Some time ago, my teenage daughter emptied most of her savings account because she wanted to buy an inordinately expensive item: a new pair of earbuds, she said. Some like to call them headphones. She knew we wouldn’t buy them for her, especially given the steep price tag, so she used her own money to buy them. All this was well and good–I know she was happy–it was her money. Until one day when she told us she had lost them. And like that. The new earbuds were gone. A few weeks went by and thankfully, she found them. Fast forward a few more weeks. She lost them. And then she found them again. And then she lost them again. As of this moment, these headphones are somewhere in our house or at school or at church or maybe at a local restaurant. Nobody knows. From our vantage point as her parents, it seems like she spends the better part of her time searching for them. And it seems like her search is endless.

I know that my daughter’s simple, ongoing quest is a small thing in the larger scheme of things but, I wonder sometimes, if her constant cycle of searching and finding and losing and searching again is somehow a microcosm of the human condition. I think of Tom Brady, one of the greatest NFL football players of all time. Back in 2005, he granted an interview with Steve Croft on 60 Minutes, a weekly news program. He was just twenty-seven years old at the time and had already won three Super Bowl championships. Do you know what he said? Why do I have three Super Bowl rings and still think there’s something greater out there for me? I mean, maybe a lot of people would say, ‘Hey man, this is what [it’s all about].’ I reached my goal, my dream, my life. Me? I think, ‘It’s got to be more than this.’ I mean this isn’t—this can’t be—all it’s cracked up to be. When Croft pressed Brady for an answer, Brady responded: What’s the answer? I wish I knew.

What’s the answer? That’s the “million-dollar question” as we like to say here in the United States. Our longing for an answer to that question is what drives our searching and finding and losing and searching again. What’s the answer we ask? Well it depends on who you ask. Now if you were to ask this question of the apostle Paul, who wrote these verses in Philippians 3, he might not only say: “It depends on who you ask.” He may also say: “It depends on when you ask.” You see the early Paul answered this question differently than the Paul who wrote Philippians 3. In fact, he says as much.

For a time, Paul tried to answer the question by appealing to his birthright. That's verse 5. Circumcised on the eighth day. Of the people of Israel. The tribe of Benjamin. A Hebrew of Hebrews. Don’t mishear me. Family. Ethnicity. Religious heritage. All of these are important. My father is an immigrant from Honduras. So you don’t need to tell me they’re important. The question is, “Are they of ultimate importance?” For the final analysis, none of these can take the place of genuine repentance. That is to say if we intend to take Lent seriously, none of us can ride the coattails of our heritage or identity. Especially if we want to go to the place that God will show us. I hear John the Baptist saying: Bear fruits worthy of repentance. Do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. (Luke 3:8)

After Paul tried appealing to his birthright, he tried answering the question a different way. This time through performance. In other words, he tried with all his might to be blameless before God. That’s verse 6. As to the law, a Pharisee. As to zeal, persecuting the church. As to righteousness under the law, blameless. Now don’t mishear me on this one either. It is beautiful to think about the wonder of a life that is lived blameless before God. For blamelessness is not the same as sinlessness. In Luke 2, it was said of Simeon, this faithful servant who waited his whole life for the Messiah, that he was righteous and blameless. No, Paul was not mistaken in seeking blamelessness. Rather, his mistake came when he confused blamelessness with righteousness. Many ways we do the same thing, don’t we? We insist on cleaning the outside of the cup when what we really need is someone outside us, someone extra nos, to clean the inside of the cup for us.

Paul had tried birthright. He had tried performance. But there was a problem. He only found himself searching and finding and losing and searching again. None of these options worked. It turns out that Paul needed exactly what we need. Instead of trying birthright or trying performance. He needed to try Jesus. I’m reminded of that old gospel song. Have you tried Jesus? Have you tried him as a doctor? Have you tried him as a lawyer? He’ll be your friend. He’s all right. Paul discovers what we can discover during this season of Lent. For he experiences what Thomas Chalmers calls, “the expulsive power of a new affection.”

He uses the language of the marketplace to try to capture this mystery: of profits, and losses, and gains, and value. He says: Whatever gains I had, I regard as loss because of Christ. Everything is loss compared to his surpassing value. Indeed everything is rubbish, it’s garbage, it’s dung. Human excrement is the word there in the original language. He uses vulgar language to describe the insignificance of what came before. You see a new affection has emerged. No need for his own righteousness any longer. For one had been granted to him from someone else. No need to base life on his performance. For he could rest instead on the performance of another, the one who set his face like flint toward Jerusalem, the one who suffered on a cross, the one who got up with all power in his hand. This one was on his side. Jesus, the one whose surpassing value turns all else to rubbish. Jesus brought Paul to the end of his search.

I don’t know about you, but I’m happy when I find what I’ve been searching for, when what was lost is found again. I know that I’m not alone. A widow loses a coin. So she lights a lamp, sweeps the house, searches and searches until she finds it. And when she does, she invites her friends and neighbors for a party. Rejoice with me she says, for I have found what I had lost. I have come to the end of my search.

When you think about it, the end of the search is only the beginning for Paul just as it is for us. That word “end,” it can mean “destination” but it can also mean “goal.” When we come to the end of our search, a new one begins. I want to know Christ, he says in verse 10, the power of his resurrection, the fellowship of his suffering, attaining somehow to the resurrection of the dead. Even after decades as a missionary and writing from a prison cell, Paul concludes, there is always more of Christ to know. I press on to reach the goal, he says, to make Christ my own for Christ made me his own. I press on toward the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus. We come to the end of our search only to press on toward the end of our search.

When I think of this great shift that happens, I’m reminded of George Beverly Shea, the primary song leader for Billy Graham and the Billy Graham Crusades. Shea grew up in a little town across from the Hudson River in New Jersey. As a young man, he got a job on Wall Street. And he enjoyed it, the hustle and bustle of a city as exciting and expansive as New York. It turns out that he was an excellent financier; he excelled at it. Back then, the custom in his family was to gather around the piano after supper as so many Christian families did then. They would gather, they would sing the songs of the faith. As young George Shea excelled at the intricacies of Wall Street, his family noticed him showing up later and later at home. His mother observed that something had shifted in him internally. So, one night, she left him a note, Come home early from work tomorrow, and the next day, that’s precisely what he did. When he arrived at home, her instructions were simple. She had left a poem composed in 1922 by Rhea F. Miller on the piano. Now George Shea was a gifted musician. She wanted him to set it to music and, after doing so, to play what he composed as the rest of the family arrived for supper. The poem she left him moved him deeply. In fact it changed his whole life. It became his favorite poem and, after composing the tune, his favorite hymn: I’d rather have Jesus than silver or gold. I’d rather have Jesus than riches untold. I’d rather have Jesus than houses or lands. I’d rather be led by his nail-pierced hands. I’d rather have Jesus than men’s applause. I’d rather be faithful to his dear cause. I’d rather have Jesus than worldwide fame. I’d rather be led by his holy name. Now I may be wrong, but my guess is that Paul would have loved this hymn. He would have said, I’d rather have Jesus every time. The deeper question for all of us at Lent is, Would we?