Ecclesiastes 11.1—12.14; 2 Timothy 2:1-7

There is something rather moving about the passage we have heard this evening as our second lesson because it is, in effect, a piece of last-minute advice.

On the face of it, Paul is writing to Timothy, his younger colleague and protégé. Although as the Dean explained last Sunday morning, this is likely in fact to have been written by someone after Paul had died. And is written to pass on advice to young Christians as the baton is handed on from one generation to the next. You can go online and watch his sermon if you want to hear more about that.

But this afternoon I’m going to take it at face value. We read that the author’s own ministry is coming towards its end. He is in prison, and he has already experienced something which must have been deeply painful: because many of those who had been with him in Asia had “turned away”.

We are not quite sure what that means. Perhaps they had lost their faith. Perhaps they had been attracted by false teaching. Perhaps they had simply decided that continued association with this man in prison was too costly. Whatever the precise circumstances, the writer knows what it is to experience disappointment and loneliness.

But then comes the phrase which changes the direction of the passage:

“But as for you…”

As for you, Timothy, you are to be different, and not like these others. “Be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus.” Note, Paul is not telling Timothy simply to be strong. Timothy was apparently by temperament somebody who was no natural strongman. He appears to have been someone who constantly needed encouragement and reassurance.

So Paul does not tell him to manufacture strength from within himself. He tells him to be strong in grace. Christian strength is not the same as self-confidence. It is not persuading ourselves that we can cope with anything. It is the strength that comes from knowing that our lives are held by Christ, and that his grace is sufficient for us.

And then Paul tells Timothy what he is to be occupied with:

“What you have heard from me through many witnesses entrust to faithful people who will be able to teach others as well.”

There is a wonderful chain here. Paul has received the gospel; he has passed it on to Timothy; Timothy is to pass it on to others; and those others are to pass it on again. Christian faith is never simply something we possess for ourselves. We receive it in order that we may hand it on.

That is particularly appropriate in a cathedral like this. Cathedrals are places where we are constantly reminded that we are part of something much bigger than ourselves. We worship in buildings that have been here for generations. We use words and prayers which have been prayed by people long before we were born. We sing hymns some of whose writers have been dead for centuries. Though fortunately we now sing many more modern ones as well. We proclaim a faith which was not invented by us and which does not belong to us. Something has been deposited with us, and our responsibility now is to hand it on faithfully.

But Paul is under no illusion that that is going to be easy. And so he gives Timothy three pictures.

First, the soldier.

“Share in suffering like a good soldier of Christ Jesus.”

Paul was writing from prison, no doubt surrounded by soldiers. He would have seen them at close quarters every day; he would have talked with them and learned something of their lives.

A soldier on active service cannot live like everyone else. There are demands on his time and attention. He has been enlisted for a purpose. He has duties to perform. And Paul uses that image to say the Christian life also requires a certain discipline.

“A soldier avoids civilian pursuits,” he says, “since the aim of a soldier is to please the enlisting officer.” It is not that civilian life is bad. It is that a soldier cannot allow any other interest to compete with the task for which he has been enlisted.

And there is an obvious application to Christian discipleship. It is remarkably easy to fill our lives with things that keep us busy, but which do not necessarily serve the purpose for which we have been called. There is always something else to do. Another email to answer. Another meeting to attend. Another programme to watch. Another demand on our time and attention. And without ever deliberately deciding to do so, we can find that the things which matter the most have been pushed to the margins.

Paul’s soldier is being reminded: remember why you are here.

Then comes the second image: the athlete.

“An athlete is not crowned unless he competes according to the rules.”

Again, there is discipline involved. The athlete cannot simply invent the rules for himself when they become inconvenient.

There is a temptation in the Christian life to look for shortcuts — ways of avoiding the difficult bits, ways of making discipleship less demanding, ways of getting to the destination without having to travel the whole road.

Our two sons went to a school just up the road from here and one day someone told my wife that they had seen one of them on a bus in his sports gear in the middle of the afternoon. When asked about it he said they had been on cross country run and he had decided to ride part of the way back on the bus. “But you didn’t have any money”, she said. “Oh” he said, “I told the driver that I had got rather wheezy and he let me ride for free.”

There are no short bus rides to becoming the people Christ calls us to be. There are habits which form Christian character: worship, prayer, attentiveness to Scripture, generosity, forgiveness, service of others. None of these is glamorous. But, like athletic training, they gradually shape us into the sort of people God longs for us to become.

And then comes the third image, perhaps the least glamorous of all: the farmer.

“It is the farmer who does the work who ought to have the first share of the crops.”

There is no excitement here. No crowd cheering on the returning soldiers. No medal ceremony for the victorious athlete. Just hard work. The farmer works when the weather is good and when it is bad. He works when he feels like it and when he does not. Much of what he does is hidden beneath the soil. And for long periods there may be very little visible evidence of progress.

That seems to me to be a very good picture of the Christian life. Much of the most important Christian work is like farming. We pray, and nothing dramatic appears to happen. We read the Bible, and sometimes find it difficult and dry. We try to forgive someone, and discover that forgiveness may need to be offered more than once. We try to become more patient, generous, kind and loving, and discover how much work there still is to do.

But that does not mean that nothing is happening. Paul elsewhere speaks of the “fruit of the Spirit”: love, joy, peace, patience, and so on. And fruit takes time. It has to be cultivated. It needs tending. It needs patience.

And the same is true of the life of the Church. The Christian faith is not something that simply happens to us while we remain passive. There is work to be done. And so these three images — soldier, athlete and farmer — are really saying one thing from three different perspectives: following Christ will not always be easy.

There will be suffering. There will be discipline. There will be hard work. And perhaps that is why Paul ends this little section with a rather surprising instruction. After all these commands and exhortations he says:

“Think over what I say, for the Lord will give you understanding in everything.”

Think it over. Reflect upon it. Don’t simply hear these words and move on to the next thing. Take them away and let them work upon you. That is a very good description of Christian reflection.

One of the ancient Christian ways of praying which can help us do this is the Ignatian practice known as the examen. At the end of the day, we look back over what has happened.

We give thanks for all that has been – the good and the not so good. And as we give thanks we see where and how we have experienced God in it all. And as we see God’s handiwork we will want to be thankful.

Of course, we will remember the moments when we have been impatient, anxious, resentful. And as we look to tomorrow we will ask what we need from God to live true tomorrow.

That kind of reflection is not an exercise in self-improvement. It is a way of allowing God to give us understanding in the midst of our thankfulness.

Because the promise at the end of the passage is not that Timothy will work everything out for himself.

It is that “the Lord will give you understanding in everything.”

The soldier learns to recognise the task to which he has been called.

The athlete learns the discipline which enables them to run faithfully.

The farmer learns to trust the patient work of cultivation.

And so, as Christians we learn, day by day, what it means to follow Christ.

Amen.