Philippians 4:1–23
4:1Therefore, my brothers, you whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, that is how you should stand firm in the Lord, dear friends!
2I plead with Euodia and I plead with Syntyche to agree with each other in the Lord. 3Yes, and I ask you, loyal yokefellow, help these women who have contended at my side in the cause of the gospel, along with Clement and the rest of my fellow workers, whose names are in the book of life.
4Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! 5Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. 6Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. 7And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
8Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. 9Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.
10I rejoice greatly in the Lord that at last you have renewed your concern for me. Indeed, you have been concerned, but you had no opportunity to show it. 11I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. 12I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. 13I can do everything through him who gives me strength.
14Yet it was good of you to share in my troubles. 15Moreover, as you Philippians know, in the early days of your acquaintance with the gospel, when I set out from Macedonia, not one church shared with me in the matter of giving and receiving, except you only; 16for even when I was in Thessalonica, you sent me aid again and again when I was in need. 17Not that I am looking for a gift, but I am looking for what may be credited to your account. 18I have received full payment and even more; I am amply supplied, now that I have received from Epaphroditus the gifts you sent. They are a fragrant offering, an acceptable sacrifice, pleasing to God. 19And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.
20To our God and Father be glory for ever and ever. Amen.
21Greet all the saints in Christ Jesus. The brothers who are with me send greetings. 22All the saints send you greetings, especially those who belong to Caesar’s household.
23The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit. Amen.
IN WORKING THROUGH PAUL’S LETTER to the believers in Philippi, we have summarized his argument in several simple formulas:
1. Put the gospel first.
2. Adopt Jesus’s death as a test of your outlook.
3. Emulate worthy Christian leaders.
And now,
4. Never give up the Christian walk.
But why should this last imperative be made the summary of Philippians 4? There are at least three reasons.
First, the burden of the first verse is to “stand firm,” and this verse is transitional, pointing both backward to what we have already examined and forward to the chapter ahead. Paul writes, “Therefore, my brothers, you whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, that is how you should stand firm in the Lord, dear friends!” (4:1). The evidence that this verse points backward is clear enough: “Therefore, my brothers”—that is, in light of the themes just articulated, especially in light of 3:17 (“Join with others in following my example . . .”)—therefore, stand firm. Indeed, Paul injects a tender, emotional element: “my brothers,” he addresses them, “you whom I love and long for, my joy and crown.” He has warned them about false leaders, bad examples. Watch out for those who parade a pseudo-Christianity that may for a while take you in. Beware of those whose god is their belly and whose end is destruction. Do not be deceived by them. Imitate instead those worthy Christian leaders who make much of the cross and whose spiritual life is vital, growing, and constantly focused on Jesus Christ. In particular, in light of the Lord’s impending return, when he will even transform our bodies—therefore, stand firm.
So the way 4:1 points backward is clear enough. But there is also a word in this verse that almost certainly points forward. If I were rendering the verse in a literal way, part of it would read “thus stand firm in the Lord” (rendered “that is how you should stand firm in the Lord” in the NIV). The word I have rendered “thus” regularly points forward. For example, a literal rendering of John 3:16 reads, “For God thus loved the world that he gave his one and only Son”; the word “thus” points forward to the supreme evidence of how God loved the world. So also here in Philippians 4:1: “thus stand firm”—that is, stand firm in the way I am about to prescribe. Stand firm; never give up the Christian walk.
Second, many of the themes in Philippians 4 have already been treated in Philippians 1–3. But in this last chapter of Paul’s letter, these themes are recast in such a way as to foster perseverance and endurance. This will become abundantly clear as we work our way through the chapter. So this becomes an additional reason for treating the chapter under this theme.
Third and most important of all, we cannot help but see that many of the specific injunctions in this chapter are calculated to foster perseverance. What Paul offers is not simply doctrinal content (though that is important) or simple orders designed to elicit some sort of explicitly Christian behavior, but attitudinal commands aimed at fostering whole-life, long-lasting commitment to the one true God.
We may put it this way. What kind of exhortation will best help Christians persevere in the way of Christ? Should we encourage one another to recite the creeds and read our Bibles more? Certainly we should. But we must also acknowledge that one can treat the Bible coldly or merely as an object of academic pursuit, in much the same way others study Shakespeare. Shall we foster obedience to specific commandments? Yes, doubtless we all need encouragement along those lines from time to time. Yet some obedience is merely formal; other kinds of obedience sink into a pathetic brand of legalism.
So the kinds of things Paul chooses to emphasize in his closing chapter are these: integrity in relationships, fidelity toward God, quiet confidence in him, purity and wholesomeness in thought, and godliness in heart attitude. In every area, Paul wants to foster firmness, stability, endurance, perseverance, and faithfulness before God—before the God who has disclosed himself so wonderfully and climactically in Jesus Christ his Son.
The burden of Philippians 4, then, is this: Never give up the Christian walk. When we unpack this theme, we discover seven components.
Resolve to Pursue Like-Mindedness with Other True Believers (4:2–3)
The concrete case immediately before Paul concerns two women, Euodia and Syntyche, who cannot seem to get along. What is shocking in this situation is that these two are not peripheral people, known for their bad tempers and wagging tongues and for little else. No, they are women who have worked with Paul in the cause of the gospel (4:3). They have been at the forefront of evangelism: they “have contended at my side in the cause of the gospel,” Paul writes. There is no hint of heresy or immorality in them; they simply cannot get along. So what does Paul do?
