Remember Who You Are

About sixty years after the apostle Paul wrote his letter to the Philippians, another church leader found himself facing persecution.

His name was Polycarp.

At eighty-six years old, Roman soldiers finally found him after years of searching. Instead of resisting arrest, he invited them inside, prepared them a meal, and asked for one hour to pray before they took him away. They agreed.

History tells us he prayed for two hours.

Even more remarkable, several of the very soldiers sent to arrest him came to faith in Christ while listening to him pray. Yet they still carried out their assignment, bringing him before the Roman authorities.

When they demanded that he deny Christ and swear allegiance to Caesar, Polycarp responded with words that have echoed throughout church history: "For eighty-six years I have served Him, and He has done me no wrong. How then can I blaspheme my King who saved me?"

He was executed for his faith.

Why does that story matter?

Because ten years before his death, the church in Philippi wrote to Polycarp asking for encouragement as they once again faced persecution. His response was simple: "I cannot improve upon the words of the apostle Paul."

Sometimes when we're suffering, we don't need something new.

We need to remember something we've forgotten.

That's exactly what Paul is doing in Philippians 1.

The first half of the letter is intensely personal. Paul repeatedly says "I" as he reflects on his imprisonment, his suffering, and his desire to honor Christ. But beginning in verse 27, everything changes.

The focus shifts from Paul to the Philippian believers.

From "I" to "you."

The church is beginning to experience the same kind of opposition Paul has endured, and before he tells them how to respond, he reminds them who they are.

"Only let your manner of life be worthy of the gospel of Christ."

The phrase Paul uses literally points to citizenship.

Philippi was proudly known as "Little Rome." Its citizens loved their Roman identity. They dressed like Rome, governed like Rome, and thought like Rome. Their Roman citizenship shaped everything about their lives.

Paul doesn't criticize their patriotism.

He simply reminds them that there is something even greater.

Their heavenly citizenship comes first.

When I travel internationally, I carry my passport everywhere. It proves that I'm a citizen of the United States. But while a passport proves my earthly citizenship, my conduct proves my heavenly citizenship. That's Paul's point.

Our identity isn't ultimately determined by our nationality, our politics, our ethnicity, our culture, or even our preferences. Those things matter, but they are not ultimate.

Before anything else, we belong to the Kingdom of God.

And whenever we reverse that order, division is never far behind.

If our earthly identities become more important than our identity in Christ, we'll constantly find ourselves pulling away from one another instead of moving toward one another.

But when our citizenship in heaven takes its rightful place above everything else, it transforms how we see people, how we respond to conflict, and how we live in the middle of a divided world.

Paul doesn't stop with identity.

He moves next to stability.

He tells the church to "stand firm."

It's military language.

Roman soldiers wore shoes fitted with spikes so they could hold their ground during battle. Paul's readers immediately understood the picture.

Some things are simply not negotiable.

• Stand firm in the faith.

• Stand firm in the freedom Christ has given you.

• Stand firm in the truth.

• Stand firm in the Lord.

• Stand firm against the enemy.

• Stand firm for the sake of those coming behind you.

There are moments in every believer's life when the greatest act of faith is simply refusing to surrender ground that Jesus has already won.

But standing firm doesn't mean standing alone.

Paul immediately follows this command by calling believers to strive together "in one spirit and one mind."

One of my favorite illustrations of this comes from tuning a piano.

You can't tune one piano by another piano.

Every piano must be tuned to the same middle C. Only then can they produce harmony together. The same is true of the church.

Real unity isn't created because we all think alike.

It isn't produced because we share the same personality, background, or opinions.

Unity is the result of every believer individually responding to the voice of the Holy Spirit.

When we're all listening to Him, harmony becomes possible.

Paul finishes this section with a statement that almost feels surprising: "It has been granted to you... not only to believe in Christ, but also to suffer for His sake."

The word "granted" is the same root word used for grace.

In other words, the same grace that saves us is also the grace that sustains us.

Following Jesus has never been a promise that suffering will disappear.

It's the promise that His grace will be sufficient when suffering comes.

I've often thought about endurance races.

At every aid station, there's a table filled with food and supplies. Every runner approaches the same table, but not every runner needs the same thing. One reaches for soup. Another grabs fruit. Someone else needs electrolytes.

The table is the same. The provision is personal.

God's grace works much the same way.

When we come into His presence through prayer, His Word, and the means of grace He's provided, we don't all receive the exact same thing.

• Some receive peace.

• Others receive courage.

• Some receive wisdom.

• Others receive healing.

• Still others receive strength to simply take the next step.

But no one ever comes to God's table and finds it empty.

The grace that brought you to Christ is the same grace that will carry you through whatever you're facing today.

So when suffering comes—and it will—remember who you are.

You are first and foremost a citizen of heaven. Stand firm. Walk in unity. And trust that God's grace is not only powerful enough to save you, but faithful enough to sustain you every step of the journey.