In the winter of 2001, I was a sophomore at Furman University in Greenville, South Carolina.

As a freshman, I had become part of a ministry called Campus Outreach. Its theology was called “Reformed,” which I did not grow up with. In my teens, I heard talk about God being “sovereign,” but I had never wrestled with the extent of his sovereignty — that he was sovereign over all, over good and evil, over angels and demons, over sunny days and natural disasters, over my good deeds and my sin, and (most uncomfortably) over my own will and choices. But once I saw the verses, dozens of them (if not hundreds), I couldn’t deny that the Bible taught that God’s sovereignty was absolute, over all, no exceptions.

But what I also knew from two decades of human life, and from dozens (if not hundreds) of verses, is that I was accountable. I had thoughts and feelings. I had a will and made real decisions that mattered and had consequences. So, how do I reconcile these two — not just my experience versus what the Bible says, but what the Bible says versus what the Bible says?

So, that winter of 2001, a pastor from Minnesota, named John Piper, spoke at our Campus Outreach New Year’s conference in Atlanta, and not long after that event, I visited desiringGod.org to look for more messages.

There I listened to a sermon he had preached that Christmas Eve. And this one message put together for me — so clearly and memorably — how these major theological truths of God’s sovereignty and my human responsibility come together in my everyday Christian life and experience. The sermon was on the end of Romans 6 (verses 22–23), but at a key moment, Piper flipped over to Philippians 2:12–13 to explain this real-life dynamic. As he did so, lights went on for me one after another.

So, 23 years later, it’s personally significant for me to be assigned these verses, and I pray that for some in this room, new lights might go on like they did for me in those days. How the truth of God’s sovereignty and his choices relates to my responsibility and my choices, in fighting against sin and for Christlikeness, doesn’t all come together at once. Much of it is a lifetime journey. Yet, for me, there was a particular sermon, and a particular text — Philippians 2:12–13 — where new categories were created that have deeply affected my everyday life.

Humbled and Exalted

Last Sunday, we stood in awe at the foot of the mountain of Christ’s accomplishment for us in Philippians 2:5–11. First, he chose to become man. He did not cling to the comforts of heaven, but he emptied himself of that privilege. Precisely because he was God, gracious and merciful, full of steadfast love and faithfulness, he took on our creatureliness and limitations, and the pains and frustrations of our fallen world. His emptying himself was not an emptying of his deity, as if that were possible, but it was a taking, as verse 7 says. His emptying came through addition of humanity, not subtraction of deity. He

emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. (verses 7–8)

Then came that amazing “therefore” in verse 9: “Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name.” In the biblical pattern of self-humbling from Exodus to the Epistles, Jesus stands at the center as our greatest example: he humbled himself, and therefore God exalted him. Jesus went down, down, down: human, death, the cross. And his Father brought him up: up from the grave, up in the ascension, up to the very throne of heaven. So we walked through three truths about the example of Jesus.

Which leads us right into verses 12–18, and how Paul turns from Jesus’s obedience and his reward to ours. So this morning, we look at three truths about our following his example. Or how we become like Jesus.

1. We follow the one who obeyed and was rewarded.

There is a second huge “therefore” in Philippians 2. The first one was verse 9. Jesus humbled himself; therefore God exalted him. Now, verse 12: in light of Jesus’s self-humbling and God’s exalting him, therefore . . .

I can see at least two ways this “therefore” works in verse 12. One is the straightforward charge He is Lord; therefore obey. God has highly exalted Jesus. Now his name is above every name, and at his name every knee should bow and every tongue confess he is Lord. Therefore, Christians, obey. Simple as that. He is Lord; we are servants. He says it; we do it. Children obey their parents; servants obey their masters; and all the more, creatures, obey your Creator, and Christians, your Lord.

But there’s also another way this “therefore” works: as an appeal to desire, as a pattern and promise of reward. I say that because the word “obedient” just appeared in verse 8 (and “obey” in verse 12). Jesus was “obedient to the point of death,” and because he obeyed, he was rewarded. Therefore, Christians, obey like Jesus so that you might be rewarded like Jesus. Humble yourself, like he did, that you too might be exalted.

