Joy From a Prison Cell

The first paragraph of Philippians is a thank-you note written in chains. Paul is in custody, probably in Rome, uncertain whether he will live or die, and he begins by telling a small church in Macedonia that every time he remembers them he thanks God. He prays for them with joy. He calls them partners in the gospel from the first day until now.

Partnership is the idea that holds the paragraph together. The Greek word behind it, koinonia, means sharing in something with someone. The Philippians had shared in Paul's work with money, with prayer, with sending Epaphroditus to look after him. They were not spectators to his ministry. They were in it with him, and he says so.

Then he prays for them, and the prayer is worth reading slowly. He asks that their love would abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight. Love, in Paul's mind, is not a warm feeling that floats free of thinking. It is meant to grow in knowledge, to gain discernment, so that they can tell what is best and hold to it. Love with its eyes open. Love that can weigh things.

The turn toward life is simple and a little uncomfortable. Who are you a partner with? Not who do you admire, or follow online, or agree with, but whose work do you actually share in, so that they could write to you the way Paul writes here? A church, a missionary, a friend carrying a heavy load. Paul's joy in prison was made of these ties. Most of us have fewer of them than we think, and most of them are formed by giving something away.

Take the prayer of verses 9 to 11 and pray it for one specific person today. Ask that their love would grow in knowledge and insight. It is a good prayer, and it is the kind of prayer that turns acquaintances into partners.