PHILIPPIANS 3:1-2

1 Finally, my brothers, rejoice in the Lord! It is no trouble for me to write the same things to you again, and it is a safeguard for you.
2 Watch out for those dogs, those men who do evil, those mutilators of the flesh.


Verse 1 With two chapters to go, Paul says, “Finally…” It’s this strange feature that makes some scholars suppose that Philippians is actually two letters, which have been somehow jammed together. After all, Paul comes back to the subject of rejoicing again in 4:4, so maybe all these harsh verses in between are an intrusion from somewhere else. Maybe they weren’t even written by Paul, but interpolated by some other writer who wanted to pass off his own thoughts as the Apostle’s…

Unfortunately for the theory, there isn’t the slightest evidence for it. All the manuscripts we have include the whole letter as it stands. Certainly the tone changes abruptly and becomes much more judgmental. But there could be several reasons; perhaps, as some have theorized, Paul really had decided to end the letter here, but then suddenly received news of what his opponents were up to, and decided to add some warnings.

He had issued these warnings before, but it’s “no trouble” to do the same again. Effective Christian teaching is often not a matter of teaching new principles which our audience has never heard before, but of repeating things they already know. It can sometimes take a lot of repetition before the simplest gospel ideas penetrate. There are at least two reasons for this.

First, the truth can become our intellectual property without affecting our volitional decisions. In other words, it reaches head, but not heart. We may know something in theory for a long time before we suddenly have the flash of recognition that “this means me”, and start to apply it.

One of the Bible teachers in our church – and a member of the programming team who sort out the church’s teaching programme – told us on Sunday morning how, at the end of this year’s Spring Harvest, he had unexpectedly realized for the first time that God loved him. He had known it theoretically since Sunday School, had even taught it to others. But now, as an adult with two growing children, he had suddenly taken it on board as never before.

Second, we forget truths that we once knew. Because Christianity isn’t just a matter of learning principles academically, but of applying them consistently to life – and because we have an enemy who wants to distort our appreciation of what we possess in Christ – and because we’re living in a world where the blatant propaganda of the reigning system tries to “squeeze us into its mould” (Rom 12:1) – some of the vital principles we need can disappear temporarily from our view, or can become blurred and misshapen in our recollection. The result is that we need to encounter them freshly, all over again.

Verse 2 Who is Paul warning against? There are two very different groups whom he criticises, at the start and the end of this chapter. As we’ll see, the second group were libertines, who believed that Christians needn't be restricted by any rules and commands. The first group, though, were legalists, who taught strict obedience to all the regulations of the Old Testament law. Including circumcision.

Paul provides three unflattering descriptions of these people. But he’s not just heaping up random terms of abuse, in spluttering indignation; although the NIV translation does make it sound that way. No; instead, again, he’s being slightly playful.

We don’t notice it in English, but Paul's three terms alliterate; in Greek they each begin with the letter k. And the word blepete (“beware”) is repeated three times, giving the whole sentence a jingly, repetitive, jokey feel. (A bit like this: “Watch out for canines, watch out for crime-workers, watch out for cutting merchants”.)

“Dogs” – a fairly common name of criticism in the Bible, but here used for the only time by Paul – is employed because the ancient world thought of dogs as unclean animals (and indeed Jews often called Gentiles “dogs”). Paul is being ironic; through the “new” circumcision in Jesus, Gentiles become clean, so they aren’t the “dogs” `any longer – rather it’s those who cling stubbornly to the old ways who are unclean.

“Workers of evil” reflects ironically on the fact that these people make a big issue of God’s demand for righteousness (which they interpret as strict adherence to Jewish practices). Paul says: righteousness isn’t measured by rituals and ceremonies; it’s conferred by God through faith in Jesus; and any other way of trying to produce righteousness actually has the opposite effect; it produces evil.

Finally there's the term “mutilators of the flesh” – actually one crisp word in Greek, katatome. The proper word for circumcision is peritome, “cutting around”; but the one he actually uses means “cutting into pieces”. What it suggests is that these people will damage your body pointlessly, slashing away for no good purpose.

So there’s a progression: “These people aren’t clean themselves. More than that, they don’t bring cleanliness to anybody else, but the opposite. And more than that, they do physical vandalism in the process.” The tone is amused, relaxed, dismissive. But just because Paul is poking fun, we shouldn’t assume that he doesn’t take these people seriously; for years he had been trapped in the miserable prison of legalism, and he would have hated the Philippians to end up there too.

