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I've been studying Philippians with the class at Faith Christian College, and this week we've been in chapter three. There is so much in this chapter about what it means to live a Christ-centered life. Paul talks about what he once valued: knowing Christ, leaving things behind, reaching forward, and pressing toward the goal. While studying it and teaching it, I started thinking about anchors.

An anchor does exactly what it is designed to do. It holds you in place. That's wonderful when you want to stay where you are, but it's a problem when God is calling you to move.

Last week, I left work on a Friday upset. I'm not going to tell you what happened, and that's actually part of the point. Nobody intentionally did anything to hurt me, but I allowed some circumstances to make me feel and act a certain way. Those feelings quickly turned into anger and self-pity, and for about three days, I let those things occupy far too much space between my ears.

I could explain what happened. I could tell you why I felt the way I did. I could probably even make a pretty good argument for why some of my feelings were justified. What would that accomplish? I'd just be grabbing hold of the anchor again. What happened Friday isn't really the issue. What I did with it is.

For three days, I allowed something temporary to hold me in place when I could have been moving forward with Christ.

I think a lot of us have learned how to control what happens on the outside. We don't say everything we're thinking or act on every emotion. Hopefully, that's part of Christian maturity. What is happening between our ears, though? That's where I still struggle.

My temper has probably been one of the biggest struggles throughout my life. I still have one, and I don't particularly like admitting it. I like it even less that it's true. At the same time, I can look backward and see what God has done in me. My temper isn't what it once was, and my actions aren't what they once were. Much of that change has happened because God has changed me and my outlook.

I used to spend considerably more time thinking, "Why isn't this happening the way I want it to?" Increasingly, I'm learning to ask, "Why has God allowed this in front of me, what can I learn from it, and how do I respond in a way that honors Him?"

I'm not where I want to be, but thankfully, I'm also not where I was.

Paul understood that. He writes,

“Not that I have already obtained it [this goal of being Christlike] or have already been made perfect, but I actively press on so that I may take hold of that [perfection] for which Christ Jesus took hold of me and made me His own.” — Philippians 3:12 AMP

I love Paul's honesty. He hasn't arrived. Neither have I. Neither have you. We are supposed to be moving, though, and sometimes what holds us back isn't another person, our circumstances, or even our past. Sometimes the anchor is "self."

Self-pity. Self-righteousness. Self-justification. Self-centeredness. Self-will. Self-reliance. Self-importance. Self-protection. Self-interest. Self-comparison. Self-condemnation. Self-deception.

There are plenty more. If I'm tattling on myself, self-righteousness is one of mine. I can become convinced that I'm right, that things should have happened differently, that somebody should have handled something differently, or that I know how something ought to be done. That can lead me straight toward anger.

Here's something God has been teaching me: I can be right about a situation and completely wrong about what I allow that situation to do inside me. Being right doesn't make my anger righteous. Being right doesn't make my self-pity righteous. Being right doesn't make spending three days dwelling on something Christ-centered. Sometimes being right is just another anchor.

I've also started noticing something about personal pronouns: I, me, my. There is nothing wrong with those words, but when they become the foundation of my thinking, and especially my theology, I should probably pay attention. What do I want? Why did this happen to me? Why didn't they ask me? Why don't they see it my way? What about my feelings? There is an awful lot of me in there.

Christianity isn't centered on me. It's centered on Him.

Paul spends the beginning of Philippians 3 listing some impressive things about himself: his heritage, his religious credentials, his zeal, and his accomplishments. Then he says,

“But whatever former things were gains to me [as I thought then], these things [once regarded as advancements in merit] I have come to consider as loss [absolutely worthless] for the sake of Christ [and the purpose which He has given my life].” — Philippians 3:7 AMP

Paul wasn't only willing to leave his failures behind. He was willing to leave his successes behind too, because neither one was supposed to be the center anymore. Christ was.

Our anchors aren't all the same. Maybe yours is something you did years ago. Maybe it's something someone did to you. Maybe it's anger, regret, pride, fear, self-pity, a success you can't stop looking backward at, or the need to be right. Maybe it's something happening entirely between your ears that nobody else even knows exists.

