For I want you to know how great a struggle I have for you and for those at Laodicea and for all who have not seen me face to face, that their hearts may be encouraged, being knit together in love, to reach all the riches of full assurance of understanding and the knowledge of God’s mystery, which is Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. I say this in order that no one may delude you with plausible arguments. For though I am absent in body, yet I am with you in spirit, rejoicing to see your good order and the firmness of your faith in Christ. (Colossians 2:1-5)

Paul had just finished explaining how he toils and struggles through the power of God to proclaim Christ and make disciples. Then, he shifts his tone in chapter 2 with a deeply personal note—he tells the Colossians of his struggle for them, using a word that implies deep, intense concern. He longed for their hearts to be encouraged, for them to be unified in love, and for their faith to be anchored in the full assurance of Christ. He wanted them to grow in maturity so they wouldn’t be deceived by persuasive arguments that sound good but lead away from truth.

That should make us pause and ask ourselves:

Do I have this kind of concern for others? Do I long for their encouragement, unity, and growth in Christ the way Paul did? Or am I too quick to critique immaturity instead of stepping into the loving work of building others up through grace and truth?

If we want to love people like this—to see them as God sees them—we have to examine my own hearts first. Pride and self-focus are subtle but powerful barriers. They keep us from humbly loving, from listening, from lifting others above ourselves. But the good news is, this kind of love isn’t something we have to muster on our own. Just like Paul said in Colossians1:29, this struggle is done with God’s energy, which He powerfully works within us.

So, let’s return again to the instruction: Abide in Christ. Remain in Him. Let Him do the work in you and through you.

To them God chose to make known how great among the Gentiles are the riches of the glory of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory. Him we proclaim, warning everyone and teaching everyone with all wisdom, that we may present everyone mature in Christ. For this I toil, struggling with all his energy that he powerfully works within me. (Colossians 1:27-29)

The mystery once hidden but now revealed is this: Christ in us, the hope of glory. This reality should shake us to our core—not just comforting us, but transforming us. We are not just saved; we are co-heirs with Christ. And in that transformation, we don’t stay silent. We proclaim Him. We warn. We teach with all wisdom – not to boast in knowledge, but so that every person may be presented mature in Christ.

Discipleship flows from love, and it’s not optional. It’s a call that requires our surrender. It means giving up comfort, being willing to teach and be taught, to share what God has given and humbly receive from others. Jesus modeled this in His earthly ministry, and He commissioned us to follow in that way.

Paul said he toiled and struggled for this very reason—discipleship. But he didn’t do it in his own strength. He did it with the energy God powerfully worked in him. That’s what makes this holy striving different from striving in our flesh. It’s not about proving ourselves. It’s about obedience fueled by God’s Spirit, working in us to build up the body of Christ in love.

Discipleship is work, yes. But most importantly - discipleship is love in action. It’s the Church maturing together under the headship of Christ. And in every struggle to love, to teach, to grow, and to receive, we’re participating in the mystery: Christ in us, the hope of glory.

Christmas is a season often filled with anticipation—children waiting to open presents, families planning gatherings, and many of us quietly hoping for something special to receive. Yet, in the midst of all the wrapping paper, ribbons, and lists, it is worth pausing to remember the gift that outshines them all: Jesus Christ.

The apostle Paul writes, “Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!” (2 Corinthians 9:15). Unlike earthly gifts that fade or break, this gift is eternal. God sent His Son, not wrapped in festive paper, but in swaddling cloths and laid in a manger. He came in humility, entering our broken world to bring us salvation, peace, and everlasting hope.

When we reflect on this, our hearts are drawn away from “What can I get?” toward “How can I give thanks?” Gratitude is the most fitting response to the One who gave us everything—life, forgiveness, and eternity with Him.

This Christmas, may we slow down, set aside the noise of consumerism, and lift our eyes in worship. As we gather with loved ones, let us not forget to bow in humility before the Giver of all good gifts (James 1:17), remembering that the greatest treasure is not under the tree but found in the Savior who hung on the tree.