Which is crazy countercultural for self-exalting sinners! We want to be exalted, so what do we do? Exalt ourselves: in our own minds, in our words and humble brags, in what we post online, in how we angle for opportunities. And God says to us in our folly, “No, sinners. I do the exalting. Exalt yourself, and I’ll humble you. But humble yourself, and I will exalt you.”

So, “therefore” in verse 12 is an appeal to desire and a profound glimpse into what it meant for Jesus to endure the cross “for the joy set before him” (Hebrews 12:2). As man, Jesus humbled himself, obeying to the point of death, by looking to the joy of being exalted by his Father. And so too for us as we obey him. Christian obedience is not from sheer duty and force of will. We obey for the joy set before us.

And Paul puts his own joy on display in verses 17–18. Jump down there:

Even if I am to be poured out as a drink offering [this is his self-humbling obedience] upon the sacrificial offering of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with you all. Likewise you also should be glad and rejoice with me.

Paul calls the Philippians’ obedience “the sacrificial offering of your faith.” This is like Romans 12:1: the Christian life of faith “as a living sacrifice.” God’s people no longer offer slaughtered animals as sacrifices, as they did under the first covenant, but offer themselves, all they are, their whole lives, in obedience to him. This is what Paul is giving his life to: that Christians — like the saints in Philippi, and like us — would be living sacrifices, obedient to Christ.

“Don’t presume that God will defeat your sins while you’re passive. And don’t presume to fight sin on your own.”

And Paul, in prison in Rome for his labor, says to them, “Even if I die in this prison, I rejoice.” The pursuit of joy got him into prison, and joy will be his if he never makes it out of prison — because he looks forward to the reward of being with Christ and having worked for others’ joy in Christ. And in this joy, Paul casts his work in self-humbling terms. The Philippians’ lives of obedience are the main sacrifice, and his labor is just the drink offering, the side offering, the supplement to their healthy, obedient Christian lives.

So, first, like Paul and like Jesus, we obey our Lord in joy, anticipating reward. We follow the one who obeyed and was rewarded.

2. We work out the salvation he worked for.

Now, the rest of verse 12:

Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed, so now, not only as in my presence but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling . . .

So, the obedience that Christ, through Paul, is calling for here is “work out your own salvation.” I realize that sounds like nails on a chalkboard for some ears. If so, perhaps I could just warn you: this might feel uncomfortable for a few minutes. Remember, we’re praying for biblical categories. And to get there, we may need to sit in the challenge of this “work out your own salvation.” It’s in the Bible. And this is a good translation. The Greek doesn’t fix our discomfort but might only make us cringe a little bit more. What if we said, “produce your own salvation,” or “give rise to your own salvation,” or “grind out your own salvation”?

As we sit in this tension, it’s okay to remember Christ’s obedience on the front end and underneath — and in just a few minutes, we’ll see that we have even more help on the back end. But we need to linger here. Just because there’s help in front and back doesn’t mean our lives in the middle aren’t real. We need to stay here in the call and dignity of the Christian life to be, to think, to feel, to will, to act. God is sovereign, and we are responsible.

This word for “work out” is a typical word for “work” but with an intensifying prefix. The kind of work we’re getting at here is not just overflow. Some work feels effortless. But this work means expending effort. It’s the kind of work that requires effort to move inward desires into outward acts. In other places, this word is translated “produce” or “accomplish” or “perform.”

So, this is not just overflow. It requires counting, reckoning, considering (as in verses 3, 5, and 6). There is effort to be given, energy to be expended, work to be done. “Work out your salvation,” Paul says. Not “work for” — Jesus uniquely worked for our salvation in verses 5–11 — but now we “work it out.”

Our Gift and Duty

An important question to ask at this point is, Salvation from what? Paul implies the Philippians need deliverance, but from what? Well, what’s clearly at stake in chapter 2, going back to 1:27, is their unity (their fellowship, their relationships in the church). Paul says he longs to hear that they “are standing firm in one spirit, with one mind striving side by side for the faith of the gospel.” And 2:2: “Complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind.” He’s saying that because, at present, they’re not that. Then verse 3: “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit.” Note that: two specific sins from which the Philippians and we need deliverance — selfish ambition and conceit.