However, it’s often more effective to treat opposition coolly and levelly, rather than blasting away in incandescent rage. The more we bluster and shout, the more neutral observers will wonder if we’re just a trifle insecure. I’ve often found that when I’m debating with (for example) witches, mediums or extreme gay activists, who routinely expect to be able to enrage evangelicals and begin a name-calling argument, it’s often much more effective to remain calm – whatever inflammatory provocations they hurl – and keep a sense of humour. That way, even if you have to dismiss their conclusions and deprecate their practices, you stand a chance of making some ground and winning some arguments.

EPAPHRODITUS AND TIMOTHY - AN EXTRA NOTE

An excellent article by Bob Deffinbaugh called "A Few Good Men" draws interesting contrasts between the work of Timothy and Epaphroditus (Timothy was the one Paul sent out to places he couldn't get to; Epaphroditus was the one who came to him). As Deffinbaugh points out, there are many kinds of service for God, but they all count. Australian leader Gordon Moyes believes that Paul may have written as he did because the Philippians might have felt Epaphroditus had failed to fulfil his promise:

Paul was making it easy for the young man. The Church could have treated him like a failure! He had tried, but had to quit because of ill-health. Paul obviously was anxious to get him back, and to have him received in the best light.

Moyes comments that there are many Christians who start out with high hopes and never quite achieve all they aspire to - often because of poor health, just like Epaphroditus. How do we treat our "failures"? How do we handle "failure" ourselves? It's amazing how often seeming failure is used by God to launch a completely different, much more powerful ministry. What a good thing it was that Thomas Barnardo never got to India, but had a Down's Syndrome child; that George Matheson's blindness and "most severe mental suffering" produced his wonderful hymns; that Susan Fitkin's inability to become a missionary resulted in the sending out of 1763 others.

PHILIPPIANS 2:26-30

26 For he longs for all of you and is distressed because you heard he was ill. 27 Indeed he was ill, and almost died. But God had mercy on him, and not on him only but also on me, to spare me sorrow upon sorrow. 28 Therefore I am all the more eager to send him, so that when you see him again you may be glad and I may have less anxiety. 29 Welcome him in the Lord with great joy, and honour men like him, 30 because he almost died for the work of Christ, risking his life to make up for the help you could not give me.

Verse 26 Epaphroditus had more than fond memories of his home town; he really wanted to get back there. The word epipotheo used to describe his feelings expresses the most intense desire; it can even be used of coveting or lust.

It’s the word chosen to describe the deer panting for the water in Greek translations of Psalm 42:1. It’s the word Peter uses when he says that we should earnestly desire pure spiritual milk, just as babies long for the breast (1 Peter 2:2 – and that echoes Psalm 119:131, where the Greek translation Peter knew uses epipotheo again). It’s the word Paul uses to express our desire for our heavenly dwelling, away from all the troubles of the body (2 Cor 5:2).

Paul longs for Timothy in this way (2 Tim 1:4) and longs to see the Romans so that he could impart some spiritual gift to them (Rom 1:11). He’s already said that he “longs” to see the Philippians (1:8) – same word exactly.

This all helps to give us a picture of Epaphroditus’ state of mind. He couldn’t wait to get back home, and yet he was willing to stay at his post for as long as Paul needed him. (The word Paul uses for “send” in verse 25 tells us that Epaphroditus was at his disposal; there was no understanding that he’d deliver the gift, then automatically go back to Philippi.)

I wonder how many missionaries have paid the same price since. To stay in someone else’s country while all your instincts are prompting you to go home – knowing that your mother is ill, or your affairs are being badly looked after, or your home church is in trouble – can be an extremely difficult calling. And when communications are irregular, and news comes in a tantalisingly piecemeal, unreliable fashion… it would almost drive you to distraction.

Missionaries – I’m told - need to learn very quickly that powerful, uncontrollable homesickness goes with the job. It isn’t a sign of faltering commitment or of misinterpreting the call of God. It isn’t sinful! It’s simply one of the hazards of Christian service.

What is important is not so much how strongly you feel it – but what you do with it. The Bible contains the story of another culturally misplaced servant of God who didn’t know how to handle his ethnic antipathy to the people he was with, and just wanted to get out of his calling. He ended by grimly sticking to his post, but developing a bitterness which made him absolutely useless, as well as personally frustrated to the point of death. That was Jonah.

