When we think about “peace,” what do we mean by that? If we tried to define or describe peace, my guess is that we’d largely emphasize the absence of trouble–that’s generally how we define earthly peace. It is the absence of conflict, the absence of chaos: peace = serenity.

Now, wrapped up in the promise of these verses is the replacement of worry with peace. But if we merely try to define the peace of God as the absence of worry or trouble, that falls short of what is being promised here. And that is really good news! God is not merely promising the removal of worry; he says that his peace, in Christ, “will guard your hearts and minds.” The peace of God in Christ is a force. Only something strong and active can guard.

When we hand those anxieties back to God in prayer, it is an act of belief, turning away from worry and gazing upon Christ. And when we do this, he pulls us back into the guarded, protected borders of peace. In anxiety, we have drifted from him–outside the borders of God’s peace. And in prayer we have turned back with a cry for help, and he draws us near to him, into his peace.

We are always looking for something strong enough to carry the weight of our fears, hopes, identity, and future. Because so many good things are close at hand, it is easy to ask them to provide a kind of security they were never meant to give.

Success can reassure us for a while. Control can make life feel manageable. Approval can quiet our insecurity, and being needed can make us feel significant. Even ministry, family, financial stability, or our own sense of competence can begin to feel like places where our hearts can finally rest.

But every one of these refuges eventually reveals its limits.

Christ is different. His faithfulness is not dependent on our circumstances, his sufficiency is not diminished by our weakness, and his love is not made unstable by our fear or inconsistency. He does not become less trustworthy when life becomes harder, and he does not need our circumstances to improve before he can be enough for us.

Hebrews keeps returning our confidence to him because Jesus himself is worthy of trust.

The comfort of the Christian life is not that we are strong enough to hold everything together, but that Christ remains faithful when we are not, and that our deepest security rests in someone far more dependable than anything this life can give or take away.

The promise in these verses is deep and wonderful. The peace of God in Christ is not based on circumstances changing. It is based on turning to Christ and clinging to him as we hand over all our worries to our Heavenly Father.

Paul wrote this letter to the Philippians from prison, facing execution because of his courageous, outspoken faith in Jesus. His circumstances were as dire as a person’s could be. Few things make a person more afraid than facing his own mortality, yet Paul writes with certainty, as one with experience, about the reality of peace in Christ.

He shows us that this peace is an interior peace of soul found only in Christ, no matter our circumstances. This peace is what enabled Paul to write earlier in Philippians, “To live is Christ, and to die is gain.” By any earthly measure, his life was a crisis. Yet his heart and mind were guarded by God’s peace, kept close to Christ and resting in him. This is the peace God offers us in Christ.

Hebrews does not begin by directing us inward, as though the stability of our faith depends on how strong or spiritually resolved we feel. It turns our attention to Jesus, because the strength of our confidence rests in the character of the one we trust.

He is faithful as the Son over God’s house, the one sent from God to us and the high priest who brings us to God. Because of who he is, he can bear the weight that everything else in our lives eventually proves unable to carry.

Our work, reputation, competence, usefulness, relationships, and sense of control may all be good gifts, but none of them can finally secure us or define us. They were never meant to carry the full weight of our identity, our hope, or our future.

Jesus can.

He is not simply one more source of help among many, nor is he only someone we turn to when the rest of our supports begin to fail. He is the faithful Son, the one in whom God has drawn near to us and the one in whom our confidence can safely rest.

To consider Jesus is to remember that the one we are trusting is himself trustworthy, and that there is no safer place for our hope to settle.

When God tells us not to worry about anything, he is, by extension, declaring that he is capable of handling everything. This is a built-in reminder of God’s power, presence, and goodness–do not be anxious; none of this is too much for me. If any person said the same words, we would scoff because they are out of touch with reality. But when God says them, he points out the single good reason not to worry: himself.