Lord, help us to remember this season that You gave us the greatest gift of Your Son, Jesus. Please fill our hearts with gratitude and joy as we celebrate the day Jesus Christ was born into our world to save us. Amen.

Merry Christmas!

Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church, of which I became a minister according to the stewardship from God that was given to me for you, to make the word of God fully known (Colossians 1:24-25)

Paul echoes his exhortation from 1 Thessalonians 5:16 to “rejoice always,” and here in Colossians, he lives that out by rejoicing in his sufferings—not for the pain itself, but because of who it’s for: the body of Christ. Paul endured severe afflictions, and yet time and time again, the Lord allowed him to see how those trials advanced the gospel (Philippians 1:12–14; 3:8–9). That eternal perspective allowed him to rejoice in hardship and remain content, anchored by the truth that he could endure all things through Christ who strengthened him (Philippians 4:11–13).

The phrase “filling up what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions” can be easily misunderstood. Paul wasn’t suggesting there was anything insufficient about Christ’s atoning sacrifice. Rather, he understood that because believers are united with Christ, any suffering endured for His name becomes part of Christ’s ongoing afflictions through His body, the Church. So Paul, writing from a Roman prison, saw his personal suffering as a continuation of what it means to follow Christ faithfully.

This wasn’t just endurance—it was stewardship. Paul saw his trials as part of his commission to make the word of God fully known. And if we too are to be faithful stewards of the gospel, we must recognize that suffering isn’t an obstacle—but it is often part of our mission. But with our eyes fixed on Christ, counting all else as loss, we will find strength to rejoice even in hardship, knowing it serves a greater purpose for His kingdom.

And you, who once were alienated and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds, he has now reconciled in his body of flesh by his death, in order to present you holy and blameless and above reproach before him, if indeed you continue in the faith, stable and steadfast, not shifting from the hope of the gospel that you heard, which has been proclaimed in all creation under heaven, and of which I, Paul, became a minister. (Colossians 1:21-23)

We were once alienated—hostile in mind and doing evil deeds. This isn’t just a theological label—it’s a mirror to our natural state. Sin doesn’t just separate us from God because He’s holy; it separates us because we want the distance. We hide, justify, numb, and self-soothe, trying to feel “good enough.” But feeling better in ourselves doesn’t save us. We could never reconcile ourselves to God. He had to be the one to initiate, to act, to reconcile us to Himself.

But God’s goal wasn’t just to buy us a ticket to heaven. His aim is far more personal and transformational: to present us holy, blameless, and above reproach before Him. That’s a process of sanctification—not just a moment of salvation. And it hinges on faith, not just once believed, but continually lived out. “If indeed you continue in the faith, stable and steadfast, not shifting from the hope of the gospel…”

This is an abiding obedience—not striving to earn, but trusting to receive. We can’t hinder His desire for us and expect to see His fullness in us. But when we walk in that faith, allowing Him to shape and sanctify us, we align with His desire to make us holy in His sight.

Paul’s words here reflect his role as a minister of reconciliation (2 Corinthians 5:20)—not just introducing people to the gospel, but urging us to continue in it. Reconciliation isn’t just the beginning of salvation—it’s the very substance of it. So we continue, stable and steadfast, not surprised by trials (1 Peter 4:12–13), but rooted in hope.

For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him. And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together. And he is the head of the body, the church. He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in everything he might be preeminent. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross. (Colossians 1:16-20)

“For in Him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through Him to reconcile to Himself all things… making peace by the blood of His cross.”

Sin separated us so deeply from God that reconciliation wasn’t just unlikely—it was impossible on our end. We wouldn’t have tried. We couldn’t have succeeded. But God, rich in mercy and moved by love, didn’t wait for us to come to Him. He came to us.

The fullness of God dwelled in Jesus—God in the flesh, our Creator stepping into creation. The image, in which we were made, took on our form to redeem and reconcile us to Himself. His blood fully atoned for our sin and made peace with God on our behalf. All that’s left is for us to receive the gift.