And Paul has more specifics to give in verse 14: “Do all things without grumbling or disputing.” Okay, so now we have at least four specific sins from which Paul says to “work out your salvation.” Want it, will it, act it, produce it. Christ died to save you from grumbling — from constant complaining and criticizing and scoffing and wallowing. He died to deliver you from petty disputes. So, trust him and don’t grumble. Trust him and be free from disputing.

The new category this leads to is this: the Christian life is both gift and duty. Fighting sin is both a gift from God and a duty we act. Increasing holiness is both gift and duty. It is a gift of grace we receive from Jesus, and the way we receive a grace that involves our own thoughts and desires and actions is by having the thoughts and desires and doing the actions. That is, living out the gift, or working out your salvation.

Look over to Philippians 3:12. Two of the best texts for getting this dynamic of the Christian life as both gift and duty are right here in Philippians. So, first 2:12–13. Now 3:12:

Not that I have already obtained this [resurrection to eternal life] or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own.

This is so important in getting the order right between God’s working and ours. Paul says, “I press on to make it my own” — I count, I will, I act, I choose righteousness, I fight sin, I press on. Why? “Because Christ Jesus has made me his own.” Mark this: I don’t become his by pressing on. Rather, because I am his, because he already took hold of me, I strive and strain and press on. He worked for my salvation. Now I work it out over sin. (Other key texts that show this gift-and-duty dynamic: Hebrews 13:20–21; Romans 15:18; 1 Corinthians 15:10.)

The Christian life is grace from beginning to end. Some graces we receive instead of our effort and action (justification), and some graces we receive as our effort and action.

Look, Trust, Pray, Act

This leads us to verse 13. But let me first try to make this more practical. Let me take you back to my time at Furman University. Now it’s the fall of 2002, my senior year, and I’m trying to figure out what to do after graduation. And I am awash in anxiety. I didn’t remember being so anxious in my life before then, and I don’t remember being as anxious since.

So, I needed deliverance from anxiety. What do I do? Just wait? How do you seek to be free from oppressive anxiety when God is sovereign and you are responsible? As one who is justified by faith in Jesus, how do I work out my salvation? First, I need truth to work with. I need a specific word to believe. So I found three biblical promises about anxiety:

Do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble. (Matthew 6:34)

Humble yourselves . . . under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you. (1 Peter 5:6–7)

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:6–7)

I printed them out, posted them next to my bed, and reviewed them every morning when I woke up and every night when I went to sleep. And (with Christ before me and his Spirit in me), I worked out the grace of my deliverance from anxiety. God gave me the gift of deliverance from the dominance of anxiety in that season. And that doesn’t mean I don’t still fight anxiety as it comes in new ways in new times and seasons of life. But I know how to fight: recognize it, address it with promises of reward, pray for help, and act.

So whether it’s sinful anxiety, selfish ambition and conceit, grumbling and disputing, or sinful anger or lust or greed, work out the deliverance Christ has worked for you. Don’t presume that God will defeat your sins while you’re passive. And don’t presume to fight sin on your own. Look to the sovereign Christ, trust his promises, pray for his help, and act the miracle you seek to have from him.

Shining Unity

And just to comment very quickly on verses 15–16: I think Paul has in mind the relationship between unity in the church and witness in the world like he did in 1:27–28. There he said that our “standing firm in one spirit, with one mind striving side by side for the faith of the gospel” leads to the church “not [being] frightened in anything by your opponents” — and this is “a clear sign to them of their destruction, but of your salvation.” In working out our salvation against the relationship-killing sins of selfish ambition, conceit, grumbling, and disputing, we come to stand out “in the midst of a crooked and twisted generation.” Unified in Jesus, we “shine as lights in the world.” How? “Holding fast to the word of life,” that is, the message about true life, eternal life — the life and death of Jesus in place of our death to give us life.