First, he pleads with them. Isn’t that wonderful? He does not begin with heavy-handed authority. He does not cite his apostolic credentials and whittle them down to size. Indeed, the appeal is personal and impassioned; it is not calculated to shame them. There are important lessons to be learned here for those who are called to mediate in contemporary personality conflicts within the church.
Second, Paul asks the person who is to receive this letter to intervene and help the two women sort it out. Sometimes frictions between believers become so severe that the wise course is for a third party to mediate between the two sides, trying to help both sides see things from the other’s perspective and think through what faithful Christian attitudes should be in such circumstances. Who the intended mediator is in this case we do not know. When a letter was sent to the entire local church, as this letter was, doubtless it had to be sent more specifically to an individual who would read it to the whole church. Certainly, Paul and the Philippian church knew who this individual was, but we do not. It is reasonable to assume that this person was an elder, a pastor; it may even have been Luke, but we cannot be certain. In fact, it is even possible that the word rendered “yokefellow” is a proper name, though there is no independent attestation of such a name in the ancient world. In that case, by referring to the man as (literally) “loyal Yokefellow,” Paul is resorting to a pun: Mr. Yokefellow in name and true Yokefellow in action, as you are yoked together with me in the cause of the gospel. But whoever this person is, Paul asks him to intervene.
Third, the substance of Paul’s plea to the women, and the aim of the intervention he wants from his “loyal yokefellow,” is that the two women “agree with each other in the Lord.” The verb translated “to agree with” is a common one in Philippians, appearing no fewer than ten times in these four short chapters. What exactly is Paul asking for?
Some honest differences of opinion among genuine believers could be resolved if they would take the time to sort out why they are looking at things differently and if they would take their views and attitudes and submit them afresh, self-critically, to the Scriptures. But many disputes will not be resolved, because those who are quarreling will neither take the time nor deploy the energy to study the Scriptures together. In some cases, neither side wants to be corrected or sharpened; both sides are so convinced that they are right that mere facts will not correct them, and, in any case, all they want to do is win. In that frame of mind, they easily forget that it is always inappropriate, at best—and frankly sinful, at worst—to try to manipulate believers into changing their minds. You know the kind of comments I have in mind: “Your stance hurts my feelings. Don’t you trust me?” Emotional blackmail is never a mark of godliness. It is never a sign of Christian maturity when, under the guise of preserving good relations, Christians try to manipulate others. Usually what is being exposed is a rather embarrassing immaturity. Where there are disagreements of principle, argue them out. Take out your Bibles, think things through, find out why you are disagreeing, and be willing to be corrected.
But in every case, whether you can reach agreement on this detail or that, identify what takes absolute priority, and begin with that. Focus on what you have in common. Make sure you agree over the gospel. Work hard to develop perfect agreement on matters of greatest importance: the gospel, the Word of God, the glory of Christ, the good of God’s people, the beauty of holiness, the ugliness of sin—especially your own sin. Personal differences should never become an occasion for advancing your party, for stroking bruised egos, for resorting to cheap triumphalism, for trimming the gospel by appealing to pragmatics. Focus on what unites you: the gospel, the gospel, the gospel. Be like-minded; think the same things; agree with one another. Work hard and humbly on these central issues, and in most instances the peripheral matters will take care of themselves. Resolve to pursue like-mindedness with other believers. This will ennoble and strengthen all sides, so that you will never abandon the Christian walk.
Resolve Always to Rejoice in the Lord (4:4)
Paul writes, “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!” (4:4). Of course, Paul has already introduced this theme into his letter. In the first chapter, Paul assured his readers, “In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel . . .” (1:4–5). The theme recurs in chapter 2: Paul is ready to be poured out as a kind of drink offering, a sacrifice on top of all their sacrifices, and if this should transpire, he would be glad and rejoice with them and expect them to be glad and rejoice with him (2:17–18). The same theme is picked up in chapter 3: “Finally, my brothers, rejoice in the Lord!” (3:1). And now it returns once more, and in a most emphatic form.
Doubtless the Philippians could not read many such exhortations from the apostle without remembering that Paul had been a prime example of this virtue when he had first preached the gospel among them. According to Acts 16, he and Silas were arrested and thrown into prison. Beaten, bruised, their feet in stocks, they displayed not a whiff of self-pity. Far from it; they began a midnight chorus of praise. Now Paul finds himself in prison again. He is not writing this epistle from a chalet in the south of France or taking a few minutes out from the happy pleasures of paddling in the waters of the Bahamas. He is under arrest. And what does he say? “Hang in there, brothers and sisters, as I am trying to hang on myself”? Not a chance! “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!” (4:4).
In one sense, this injunction is so self-evidently right that it is embarrassing that we should have to be reminded of it. Surely all redeemed men and women will want to rejoice in the Lord. Our sins have been forgiven! We have been declared righteous because another has borne our guilt. We have received the gift of the Spirit, the down payment of the promised inheritance that will be ours when Jesus comes again. We are children of the living God. Our “threescore years and ten” may be fraught with difficulty, but eternity awaits us, secured by the Son of God. We shall see Christ face-to-face and spend an eternity in the purest worship and in consummated holiness. If we fail to respond with joy and gratitude when we are reminded of these things, it is either because we have not properly grasped the depth of the abyss of our own sinful natures and of the curse from which we have been freed by Jesus or because we have not adequately surveyed the splendor of the heights to which we have been raised.