Verse 27 Epaphroditus had clearly been in an extremely serious condition; Paul would have been devastated by his death. But “God had mercy on him”. It’s often been remarked that this shows the limits of Paul’s abilities: no miracles of instant healing for Epaphroditus – just a nerve-wracking feeling that, yes, he might die. The apostles couldn’t command miracles at will; they were simply the instruments of God’s power when he chose to act that way. Their miracles were “signs” (Acts 2:43, 5:12) – declarations of the gospel, visual aids for the coming kingdom; they weren’t automatically guaranteed, make-life-easier advantages enjoyed by all Christian leaders everywhere.

And so Epaphroditus’ healing happened because “God had mercy”, not because a wonder-working Christian leader channelled supernatural miracle power in a routine way. Unlike some evangelists today, Paul wouldn’t have conducted a “miracle crusade” in which everyone who came up on stage was instantaneously “slain in the Spirit” and claimed healing. Maybe that’s why Paul didn’t make $120 million a year…

But this particular evangelist reportedly has a very different theology from the one Paul expresses here:

"People of God," shouts Benny, "we must never speak such faith-destroying words as these: `If it be thy will, Lord.'

Instead, Paul makes it clear, healing is a gracious act of God’s mercy not something we can order up at will. And God does heal. The opposite and equal heresy would be to claim that since God’s people are vulnerable to the same difficulties in life as everybody else, with no exemptions, it is pointless to ask for God’s special intervention. Everyone suffers, and we will never understand why until we get to heaven.

But this little verse nails that particular heresy too. It does make sense to pray for people. It isn’t pointless, because God’s acts of providence are sometimes acts of mercy too. The events that take place in our life aren’t always beyond our comprehension; from time to time, God’s loving concern for us shines through.

Verse 28 In the last three verses Paul has kept on giving an unexpected topsy-turvy conclusion to his remarks. “Epaphroditus was ill, and extremely distressed… but not for himself: for you! God had mercy on him… which was great for me! So he’s coming back to see you… which will bring rejoicing to you and me, not just him!” Once again, he’s taking every opportunity to stress how inextricably our emotions and personal concerns are bound up with one another in the family of God. “If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honoured, every part rejoices with it” (1 Cor 12:26).

This means three things.

(a) If I am unconcerned about the joys and sorrows of other Christians, as much as if they were my own, I am not living in the love of God as I should be.

(b) Whatever I do and whatever happens to me, I need to be concerned about its impact on other Christians who love me, as well as its impact on me personally. If I’m worried about others (as Epaphroditus was when he was ill), I won’t have time to become neurotically obsessed with my own problems. Self-pity is a killer.

(c) Part of the price of belonging to the family of God is an openness to others. Unless people can see far enough into my life to share my concerns, and rejoice and suffer with me, I’m shutting myself off from the shared life which is supposed to sustain me. So my vulnerability to inspection is a prerequisite of my continuing health: “Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed,” advises James (5:16).


Verse 29 The word Paul uses for “welcome” has two quite different senses in the New Testament. Prosdechomai means “I accept to myself, I admit”, but it’s also the word used in several passages for “waiting for the coming of Christ”.

That’s because its literal Greek meaning is “I receive towards”. Waiting for Jesus’ coming is more than a matter of looking out for it; it implies a whole way of ordering and patterning our lives, getting ready for the great event. And so prosdechomai talks about receiving expectantly. It takes forward planning, imagination, to “welcome” it properly.

The Philippians aren’t just to have Epaphroditus back peaceably. They are to accept him, to admit him to the very centre of their shared life again. (How many missionaries come home and feel they don’t belong any longer? An American church planter in Spain once told me that his kids complained that they didn’t belong in Spain, and they certainly didn’t belong in America; they felt as if their homeland must be somewhere in mid-Atlantic.)

And there is to be a forward look, an anticipation, “receiving towards”. What will Epaphroditus contribute to their shared life that isn’t already there? What will he have to bring back from the dramatic experiences of the last few months, which will broaden their experience and understanding? How will his gifts and insights strengthen the life of the church?

A proper welcome means more than a banner and a cake. It means allowing the newcomer to find his true, valued place in the group of people he’s come to.

Verse 30 Epaphroditus deserves their honour because of the risks he took with his own life. There’s a play on words here (something Paul enjoyed – look at Philemon 10-11, where he has fun with the name “Onesimus”, which means “useful”). Epaphroditus, as we’ve seen, is named after the goddess Aphrodite (Venus), and she was the patron goddess of gamblers. Indeed, as Paul knew well, when gamblers in his day rolled a lucky dice, they would exclaim, “Epaphrodite!” – “Aphrodite has favoured me!”

