Shine Like Stars | Have a Thick Skin and Tender Heart (Philippians 1)

Letting God’s light shine as we live in this dark world can be pretty difficult. As we follow Jesus in a world that doesn’t, we will face opposition. So we need a thick skin if we are going to do what God calls us to do. But we also need a loving heart toward people. Love moved Jesus to do what He did for us, and it is love for people that will move us to live out our purpose. This rare combination of a thick skin and tender heart was seen in the life of the Apostle Paul. As we look at this letter he wrote, from prison, to the people of Philippi, we can see his loving heart as he prays with joy because of these people who came to know and love Jesus. May God also make our skin thick and our hearts tender!

Transcript

Here’s a question I’m guessing you weren’t anticipating thinking about as you drove to church this morning…What would life be like in jail? The first words that come to mind are probably not joy, gratitude, or rejoicing! I have a friend who recently spent some time in jail, and when he talks about the experience, the words that keep coming up are trapped, alone, boring, isolated, and guilty. But then we open Philippians. And right there—smack in the middle of Paul’s chains—we find… joy. Gratitude. Rejoicing. It almost doesn’t make sense—until you see who it’s all about. Paul wrote this letter under house arrest in Rome, which injects even more curiosity into how he could have such an attitude. Now, to be fair, some of the world’s most moving words have been written behind bars—MLK’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” or Mandela’s “Letters from Prison.” But Paul’s words, as he sat in chains, strike very differently. In this deeply personal letter to some of his dearest friends, Paul describes a joy that cannot be manufactured. A joy that only comes from knowing the crucified and risen Jesus. And that joy? It’s what the Lord wants for you. Not just a joy that sits in individual hearts. A joy that runs through the heart of a church family melded together by grace.

Paul says it like this: “I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now.” Then he goes even further: “It is right for me to feel this way about all of you, since I have you in my heart. Whether I’m in chains or defending and confirming the gospel, all of you share in God’s grace with me.” What Paul loved about the Philippians was that their joy wasn’t based on outward circumstances. Whether the gospel looked like wildfire blazing into hearts or like a barely-burning wick, they didn’t leave his side. They stuck with him. Even from a distance, they stayed on mission. That’s what gospel partnership looks like.
And that was stunning, honestly. If you know anything about Acts 16, you know what Paul and Silas went through in Philippi—arrested, beaten, thrown in prison. Philippi was no backwoods town. It was a Roman colony, a special status granted by Caesar Augustus himself. Being from Philippi meant something. Kind of like being from Palm Beach County means something when the president of the United States keeps showing up every weekend. There’s prestige. There’s influence. And yet, in that city of status, a woman named Lydia and a jailer with his household started something that outlasted Rome. A church. They didn’t give up on the gospel. And that gospel joy, forged through hardship, made them unshakable.

But that kind of joy—the Philippians’ kind—can feel elusive, can’t it? Especially after Easter. You’d think resurrection joy would just stick. That the empty tomb would mean full hearts every Sunday. But it doesn’t always work like that. Now to be fair today we are celebrating a baptism. We’re welcoming new members. Over the past three years, we’ve seen our church family grow. More people in worship. More souls connecting online. We even went from one packed Easter service to two packed Easter services. All amazing things we praise Jesus for and you’d almost think joy would just… stick. But joy can feel slippery. The Lord has wired us to be joy seekers. That is a beautiful thing—but Satan loves to hijack that joy impulse. He whispers: “Your joy depends on how emotionally ‘up’ you feel at church, how exciting life seems, or when things are going your way.” And when it doesn’t quite feel that way, the slamming begins, “Wow, look at what God is putting you through, the ones you love through, your church through, do you think he really knows what he’s doing?

The truth is our feelings of joy…they fade. We tend to equate happiness with joy. That we can only experience joy when we feel happy. Happy about where we’re at in life. And when we aren’t necessarily thrilled with our current status in life, we can convince ourselves that to have joy would be lunacy. Or when we look at our church, and the warm fuzzies you once had when you walked into the sanctuary, now is bitterness, interpreting looks from other members, stewing over things not going your way. But here’s what Paul would say if he could sit in your living room, see your face, hear your ache—your joy doesn’t come from what’s around you. Or the feelings within you. It comes from Jesus. Period.

Just notice how Paul starts his letter. “Paul and Timothy, servants of Christ Jesus…” And then in the first eleven verses, how many times does he mention Jesus? Seven times. Jesus Christ, Christ Jesus, Jesus Christ… Over and over again. As if he’s trying to make it absolutely clear: Jesus is the source of our joy. Because Jesus finished it all. Because the tomb remains empty. Because of Him, we have resurrection joy. Not once a year. But every day. A joy that gets fanned into flame especially when believers gather to pursue the Word together. Paul says it like this: “I pray that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you (plural) may be able to discern what is best… until the day of Christ.”

