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“I’M NOBODY, LORD — SO WHY ME?”

“I’m so humble and thankful,” a movie star says when they accept their Oscar statuette. And then they stay up there on the platform for seven minutes, bowing and calling for more ticker tape. When Paul says, “I’m the world’s least likely candidate to be God’s spokesman,” is he just posing?

There’s a moment that comes in literature — either biblical or classical — that we could call the crossroads of “Why me?” A great task must be done . . . but why me? How can you possibly want me?

Over the past half-century, huge audiences around the world, both curled up with a book and recently in front of a movie screen, have seen the legendary Frodo Baggins hold the one Ring in his hand. The fate of the universe rests with him. Will evil triumph, or will all that is good in Middle Earth survive? And in the thin voice of a frail hobbit, he says: “I will take the Ring, though I do not know the way.”

In C. S. Lewis’ Christian science fiction trilogy, an unassuming middle-aged man named Elwin Ransom finds himself on another world, an unfallen, sinless place called “Perelandra.” And there, it seems, the entire Garden of Eden decision — sinfulness or holiness, Lucifer or God, take the apple or obey your Maker — appears to hinge on HIM! Will he be an ambassador for God? Will he prevent this world’s virginal Eve from following Planet Earth to destruction? It’s all on him! Heaven is counting on him! And the soft voice of an angel says to him: “It is not for nothing that you are named Ransom.” Wow. One man: the focal point of a world’s entire future, the complete mosaic of its existence. And he thinks back to his lonely, fallen world, where a disciple named Peter failed. And Pontius Pilate. And all of us.

On the positive side, we think of the beautiful Bible story of Esther, where this pretty girl — attractive but essentially a nobody, an anonymous Jew — finds herself about to face King Xerxes and plead for the lives of her people, Mordecai says to her:

“Who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this?”

Why me? she asks. Why me, indeed?
We’re reading together this incredible letter by Paul, written to his fellow believers in Ephesus. And the core of Ephesians three is basically this: God has a plan, an eternal plan, to bring the entire world together, Jews and Gentiles, in unity through the life and death and resurrection and lordship of His Son, Jesus. The plan is called “grace” or “salvation,” it’s administered through Jesus, bathed in love, and demonstrated through the Church. It’s a richer, more ambitious, more glorious plan than any of us can comprehend because the love and power of Jesus are infinitely incomprehensible. Oh — and one more inexplicable thing — “fortunate people like ME,” Paul writes, are the ones called to share this greatest of all stories. And he goes on to ask: Why me why me why me?

There are two touching nuances to this part of the Ephesians essay, and we go to the middle of the chapter to find the first one. English teachers will love this, because in verses seven and eight Paul invents what the Tyndale New Testament Commentary calls a “comparative of a superlative to express himself more forcefully.”

“I became a servant of this gospel,” Paul writes, “by the gift of God’s grace given me through the working of His power.” Now here’s the metaphor: “Although I am LESS than the LEAST of all God’s people, this grace was given me: to preach to the Gentiles the unsearchable riches of Christ.”

Isn’t that something? It reminds us of the title of an old Elton John hit from the early 80s: “Too low for zero.” “I’m less than the LEAST of all God’s people,” Paul humbly writes in the New International Version. Dr. Eugene Peterson says it like this in his Message paraphrase:

“When it came to presenting the Message to people who had no background in God’s way, I was the least qualified of any of the available Christians.”

