Expendable Resources: Faithful Service to God

 Expendable Resources: Faithful Service to God

Alan Swartz – 10/26/2025 – EUMC & BCUMC

The second letter to Timothy holds a unique and strategic place within the New Testament. It is the final letter we have from the Apostle Paul, his last will and testament, penned from a prison cell as he awaited his own execution. Along with his first letter to Timothy and his letter to Titus, it forms a collection we call the “pastoral epistles”—letters written not to a whole congregation, but to individuals entrusted with the pastoral care and leadership of the burgeoning church. To truly grasp the weight of Paul’s words, we must first understand the deep relationship between the aging apostle and his young protégé.

Timothy and Titus were young men in whom Paul had seen the promise and power of the Holy Spirit. He had recruited them early in his ministry, mentoring them not only in the foundations of the faith but also in the practical and demanding work of church leadership. He trained them to establish new places of worship, to identify faithful leaders, and to build up the body of Christ. Now, at the end of his life, Paul has left these trusted companions in key cities to oversee and continue this vital work.

This final letter finds Timothy in Ephesus, a man feeling the immense pressure of his responsibilities. He is “feeling the heat,” struggling with the troubles in his own community while simultaneously bearing the heavy knowledge that his mentor, his spiritual father, is in chains, soon to be martyred. Timothy has every reason to be discouraged. It is into this context of fear and doubt that Paul writes. This is not a letter of abstract theology; it is a powerful, personal plea for his beloved son in the faith to persevere, to remain steadfast, and to carry on the sacred work of the gospel.

The Offering of a Lifetime: “Poured Out as a Libation”

In the fourth chapter of this letter, Paul turns from encouraging Timothy to reflecting on his own life. His words are a profound and moving summary of a lifetime spent in service to Christ—a final declaration from a man who has given everything for the gospel. He writes with a stunning clarity and peace:

As for me, I am already being poured out as a libation, and the time for my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.

Here, Paul employs two powerful metaphors to describe his life of discipleship. First, he sees himself as a soldier who has “fought the good fight.” He has been a faithful warrior for Christ, engaged in the spiritual battle for the hearts and souls of humanity. Second, he is an athlete who has “finished the race.” It is significant that Paul does not claim to have won the race, but to have finished it. The emphasis is not on worldly victory or personal glory, but on endurance, faithfulness, and perseverance to the very end.

But it is his first statement that is perhaps the most arresting: “I am already being poured out as a libation.” A libation was a drink offering, wine poured out upon an altar as a sacrifice to God. With this image, Paul declares that his entire life has been a sacrificial offering, poured out completely for God’s purposes. This is not a life held in reserve, but a life fully spent. Yet, his gaze is not on the past but on the future, filled with a confident hope: “From now on, there is reserved for me the crown of righteousness... not only to me but also to all who have longed for his appearing.” This mindset of complete self-offering stands in stark and challenging contrast to many of the messages about faith that are prevalent in our world today.

Counterfeit Faith: Rejecting the Prosperity Gospel

Paul’s vision of a life poured out as a sacrifice is the very antithesis of a modern counterfeit faith often called the “prosperity gospel.” It is crucial for us as Christians to discern this false teaching, which directly contradicts the model of self-sacrifice presented by Paul and, most importantly, by Jesus himself.

The core message of many prosperity preachers is the insidious idea that if you are not “healthy, wealthy, and wise,” then there must be something wrong with your relationship with God. Faith becomes a transactional tool for acquiring physical possessions and worldly comfort. This mindset reduces God to a “great cosmic vending machine,” where prayer is little more than putting in enough quarters. If you just pray sincerely enough, if you push the right buttons, God will deliver the treats you desire—the Snickers bar, the bag of chips, or, as Janis Joplin sang in her satirical prayer, “Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz?”

This teaching is a complete distortion of the gospel. Jesus never promised a life of ease. Instead, he said, “If you’d be my disciples, you must take up your cross daily and follow me.” He warned how difficult it is for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God, easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle. Hearing this, the disciples cried out, “Well, Lord, we have given up everything to follow you.” And Jesus said, “You’ve not given up anything that will not be restored to you a hundredfold in this life and then life eternal beyond that.” The apostles themselves, who walked closest to Jesus, did not live lives of comfort. They gave their lives for the sake of the gospel, and in Paul, we see one nearing the end of that road, recognizing that his life was not a vessel for receiving earthly goods, but an offering to be poured out.

The Paradox of Being an Expendable Resource

A modern church analyst named Gil Rendle, in his book Back to Zero, offers a framework that aligns powerfully with Paul’s self-understanding. Writing from a United Methodist perspective and leveraging the denomination’s extensive statistical records, Rendle presents a challenging diagnosis of the modern church. His central argument is that the church has become far too effective at taking care of the needs of its own congregations and clergy. While this sounds positive, Rendle argues that in doing so, we have begun to treat our members and our leaders as the “end product,” when our true mission—the real product—lies in the world beyond our doors.

To reorient the church toward its true mission, Rendle introduces a provocative term. He states that we must begin to view ourselves as expendable resources.