Sometimes we don't even recognize that we've dropped an anchor. That's why part of our prayer needs to be, “Father, show me what is holding me back.” That's a dangerous prayer because He might answer it, and we might not particularly like the answer.

Paul gives us these words:

“Brothers and sisters, I do not consider that I have made it my own yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the [heavenly] prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.” — Philippians 3:13–14 AMP

Forgetting what lies behind doesn't mean Paul somehow erased his memory. He remembered his past and even wrote about it. His past, however, wasn't going to determine the direction he traveled. We can learn from yesterday without living there. We can remember what happened without remaining anchored to it. We can acknowledge our failures without allowing them to define us. We can even acknowledge that somebody hurt us without spending the next three days replaying it between our ears.

Forget what lies behind. Reach forward. Press on.

There is movement in those words.

Lately, my wife and I have been spending time on a boat,  so maybe that's why the picture of an anchor works for me. When an anchor is down, the current can be moving strongly and the boat still stays put. Think about that spiritually. The Holy Spirit is working, leading, convicting, teaching, changing us, and calling us toward Christ. Yet I can sit there with a rope tied to an anchor called anger, self-pity, pride, or yesterday.

Sometimes, if I'm being completely truthful, my flesh likes the anchor. My flesh likes being right. It likes replaying the argument. It likes feeling sorry for itself. It likes explaining why somebody else is wrong. It likes things my way. Scripture tells us there is a real struggle between the desires of the flesh and the Spirit. That struggle won't completely go away on this side of heaven, but I have a choice about which direction I want to follow.

I don't want to merely pull the anchor up. If I'm carrying it around with me, I can always throw it back overboard.

I want to cut the rope.

That picture reminds me of The Pilgrim's Progress. Christian, the main character, travels carrying an enormous burden until he comes to the Cross, where the burden falls away. John Bunyan's picture is primarily about the burden of sin and guilt being dealt with through Christ. Jesus has already paid what Christian could never pay himself. Still, that picture makes me think about all the things I keep trying to carry after coming to Christ.

Why do I want to carry anger, pride, self-pity, regret, or my need to be right? I can take those things to the Cross. Christ has already accomplished what I never could. I don't need another anchor. I need more of Him.

Maybe that's the most important part of Philippians 3. Paul doesn't simply tell us what he's leaving behind. He tells us Who he's pursuing:

“And this, so that I may know Him [experientially, becoming more thoroughly acquainted with Him, understanding the remarkable wonders of His Person more completely]…” — Philippians 3:10 AMP

That I may know Him. That's the goal. Not merely less anger, but more Jesus. Not merely less self-pity, but more Jesus. Not merely less self-righteousness, but more Jesus. Not merely fewer bad thoughts between my ears, but more Jesus.

Less I, me, and my. More Him.

This week, I want to pay more attention to what's happening between my ears, and I challenge you to do the same. When we discover something occupying our minds and holding us in place, let's stop long enough to name the anchor. Maybe it's anger, self-pity, fear, pride, yesterday, or something we haven't recognized yet. We can ask God to show us.

Once He does, let's not polish the anchor, explain it, defend it, or justify why we deserve to keep it. Let's not just pull it up, carry it around, and throw it back in tomorrow.

Cut the anchor loose.

Take it to the Cross and pray,

“Father, show me what is holding me back. I don't want anything occupying the place in my heart and mind that belongs to You. Help me leave what is behind, reach toward what is ahead, and know Jesus more. Holy Spirit, lead me forward.”

Then go.

I'm still learning this. Sometimes it takes me three days. Hopefully next time it takes two, then one, and maybe someday three minutes. That's sanctification. It isn't pretending we've arrived. It's recognizing that we haven't and continuing to press forward toward Christ.

One Step Closer: What's holding you in place? Ask God to expose the anchor, even if the answer is uncomfortable. Take it to the Cross, cut the rope, and let the Holy Spirit lead you forward. Leave what is behind. Reach toward what is ahead. Press on toward Christ.