Happy, then, the believer who can repeat David’s words with renewed understanding, “He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God” (Ps. 40:2–3). Happy the Christian who sees in every sin a monster that could easily snare him eternally, were it not for the grace of God. Small wonder, then, that Peter writes, “Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the goal of your faith, the salvation of your souls” (1 Peter 1:8–9). The kingdom of God may be entered through suffering (Acts 14:22), but it is characterized by joy. Paul insists that “the kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking”—that is, of obeying rules and observing kosher food laws—“but of righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit, because anyone who serves Christ in this way is pleasing to God and approved by men” (Rom. 14:17–18).
But note some details in the text. First, we are exhorted to rejoice in the Lord. The controlling issue is not the style of rejoicing, but the ground. We are not necessarily rejoicing in the Lord when we are boisterous and loud and uninhibited in a large conference hall where the singing is swinging. Such praise may in some instances be entirely appropriate; equally, joy in the Lord may be happily expressed in solemn silence, in tears of gratitude, in sheer delight in times of prayer. But Paul’s focus is not on the style; it is on the ground of the rejoicing.
The ultimate ground of our rejoicing can never be our circumstances, even though we as Christians recognize that our circumstances are providentially arranged. If our joy derives primarily from our circumstances, then when our circumstances change, we will be miserable. Our delight must be in the Lord himself. That is what enables us to live with joy above our circumstances. As Nehemiah puts it, “The joy of the LORD is your strength” (Neh. 8:10). Perhaps that is one of the reasons why the Lord sometimes allows miserable circumstances to lash us—that we may learn this lesson. Perhaps that is why James, the half brother of our Lord, wisely counsels, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” (James 1:2–4). Whatever the mysteries of evil and sorrow, they do have the salutary effect of helping believers to shift the ground of their joy from created things to the Creator, from the temporary to the eternal, from jingoism to Jesus, from consumption to God. As the song by Ira Stanphill puts it, “He washed my eyes with tears, that I might see.”
Second, the text implicitly answers two questions: (1) When and (2) for how long are we to rejoice in the Lord? To both questions, the text answers with one word: Always. “Rejoice in the Lord always” (4:4). And this is a command, not simply good advice. Obedience to this command is possible because the ground of this rejoicing is changeless. Our circumstances may rightly call from us grief, tears, and sorrow. Unless the Lord comes back first, each of us will face death—our own, and if we live long enough, the death of loved ones and friends. And we will weep. But even in our tears, we may rejoice, we will rejoice, we must rejoice, for we rejoice in the Lord. He does not change. And that is why we shall rejoice in the Lord always.
God well knows that a believer who conscientiously obeys this command cannot be a backbiter or a gossip. Such a believer cannot be spiritually proud or filled with conceit, cannot be stingy or prayerless, cannot be a chronic complainer or perpetually bitter. The cure for a crushed and bitter spirit is to see Christ Jesus the Lord and then to rejoice in him. Lurking and nourished sins are always a sign that our vision of Jesus is dim and that our joy in him has evaporated with the morning dew. By contrast, the believer who practices rejoicing in the Lord will increasingly discover balm in the midst of heartache, rest in the midst of exhausting tension, love in the midst of loneliness, and the presence of God in control of excruciating circumstances. Such a believer never gives up the Christian walk. Resolve always to rejoice in the Lord.
Resolve to Be Known for Gentleness (4:5)
That is what Paul commands: “Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near” (4:5). The word rendered “gentleness” in the NIV is not easy to translate. Some older versions offer “forbearance,” which isn’t bad. It refers to the exact opposite of a spirit of contention and self-seeking, which is why the NIV opts for “gentleness.” But this gentleness must not be confused with being a wimp, with the kind of person whose personality is akin to a wet dishcloth. What is in view is a certain kind of willed, self-effacing kindness.
That suggests that there is some irony in Paul’s exhortation. We crystallize it if we overtranslate: “Be known for being self-effacing.” The pedant might argue that being self-effacing precludes the desire to be known; trying to be known for something surely rules out being known for being self-effacing. But now we are close to the point Paul is making.
What do most of us want to be known for? Do you want to be known for your extraordinary good looks? Do you want to be known for your quick wit, for your sense of humor, for your sagacity? Do you want to be known for your wealth, for your family connections? Or perhaps you are more pious and want to be known for your prayer life or for your excellent skills as a leader of inductive Bible studies. Many a preacher wants to be known for his preaching.
How appalling. The sad fact is that even our highest and best motives are so easily corroded by self-interest that we begin to overlook this painful reality. Paul cuts to the heart of the issue: Be known for gentleness.
The “self-sins” are tricky things, damnably treacherous. In one of his books, A. W. Tozer writes:
To be specific, the self-sins are these: self-righteousness, self-pity, self-confidence, self-sufficiency, self-admiration, self-love and a host of others like them. They dwell too deep within us and are too much a part of our natures to come to our attention till the light of God is focused upon them. The grosser manifestations of these sins, egotism, exhibitionism, self-promotion, are strangely tolerated in Christian leaders even in circles of impeccable orthodoxy. . . . Promoting self under the guise of promoting Christ is currently so common as to excite little notice.