So, if ever you find yourself discouraged about the “crooked and twisted generation” in which you find yourself, remember two truths from Philippians 2: (1) this is nothing new for Christianity (this is how it usually is in this age), and (2) grumbling and disputing are not the Christian response. But exactly the opposite. The Christian response is this: hold fast to our word of life, work out our salvation from grumbling and disputing, and shine as lights in the world, not as more of the same darkness.

What about that last phrase in verse 12, “with fear and trembling”? Now our third and final truth.

3. We have his Spirit at work in us.

We finish with the end of verse 12 and with verse 13:

Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.

What in the world could Paul mean here by “with fear and trembling”? Perhaps “fear and trembling” sounds only negative in your ears. Fear and trembling — yikes. How about “with hope and joy”? Why fear and trembling?

Scripture has a broader vision for inward fear and outward trembling than modern people do. Throughout the Bible, “fear and trembling” is what wise, in-touch, healthy humans do when they find themselves in the presence of God almighty. Like Moses at Mount Sinai, as we saw in Hebrews 12:21: “I tremble with fear.” And Paul talks about how the Corinthians received Titus as a messenger from Christ “with fear and trembling” (2 Corinthians 7:15).

Or perhaps most instructive of all is the way the Gospel of Mark ends: with the women who found the tomb empty and heard from the angel, “He has risen; he is not here.” Mark 16:8: “They went out and fled from the tomb, for trembling and astonishment had seized them.” Or, as Matthew 28:8 reports, “They departed quickly from the tomb with fear and great joy.”

“Fear and trembling” is not only the response of someone taken aback by great horror, but also of someone struck with great joy. It’s the response of a believing heart in the presence of God himself — and it’s the appropriate response of a Christian who learns that God himself has come to dwell in me.

Verse 13 provides, essentially, a threefold confidence for us as we expend energy and effort to obey our Lord and live the Christian life. So, as we close, let me turn to verse 13 and address it to you.

First, brothers and sisters in Christ, you have God in you! How awesome to have the Holy Spirit, poured out on us, sent into our hearts, dwelling in us, leading us, working in us. You are not on your own to fight against sin and for Christlikeness. You have God in you! This is no standard joy. This is cause for fear and trembling.

Second, he is in you not only to will but even to work. God works in us to (will and) work our work. He gives us new desires and willing, and even then, he doesn’t leave us to ourselves. He is in us to prompt, to lead, to empower, to execute our working out those holy desires through the exertion of effort.

Third, all this stands on the rock of God’s own joy, his delight, his good pleasure. He is not reluctant in helping us fight sin and pursue Christlikeness. He is happy to do it, thrilled to do it. He delights to do it. He works in us, in our willing, in our working, for his good pleasure. We work with the grain of God’s own joy when we work out our deliverance from sin.

So, we close with this question: What sin or sins came to mind this morning in our time of silent confession? Or, what do you most often confess week after week? Brothers and sisters, don’t just say it again, move on, continue in sin, and make empty confession again and again. Work out your salvation. Act the miracle. With Jesus before you and beneath you, and his Spirit in you and through you — hemmed in on every side by his grace — work out your salvation. Will it, work it, act it, do it — with prayerful dependence in every step.

Jesus Willed and Worked

What makes possible our having the Holy Spirit at work in us to will and work is that first the Spirit was at work in Christ to will and to work. How he worked for the joy set before him is an example we follow. How he worked by the Spirit is imitable. But what he accomplished at the cross for us is inimitable.

At this Table, we do not mainly remember Jesus as our example but as the one who worked for us in a way in which we could not work for ourselves.

Audio Transcript

Happy Friday, everyone. On the podcast, we’ve looked at grumbling, and we’ve looked at complaining — several times, actually. But what about venting? Or is venting just a nice word for complaining?

This question has been asked by several listeners recently. Here are two examples. One is from Allison: “Pastor John, hello! My friend and I have long discussed if there’s a difference between complaining and venting. Our desire is to be mindful of our heart’s reaction to tough situations. How do we as believers express frustrations to those closest to us, to bear one another’s burdens, without falling into ‘misery loves company’? Is there a difference between complaining and venting? Or are we kidding ourselves?”