And so Paul invents a new Greek word to describe how Epaphroditus “gambled” with his own life – parabouleusamenos. No existing word would do! Christian “risky living” isn’t quite the same as gambling, but it’s close. Says Shawn Rabon,

“We are called to live risky lives, whether the risk is a life or death one or simply a risk of losing friends or popularity. When God calls us to follow him at all costs, that means accepting the risk factor. That’s why he asks us to count the cost, take up our cross and follow him. Risky living isn’t about disregarding the rules or authority but having the courage to follow the authority of God.”

In the year 250, when the Decian persecution broke out, Cyprian was bishop of Carthage. He fled the city and managed to lead his flock from a safe distance. For this, he was accused of cowardice.

Two years later, a plague broke out in Carthage. Pagans were fleeing in terror; bodies were being left in the streets, where they rotted and caused further pestilence. Cyprian assembled the Christians together and told them they mustn’t desert their post; God wanted them to risk everything for him. So they stayed and buried the dead, tended the sick, cared for the abandoned. Many of them lost the wager and paid with their own lives.

Cyprian didn’t die; but only six years later, in the next wave of persecution, he didn’t run away. He was condemned and died with great bravery. He’d learned something about risky living. As he told the Christians in Carthage when the plague broke out:

“What a grandeur of spirit it is to struggle with all the powers of an unshaken mind against so many onsets of devastation and death! what sublimity, to stand erect amid the desolation of the human race, and not to lie prostrate with those who have no hope in God; but rather to rejoice, and to embrace the benefit of the occasion; that in thus bravely showing forth our faith, and by suffering endured, going forward to Christ by the narrow way that Christ trod, we may receive the reward of His life and faith according to His own judgment!"

And the Christians of Carthage became known as the parabolani – the gamblers.

He was a gambler too, my Christ,
He took His life and threw
It for a world redeemed.
And ere His agony was done,
Before the weltering sun went down,
Crowning that day with its crimson crown,
He knew that He had won.

G A Studdert Kennedy

PHILIPPIANS 2:25

25 But I think it is necessary to send back to you Epaphroditus, my brother, fellow worker and fellow soldier, who is also your messenger, whom you sent to take care of my needs.


Verse 25 Epaphroditus is the second good example Paul wants to put before his readers. It was normal in a letter like this to introduce the bearer of it with commendations – but not when they were as well known to the recipients as Epaphroditus and Timothy were. Paul’s clearly doing it because there are aspects of the character of both men which are important demonstrations of the theme he’s writing about.

It’s always interesting to hear how someone else describes a person we already know well. Sometimes others, who are further removed, can see qualities or abilities or weaknesses in friends of ours that we just wouldn’t spot – because we’re too close to see the wood for the trees. Paul is determined that the Philippians should see in Epaphroditus exactly what he sees, and value him accordingly.

Epaphroditus was a common name in the ancient world (“Epaphras” is another version of it, although the Epaphras of Colossians is a different person). It came from the name of the goddess Aphrodite – a bit like an Indian Christian today being called Krishna or Ram, or a Middle Eastern believer called Muhammad. (The scorn of the early Christians for the powerlessness of pagan deities meant that many of them didn’t see it as a necessity to alter their name when baptised. Just like eating meat offered to idols, to become concerned about it seemed like dignifying the idols with an attention they didn’t really deserve.)

Paul uses a strong, complicated phrase to underline just how important Epaphroditus is to him – literally it reads “the brother and co-worker and fellow-soldier my”. One article at the start to hold it together (“the”), and one personal pronoun at the end (“my”), welds the phrase together as a unity. Paul is saying: all three of these characteristics are bound up together; all three are reasons for my attachment to Epaphroditus.

The terms he uses would have a resonance in Philippi. The city was a retirement centre for old soldiers, and sustratiotes (fellow soldier) was the term used for an old comrade who had fought side by side with you. Sunergos, “co-worker”, is a term from the world of business and commerce; Philippi was a busy trading centre and Lydia was by no means the only merchant operating a thriving firm locally. And adelphos – “brother” – common word though it was, had a special meaning for a city whose history was full of back-stabbing and betrayal by seeming friends (such as the Philip who gave the city its name!). The battle for the very soul of the Roman Empire, between Mark Antony and Octavian on one side and Cassius and Brutus on the other, had been fought on the plain before the walls of Philippi, just a century before Paul wrote. And of course it was all about the assassination of Julius Caesar by his friends, fellow workers and former comrades in arms.