That was written almost half a century ago. What would Tozer say now? He goes on:
Self can live unrebuked at the very altar. It can watch the bleeding Victim die and not be in the least affected by what it sees. It can fight for the faith of the Reformers and preach eloquently the creed of salvation by grace, and gain strength by its efforts. To tell all the truth, it seems actually to feed upon orthodoxy and is more at home in a Bible Conference than in a tavern. Our very state of longing after God may afford it an excellent condition under which to thrive and grow.1
It is so very easy to mistake the genuine movement of the Spirit for assorted counterfeits. Or perhaps more difficult yet is the movement where there is something genuinely of God and not a little of the flesh. In the last century in America, there were many “camp revivals.” These were evangelistic and holiness meetings aimed at calling people to repentance. On the American frontier, they were often very well attended. Doubtless they were a means of blessing to many. But a rather painful study has shown that nine months after many of these “camp revivals,” there was a very high illegitimacy rate. Isn’t that remarkable? One can understand why. There was such a spirit of friendship and camaraderie and closeness that intimacy in one arena spilled over into intimacy in another, until one of the fruits of “camp revivals” was a disproportionately high illegitimacy rate. Surely that was not of God!
One of the tests that can be applied to determine whether a movement is of God—though certainly it is not the only one—is to observe to what degree those affected are making it their aim to be known for gentleness. In this, they are becoming like their Master. Is that not one of the lessons made clear in chapter 2 of this epistle? “Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus” (2:5), Paul insists, and then he outlines how this Jesus—though he enjoyed equality with God—did not view such equality as something to be exploited, but made himself nothing, became a human being, and died the ignominious and shameful death of crucifixion. He became known for selflessness.
May God grant that all who read these pages will pray earnestly for this virtue and resolve steadily to pursue it. For such believers will never be moved; they will never give up the Christian walk.
Sometimes we sing these things better than we live them:
May the Word of God dwell richly
In my heart from hour to hour,
So that all may see I triumph
Only through his power.
May the love of Jesus fill me,
As the waters fill the sea;
Him exalting, self abasing—
This is victory.
May his beauty rest upon me
As I seek the lost to win,
And may they forget the channel,
Seeing only him.
Kate Barclay Wilkinson, “May the Mind of Christ, My Savior”
Resolve to be known for gentleness.
Paul gives us a specific reason why we should obey this injunction. “Let your gentleness be evident to all,” he writes and then adds, “The Lord is near” (4:5). This could mean one of two things. Both make sense, and I am not quite certain which the apostle means.
Paul could mean that the Lord is near temporally; that is, that he is coming soon. In that case, the argument runs like this: In light of the impending return of the Lord Jesus (to which urgent reference was made at the end of Philippians 3), there is more than a little incentive to be gentle and selfless. The Lord’s return provides incentive. As the apostle John writes elsewhere, “Everyone who has this hope [the hope of the Lord’s return and of our transformation at that time] in him2 purifies himself, just as he is pure” (1 John 3:3).
What would you like to be doing when Jesus comes again?
What would you like to be saying when Jesus comes again?
What would you like to be thinking when Jesus comes again?
Each of us can readily think of what we would not like to be doing or saying or thinking when Jesus comes again. When I was a boy in Sunday School, we sang the chorus:
Doing good deeds, sowing good seed,
Leaving life’s follies behind me;
Doing my best, standing each test—
That’s how I want the Lord to find me.
“Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near” (4:5).
That is one way of reading the second part of this verse. But because of the particular expressions that Paul uses, I suspect it is marginally more likely that Paul means the Lord is near spatially or perhaps better personally. He is not far off; he is very near. How then can we give ourselves to self-promotion?
Suppose, for a moment, that the resurrected and exalted Lord walked into the room where you and your friends were seated. Suppose that there was no doubt in anyone’s mind as to his identity. How would you respond? Would you immediately rush up to him and strut your excellence? As he showed you a glimpse of his glory and turned over his nail-scarred hands, would you be quick to parade your virtues? Would self-promotion play any part in your thinking at that point? Not a chance! But that is the point: the Lord Jesus has promised to be present, by his Spirit, where even two or three of his disciples gather in his name. Does it change the fundamental reality simply because we cannot see him at the moment?
“Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near” (4:5).
Resolve Not to Be Anxious about Anything, but Learn Instead to Pray (4:6–7)
This is perhaps the most striking resolution so far, yet it is nothing but a paraphrase of Paul’s own words: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God” (4:6).
There is a sense in which our society demands that we worry on a broader scale than any society in the history of the human race. If we were to travel back in time eight hundred years or so, we would discover that most people in Europe worried about nothing more than local matters. Of course, those local matters could be severe: medical help was not impressive; most families lost one or more children; life could be harsh, brutal, and short. But communication with other parts of the world was difficult and late. Most people gave little thought to what people were doing in the next county, let alone the next country or the next continent. Apart from extraordinary events, like the Crusades, when your local feudal lord might sweep you up and carry you off to war, you were not called upon to worry about the international scene. Even national news that could affect you was late and essentially alien. The overwhelming majority of people could scarcely visualize their monarch, for of course no pictures or photographs were printed and circulated.
Then came the printing press. It was followed by the telegraph. Alexander Bell invented the telephone; Marconi invented the radio. Not that long ago we started decorating the sky with satellites. My email exchanges with a colleague in, say, Papua New Guinea bounce off a reflector twenty-two thousand miles out in space. But the result of these greatly improved communications, of course, is that we now speak of the “global village.” A few shots can be fired almost anywhere in the world, and if, in the opinion of the news editors, nothing of greater significance has happened to claim prime-time television, the entire episode will be replayed that night on the evening news, inviting your worry.
