“Is Zion coming back home?”

I wondered what my young son had dreamt of his life with Zion. I crept back into my own dreams.

What would it have been like to gaze into your eyes? Or hear your laugh? I’m certain it’s a good one. I almost hear you belting out our favorite hymns as you bounce on our bed, the familiar Geyen voice that tricks others into believing you are one of your siblings. I see your little legs furiously pedal our cracked, faded red tricycle down the block. Then you pedal out of my sight.

My son’s question breathed life into dead dreams. Our grief was real, and we had nothing to show for it but an empty womb.

Yet our miscarriage showed us something — someone. Miscarriage directed us to our dearest friend, Jesus, who invited us to draw near — not to a light at the end of the tunnel, but to the blazing light in the darkness.

Draw Near

The author of Hebrews urges, “Let us . . . with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Hebrews 4:16). While Christ’s atonement for our sins bought our confidence to approach, miscarriage can leave believers needy, desperate, and confused about the way forward. But God extends help toward fellowship at his throne: freedom to draw near, mercy to cover, and grace to strengthen in the days ahead.

1. Draw near in freedom.

In Christ, we have freedom to draw near to God as we are. When we weep, and when we don’t weep. When our hearts rage, and when our hearts feel like they have stopped beating. When we are silent. Still. Confused. When we have questions we can’t ask any other. In Christ, we can present our humanity before his throne — the spectrum of our miscarriage groanings. He invites us to pray not as the slaves we once were, but as the sons and daughters we now are.

For freedom Christ has set you free (Galatians 5:1) — with that new-life freedom comes honest prayer, or as Matthew Henry describes it, “a humble freedom and boldness, with a liberty of spirit and a liberty of speech . . . not as if we were dragged before the tribunal of justice, but kindly invited to the mercy-seat.” The King offers a place to “pour out your heart before him” (Psalm 62:8), to contend with his plans in your pain, to bring your despair to our Hope. Christians don’t direct our grappling at God, but we are invited to entrust to him our honest pains.

God’s word is filled with examples to follow. Think of Hannah, whose authenticity in “speaking out of [her] great anxiety and vexation” caused Eli the priest to think her a drunkard (1 Samuel 1:12–16). Or David, who described God as having abandoned him in his sorrow (Psalm 13:1–2). Or psalmists who deemed tears their food (Psalm 42:3), questioned how long they would remain “greatly troubled” (Psalm 6:3), or ended laments with words we might find uncomfortable to speak: “You have caused my beloved and my friend to shun me; my companions have become darkness” (Psalm 88:18). Even perfect Jesus asked the Father to remove the burden he carried (Mark 14:36), and then later cried, “Why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46).

“Christ is strong enough to hear us process with him the very sorrows he bore.”

Christ laid down his life so we could draw near to him (John 15:13; Hebrews 4:16), and he is strong enough to hear us process with him the very sorrows he bore (Isaiah 53:4). Perhaps the golden bowls in heaven (Revelation 5:7) are filled not with perfectly worded prayers, but with the imperfect pleas of grieving saints, including those who’ve suffered miscarriage.

2. Draw near for mercy.

In the wake of my miscarriage, it seemed impossible to separate sorrow from sin. Speculation about my own responsibility haunted me. Comparison to other miscarriage stories — to assure myself I was grieving “enough” — consumed me. And fear and shame over others’ reactions to a new pregnancy exhausted me. But my heavenly Father did not demand that I parse out “holy” hurts from unholy ones before I ran to him. He did not turn from me because of the way I crawled into his lap (Matthew 7:7–11).

Approach the throne to “receive mercy” (Hebrews 4:16). The mercy in this verse is not salvation mercy; the author has already established the confidence for believers to draw near. This mercy also is not grace, which receives separate treatment in this text and throughout Scripture. This mercy is the forgiveness God gives — for the way we approach the throne, or for the sin that remains in our hearts — in order that he might offer us necessary help.

God’s mercy relieves us of the burden to disentangle sin and sorrow in our grief. He desires to grant us mercy (Matthew 9:13), and whether we approach the throne with our most penitent, gratitude-filled prayers or with messier ones, his mercies are endless (Lamentations 3:20). In love, he died to secure our fellowship with him, and now that same love causes his mercy to follow us all our days (Psalm 23:6) so he may bless our drawing near with more of himself.

3. Draw near to find grace to help.

I sat at the edge of our bed. No tears. No pleas. I sensed my Savior’s embrace, along with one word: sing. So I did. I received few answers to my questions about our miscarriage — but in moments like these, I found I didn’t need them. The biggest “grace to help in time of need” is our growing understanding of the glorious sufficiency of Christ in sorrow. He provides rest (Matthew 11:28), he grants endurance to live beyond miscarriage (Romans 5:3–5), and he delivers “fullness of joy” (Psalm 16:11), all in our bereaved state of child loss. And he draws us into new seasons, transformed (2 Corinthians 3:18).

“The biggest ‘grace to help in time of need’ is our growing understanding of the glorious sufficiency of Christ.”

Miscarriage is often undiscussed. It is profoundly personal. It is deeply sad. Yet many have experienced it, and many of those who haven’t are still ready to stand with you. Grace often arrives through human help, and when believers are satisfied in our faithful friend who tracks our sorrows (Psalm 56:8; Isaiah 53:4), we are ready to receive it. We are freed to grieve as privately or publicly as the moment calls for. We receive the outpouring of love — through shared sadness, embraces, prayers, meals, flowers — as the overwhelming grace it is.