In other words, until we see Jesus with our own eyes—keep after it. Even when it doesn’t look like we’re winning. Even if it feels like the church is bleeding. Even if it feels like things aren’t going the way you’d like. Keep after it. Better yet, keep after him. See, real fellowship isn’t about coffee and cookies. It’s not even just about showing up to Bible study. Those are good things. But Paul’s talking about something deeper. He’s talking about costly cooperation for the sake of the gospel. He’s talking about holding one another up even when it hurts. He’s talking about refusing to give up on each other, even when things feel bleak. Joy, real joy, isn’t about comfort. It’s about seeing the gospel move forward, through discomfort. Joy means gripping your Jesus with all your might, especially in moments when you can barely take another step, and knowing in your heart of hearts, his truth: “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. You did not choose me, but I chose you.” That’s the joy I love getting to share with you as your pastor each Sunday!

But if your joy feels dim today, I get it. I’ve been there too. I can’t begin to tell you how many Sundays I’ve walked down the aisle after worship thinking, “Man… I didn’t say what I wanted to say.” “I feel off.” I sit down and pray, “Lord, I’m sorry… that wasn’t it.” And then? Someone comes up to me and says, “Pastor, that was exactly what I needed today.” And I just… laugh. Because I know I wasn’t the one who delivered what you needed. He was. Because this isn’t about me. It’s about Him. And this message? It’s not mundane. Even when the sanctuary isn’t packed. Even when the vibes aren’t electric. The gospel still sparkles. Still shines. Because our joy is rooted not in circumstances, but in Christ. That’s joy and that’s what motivated him to rescue you!

“For the joy set before him, he endured the cross…” (Hebrews 12:2). That verse makes my knees buckle. Jesus created joy. And then, to give it to you, he suffered. He bled. He rose. So don’t let Satan steal what Christ bought with his blood. Don’t let him hijack that resurrection joy that’s been burning in the hearts of believers since the day Jesus walked out of the grave. That’s why our church tagline—“More joy than guilt”—isn’t just a slogan. It’s theology. We’re not here for shallow hype. We’re not manipulating emotions. We’re not chasing an emotional high. The joy we preach is not flighty. It’s not manufactured. It’s rock solid. As solid as that rolled-away stone on Easter morning. As solid as Jesus’ promise before he ascended into heaven, “Surely I am with you always.” As solid as the promise that he’s coming back, in those very same clouds, for you. And until that day? We keep going. We discern what’s best through the Scriptures. We chase after Jesus. But we don’t do it alone. We do it together. Jesus pursuers chasing him down and not letting him go.

It’s that grace that leads us to pray with joy—even for the church members who annoy us. We pray that the God of grace would not just reconcile us, but renew us. And yes, I’ve heard the differing opinions on moving the church. I’ve heard every one of them… at least five times. But at some point we must say: “We’re moving forward together.” Because what makes this church this church isn’t our zip code. It’s Jesus. That’s what so many of you have told me over the years: “There’s joy here.” And that joy? It doesn’t come from attendance numbers or clever sermons. It comes from this: Your sins are fully forgiven. Nothing more needs to be done. We don’t live for Jesus out of guilt—we live for Jesus because we love Him. Because He loved us first.

C.S. Lewis once wrote: “All joy emphasizes our pilgrim status, always reminds, beckons, awakens desire. Our best havings are wantings.” In other words, when you find yourself longing for something more, realize Jesus has already given you something better. Something eternal. George MacDonald said: “Joy is the serious business of heaven.” The joy you seek is Jesus’ nail marked hands wrapped around you. Bernard of Clairvaux put it this way: “True joy is not in things. It’s the presence of the Holy Spirit. It’s the nearness of Christ.” And Augustine? He said: “The Christian is an alleluia from head to foot.” That’s us. We are the “allellua people.” Joy people. Resurrection people. I will praise you in the storm people. And we’re not alone. We join a global family that stretches from Palm Beach County to prison cells in closed countries. That’s what makes your offerings so beautiful. Did you know that last year, over 10% of what you gave went to support mission work across the world? Australia. The Middle East. South America. And other corners of the United States. And training pastors, teachers, and staff ministers. That’s partnership in the gospel. And it radiates from one person. Jesus. And it’s our Jesus who led Paul to talk about joy, gratitude, and rejoicing 14 times in this short letter, even while under the lock and key of a Roman guard. He’s making a point. He had joy because he remained connected to Jesus and the family of believers.

We as Christians are bound to one another not because we like the same music. Not because we agree on every decision. But because we’ve been brought together by a Savior who bled and rose for us. And just like those Philippians… look around this room. How are we even friends? The world would say we’re too different. Too much that should divide us. But we’re not. We’re family. Because of Jesus. Makes me think of a dear sister in Christ who, with tears in her eyes, looked at me across my office coffee table and said, “My whole life I’ve never felt like I’ve belonged. Yet here. Yet with Jesus. I finally have my place. My family.” That’s partnership in the gospel. That’s joy. Real joy. To be loved by Jesus. That’s not just sentiment. That’s gospel reality. That’s resurrection joy at work. So I’ll say it like Paul does: To all God’s holy people in Christ Jesus—you have been set apart. You are His. So let’s go. Let’s partner in the gospel. Let’s shine like stars. Let’s have tender hearts and thick skins. Because this joy? It’s not just a feeling. It’s a calling. And it’s forever. Amen.