So our advances in communications demand that we worry about peace, economics, famine in the Sahel, enormous disparities of wealth in Latin America and the Philippines, cultural decline in the West, the breakup of the Soviet empire, civil conflict in the Balkans, genocide in Rwanda, and on and on.
Of course, our worries are not limited to international affairs. Personal and cultural problems are constantly polled, demographically checked, statistically analyzed, and paraded in our newspapers and on our televisions. Then the economy changes, and suddenly very few have permanent jobs, and some do not have jobs at all. Then of course we can add in the regular parade of pressures: car troubles, conflict with colleagues at work, impending exams and the expectations that family and friends impose, competition at work, a degenerating family, an arid marriage, a rebellious teenager, bereavement, financial insecurity. Pressures mount and surround us and bully us, until even the Christian who hears the injunction of this passage (“Do not be anxious about anything”) smiles half bitterly and mutters, “You don’t understand; it can’t be done.”
But of course, it can be done. Part of our problem is that we hear this command not to worry—perhaps at a conference or in a book—and we smile piously, grit our teeth, resolve not to worry, and promptly begin to worry about not worrying. What we overlook is that Scripture here tells us how to overcome our anxieties. “Do not be anxious about anything” is not a naked prohibition; the alternative is immediately provided: “but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God” (4:6).
Those of us who have been born into the family of God know about these things. But knowing about them and finding them true in our experience are two different things. When was the last time you prayed explicitly and at length over the things that worry you, trouble you, plague you? Did you take them out and recount them to God, one by one, laying your burdens on him?
Time, time alone, and quiet before God, that is what we need. Our lives are so rushed that we begrudge a three-minute “quiet time,” and then we wonder where God is. Yet the psalmist had it right: “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust’” (Ps. 91:1–2). Christians who come before the Father in regular prayer discover that Peter is right: “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7). They discover that Paul is right: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Rom. 8:28). We are refreshed in the assurance of God’s sovereign and wise goodness. According to Philippians 4, the way to be anxious about nothing is to be prayerful about everything: “in everything, by prayer and petition, . . . present your requests to God” (4:6). J. A. Bengel was right to insist that anxiety and genuine prayer are more opposed to each other than fire and water. I have yet to meet a chronic worrier who enjoys an excellent prayer life.
Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.
His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.
Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain.
William Cowper, “God Moves in a Mysterious Way”
None of this should be misconstrued as a Pollyannaish approach to life. Christians are not ostriches with heads carefully buried in the sand. None of this means that our paths will be smooth and edged with the sweetest smelling roses. There is no hint that we shall live above the pressures of other mortals by escaping them. Far from it. It is precisely in the context of the pressures we all must endure that we find our rest in God. If you worry little simply because Providence has so far blessed you with a relatively easy passage or if you worry little because you have a carefree personality, you know little of the truth of this passage. This passage does not deny the existence of anxieties, it tells us what to do with them. It does not tell us that if we have the right personality, we can live above tension; it tells us where we find strength and grace to help in times of need.
In fact, we are to go on the offensive. Not only are we to present our prayers and petitions to God, we are to do so “with thanksgiving.” This, surely, is what is elsewhere called “a sacrifice of praise” (Heb. 13:15). Anyone can offer praise when things are going well. To praise when by common human reckoning everything is the pits—this is what demands the sacrifice of praise. In Philippians 4, Paul insists that this must be our constant policy: along with our petitions and cares, we offer our heavenly Father thanksgiving. For in fact, even in the most extreme sorrow and distress, there is much for which to give thanks to God—above all, for the privilege of being reconciled to him by the death of his dear Son and for all the blessings that come our way, in this life and the next, because of this great salvation.
Resolve not to be anxious about anything, but learn instead to pray. The result, as Paul describes it, is lovely: “And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 4:7). Once again it is clear Paul does not expect that the answer to our prayers will most likely take us out of the problems, but that our hearts and minds will be garrisoned by the peace of God. This is not some easily analyzed bit of clever psychology. At the end of the day, it is supernatural and “transcends all understanding.” It is part of well-known Christian experience, as many who read these pages can attest, and it must not be reduced to a bit of clever suggestion or escapist comfort. God’s peace stabilizes us, guards us, suffusing us with the joy of the Lord. Christians delight in trusting him. In the words of a Scottish preacher from the last century:
I stand upon the mount of God
With sunlight in my soul;
I hear the storms in vales beneath,
I hear the thunders roll.
But I am calm with Thee, my God,
Beneath these glorious skies;
And to the height on which I stand,
No storms, no clouds can rise.
O, this is life! O this is joy,
My God, to find Thee so:
Thy face to see, Thy voice to hear,
And all Thy love to know.
Horatius Bonar
Or again,
Drop thy still dews of quietness,
Till all our strivings cease;
Take from our souls the strain and stress,
And let our ordered lives confess
The beauty of thy peace.
Breathe through the heats of our desire
Thy coolness and thy balm;
Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire;
Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire,
O still small voice of calm!
John Greenleaf Whittier, “Dear Lord and Father of Mankind”
Resolve not to be anxious about anything, but learn instead to pray. Nothing will prove so effective in strengthening your spiritual stamina, in giving you grace never to give up the Christian walk.
Resolve to Think Holy Thoughts (4:8–9)
That, surely, is what Paul means: “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things” (4:8).
