. Does this mean “by faith in the Son of God” or “by the faithfulness of the Son of God”? Answer: both meanings are possible, both are good Greek, both are excellent theology. Perhaps he meant both simultaneously.

(A less likely example occurs earlier in this chapter, where he talks about “the death of the cross”. Some commentators have speculated whether this slightly peculiar phrase is expressed like this because Paul is not just implying that Jesus died on the cross – but also that his unlikely triumph was the death of the cross itself. Personally I think this is a bit fanciful, but with Paul you never know, and it’s typical of the games he plays with language. If he wasn’t a poet, at least he appreciated poetry (Acts 17:28, Titus 1:12), and he knew how to make words perform unexpected tricks.)

So what would he be saying here? Simply that as we hold on attentively to the Word of life, and allow it to do its life-generating work in every part of our being, we shine like stars (or “lights” – the word doesn’t necessarily mean “stars”) against the canvas of a dark universe. And as a result we “hold out” the same Word to others. Our life validates our message.

Paul says that he wants the Philippians to do this so that he can rejoice (or “boast”) on the day of Christ that he didn’t run the race in vain, or work without result. Of course, this isn’t his primary reason for wishing their progress; he has given plenty of others; but he adds this one here because it allows him again to stress two themes he doesn’t want them to ignore: first, the potential for joy which Christian living brings; and second, how much that joy is tied up in our appreciation of one another.

He wants the Philippian church to see that although he has a track record of evangelistic success all over the Roman map, and churches everywhere who acknowledge him as their spiritual father, the little group of Christians in the small city of Philippi still matters to him enormously. So much so that if he arrived in heaven and found they had failed to “shine” as he wanted them to, he would feel that his whole life’s work had been a failure.

This is challenging in at least three different ways. First, we see again just how determined Paul was to see his converts through to maturity. Merely having an entrance ticket wasn’t enough. (What a contrast with some modern evangelists who try to secure an immediate response, count how many hands are in the air, and then move on to the next big crusade.) Second, it shows how much Paul cared about each individual and group who came to faith. The loss of any of them was a disaster. That was the outlook of Samuel Rutherford, and it’s why he had the enormous impact he did upon his parish of Anwoth:

O if one soul from Anwoth
Meet me at God’s right hand
‘Twill be two heavens for me
In Immanuel’s land.

He may not have been an impressive preacher, but he did get up at 3 a.m. to begin praying for each member of his flock.

And third, this verse underlines yet again how our personal “success” in Christian living is measured, not so much by our own personal spiritual achievements, but rather by the impact we have on others. Paul might have finished his course after a life of tremendous faithfulness, tenacious hard work, disciplined self-deprivation, incredible preaching and writing, and courageous risk-taking – and he did; but it wouldn’t have meant very much, at least in his own estimation, if he couldn’t also boast about the Philippians and their progress in Christ.

It prompts the question: how much of my own sense of achievement as a Christian is tied up with the effect I have on others? How prone am I to evaluate my progress in personal, private terms, such as my grasp of Scripture, the strength of my prayer life, the state of my struggle against indwelling sin? And how far do I derive my joy from the spiritual health of others? Would I experience more joy in my life if I did?