And another listener, named Sina, writes this: “Dear Pastor John, thank you, and thank you Tony, for this podcast. It’s an incredible blessing in my life. My question is this. Is venting the same thing as grumbling? Philippians 2:14 commands us to ‘do all things without grumbling or disputing.’ Does this apply to venting as well? I’m in a stressful graduate school environment, and complaining is the norm among students. Over the years, I have distinguished between complaining versus venting. Complaining is sinful. Venting is sinless.

“Here’s the distinction I use, using a hypothetical scenario of a teacher who continually assigns overwhelming amounts of schoolwork. Complaining says, ‘I can’t believe this teacher is doing this to us. Doesn’t he (or she) understand we have lives outside of school? Anyone with a brain would know that.’ Venting, however, says, ‘This class is truly difficult. I knew graduate school would be difficult. But this amount of schoolwork makes it feel like I’m drowning. I don’t know if everyone feels like this, or if it’s just me.’ Can you validate or correct this distinction? I don’t want to encourage venting if it is in fact sinful. Thank you!”

A question like this cannot be answered without definitions. You can’t defend or condemn a word like complaining or venting until you know what the reality is that the word is referring to. When that’s clear, then you’re in a position to say, “That reality is good” or “That reality is bad, sinful.” Usually, what happens when you insist on definitions before you jump into a discussion or debate is that the very effort to define the terms turns out to settle the debate, because the definitions often contain the unspoken differences that were causing the debate in the first place. When you see the different realities clearly that the words were expressing, then you can make judgments about whether those realities are good or bad according to the Bible.

Pointing Fingers

Now, Sina comes close to giving me a definition of complaining and venting. She does it with two illustrations rather than two definitions. But if we work backward from her illustrations, we can arrive at definitions, at least partial definitions. So let’s try that.

What’s clear from her illustration of complaining is that it involves a put-down of someone else. It ends with “anyone with a brain would know that.” Okay. Got that. So complaining, in her definition, involves pointing the finger at a person with intent to blame, and probably in a demeaning way.

Venting, on the other hand, she illustrates with a lament about how hard things feel to her. She’s not sure how they may feel to others, so there’s no finger-pointing in her illustration of venting, no absolutizing of her feelings as though they were representative of everybody’s feelings. Venting, it seems she would say, is expressing your frustrations about a situation without necessarily accusing or blaming anybody else.

Now, she would like me to validate that distinction or not and give my opinion about whether such venting is sinful. My answer is, well, you can define your terms any way you wish as long as you make clear they are your definitions rather than claiming that they are Bible definitions or anybody else’s definitions. So given your definitions, Sina, yes, there is a real distinction: expressing heartfelt dissatisfaction with circumstances with blaming, or expressing heartfelt dissatisfaction with circumstances without blaming.

Holy Complaining, Sinful Venting

Now, is one of those sinful? The answer is that both might be sinful, and both might not be sinful. That’s the answer. It is possible for Christians to feel and express great dissatisfaction with harmful circumstances and, at the same time, draw attention to the guilty person who’s causing them, and not be sinning when they do that.

For example, Paul said to Titus, “There are . . . empty talkers and deceivers. . . . They must be silenced, since they are upsetting whole families by teaching for shameful gain what they ought not to teach. . . . Rebuke them sharply” (Titus 1:10–11, 13). Clearly, Paul is not happy. He is not happy with these circumstances in Crete. He speaks negatively about it (call it what you will), expresses his dissatisfaction, and he identifies the guilty. And he tells Titus what to do about it. “Silence them. Rebuke them.” Now, Paul was not sinning when he spoke like that. He expressed dissatisfaction and he expressed blame, and it wasn’t sin.

On the other hand, it is possible to so-called “vent” and express dissatisfaction with your circumstances without pointing the finger at anybody and yet be sinning, because there are more ways to sin than by blaming other people for your problems. Paul said,

I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me. (Philippians 4:11–13)

“There are more ways to sin than by blaming other people for your problems.”

It may be sin to simmer with frustration over your circumstances without pointing any finger, because it’s a sign of underlying lack of faith in the goodness and wisdom of God, a sign that we have not yet learned the secret of contentment in the strength and fellowship of Christ, in spite of difficulty.