But that reconciliation doesn’t stop at the vertical. It extends horizontally—to one another. If no sin was too big to keep us from God’s love, then no offense should be too great to keep us from forgiving each other. Christ not only reconciles us to Himself, He empowers us to become ministers of reconciliation (2 Cor. 5:18–21). As far as it depends on us, we are called to live at peace with everyone (Rom. 12:18), forgiving as we have been forgiven (Matt. 6:12).

In Christ, nothing is beyond reconciliation. Nothing.

By this we may know that we are in him: whoever says he abides in him ought to walk in the same way in which he walked. (1 John 2:5b-6)

That begged the question – what are the practical things, those measurable goals, of walking like Jesus did? And I sought to summarize it as a help in wrapping my mind around it practically. In light of this week being Thanksgiving, I thought we’d take a little detour this week to dig into this (including the fact that Jesus was a grateful person). Here’s what I gathered:

• Jesus walked in perfect obedience to the Father, doing nothing of His own will but only what He saw the Father doing (John 5:19)
• Jesus humbled Himself, taking the form of a servant (Philippians 2:5–8)
• Jesus was moved with compassion toward the broken, healing the sick, feeding the hungry (Mark 6:34)
• Jesus forgave those who sinned against Him (Luke 23:34)
• Jesus spoke truth with grace (John 1:14)
• Jesus loved without partiality (James 2:1; John 13:34; John 8:1-11)
• Jesus sought the lost so they might be saved (Luke 19:10)
• Jesus gave thanks to the Father in all things and showed gratitude that flowed from trust and intimate fellowship (John 11:41; John 6:11; Luke 22:19)
• Jesus withdrew often to pray (Luke 5:16)
• Jesus trusted the Father in suffering (1 Peter 2:23)
• Jesus laid down His life in love (John 15:13; Luke 23:46)

Jesus lived in perfect fellowship with the Father, doing nothing apart from Him and moving in harmony with His will. His steps were marked by humility and compassion — He touched the broken, lifted the weary, and forgave those who wronged Him. Wherever He went, He carried the Father’s heart: healing, feeding, teaching, and restoring. His words were full of grace and truth, never seeking His own glory, but revealing the Father’s. In every moment, He gave thanks — before the bread was multiplied, before the cup was shared, even before the miracle was seen. Gratitude was His breath, flowing from perfect trust in the Father’s goodness. He withdrew often to pray, choosing stillness with God over the noise of the crowd, and when suffering came, He entrusted Himself completely into the Father’s hands. He walked in love that laid itself down, light that never dimmed, obedience that never wavered.

To walk as Jesus walked is to live from that same place of abiding — to love as He loved, serve as He served, give thanks in all things, and being obedient to the Father’s will, trusting Him with a heart at rest.

Today, let’s be thankful (and express gratitude) that we have the ability by the empowering of the Holy Spirit to walk like Jesus walked. And then let’s be disciplined to work with the Holy Spirit to actually walk in that manner. Happy Thanksgiving!

For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him. And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together. And he is the head of the body, the church. He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in everything he might be preeminent. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross. (Colossians 1:16-20)

“He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together.”

Science tells us that on a subatomic level, the world shouldn’t hold together. Positively charged protons in an atom’s nucleus should repel each other with such force that everything should fly apart. Gravity, the great anchor of the universe, does not keep atoms stable. And yet—everything remains intact. Scientists still can’t fully explain why. Some have even referred to it as an “invisible glue.”

Scripture tells us that glue has a name: Jesus.

He holds all things together—from the particles we can’t see to the people in His Church. Just as the brain directs and sustains the physical body, Christ—our Head—sustains and directs His body, the Church. Without Him, we fall apart. Without Him, we don’t function. On our own, we naturally repel—like the protons in an atom, like sinners pulled by pride and self.

But in Christ, we are held.

He brings order where there should be chaos. Unity where there should be division. Stability where everything should fall apart. And He does this not only in creation, but in us—personally and collectively.

So if you feel like things are unraveling, return to the One who holds all things together. Including you!