It always makes me fearful to remember that God knows my thoughts. Hebrews 4:13 reminds us, “Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account.” Small wonder that David, after his sin with Bathsheba, could write, “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting” (Ps. 139:23–24).
Clearly, David recognized not only that God knew his thoughts, but that any real reform in his life must begin with his thoughts. That is why the Lord Jesus taught, in the Sermon on the Mount, that murder can be traced to hate, and adultery to lust (Matt. 5:21–22, 27–30). That is also why, from God’s perspective, the real measure of individuals lies in what they think—not in what they own or in how well they deploy their gifts or even in what they do, but in what they think. If you think holy thoughts, you will be holy; if you think garbage, you will be garbage.
So it should come as no surprise that the prophets insist, “Let the wicked forsake his way and the evil man his thoughts” (Isa. 55:7). One of the sovereign remedies against sin is to spend much time, thoughtful time, meditative time, in the Scriptures, for it is impossible to get rid of the trash in our minds without replacing it with an entirely different way of thinking. Even kings and leaders, extraordinarily busy people, are told to make this their first priority (Deut. 17:18–20; Josh. 1:7–9). On the night he was betrayed, Jesus prayed for his followers in these terms: “Sanctify them by the truth; your word is truth” (John 17:17). There is no enduring sanctification apart from the truth of the gospel taking hold of our minds. The way we avoid being conformed to this world, the way we are transformed into conformity with Christ, is by the renewing of our minds (Rom. 12:2).
I know it is possible for people to gain a sort of mechanical knowledge of Scripture that is not characterized by repentance and faith and that therefore remains spiritually fruitless. But for most of us, that is not our current danger. Our current danger is that we make very little effort to think God’s thoughts after him, to hide his word in our heart that we might not sin against him (Ps. 119:11). To hide God’s word in our hearts—as opposed to our computers—means we ought to memorize it, read and reread it, think about it, turn it over in our minds. Only such committed absorption of what God says will enable us in turn to confront and change the unbiblical worldviews all around us, or as Paul puts it, to “demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God” and to “take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ” (2 Cor. 10:5).
In the passage before us, Paul puts things in the most concrete way. Think about true things, Paul insists, not about the false. Think about noble things, not the base. Think about whatever is right; do not dwell on the wrong. (What does this say about the programs you watch on television?) Think about whatever is pure, not the sleazy. Think about the lovely, not the disgusting. Think about the admirable, not the despicable. Whatever is excellent, think about it.
This is not some escapist demand to avoid the harsh realities of our fallen world. The sad fact is that many people dwell on dirt without grasping that it is dirt. The wise Christian will see plenty of dirt in the world, but will recognize it as dirt, precisely because everything that is clean has captured his or her mind. The hymn writer was right (one of those I learned as a child, and whose source escapes me):
Guide my thoughts, keep them from straying
Into paths unwise for me,
Lest I should, thy love betraying,
Turn aside from Calvary.
May the mind of Christ, my Savior,
Live in me from day to day,
By his love and power controlling
All I do and say.
Kate Barclay Wilkinson, “May the Mind of Christ, My Savior”
Resolve to think holy thoughts.
Moreover, this verse (Phil. 4:8) is tightly tied to the next. After telling the Philippian believers to think holy thoughts, Paul goes on to say, “Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you” (4:9). In other words, Paul is returning to a theme that was very strong in the previous chapter: we are to emulate worthy Christian leaders. In this context, that theme is now applied to the discipline of the mind. We are to emulate Christian leaders who have clearly disciplined their minds. Of course, we have no access to the mind and thoughts of another except through what that mind says and does. But that is the point. Paul is saying, in effect: What was on my mind when I was with you? What did I talk about? What did I read? What was the burden of my conversation? What did I value? What did I do to improve my mind? “Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you” (4:9).
Resolve to think holy thoughts. This is foundational to the commitment never to give up the Christian walk.
Resolve to Learn the Secret of Contentment (4:10–13)
Paul begins this paragraph by commenting again on the Philippians’ concern to meet Paul’s needs by sending support: “I rejoice greatly in the Lord that at last you have renewed your concern for me” (4:10). The phrase “at last” does not in this context carry derogatory overtones that blame the Philippians for being so slow, as if Paul were saying, “At last, you have finally got around to it.” Rather it means that now, in these last few days or weeks, after an extended hiatus caused by all sorts of things (not least Paul’s constant travels), you have renewed the concern for me that you showed in the early days ten years ago. That this is what Paul means is made clear by his next sentence: “Indeed, you have been concerned, but you had no opportunity to show it” (4:10).
But Paul very shrewdly grasps how his exuberant thanks to the Philippians could be misunderstood. Some people voice their thanks in such a way that it is hard to avoid the inference that they are hoping for another gift. Perhaps they grovel; perhaps there is nothing tangible in their thanks that you can put your finger on, but you feel slightly manipulated anyway. Once in a while missionary prayer letters sound this way; very often the thank-you letters from nonprofit organizations sound this way. In any case, Paul takes no chances; he wants to distance himself from all of these possibilities, so he immediately explains his own motives: “I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength” (4:11–13).
This is a remarkable stance. Note especially two features of it:
First, the secret of contentment is not normally learned in posh circumstances or in deprived circumstances, but in exposure to both. Perhaps you have come from a well-to-do background, and you have never lacked anything. You have never had anything you valued taken away from you. The question arises whether you would be comfortable and content if you were suddenly forced to live in poverty. But on the other side, you may have come from a really poor background. Perhaps you learned to handle the uncertainty and the deprivation in godly ways. But now the question arises whether you could be content if you suddenly fell into wealth. Would it instantly corrupt you? Or would you feel so guilty with all these possessions that you could scarcely look at yourself in the mirror?