But Paul is also using words which had a special meaning for him. “Fellow worker” is a term he uses twelve times in his writings, and it describes someone who has worked alongside him in the work dearest to his heart: taking the gospel where no one had taken it before (Romans 15:20). “Soldier” is a frequent picture he uses to evoke the strain and hardship involved in front-line Christian service, the discipline required to cope with intense spiritual opposition.

Paul’s relationship with Epaphroditus provides a powerful condensed sketch of the ways in which Christian lives can be bound together. We are drawn close by living together (“brother”) and building emotional bonds. We are drawn close by fighting together (“fellow soldier”) and helping one another stand. (How many movies have you seen in which two people who aren’t getting on well are attacked by a common enemy – and after the fight begin to appreciate one another for the first time?) Finally, we are drawn close by working together (“co-worker”) and investing our energies in a common cause.

PHILIPPIANS 2:23-24

23 I hope, therefore, to send him as soon as I see how things go with me. 24 And I am confident in the Lord that I myself will come soon.

Verse 23 Why was Paul sending Timothy? It’s a bit of an odd scheme. He says in chapter 1 that he is sure he will be free soon, and intends to visit as soon as possible. Then here we read that Timothy is to come first. Then we read a few verses later that Epaphroditus is coming even sooner.

It does look as if Paul was more concerned about the situation in Philippi than he allows himself to express in this letter. With the Corinthians and the Galatians, he pulled no punches; it was time for plain speaking, and the urgency of their problems meant that tactfulness was out of place; but perhaps because of his long-standing warm relationship with Philippi – and the delicacy of the situation – he was reluctant to signal too clearly here just how worried he truly was.

But Timothy wasn’t to start out until “I see how things go with me”. Again, this doesn’t mean that he is uncertain about whether he will be released; it’s simply that he wants to send Timothy with hopeful news. And Timothy probably wouldn’t want to go unless his mind was at ease about Paul’s future. Paul isn’t thinking of himself (how could Timothy’s presence help him anyway, if things became worse?) but of the others affected by his circumstances.

Verse 24 He hoped “in the Lord Jesus” in verse 19; now he’s “confident in the Lord”, the same expression used in Gal 5:10. It seems to refer to a confidence that doesn’t derive from circumstances or hopeful signs, but from an inner conviction that God is about to act in a certain way (1:24-25).

“In the Lord” (or sometimes “in Christ”) is Paul’s favourite expression for the Christian life (Rom 14:14, 16:11, 1 Cor 11:11, Eph 6:21, Phil 1:14, Col 3:18, Col 4:7, 1 Th 5:12, Philemon 1:16!). We’re chosen in the Lord, a temple in the Lord, light in the Lord, commissioned for service in the Lord. We can work hard, boast, be faithful, insist, obey our parents, be strong, rejoice, stand firm, agree and urge in the Lord. Our relationships alter: we can receive others, love others, greet others, welcome others and benefit from each other in the Lord. Paul’s habitual use of the term may explain why the anchor, rather than the cross, was a key symbol of hope for the earliest Christians.

Curiously, it isn’t anybody else’s favourite term. Apart from the dead “in the Lord” in Revelation 14:13, and a couple of “in Christ” references in 1 Peter, the phrase occurs nowhere in any other New Testament writer.

Perhaps it’s because of the circumstances of Paul’s conversion. Unlike John or Peter, who had followed Jesus from the beginning in Galilee, Paul was always haunted by the fact that he had been “a blasphemer and a persecutor and a violent man” (1 Tim 1:13). It was when he asked the question “Who are you, Lord?” on the Damascus Road that his life changed irreversibly.

Christianity to Paul meant a change of authority at the centre of his life: coming into a sphere in which Christ was supremely sovereign. “Even if there are so-called gods, whether in heaven or on earth (as indeed there are many "gods" and many "lords"), yet for us there is but one God, the Father, from whom all things came and for whom we live; and there is but one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom all things came and through whom we live” (1 Corinthians 8:5,6).

And so Paul’s confidence, like every other area of his thinking, planning and dreaming, is subject to the authority of Christ. Confidence “in the Lord” has a different flavour from confidence based on optimism or personal judgment. When Jesus is Lord, everything is different.