And then there is the grace that most surprises — grace to walk with others through their own grief. Our oldest daughter wrote a story about a day when Jesus transports our children to heaven. He brings them to a man the children sense they know. “I am Zion!” the man cries. He and the children hug and laugh and weep. Then Jesus shares thrilling news: they may forever remain in heaven with Zion.

Everyone grieves differently. If we had missed that, we would have missed her. Our daughter wrote her grief, though she didn’t shed tears. She too had dreams — dreams beyond the tricycle-pedaling toddler. With children or others who walk alongside us, we receive grace to grow in understanding how to grieve as those who have hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13). We learn to cry out to the Lord (Psalm 34:6). We grieve differently, yet worship together. We understand it’s okay to be sad, and it’s okay to not be sad.

Grace transforms grief into worship when we understand our need is not for time to stop, but for the King to march us onward.

Not the End

“No, buddy, Zion is not coming back home. But we will go home to him one day.”

I had little to say as I hugged my son, overcome with fresh grief. Whether we have few words or many, we are recipients of mercy and grace when we draw near — emboldened to trust our King and walk with others, large and small, toward home.

Miscarriage is not the end. Elisabeth Elliot once said, “Of one thing I am perfectly sure: God’s story never ends with ashes” (These Strange Ashes, 11). Whether your miscarriage story is followed by a new baby in your arms or by quiet resilience, those whom we have lost for a season will be found once more. One day, we will behold the babies we never held and gaze upon the Lord over them all.

Audio Transcript

Welcome back on this Wednesday. We have often taken up the topic of anger on the podcast. And that’s because we get a lot of questions on anger — hundreds of questions over the years on anger. Last time we looked at one dimension — namely, getting mad at God when life doesn’t turn out the way that we had hoped. Is it ever virtuous or righteous or godly or innocent or even morally neutral to feel heartfelt anger at God? That’s the question we took up last time, on Monday in APJ 1828. But most of our emails on anger are in the context of the home. In wondering what Pastor John has said here, I searched the sermon archive and found this clip that I want to play for you today. It’s for dads. And it’s a reminder of how a dad’s anger in the home kills the kindness and the tenderheartedness he is called to display to his family. So how do we confront the powerful and seemingly unstoppable force of anger inside the home? Here’s Pastor John with a wonderful gospel answer in a clip taken from one of his 2007 sermons. Here he is, talking about the fatherhood of God.

So here he is, as our Father, and he has never done us wrong or done anything to give us a legitimate cause for anger, and the relationship is broken with everybody in the world. Whose fault is it? It’s man’s fault. It’s always our fault. It’s always our fault when the relationship breaks down between us and God — always.

Pattern for Fatherhood

Now, here’s the point: Who takes the initiative to fix that? Our Father in heaven does, at the price of his Son’s life. This is not a small, “Well, I’m going to give it a little try here to see if I can save my children.” This is the Father and the Son, from all eternity, knowing our rebellious anger against him and saying, “Son, we’re not going to let them go. We will not let our elect go. We will do everything it takes to have them in this family and have them happy.”

“The gospel is the only hope for child-rearing.”

Now I mention it, dads, because that’s our pattern. And it was all our fault. It’ll never be all your children’s fault when they give you trouble. Some, but not all. And therefore, the call to be like God to our children will be more warranted than if we were perfect fathers. And even if we were perfect fathers, the knock on the door would still be, “I would like to talk to the man of the house, and we’ll work on this.” We will lay our lives down to have these children back, and to have them free from anger, and to have them whole emotionally and moving into their own little nests whole.

Gospel-Powered Parenting

Now, I said I would point you back to the way Paul worked with anger. Turn to Ephesians 4:31–5:2. This text is a model for fathers and how to attack the anger in the family — in himself, in his children, in his wife. Let’s start reading at 4:31. “Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another . . .” (Ephesians 4:31–32). Now stop right there. That’s all command — and as command, powerless.

You go to a dad who’s angry in this church tonight and say, “Stop feeling that way.” He’ll look at you like, “You mean you want me to fly? It doesn’t work.” That’s what he would say, probably, if you just said, “Stop the anger” — or like Paul, “Put it away.” That’s powerless. But the next phrase is all power: “. . . as God in Christ forgave you” (Ephesians 4:32). There’s the only hope, dads. The gospel is the only hope for child-rearing.

“A soul that has shriveled up to one solitary emotion, anger, can begin to melt under the smile of God.”

The main issue in making kids mad is that we’re mad. And if we’re going to pull the plug on our anger, this is it. I don’t know any other Christ-exalting answer to how to overcome anger than to do it the way Paul says here. “Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you” (Ephesians 4:31). Reverse it. Let there be kindness and tenderheartedness — those other sweet emotions that are being slaughtered by the anger. Replace the anger with tenderheartedness, and forgive one another. And then here it comes: “as God in Christ forgave you” (Ephesians 4:32).

Anger’s End

So according to the text, God doesn’t just come to us dads and say, “Stop being angry, and stop provoking your kids to anger — period. I mean it. I’m God. Do what I say.” That’s not the gospel. What God says is this: “From eternity, I planned to save you. My Son and I, in a covenant of redemption, agreed to do it. I’m going to let him go. He’s going to die. He’s going to rise again.” For every dad who will look away from himself to Christ to see the punishment he deserves and the righteousness God requires, and who will receive all that precious, glorious treasure — at that moment, God says, “I am totally for you, forever.”

And out of that forgiveness, out of that right standing, out of that sweet, tenderhearted experience of the living God folding me like a father into his family, you know what can happen, dads? A soul that has shriveled up to one solitary emotion, anger, can begin to melt under the smile of God. It can happen. It will happen.

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.