Then God tells us: “In everything make your requests known” by prayer and supplication. This is not merely a command to take the right religious steps and follow a good procedure. God is doubling down on his capacity and declaring his posture toward us. If we turn to him with all our worries–those we are ashamed of, those we are overwhelmed by, those that are persistent and won’t quit, those that terrify us–he receives them. He hears and welcomes them. He is inviting our worries: “Here, let me take that burden off you.”

God’s declaration and invitation are why we can present our requests with thanksgiving. We don’t go to God wondering what his posture is or what his capabilities are; we go knowing he is immeasurably powerful and indescribably kind and merciful. We are thankful for who he is before we make a single request, and we can be “pre-thankful” for how he will respond when we do ask something. He has told us, with clarity, who he is and how he welcomes our worries.

Most of us know what it’s like to stand on the outside, looking in.

Zacchaeus knew that feeling. Everybody knew his reputation: tax collector, sinner, outsider. When Jesus came through town, Zacchaeus climbed a tree just to catch a glimpse of him. He was just another face in the crowd.

But Jesus noticed that particular face.

He called Zacchaeus by name and invited himself over for dinner. The religious crowd grumbled: “He has gone in to be the guest of a man who is a sinner.”

But their insult became Jesus’ honor. He is the friend of sinners. Who else could he befriend?

Maybe you feel too far gone. Maybe you feel like you’re standing on the outside looking in. Jesus came for that very reason. The ultimate insider from heaven became the ultimate outsider at the cross for you. He knows you by name, and he invites you into his joy. Today, hear his invitation again:

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

The Bible commands us not to worry about anything. To do that, we need reassurance that matches the size of that command. We need a promise over and around everything that might worry us (and that is a long list). And what comes next doesn’t seem exactly like the reassurance we want: But, in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.

If you’re like me, you would have preferred a reassurance that says For God–for God is in control, for God will deliver you, for God is good. Those are all true and addressed elsewhere in Scripture. But here, Paul calls us to take action in the face of our worries. He ties our reassurance to our prayers.

Do not be anxious about anything, but pray instead. Now, if we misunderstand prayer, this will sound like “pray our way out of trouble,” as if the quality, intensity, or consistency of our prayers will rescue us. But what Paul is calling us to here is the action of believing–do not be anxious but believe. Prayer, rightly understood, is an act of faith, of trust, of lifting our eyes to the recipient of our prayer (God), who is the source of reassurance. When we make our requests known to God, in everything, that is an act of belief; it is acting as if we really do have confidence in God. So, do not be anxious about anything, but instead entrust yourselves and your circumstances to God. Hand them over, and receive his peace.

The New City Catechism asks, “What do we believe about the Holy Spirit?” with the following answer: That he is God, coeternal with the Father and the Son, and that God grants him irrevocably to all who believe.

John Owen, in his treatise On Communion with God, remarks:

The Holy Spirit does his work powerfully. A believer may be in the saddest and darkest condition imaginable. Even so, the Holy Spirit is able to break through all this and bring to mind the promises of Christ. By this work, the Holy Spirit enables Christians to sit in dungeons, rejoice in flames and glory in troubles.

If he brings to mind the promises of Christ for our comfort, neither Satan nor man, neither sin nor the world, nor even death itself shall take away our comfort. Saints who have communion with the Holy Spirit know this only too well. Sometimes the heavens are black over them, and the earth trembles under them. Disasters and distresses appear which are so full of horror and darkness that they are tempted to give up in despair. So how greatly are their spirits revived when the Holy Spirit brings the words of Christ to their minds for their comfort and joy.

Thus, believers are not dependent on outward circumstances for their happiness, for they have the inward and powerfully effective work of the Holy Spirit, to whom they give themselves up by faith.

Amen!

On the Horizon

Stay up to date on Immanuel gatherings and events here.

Persecution arising from affiliation with Jesus is an honor only this fleeting life affords. And what a joy it is to live for something worth suffering for, a cause more precious than health or property! Soon we will be safe in glory, cheering on future generations. In that day, every bloodstain on the jersey of our faith—especially the ones on the back—will be an eternal badge of honor, a proof of participation with the King of Glory!