Deep, Settled Peace

Let me step back and see if I can say something more broadly and biblically that I hope will help us sort out how we should respond to hard circumstances — whatever you call it, complaining or venting. How should we respond to hard circumstances?

I think the most fundamental thing to say is that God is absolutely sovereign over all our circumstances. Ephesians 1:11: “[He] works all things according to the counsel of his will.” Therefore, our deepest response to our circumstances should be, “God, my good and loving and wise and strong Father, has dealt me this hand, this hard hand. These painful, difficult circumstances are ultimately from my Father’s wise, strong, sovereign providence — his hand. He has my best interests at heart. I bow my heart before him and say with Mary, ‘I am your servant. Do with me as you think best’” (see Luke 1:38). In that posture of faith, we should have a deep, settled peace beneath whatever else we may feel.

“These painful, difficult circumstances are ultimately from my Father’s wise, strong, sovereign providence — his hand.”

Now, with that foundation of unwavering faith in God’s sovereign care, so that we enjoy a profound, unshakable contentment of soul in God, we will be in a position to express a kind of holy dissatisfaction with different kinds of circumstances.

Dissatisfied Contentment

Now, I know that may sound paradoxical. “Whoa — you just said ‘deep, unshakable contentment,’ and now you’re saying ‘express dissatisfaction’?” Yes, I am. I would call it something like “dissatisfied contentment.” (I said to Noël last night when I was thinking about this, “That takes me back to 1977, when I was thinking about Christian Hedonism at the horizontal level, and I wrote an article for His magazine called ‘Dissatisfied Contentment.’” Wow. Such memories.)

For example, if we encounter sin, we should feel dissatisfied with it, both in ourselves and in other people. This may involve in others a quiet correction, like it says in Galatians 6:1: “Restore [a brother] in a spirit of gentleness.” Or it may involve a public rebuke, as in 1 Timothy 5:20, where you are to rebuke an elder openly for his continuing in sin.

Or if we encounter grief in ourselves or in others, we should feel sympathy, and our heart should go out of ourselves and weep with those who weep (Romans 12:15). Weeping is a kind of dissatisfaction; weeping is a kind of dissatisfaction with this pain. I defined compassion once as the weeping of joy impeded in the extension of itself to another. Compassion is the weeping of joy — by that, I mean that deep, settled contentment — impeded in the extension of itself to another. I was trying to come to terms with holy contentment in God’s sovereignty and holy dissatisfaction with the world the way it is. It is not inconsistent to have a deep, settled contentment of soul in the sovereign goodness of God, and at the same time be weeping because of circumstances that are painful.

One more illustration. What if we encounter injustice? We are to feel dissatisfaction with injustice, and even indignation, perhaps. We should express our disapproval and our desire to set things right as much as possible. Proverbs 31:9 says, “Open your mouth, judge righteously [that is, justly], defend the rights of the poor and the needy.”

Two Tests

The upshot is this from those illustrations: both complaining and venting, as Sina defined them, may or may not be sinful — both of them. The decisive question is this (maybe two questions): Is there a deep, settled faith in the all-wise, all-good providence of God that gives you an unshakable contentment in him beneath all dissatisfactions? Second, in expressing our dissatisfactions, are we speaking our dissatisfactions because of a hatred of sin (which is good), and a zeal for God’s glory, and a love for people? Or are we just wrapped up in ourselves?

The second half of the nineteenth century was not kind to Victorian evangelicals.

Darwin’s ideas, which first appeared in print in The Origin of Species in 1859, began to undermine the faith of some, just as German higher criticism of the Old Testament reached British shores in Essays and Reviews. Meanwhile, the Ritualists were busy unprotestantizing the Church of England, as men of “broad views” were insisting that sincerity — not truth — was the “one thing needful.” To make matters worse, relations between evangelical churchmen and dissenters reached new lows, and attacking (or defending) the establishment became a near-universal ecclesiastical obsession.

But in the 1870s, a renewal movement imported from America seemed to offer new spiritual life to embattled evangelicals. It promised full salvation and complete deliverance from all known sin — essentially a second conversion experience — and all one had to do was simply “let go and let God.” A series of popular meetings was held throughout England to promote this new vision of the Christian life, and the Keswick Convention was born.