Paul carefully insists that his own contentment operates under both conditions: “I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want” (4:12). He avoids the arrogance that is often associated with wealth; he also avoids the kind of spiritual arrogance that is often associated with poverty. The brute fact is that Paul is content in both circumstances because his contentment is utterly independent of circumstances. His contentment is focused on all that he enjoys of Christ Jesus. That means he has learned, by hard experience, a relaxed contentment whatever his circumstances.
Second, the secret of Christian contentment is quite unlike stoic self-sufficiency. Paul is not claiming to be so strong that nothing can move him. Nor is he simply resolving to be independent of circumstances by a superlative act of will. Far from it; he immediately confesses that if he has reached this stage of contentment he owes everything to God: “I can do everything through him who gives me strength” (4:13).
This verse is often wrenched out of its context. Paul is not claiming to be a kind of superman because he is a Christian and God is on his side. The “everything” in this verse is certainly not unlimited, as if Paul could be read to mean, “I can raise the dead” or “I can walk on water” or “I can show you how cold fusion is a practical possibility.” By the same token, the verse should not be deployed by well-meaning but ill-informed church leaders who are trying to manipulate church members into doing something they really do not think they should do: “But Mrs. Jones, you can’t say no to our invitation to teach ten-year-old boys, just because you’ve never taught a Sunday School class before or just because you feel you have no gifts or calling or interest in this area. After all, Paul teaches us that we can do all things through Christ who gives us strength.” That is horrible.
Paul’s “everything” is constrained by the context. His point is that whatever the circumstances in which he finds himself, whether with the rich and the powerful or with the poor and the powerless, whether preaching with unction to substantial crowds or incarcerated in a filthy prison, he has learned to cast himself on God and to be content. He can do all these things, everything that God assigns him to do, through the one who gives him strength. Let the gospel advance, let God’s will be done in me and through me, Paul is saying, I am content, for I can trust the one who invariably strengthens me to do what he assigns me.
It takes the strength and resolution and perspective that only God can provide to live above changing, difficult circumstances. But to live above circumstances, utterly content in Christ Jesus, is to ensure that you will never give up the Christian walk. Resolve to learn the secret of contentment.
Resolve to Grow in the Grace of Christian Gratitude and Courtesy (4:14–23)
These closing verses are full of wonderful pastoral touches. However much Paul is content, regardless of his circumstances, he is grateful to the Philippians for what they have provided: “Yet it was good of you to share in my troubles” (4:14). Indeed, they were the only Christians in their area to be quick off the mark in this regard: “Moreover, as you Philippians know, in the early days of your acquaintance with the gospel, when I set out from Macedonia, not one church shared with me in the matter of giving and receiving, except you only; for even when I was in Thessalonica, you sent me aid again and again when I was in need” (4:15–16).
It is helpful to follow Paul’s course on a map. Paul left Troas in Asia Minor and crossed over to Europe, landing at the port city of Neapolis and proceeding immediately to Philippi. There he and Silas were beaten up, arrested, and eventually escorted out of town, but not before they planted this fledgling church. Leaving Philippi, Paul quickly passed through Amphipolis and Apollonia and arrived at Thessalonica, where in short order he started another church. So Paul is saying that even by the time he got to Thessalonica and started preaching the gospel there, before he left there to evangelize Athens and Corinth, the Philippians were already finding ways to help and were asking what part they could play in this great ministry. Apparently Paul stayed in Thessalonica only a few weeks, but during that relatively short time, the Philippians came through again and again. And for his part, Paul is not slow to express his profound gratitude.
Once again Paul insists that his words do not suggest he is angling for another gift. If he wants anything, he says, “I am looking for what may be credited to your account” (4:17). In other words, Paul is primarily pleased that the Philippians have been so generous in the work of the gospel, not because he has been the recipient of that generosity, but because by being generous they have been acting like Christians—and God, who is no one’s debtor, will reward them. Paul is more delighted with the blessings they will experience because they are a giving and generous church than he is with the help that has come his way.
Paul even tries, apparently, to redirect some of their future giving: “I have received full payment and even more; I am amply supplied, now that I have received from Epaphroditus the gifts you sent” (4:18). In any case, whether the Philippians send such generous gifts to Paul or to someone else, the gifts were first and foremost offered to God: “They are a fragrant offering, an acceptable sacrifice, pleasing to God” (4:18).
There are important lessons of Christian courtesy here. Examine how Paul thanks believers in his letters; read and reread the opening “thanksgiving” sections that mark all but one (Galatians) of his letters. His pattern is to thank God for what the believers have done or for the signs of spiritual vitality that he detects in them.
This is doubly wise. Contrast the opposed errors into which we easily fall. On the one hand, there are Christian leaders who are so unrestrained in their praise of people, it is hard to avoid the conclusion that they control others by extravagant flattery. Of course, in some cases it is nothing more than a quirk of personality. I recall one professor who came to our home for a meal. He was famous for his fervent courtesy. In that meal we offered him lasagna or spaghetti and meat sauce—scarcely a high-class evening meal, but something we were going to have with the children that night anyway, and they certainly loved it. The venerable professor went on and on over the wonders of the lasagna: “Mrs. Carson, this is really lovely; this is an extravagantly glorious repast”—or words to that effect. But as this professor was known for his peculiar brand of hyperbolic courtesy, we took it all in stride. It was simply the way he was. But some Christian leaders, one fears, have adopted so generous a stance in praising others, a stance that is then imitated by others around them, that their churches are no longer Godward. They are nothing but mutual admiration societies.