When I first encountered that phrase, I admit it was jarring. My mind went immediately to a plastic water bottle—used up and then tossed aside. I thought, “What does he mean by that? Expendable?” It sounds like we are being told we are unimportant, something to be used up and then thrown away. But Rendle is quick to make a crucial distinction: expendable is not the same as disposable. We are not disposable. Rather, we are called to expend ourselves for the sake of the gospel, to pour ourselves out for the work of God’s kingdom.

Herein lies a beautiful spiritual paradox. We are able to be expendable resources because the Holy Spirit is constantly refilling us. As we live and work from the grace of God, we find we have more and more to expend for the gospel. The more we give of ourselves, the more we receive from God. The more we bless others, the more we are blessed. This is the ancient promise God made to Abraham when he said, “I am blessing you to be a blessing to the nations.” It is a call not to hoard God’s grace, but to let it flow through us for the sake of the world.

A Tale of Two Prayers: Humility vs. Self-Righteousness

The heart posture required to live this way is perfectly illustrated in a parable Jesus told. Luke, the gospel writer, sets the scene by telling us that Jesus shared this story specifically with “some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt.”

He tells of two men who went into the temple to pray. The first was a Pharisee, a respected religious leader. The second was a tax collector, a man despised by his own people.

The Pharisee stood up and prayed. He thanks God that he’s a good husband and father who puts food on the table and shoes on his children’s feet. He thanks God that he tithes faithfully and serves his community. On the surface, what is wrong with this prayer? Is it wrong to thank God for these things? Of course not. But the flaw is not in the words, but in the heart. His prayer is not one of true gratitude but of self-congratulation. It is a prayer of comparison and contempt, which becomes clear when he thanks God that he is not like other people, specifically “this tax collector over there.”

The tax collector, meanwhile, stood far off, not even daring to look up to heaven. In that society, tax collectors were seen as traitors, collaborators who worked for the Roman occupying forces and profited from the oppression of their own people. This man, keenly aware of his station, could only beat his breast in sorrow and pray a simple, desperate prayer: “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

Jesus’ conclusion to the parable would have been scandalous to his listeners. He declared that it was the humble, despised tax collector who went home justified before God, not the outwardly righteous Pharisee.

An Unlikely Fellowship: The Radical Unity of the Gospel

This elevation of the despised over the revered was a hallmark of Jesus’ ministry, and nowhere is it more evident than in the group of disciples he called to follow him. Jesus did not recruit from a single, homogenous group of people. He didn’t call all his disciples from Duke Divinity School, or Wall Street, or Silicon Valley, or from the North Carolina countryside. He called people from every walk of life—fishermen, farmers, and as we’ve seen, tax collectors.

The most stunning example of the gospel’s unifying power can be seen by contrasting two of his chosen apostles:

• Matthew the tax collector, a man who worked for and profited from the Roman Empire.
• Simon the Zealot, a member of a political party that advocated for the violent overthrow of Rome. The Zealots were revolutionaries, what we might call “terrorists” or “freedom fighters” today, depending on whose side you are on. They believed God was calling them to strike back at Rome, seeing a precedent in how their ancestors had risen up to drive out the Greeks.

Jesus called these two men—a collaborator and a revolutionary, natural enemies—to sit at the same table, to break bread together, and to serve the same mission. This was only possible because they were both willing to give up their old identities and allegiances to find a new, primary identity in him. The fact that Jesus forged a functioning community out of such disparate and hostile elements should put us, the modern church, to shame. We who claim to believe that Jesus is the Messiah allow ourselves to be easily divided by political, theological, and practical differences, forgetting the radical unity that is at the very heart of the gospel.

Conclusion: The Grace That Fills and Overflows

To be poured out as a libation like Paul, to be an expendable resource for the kingdom, we must begin where the tax collector began. Our journey must start with the humble acknowledgment that all that we are and all that we have is a gift from the grace of God. It does not come from our own goodness, our own righteousness, or our own hard work. It is all grace.

When we understand this, we are freed to live lives of radical generosity. We can allow ourselves to be poured out for the sake of the gospel because we know a profound truth: we can never outgive God. No matter how much of our time, our energy, or our lives we pour out in his service, his Spirit will pour so much more back into us. This is the word of the gospel. This is the word we have from St. Paul. May we, too, give ourselves every day for the sake of the gospel, knowing that the grace that fills us is a grace that is meant to overflow.

A Prayer of Covenant

Let us close with the Covenant Prayer, attributed to John Wesley. Let us use this prayer to renew our commitment to God and to remember the lives we are called to live as his people.

I am no longer my own, but thine. Put me to what thou wilt; rank me with whom thou wilt. Put me to doing, put me to suffering. Let me be employed by thee or laid aside for thee, exalted for thee or brought low for thee. Let me be full, let me be empty. Let me have all things, let me have nothing. I freely and heartily yield all things to thy pleasure and disposal. And now, O glorious and blessed God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, thou art mine, and I am thine. So be it. And the covenant which I have made on earth, let it be ratified in heaven. Amen.