Our heavenly Father, inspire us today with a true sense of our blood-bought union with Christ and make us bold to live joyfully for His glory. In the holy name of Jesus, we pray, amen.

Jesus did not stand at a safe distance waiting for sinners to find their way to him. He moved toward us.

Throughout his life, Jesus moved toward outsiders, touched the unclean, welcomed people with scandalous histories, and became known as the friend of sinners. But every one of those moments pointed toward the greater movement of the gospel: the eternal Son took on flesh, entered our broken world, and went all the way to the cross for us.

He did not come because we were improving. Paul says Christ died for us while we were still sinners. Before repentance had borne fruit, before obedience had taken shape, before we had anything to offer him, Christ gave himself for us.

The welcome of Jesus is free to us because it was unimaginably costly to him. At the cross, he bore our sin, endured our judgment, and removed the condemnation that stood between God and us.

We do not have to read God’s posture toward us from our circumstances, our emotions, or how well we performed this week. We read it at Calvary.

There the holiness of God and the love of God meet without compromise. Sin is not ignored; it is judged. Sinners are not cast away; they are received through the sacrifice of Christ.

The arms of Jesus were stretched open in judgment for our sin so that they could remain open in welcome to us.

I think I have heard 1 Corinthians 13 more at weddings than any other context, which is a bummer. This passage is about Christian love in the church, so while it certainly applies in marriages, it is actually for all who follow Jesus. And you know what the description in these verses sounds like? It sounds like Jesus.

This picture of love is gentle and strong. It is resilient in the face of difficulty and selfless. It is optimistic and hopeful, but not foolish. Christian love is humble and self-sacrificial, like Jesus. What is more, Christian love takes pleasure (rejoices) at what is good and God-honoring instead of trending toward cynicism or rejoicing in vengeance or comeuppance. When I read this, it sounds like an attainable standard. It is wildly unnatural to us.

Here’s the good news: we only reflect the love of Jesus when we have deeply received the love of Jesus. We need the love of Jesus to change us at a fundamental level–the level of enjoyment and desire.

And he has given that love freely, laying down his life for us. What clearer indication could we have that he is holding nothing back from us? We are called to love like him, and we can love like him because he has loved us with all of him.

The gospel is more than God forgiving you from a distance. Christ has welcomed you. He knows the real you; your failures, fears, regrets, weaknesses, and the things you hope nobody else ever sees. Still, you sets his love on you. His mercy is fully informed.

A judge can pardon someone and send them away. A father brings them home. In Jesus, God has done both. Christ took our guilt upon himself at the cross, gave us his righteousness, reconciled us to God, and brought us into the family.

There is no probationary period in the household of grace. No waiting room where Jesus watches to see whether you finally become worth keeping.

He knew whom he was receiving when he received you. And the Savior who opened the door is not looking for a reason to close it.

Consider what these verses show about the high, deep, wide love of Jesus for us.

• He set aside his glory. It is difficult for us to comprehend just how great Jesus’s glory was and how far a stoop this was for him from heavenly king to earthly infant.

• He became like us; he became a human. He loved us enough to walk in our shoes and experience our kind of life so that he could understand us. Hebrews tells us that he can sympathize with us when we are suffering and when we are tempted. Jesus loved us enough to understand us deeply.

• He resisted temptation and refused to give in to sin. Jesus was tempted like you and me–to anger, to pride, to lust, to all the sins. But he refused to give in so that he could be the perfect sacrifice on our behalf. He loved us enough to not sin.

• He bore God’s wrath for our sins. The greatest suffering Jesus experienced was not the physical pain of the cross, even though crucifixion was one of the most extreme tortures ever invented. The greatest suffering he experienced was the wrath of God for our sins; this is the wrath we deserved, and he loved us enough to take it.

• He rose from the dead and ascended to heaven, where he intercedes for us. When Jesus rose from the dead, it was more than just a miracle of overcoming his own death; He overcame all death. He defeated sin. And he wasn’t done then. He ascended to heaven to reclaim his place on the throne. That is what Jesus is doing right now, and while he sits on that throne, he is interceding on our behalf. (Romans 8:34) This means that he is talking to the Father about all who believe and saying, “They are with me; I love them; they are forgiven.”