On the other hand, some Christian leaders—jealous for the glory of God and firmly committed to the belief that if any believer does any good in any way, it is nothing other than the product of what God is doing in them and through them—end up offering very few thank-yous. They are most begrudging in praise; their tight-lipped reticence is their way of avoiding cheap flattery. Besides, they are so frightened of the sin of pride, in themselves and others, that they avoid the compliments that might turn heads. If you tell a preacher that his sermon was good, so they think, he might strut like a peacock all week. If you were helped by the sermon, go home and thank God, but do not corrode the preacher with praise. Do not corrode anyone with praise—deacons, Sunday School teachers, church trustees, janitors, organists, whomever.
But Paul has the matter right. In his letters, he does not simply thank people (though he sometimes does that); he thanks God for God’s grace in them—but he utters his thanks to God in front of the people. In effect, he approaches these believers and says, “I greatly rejoice at the grace of God displayed in your life” or “I thank God every time I remember you” or “Your life is a fragrant sacrifice to God, a sacrifice with which God himself is well pleased.” That is precisely what Paul does here. He acknowledges that it was good of the Philippians to help him (4:14), but he quickly insists that he is more interested in what this says about their character and what this will mean in blessings on their lives, than he is in his own enrichment (4:17). In any case, he insists, the gifts were first and foremost “an acceptable sacrifice, pleasing to God” (4:18). And all of this excites Paul’s rejoicing in the Lord (4:10), for he recognizes that the marks of grace in the Philippian church can be traced to the Lord Jesus himself. And meanwhile, he reminds the Philippians that, precisely because God is no one’s debtor, they can rely on him to meet their needs: “And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus” (4:19).
Even the final verses of this chapter reflect a Christian courtesy: “Greet all the saints in Christ Jesus. The brothers who are with me send greetings. All the saints send you greetings . . .” (4:21–22). It is as if Paul is constantly trying to establish links among believers in various places. Then he smiles, enjoying the irony: “All the saints send you greetings, especially those who belong to Caesar’s household” (4:22). Paul may be in prison at Caesar’s pleasure, but the gospel has penetrated Caesar’s household. It is important to remember who is finally in charge and how he works.
Resolve to grow in the grace of Christian gratitude and courtesy. By now it should be clear that this is not exactly like the gratitude and courtesy commonly associated with good breeding or good training. The categories are different; the values are not merely formal; even the forms are a little different. Christian courtesy, besides being merely courteous, strengthens believers, invites them to turn their thoughts toward God, multiplies the cords that draw them together as the body of Christ. So resolve to grow in the grace of Christian gratitude and courtesy. Precisely because it will strengthen your own discipleship and edify your brothers and sisters in Christ, you will be multiplying the resolution of the church never to give up the Christian walk.
You may have noticed that I left out one verse: “To our God and Father be glory for ever and ever. Amen” (4:20). This is not simply a formula that Paul feels constrained to drop into his text once in a while, without giving the words much thought. Rather, the apostle wants to remind his readers that even at this stage it is possible to pursue all the excellent advice he has provided in this chapter, resolving to be obedient to the apostolic imperatives, and yet somehow prostitute them all. The deciding factor is this: Do these believers see that all of Christian discipleship, all of Christian virtue, all of Christian resolution, all of Christian perseverance, must be offered to the glory of God, or do they think that these virtues are ultimate ends in themselves?
For it is a sad fact that some Christians will hear the injunctions of this chapter—resolve to pursue like-mindedness with other true believers; resolve always to rejoice in the Lord; resolve to be known for selflessness; resolve not to be anxious for anything, but learn instead to pray; resolve to think holy thoughts; resolve to learn the secret of contentment; resolve to grow in the grace of Christian gratitude and courtesy—and they will treasure these virtues as little gods to be coveted. But that may lead only to a new round of legalism. Even worse, these goals are simply not worthy of that much energy and commitment if they are regarded as ends in themselves.3 But if they are cheerfully and lovingly offered up to God—that makes all the difference. We resolve to pursue these virtues not only because they are good, but because God demands them and gives us the grace to live them out. And the result is that he receives glory.
It is clear from this last chapter that Paul provides more than mere information, however vitally he construes doctrine. One remembers the well-known lines of T. S. Eliot: “Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?”4 The apostle provides ample information and knowledge, but he also leads his converts into wisdom: teaching them how to live as disciples of the Lord Jesus Christ, teaching them not only how to walk as his followers but how to persevere in that walk to the very end. Never give up the Christian walk.
“The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit. Amen” (4:23).
1. A. W. Tozer, The Pursuit of God (Harrisburg, PA: Christian Publications, 1948), 45–46.
2. The words “in him” could mean either “in himself” (the believer) or “in Christ” (the object of the hope).
3. “The last temptation is the greatest treason: To do the right deed for the wrong reason” (T. S. Eliot, Murder in the Cathedral, pt. 1, Thomas Becket’s last speech, lines 3–4).
4. “Choruses from The Rock,” chorus 1, lines 15–16.