Now let me ask you this — and it’s an ironic question, because as you read through Paul’s writing, he’s a brilliant, persuasive apologist. He spoke to huge crowds; he was a gifted communicator. Is he just “playing” humble here — the way we sometimes do when we respond to someone’s compliments: “Oh, no, please. It’s nothing” . . . while our body English is going, “More! More! Finish your thought! Take your time!”? I’m reminded of the cute story about how Harry Miller, the beloved “China Doctor,” would go shopping in the villages of 1905 China. Even if he was just out to buy a spool of thread, he and the shopkeeper had to go through this “who is humbler” ritual. “What is your venerable age?” the owner of the store would ask. In true over-the-top sorrow, Dr. Miller would reply: “I have grown up in vain for 30 years.” “And how many illustrious sons do you have?” the shopkeeper would pry further. Forgive this politically incorrect response, but Miller would confess: “I have but two little girl monkeys.” The clerk would top that with: “I am sorry that my shop is so worthless, empty, and unkept.” “No, not at all,” Miller would remonstrate. “I was just admiring your prosperous business and calculating your stupendous fortune!” “No, you are talking to a miserable failure,” the owner would sigh in great melodramatic, tragicomic style. He would then pour Miller a huge cup of tea, giving himself only a few drops; whereupon Miller would go, “No, I insist!”, and give his host a full cup too. They would both drink to their incredible humility and then dicker over the ten cents’ worth of thread.

So is that how it is here? Is Paul truly humbled by the fact that God has called him to share this message? In the Tyndale commentary, Dr. Francis Foulkes has this suggestion:

“This is no feigned humility. It is the inevitable attitude of one who was prostrated with wonder at the grace of God in Christ.”

We’ve been getting some wonderful nuggets from the official commentaries used in my own Adventist denomination. Explaining Ephesians 3, the scholars write this:

“The recognition of God’s grace and favor always brought thoughts of humility to Paul’s mind.” Now notice this: “He was ever sensitive to the fact that he had been a PERSECUTOR of the saints. Therefore his appreciation of the greatness of his calling and of his personal inadequacy was ever before him. Paul always seemed to be amazed that God could take one so faulty, one who had been a rebel, and make him a minister of His grace. He felt himself not only less than prophets and apostles but less than any of the saints.” Then they add this good reminder: “Those who have the greatest access to divine grace will be the most humble. Only thus are they properly equipped to serve.”

So, Point One, Paul is just blown away that God wants him! Who, me?! He doesn’t deserve it, but thank you, Jesus.

Now, back to verses one and two, we find another interesting point about “Why me?” Chapter two, as you recall, is all about how the gospel is to go to both Jews and Gentiles: “the whole building . . . joined together . . . [becoming] a holy temple,” Paul has just written. Now into chapter three we go:

“For this reason I, Paul, the prisoner of Christ Jesus for the sake of you Gentiles” — “you outsiders,” says another version — “surely you have heard about the administration of God’s grace that was given to ME . . . FOR . . . YOU.”

And we wonder what that means. Is Paul handing out grace here? Well, in a sense, yes. He’s been chosen by God to be a spokesperson. Hence the humble “why me?” running through all of this. But we found a beautiful explanation back in that Tyndale commentary, playing off of the King James expressing of this idea:

“The dispensation of the grace of God which is given me . . . TO . . . YOU-WARD.”

That’s a bit archaic, but you get the idea. Grace, given to ME, for YOU. And commentator Francis Foulkes shares this idea:

“Grace is used in its fullest and widest sense of the undeserved favor of God that brings men salvation.” We could all say “Why me?” to that one. Then he adds: “But Paul also uses it a number of times to express the privilege of being GIVEN a work to do for Christ, and to denote the particular task allotted in His service. In his own case it was the amazing favor of being called to be an apostle, and that to the Gentiles.”

Could we say that here is a picture of “double grace”? What is the message Paul’s been given? Well, it’s grace, of course. That’s it in one word. But even the GIVING of it to Paul, the rare privilege he feels of being entrusted with this glorious message — is grace too. An “undeserved favor.” A gift beyond what he can deserve or earn. What’s more, just as God’s grace to us is an active gift, pulling us toward Calvary, God’s gift of granting Paul this privilege is equally active — because God empowers Paul to do this great thing which is far beyond his own natural skills. In fact, back in verse eight, here’s how The Message paraphrase finishes off the thought:

“God saw to it that I was equipped, but you can be sure that it had nothing to do with my natural abilities. And so here I am, preaching and writing about things that are way over my head, the inexhaustible riches and generosity of Christ.”

Friend, I guess that’s what we really have around here. “Double grace.” The amazing story of Calvary . . . and then this studio microphone and your radio so we can rejoice about it together.