At first glance, the fourth and final chapter of Paul’s Letter to the Philippians may appear to lack the theme of humility and selflessness that we have been looking at this month. Philippians 4 is all about rejoicing and thinking about true and lovely and pure and admirable things before Paul wraps up the letter with words of gratitude for the financial gift the Philippians had so generously sent his way.

But there is that curious part of the letter that does the rare thing of not only singling out a couple members of a congregation but actually preserving their names for us. We do in the New Testament epistles run across specific names now and again. Mostly it is in reference to other apostles like Epaphroditus, Barnabas, Titus, and Timothy. The Apostle Peter even specifically mentions Paul himself. But we don’t see the names of ordinary church folks much. A very big exception comes in Romans 16 when Paul reels off a long list of church members to whom he is sending his personal greetings. So we hear about Rufus and Tryphosa and Urbanus and Julia and many more.

But then in Philippians 4 we encounter two women named Euodia and Syntyche.  Not only is it unusual to read the names of specific individuals but in this case the preservation of their names across the ages is striking because they are not being mentioned in a good light.  As noted earlier this month, when we read the epistles in the New Testament, we are essentially reading someone else’s mail and often we are reading only one half of a correspondence without the benefit of having the other half that can backfill details for us and clue us in on things alluded to in the letter we do have. 

Thus we have no idea who Euodia and Syntyche were or what role they played in the Philippian church. Far easier to discern is that these women were at odds with one another over . . . something. And not just privately.  Whatever squabble they were having with each other had long ago burst out into the open. As often happens in such situations, it’s also possible that other people in the church began taking sides in the dispute. There were those saying, “If only Euodia would say she’s sorry it would be over.” But this was met from others in the congregation with, “Oh no, it’s Syntyche who has to fess up what she did to bring this about.”  Next thing you knew where people sat for worship on Sunday mornings sorted out along just these lines.

There may have been a significant issue at stake in all this. But who of us would be surprised were we to discover one day that what was at issue was so trivial that we’d find it hard to believe it led to such a riven congregation. 

We’ve seen this before. We saw it during COVID. For some just seeing a fellow church member wearing a mask or practicing social distancing was sufficient cause to fly off the handle. And let’s not even talk about differing attitudes toward vaccines. A love for Jesus and his Gospel took a back seat to such things. I know a pastor who had lovingly served his congregation for 18 years but who was forced to leave because of the harsh and withering critiques of members who simply could not believe he took all that COVID stuff seriously.

Again, who knows just what was up between Euodia and Syntyche but it might have been about as far away from the love of Jesus as wearing masks during a pandemic. So Paul calls them out. It is possible and probable given literacy rates in the first century and not having anything in print that Paul’s letters were read aloud to the congregations he addressed. So let’s picture the scene. Someone, perhaps Epaphroditus who seemed to be the go-between for the imprisoned Paul and this congregation, stands in whatever passed for a pulpit in those days and read this epistle aloud.

It was all interesting and at times bracing as the people absorbed these words that we now regard as holy Scripture. Until the reading got to what we call chapter four. Euodia was sitting on the far right side of the room.  Syntyche naturally was as far away as possible on the left side of the room. Then they heard their names. Then the color rose into both of their faces. People sitting near each woman fidgeted nervously and were not exactly sure where to look. Maybe there was here and there an involuntary intake of air, a quiet gasp, as people realized what was happening.

Surely Paul knew that this scenario is precisely what his letter would accomplish. He knew they’d be embarrassed.  He knew it would be awkward at best. But he wrote it anyway and mustered his full apostolic authority to tell these two women to get over themselves, make up, and act like Jesus again for Christ’s sake (literally).  Jesus comes first. Humility and selflessness must rule the day and that means putting aside our petty differences.

Of course, one person’s “petty difference” is another person’s core conviction that cannot possibly be put aside.  Alas. If Paul could look at any of our congregations today or any of our larger communions, he’d see plenty of Euodias and plenty of Syntyches. And he’d want to say the same thing to all of them—to all of us—as he did to these two women long ago: get over yourselves. Jesus did not break down all the dividing walls of hostility only to have his people spend their lives building new ones.

As these blogs have been saying all month: Jesus comes first.