Philippians 2:1-4, Part 2
(You can read Part 1 here: Consolation in Christ)
“If [there be] any comfort of love…”
Is there any comfort to be found in love?
What does comfort actually mean? The word’s etymology casts a beautiful shade of meaning. The Latin prefix com-means “together, with”; the root FORT means “strength.” With strength.
Comfort is no limp-wristed pat on the back. It is not merely a conciliatory expression of sympathy. It is a nearness, a proximity that brings strength. As it eases grief, it gives power to the beneficiary. Comfort renders aid, alleviates pain, and empowers for the next step.
Do we find comfort in love? Sure. We crave comfort from many sources, perhaps none so much as relationships. But what love is Paul referring to here? Is this a generic comfort from any generic love?
Consider the context. This clause is preceded by “consolation in Christ” and followed by “fellowship of the Spirit.” Two persons of the Trinity are providing the consolation and fellowship. For that reason (and another to be explored later from 2 Cor 13:14), I think I may safely say that the source of this love is divine.
So is there any comfort to be found in the love of the Father, demonstrated by the Son and dispersed by the Spirit (1 John 4:9, Rom 5:5)? Oh, yes.
By contrast, I am comforted by love from people, but I immediately think of two limits to that comfort.
Life in our present reality is transient. When you’re semi-nomadic, you come and go, and friends come and go. One challenge of being a single semi-nomad is that nobody comes and goes with you. Sometimes that is wearing. The comfort will run out, because the proximity we share will eventually be gone. The comfort of nearness waves goodbye from behind the security checkpoint, or rolls down the driveway, or stays behind on a muddy airstrip. The comfort of human love is limited by change.
Besides this, there is a human fear that if we were really known, we would not be accepted. In a strange irony, we enjoy the comfort of companionship; but we hide, just like our mother Eve behind her fig-leaf façade. Surely there would be an end of loving acceptance if all our failures, struggles, and sins were made plain. The comfort of human love is limited by fear of rejection.
Divine love is another kind. The comfort of God’s love is as limitless as He is. The omnipresent God never leaves. His presence fills the earth, and His Spirit fills me. Nothing can change His love for me or remove His presence from me (Rom 8:38-39; Ps 139:7-13). The comfort of God’s love is stable.
Safe in Christ, I do not fear rejection. There is no more for Him to discover about me that could end His love. Fully seen by the God Who searches and knows, I am yet loved – all the way to redemptive atonement. Wholly unworthy in the sight of utter perfection, I am yet loved.
I am received, not with passive resignation, but with active welcome. He did not roll His eyes and enter the broken reality of existence under humanity’s curse. He did not shrug and walk to the cross, carrying the weight of the cross and condemnation for my sin. He does not sigh and grudgingly concede a place at His table to repentant sinners.
No. His scandalous incarnation, righteous life, sacrificial death, glorious resurrection, and benevolent invitation are filled with passionate joy for His beloved.
This is a love that comforts eternally. He laid down His life for me, not when I was His friend – but when I was His enemy, and He would have me for His bride. Not because He knew the best of me – but because He knew all the very worst of me, and He would provide the salvation I could not earn.
If there any comfort of this love…since there is comfort of this love, then what?
Paul hasn’t reached his point yet. There are two remaining “if”’s to be considered.