Breaking the Gravity of Yesterday

Dr. Spencer R. Fusselman

In the blink of an eye, Saul the Pharisee—a zealous hunter of Christians—became Paul the Apostle to the Gentiles, the servant of the very people he once persecuted. The transformation was absolute. Yet, one has to wonder: in the quiet moments between missionary journeys, did the faces of the families he tore apart ever flash before his eyes? Did the ghost of "Saul" ever try to haunt the mind of Paul?

If anyone had a resume of regret, it was Paul. And yet, he penned the most liberating mandate for the believer’s mindset found in Scripture: “One thing I do: forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead” (Philippians 3:13). If God could change Paul, allowing him to release the weight of "Saul," why do we still hold ourselves hostage to our own history? Why do we act as our own jailers long after Christ has unlocked the cell?

To walk in the fullness of the Christian life, we must stop acting like accountants tallying up our history and start living like athletes running for the prize. We must learn the spiritual art of breaking the gravity of yesterday.

Paul begins this section of his letter to the Philippians with a startling admission: “Not that I have already attained, or am already perfect…” (v. 12). This is the man who had seen the risen Christ, performed miracles, and planted churches across the known world. If Paul hadn’t "arrived," you can be certain that you and I haven't either.

We often fall into the trap of thinking sanctification—the process of becoming like Jesus—is a destination we reach on earth. We think, If I were a better Christian, I wouldn’t struggle with this anymore. But Paul reminds us that spiritual perfection on this side of eternity is impossible. Pride is the grave of progress. The moment you think you have arrived, you stop running.

Paul shifts his metaphor here from the ledger to the track. In the previous verses, he was the Accountant, calculating his religious resume as "rubbish." Now, he is the Athlete. An athlete doesn’t stop in the middle of a sprint to admire how well they ran the first ten meters, nor do they stop to weep over a stumble at the starting block. They press on.

The Three Anchors of the Past
Paul says, "This one thing I do." It is a singular focus that requires two actions: forgetting what is behind and reaching for what is ahead. You cannot do one without the other. You cannot drive a car forward if you are staring exclusively into the rearview mirror.

But what exactly are we supposed to forget? In the sermon of our lives, the "things behind" usually fall into three categories: The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.

1. The Good (The Anchor of Nostalgia) It seems counterintuitive, but even our past victories can hold us back. We can become trophy-polishers, dusting off the memories of "the good old days" rather than seeking God’s fresh manna for today. Whether it was a spiritual high from twenty years ago or a season of life where things felt easier, living in the past prevents us from engaging with the present work of the Spirit. God’s name is "I AM," not "I WAS."

2. The Bad (The Anchor of Guilt) This is where the enemy does his best work. He loves to replay the tape of your worst moments. He whispers, “You call yourself a Christian? Remember what you did?”

3. The Ugly (The Anchor of Self-Righteousness) This is our own foolish effort to earn God’s love—our pride, our religious performance, our "flesh." Paul calls this "rubbish."

To "forget" these things doesn't mean we induce amnesia. It means we break their power to influence our identity. We stop allowing the past to mortgage our future.

This brings us to a critical theological and psychological junction: If Christ has forgiven us, why is it so hard to forgive ourselves?

Psychologists refer to the loop of remembering past failures as rumination. It is the brain’s way of trying to problem-solve a threat, but when applied to past shame, it becomes a toxic cycle. Neurobiologically, every time you replay a shameful memory, you deepen that neural pathway, making the memory easier to access and the shame more intense. It’s like a groove in a vinyl record; the needle naturally slides into it.

However, Scripture offers us a form of spiritual neuroplasticity—the ability to rewire the mind. When Paul says he is "forgetting," he is practicing a cognitive displacement. You cannot simply remove a thought; you must replace it. Paul replaces the "things behind" with the "upward call."

But there is a deeper barrier. Often, we refuse to forgive ourselves because we subconsciously believe that our self-condemnation is a form of penance. We think, If I feel bad enough for long enough, maybe I’ll pay off the debt.

This is an insult to the Cross.

When Jesus said, "It is finished," the debt was paid in full. When you refuse to forgive yourself after God has forgiven you, you are essentially saying that your standard of justice is higher than God’s. You are declaring that the blood of Christ was sufficient for the whole world, but not quite enough for your specific mistake.

As Pastor Steve reminded us, God chooses to remember our sins no more (Hebrews 10:17). This isn't divine forgetfulness; it is a divine choice. He separates our sin as far as the east is from the west. If the Supreme Judge of the universe has banged the gavel and declared, "Not Guilty," who are you to walk back into the courtroom and demand a retrial?

To forgive yourself is to agree with God’s verdict. It is an act of obedience. So, how do we actually do this? How do we let go?

Paul gives us the mechanic: Press. “I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus” (v. 14). The word "press" implies resistance. It isn't a casual stroll. It is pushing against the wind. It is a runner straining every muscle, lungs burning, eyes locked on the finish line. The way to let go of the past is to get a vision of the future that is more compelling than your history.

We are not running for a perishable wreath or a participation trophy. We are running for the crown of righteousness. We are running toward a Savior who is currently preparing a place for us.

Paul reminds us in verse 20 that “our citizenship is in heaven.” We are a colony of heaven here on earth—aliens on assignment. When we realize that this world is not our home, and that our "lowly bodies" (which are subject to aging, pain, and gravity) will one day be transformed to be like His glorious body, the failures of the past lose their sting.

You are an athlete in the middle of the race. You may have stumbled at mile marker three. You may have been dehydrated at mile marker ten. You may be limping right now. But the race is not over.

God is not looking at where you fell; He is looking at where you are headed. To press on, you must look at the "one thing." You must choose today to stop glancing in the rearview mirror of your guilt and start looking through the windshield of God’s grace. The windshield is massive compared to the mirror for a reason: what is ahead is far more important than what is behind.

There is a prize. There is a high calling. And there is a Savior who has already laid hold of you. Now, it’s your turn to lay hold of Him.

Press on!