Work Out What God Works In: Philippians 2:12-18

Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed—not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence—continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling.

She read the letter aloud to the gathered church. Paul's words to them—the Philippians, her people, her family in Christ.

Work out your salvation with fear and trembling.

The words landed heavy. Work out. Not work for—they knew salvation was a gift. But work out. Like working out a math problem. Like working out the implications of a contract. Like working metal into shape.

With fear and trembling. Not terror but reverence. The weight of what they had been given. The seriousness of the life they were called to live.

For it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose.

And there was the balance. Work out—because God works in. They were not alone in the effort. God himself was at work within them. Willing—changing their desires. Acting—empowering their deeds. To fulfill his good purpose.

The working out was real. The working in made it possible.

Do everything without grumbling or arguing.

She thought of the arguments that had plagued the church. Euodia and Syntyche, barely speaking to each other. The grumbling about who did what and who got credit. The complaints whispered in corners.

Everything without grumbling. The standard was total. Not just the big things but everything.

So that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a warped and crooked generation.

Blameless and pure. Without fault. Not yet—but becoming. The sanctification was in process.

In a warped and crooked generation. Philippi was Roman, proud, pagan. The temples to the emperor stood on every corner. The culture celebrated what Christ condemned.

Children of God in the midst of it. Not extracted from the world but distinct within it.

Then you will shine among them like stars in the sky as you hold firmly to the word of life.

Stars in the sky. The image caught her breath. They—this little gathering of slaves and merchants and women who prayed by the river—they were stars. Light in the darkness. Shining not by their own power but by reflecting the Word of life.

Hold firmly. Epecho—grip, cling, hold fast. The word of life was something to grip. Not just believe but hold onto. Not just hear but clutch as if your life depended on it.

Because it did.

And then I will be able to boast on the day of Christ that I did not run or labor in vain.

Paul's investment was in them. If they held firm, his labor had meaning. If they shone like stars, his running was not in vain. The day of Christ would vindicate his work—or expose its failure.

But even if I am being poured out like a drink offering on the sacrifice and service coming from your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you.

She paused. Even if I am being poured out. Paul knew he might die. The trial was uncertain. The execution was possible. He described his death as a drink offering—wine poured out on top of a sacrifice. Their faith was the sacrifice. His blood would be the accompanying offering.

And he was glad. Rejoicing. Even in the face of death.

So you too should be glad and rejoice with me.

The command to rejoice. Not a suggestion. Should be glad. Should rejoice. With Paul, who was possibly dying. For the privilege of pouring out their lives in service.

She set down the scroll. The church was silent.

Work out your salvation. God is working in you. Shine like stars. Hold firmly to the word of life.

And rejoice. Even if being poured out.

Especially then.