• And Jesus loves us enough to come back one day and make everything right. He is going to undo all the evil in the world and make right every wrong. (Revelation 21:3–7)

Hebrews wants us to see the glory of Jesus. He is the radiance of God’s glory, the exact imprint of his nature, and the One who upholds the universe by the word of his power.

And this glorious Son is our Great High Priest.

He “made purification for sins.” Jesus did for us what we could never do for ourselves. He dealt with our guilt before God, and then he sat down. His priestly work was accomplished. Nothing remains for us to add to his sacrifice.

What comfort there is in that. We do not come to God hoping we have done enough, repented well enough, or cleaned ourselves up enough. We come because Jesus has done the work.

The glorious Son is our great priest. And because his work is finished, sinners like us can draw near.

“Before the throne of God above

I have a strong and perfect plea

A great High Priest whose name is love

Who ever lives and pleads for me

My name is graven on His hands

My name is written on His heart

I know that while in heav’n He stands

No tongue can bid me thence depart

No tongue can bid me thence depart” —Before the Throne

At first glance, this doesn’t look like a very uplifting passage, but it holds a sweet mercy in its warning. When we hide our sin and hold it close, we begin to break down from the inside out. Sin eats us up. God made us whole people–body, mind, soul, emotions–and sin is a disordering, deficient, destructive effect on all that God designed. We think about sin most often in spiritual terms, how it harms our relationship with God, and that is the most foundational damage it does. But harboring sin, keeping it in, has psychological and physiological effects on us too.

When we hold on to sin, the hand of the Lord is heavy on us, and that might sound like harsh judgment, like God is beating us down. But God’s hand is heavy on us as a mercy. The guilt and sorrow and suffering we feel when we are holding on to sin is God’s discipline–not to destroy us, but to correct us. Psalm 94 says the one God disciplines is blessed, and Hebrews 12 says God disciplines us as sons, and Proverbs 3 urges us not to dismiss the discipline of the Lord–it is specifically intended to call us to blessing instead of suffering.

The burden of guilt we feel over sin is our heavenly Father’s summons, his call, his warning. So often we treat guilt as an internal problem, a psychological bug for which we need a remedy. In reality, guilt over sin is the hand of God tugging on our bridle to bring us to blessing. He loves us and yearns for us to be whole, to be healed, and to be guilt-free.

There’s a story in Mark’s Gospel about a man with a very contagious disease. He was a leper, and that disease made him an outcast and an outsider.

But we’re told that he came to Jesus and said, “If you will, you can make me clean.” He didn’t ask, “If you are able, you can make me clean,” but, “If you will.” The question wasn’t whether Jesus had the ability to help, but whether he was willing to help. His concern wasn’t about power; it was about compassion.

And like the man in the story, we can easily imagine someone with power. But we may struggle to imagine someone whose power is tied to compassion. You may not wonder if God is able to help you. But you may wonder, “Knowing my sin, knowing my failings, knowing my weakness—would God want anything to do with me?”

Friends, the good news is that Jesus is not only the God of power, but the Lord of mercy. He is both able and willing.

Mark tells us that Jesus was moved with pity. He stretched out his hand, touched the man, and said, “I will; be clean.” The One who is able is also willing.

And that is the friend who welcomes you today.

In Jesus, we have mighty mercy that doesn’t hide from us but draws near to us. He knows our need. He is eager and able to receive us!

Our hearts yearn to be home with God, but how do we get there? How do we dwell with God? The Psalmists were looking at the physical temple and taking comfort in its reality and what it represented. What do we turn to? Remember that the temple was the dwelling place of God with his people in a finite and temporary way and pointed to the permanent, established glorious reality–Jesus is the fulfillment of what the temple symbolized.. Jesus is the dwelling place of God with and for us forever all time, and he offers unhindered access to God. In Christ, our hearts find a home in the courts of the Lord. See how the New Testament describes this:

John 1:14

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.