Holiness Unfolded and Defended

J.C. Ryle (1816–1900), the “Anglican Spurgeon” and undisputed leader of the evangelical party within the Church of England, was entirely unsympathetic with Keswick spirituality. He, along with other evangelical leaders of the old guard, attempted to redirect this new interest in personal holiness into more orthodox channels. Articles were written. Speeches were made. A rival conference was even held in 1875 to promote scriptural holiness. Even so, the Keswick Movement continued to gain steam, especially among younger evangelicals. So, Ryle published his own response in 1877, which was then enlarged in 1879.

Holiness: Its Nature, Hindrances, Difficulties, and Roots proved to be one of Ryle’s most popular works. It is one of the best presentations of Puritan and Reformed spirituality ever written, and thanks to the simplicity and forcefulness of Ryle’s writing style, it is certainly one of the most accessible. Think of Holiness as The Pilgrim’s Progress stated propositionally. And like Bunyan’s masterpiece, it has proved to be remarkably enduring. It went through five editions during Ryle’s lifetime, and it has been republished regularly since the prompting of Martyn Lloyd-Jones in 1952.

“Think of ‘Holiness’ as ‘The Pilgrim’s Progress’ stated propositionally.”

The enlarged edition of Holiness (1879) contains twenty-one papers, as well as an excellent introduction. The first seven chapters are the heart of Holiness and form a book within a book (this was the original edition of 1877). Here Ryle explains “the real nature of holiness, and the temptations and difficulties which all must expect who follow it” (xiii). The rest of the book consists of a series of holiness-related sermons that are arranged thematically: biblical character studies (chapters 8–12), the church (chapters 13–14), Christ (chapters 15–20), and extracts from Robert Traill and Thomas Brooks (chapter 21).

Rather than discussing each chapter, allow me to introduce you to some of the great themes of this spiritual classic.

Holiness

Holiness takes holiness seriously. Personal holiness is essential for final salvation. Such a claim is neither legalism nor a threat to the precious doctrine of justification by faith alone. It is the clear and sobering truth of Scripture: “Strive . . . for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord” (Hebrews 12:14). If Holiness accomplishes anything, it reminds the reader of this critical and potentially uncomfortable truth. Read the chapter on Lot’s wife (chapter 10), or consider this question Ryle poses to the indifferent:

Suppose for a moment that you were allowed to enter heaven without holiness. What would you do? What possible enjoyment could you feel there? To which of all the saints would you join yourself, and by whose side would you sit down? Their pleasures are not your pleasures, their tastes not your tastes, their character not your character. How could you possibly be happy, if you had not been holy on earth? (53)

Expect to be convicted. Expect to be challenged. And expect to be encouraged if you are determined to pursue holiness with greater zeal.

Sin

Holiness takes sin seriously. Ryle argues that he who “wishes to attain right views about Christian holiness must begin by examining the vast and solemn subject of sin” (1).

Sin is a vast moral disease that affects the whole human race. It consists in “doing, saying, thinking, or imagining anything that is not in perfect conformity with the mind and law of God” (2). It is a family disease that we all inherit from our first parents, and it infects every part of our moral constitution. Its guilt and vileness — the very sinfulness of sin itself — must be viewed in light of its remedy: “Terribly black must that guilt be for which nothing but the blood of the Son of God could make satisfaction” (8). But in a deft pastoral move (which is typical for Holiness), Ryle pivots from the guilt of sin to the grace of God:

There is a remedy revealed for man’s need, as wide and broad and deep as man’s disease. We need not be afraid to look at sin, and study its nature, origin, power, extent, and vileness, if we only look at the same time at the almighty medicine provided for us in the salvation that is in Jesus Christ. Though sin has abounded, grace has much more abounded. (11)

Doctrine

Holiness takes doctrine seriously. In the first seven chapters of the book, Ryle treats the doctrine of sanctification systematically, beginning with sin (chapter 1) and ending with assurance (chapter 7). These chapters are undoubtedly the most theologically sophisticated of the book. Ryle defines terms, exegetes Scripture, makes important distinctions, discusses church formularies, quotes authorities, and refutes opponents. Yet at the same time, he never loses sight of the pastoral purposes of the work. I’m not aware of anything comparable in terms of theological depth and pastoral sensitivity.