Colossians 1:19–20

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.

Revelation 21:3

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God.

Jesus brought the presence, the fullness of God to us. He took up residence, he dwelt with humanity in order to reconcile us to God. He did all that the earthly temple could not do and was never designed to do–making a permanent home for God’s people in himself. In Christ we find a spiritual home, a relocation of our souls from lost to found, from wandering to settled, from homesick to at peace.

The bird in Psalm 124 does not escape because it suddenly becomes stronger. It does not discover hidden courage or learn a better technique. The bird escapes because the snare is broken. Someone greater than the trap has acted on its behalf.

That is a pattern of saving grace. Our deepest problem could not be overcome by greater effort, better advice, or stronger willpower. Sin had trapped us, and death stood before us. We needed a rescue that we could not accomplish for ourselves.

Jesus came to provide it. At the cross, he entered the trap on our behalf. He bore our guilt and faced the judgment we deserved. Then God raised him from the dead, breaking the power of sin and death for everyone who belongs to Christ.

The good news today is not that you are stronger than you realize. It is that Jesus is stronger than everything that threatens to hold you. Your hope is not found in your ability to free yourself, but in the Savior who has already acted.

You may feel small, tired, or caught today. But the risen Christ remains your rescuer. The snare will not have the final word. Jesus will.

The morning after the New York Knicks won the NBA Finals, the New York Times ran a piece on what this victory means for New Yorkers. In it, the author describes joy unspeakable that ran throughout the streets of New York:

“So this is how it feels. It is giggling, weeping, spinning, convulsing, mosh-pitting, truck-honking, law-skirting, trumpet-playing, cowbell-ringing, off-key-singing, cigar-lighting, all-night-ing — remembering to remember it all… It is hugging strangers so hard they go airborne, fist-bumping cabbies as they crawl through concrete delirium, high-fiving kids on shoulders (and adults on shoulders)…it is the feeling when a large city becomes a small neighborhood.”

This article is using this-worldly images to describe otherworldly realities. The celebration and raucous joy that New Yorkers experienced was a preview of coming attractions for all believers in Christ. Indeed, all that is true, honorable, just, pure, pleasing, excellent, and worthy of praise in the whole of creation, in heaven and on earth, will be, as Herman Bavinck says, “gathered up in the future city of God–renewed, re-created, boosted to its highest glory.”

This exuberance should be how all of our churches feel, Sunday after Sunday: Giggling, weeping, spinning, hugging, and laughing. The resurrection should evoke the kind of celebration New Yorkers experienced ad infinitum.

So, Christian: next time you see people made in God’s image rejoicing like New Yorkers on Saturday night, remember that we were made to worship like this. Don’t dismiss their joy; redeem it and redirect it, and point people to the everlasting joy that can be found in Christ alone.

The doorkeeper was a servant who essentially slept on the threshold of the house, keeping the gate. He was lowly and on the fringes of the household, and this, says verse 10, is better than “dwelling in the tents of the wicked.” It is better to be lowly in God’s house than wealthy and comfortable apart from him. Really?

And if all we got was one day in the presence of God, would it really be better than the best the world has to offer? We struggle to believe that the blessings of God in Christ are that good. I read these words in verse 10, and the exchange rate doesn’t work. Is being lowly in God’s house really better than being richly established in the world? Is one day with God really better than a thousand in the world?

Yes, it is. Because the servants in God’s house will be glorified and will rule, and because a day dwelling with God is not a mere day. A day with the Lord is a different kind of day altogether. To dwell with God in Christ is to live a life measured not by hours and days and months but by eternity. Verse 11 says he is a Sun. That means God is the giver of life, but it also means he is the measurement of times and seasons. A day in the courts of the Lord is eternal day living in the light of his presence; it is unending delight and unlimited blessing. There are no lowly or overlooked servants, no one is on the fringes of the household of God, because dwelling with God in Christ is a never-ending experience of “favor and honor” (v.11)–we will reign with Christ forever!