The same is true of the chapters that make up the rest of the work. Because they were originally sermons, they necessarily contain more exhortation and practical application than the first seven chapters, but they are by no means theologically anemic. Ryle has no problem discussing the person of Christ, the inspiration of Scripture, or the nature of the church when the sermon text calls for it.

Ryle’s works are well-known and well-loved for their combination of solid doctrinal content and practical pastoral wisdom. In this respect, Holiness is probably Ryle at his very best.

Growth

Holiness takes growth seriously. Christians must grow in holiness, for sanctification is a progressive work. Holiness will force you to come to terms with this reality. True Christianity is a fight: “To be at peace with the world, the flesh, and the devil is to be at enmity with God, and in the broad way that leads to destruction. We have no option. We must either fight or be lost” (67).

Ryle reminds the reader that it is costly to follow Christ. It will cost a man his sin and self-righteousness, his love of peace and ease, and the favor of the world. Long before Dietrich Bonhoeffer criticized cheap grace, Ryle noted, “A religion that costs nothing is worth nothing! A cheap Christianity, without a cross, will prove in the end a useless Christianity, without a crown” (86).

Moreover, the Christian must “grow in grace.” Ryle explains,

When I speak of a man “growing in grace,” I mean simply this — that his sense of sin is becoming deeper, his faith stronger, his hope brighter, his love more extensive, his spiritual-mindedness more marked. He feels more of the power of godliness in his own heart. He manifests more of it in his life. He is going on from strength to strength, from faith to faith, and from grace to grace. (101)

And how do Christians grow? “He that would grow in grace must use the means of growth” (109), which include the private means of grace (prayer and Bible reading, meditation and self-examination, and habitual communion with Christ) and the public means of grace (the preached word and worship, the sacraments and Sabbath rest).

“It will cost you to follow Christ, but those costs pale in comparison to the reward that awaits those who persevere.”

These chapters are challenging, to be sure, but I find Ryle’s realism refreshing. There are no rose-colored glasses here. Ryle’s description of the Christian life is one that most of us can recognize and identify with. It is a fight. There are costs. Growth is essential and difficult. And there is an urgency here that is palpable. Even so, I emerge from these chapters more encouraged to pursue holiness than when I begin reading. There are resources as well as challenges. True Christianity is a good fight. Ryle reminds us that we have the best generals, the best helps, the best promises, and assurance of victory. It will cost you to follow Christ, but those costs pale in comparison to the reward that awaits those who persevere. And growth is necessary, but there are means available within the reach of all believers that will help them to “grow in grace.”

Christ

Finally, Holiness takes Christ seriously. The person and work of Christ is, perhaps, the greatest theme of this work. Ryle certainly intended it to be so.

Christ is “the sun and center” of Christian piety. “What the sun is in the firmament of heaven, that Christ is in true Christianity” (377). Communion with Christ is “the one secret of eminent holiness. He that would be conformed to Christ’s image, and become a Christ-like man, must be constantly studying Christ Himself” (234). Moreover, Christ is the “mainspring both of doctrinal and practical Christianity. A right knowledge of Christ is essential to a right knowledge of sanctification as well as justification. He that follows after holiness will make no progress unless he gives to Christ his rightful place” (370).

The last chapter sums up the place of Christ in Holiness — “Christ is all.” It is one of the most outstanding chapters Ryle ever wrote, which is saying quite a lot. Instead of describing it, let me just encourage you to read it, along with the chapters that precede it. It is a moving reminder that personal holiness is Christocentric and cruciform. Ryle closes Holiness with these words:

Let us live on Christ. Let us live in Christ. Let us live with Christ. Let us live to Christ. So doing, we shall prove that we fully realize that “Christ is all.” So doing, we shall feel great peace, and attain more of that “holiness without which no man shall see the Lord.” (389)

J.C. Ryle’s Holiness certainly can help you along in this great pursuit.