Sermon Introduction: “What Holds When You’re Tested”
Philippians 1:12–26
Let me tell you about two people.
Both go to church.
Both say they follow Jesus.
But one wants just enough Jesus to feel better—
to ease the guilt,
to call for help when things go wrong.
The other?
They’ve given Jesus everything:
Their future. Their pain. Their plans.
At first glance, they might look the same.
Same songs. Same prayers. Same Bible.
But when life breaks apart—
when faith is tested—
that’s when the difference shows.
There’s an old Greek story about a boy named Icarus.
He and his father tried to escape by flying with wings made of feathers and wax.
And Icarus… he flew too high.
The sun melted his wings.
And he fell.
He looked free... but he wasn’t ready to be tested.
He rose on borrowed strength—
and it didn’t hold.
Now—
in Philippians 1, Paul is in prison.
He’s chained up.
He doesn’t know if he’ll live or die.
He’s lost his freedom—
but not his faith.
He hasn’t fallen apart.
He’s full of hope.
Why?
Because Paul didn’t just invite Jesus into the corners of his life—
he surrendered.
And Philippians 1 asks all of us—young and old:
When life tests your faith, will it collapse like wax wings?
Or will you stand, like someone who can say,
“For me, to live is Christ—and to die is gain”?
12 Now I want you to know, brothers and sisters,[a] that what has happened to me has actually served to advance the gospel.13 As a result, it has become clear throughout the whole palace guard[b] and to everyone else that I am in chains for Christ.14 And because of my chains, most of the brothers and sisters have become confident in the Lord and dare all the more to proclaim the gospel without fear.
15 It is true that some preach Christ out of envy and rivalry, but others out of goodwill. 16 The latter do so out of love, knowing that I am put here for the defense of the gospel. 17 The former preach Christ out of selfish ambition, not sincerely, supposing that they can stir up trouble for me while I am in chains. 18 But what does it matter? The important thing is that in every way, whether from false motives or true, Christ is preached. And because of this I rejoice.
Yes, and I will continue to rejoice, 19 for I know that through your prayers and God’s provision of the Spirit of Jesus Christ What has happened to me will turn out for my deliverance.[c] 20 I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. 21 For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. 22 If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! 23 I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; 24 but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body. 25 Convinced of this, I know that I will remain, and I will continue with all of you for your progress and joy in the faith, 26 so that through my being with you again your boasting in Christ Jesus will abound on account of me.
Point 1 – A Surrendered Life Sees Purpose in Pain
(Philippians 1:12–14)
Paul is in chains.
He’s under arrest for preaching the Gospel.
Now if it were me?
I’d be praying for release.
If I were writing a letter from jail, I might start with:
“Y’all better pray hard—I need to get out of here.”
But not Paul.
Paul doesn’t sit in prison wishing things would go back to normal.
He writes:
“I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that what has happened to me has actually served to advance the Gospel.”
Let that sink in.
Paul sees the prison cell not as punishment—but as a platform.
He sees the guards not as captors—but as a congregation.
He sees his pain—not as a reason to panic, but as a chance to point people to Jesus.
That’s not natural.
That’s not optimism.
That’s surrender.
A surrendered life says,
“God, I wouldn’t have chosen this…
but I trust You’ll use it.”
It stops asking, “Why me?” and starts asking,
“What now, Lord?”
It’s like a flashlight in a storm:
Everything else may go dark—but it still shines.
Even a prison—Paul says—can become a pulpit.
And kids, I see you too.
Maybe you had a rough week.
Maybe someone was mean to you at school.
Maybe you didn’t get picked for the team, or your friend hurt your feelings.
That’s real. That hurts.
But even there—Jesus is with you.
And if you let Him, He can use your kindness, your courage, your tears—
to shine His light.
So what about us?
What if our disappointments became divine appointments?
What if our setbacks were actually setups for God to show up?
A surrendered life sees purpose in pain—
not because pain is good…
but because God is good, even in the middle of it.
Point 2 – The Gospel Reframes the Spotlight
Philippians 1:15–18)
Paul isn’t just in chains—he’s sidelined from what he loves most: preaching, traveling, encouraging churches.
He could’ve felt forgotten. Replaced. Overlooked.
But instead, he says:
“It has become clear throughout the whole palace guard and to everyone else that I am in chains for Christ.”
Paul doesn’t cling to comfort, control, or credit.
He’s not desperate to be seen or praised.
Why?
Because something deeper has taken root in his heart:
Christ is being preached.
Even if others are stealing the spotlight…
Even if their motives are mixed…
Paul says:
“What does it matter? The important thing is that Christ is preached. And because of this I rejoice.”
Let’s be real:
It’s not always easy to celebrate when you feel left out.
When your efforts aren’t noticed.
When someone else gets the stage.
I’ve been there.
There have been times I wanted to be in the room, to be heard, to be valued.
And in those moments, I’ve felt the tension:
my ego or the Gospel.
But Paul offers us something freeing.
We live in a world obsessed with being seen.
But the Gospel says: you’re already known.
When you know that—you don’t have to chase the spotlight.
You can hand it off with joy.
Because it’s not about being noticed—it’s about Christ being lifted up.
Imagine a relay race.
One runner gives everything, then hands off the baton—not in defeat, but in trust.
That’s Gospel maturity.
That’s freedom.
When someone lets go of the spotlight and still rejoices?
That’s when the world pays attention.
That’s when the Gospel becomes visible.
So here’s the question:
Where are you still holding the spotlight a little too tightly?
What would it look like to hand it over—not in fear, but in freedom?
Point 3 – The Gospel Redefines Gain and Loss
(Philippians 1:21–24)
Paul writes these stunning words:
“For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.”
That’s not just poetic—it’s revolutionary.
We live in a world that treats gain as more money, more followers, more comfort, more success.
And loss? Well, we avoid that at all costs.
But Paul flips it all upside down.
He says:
If I live—I get to serve Jesus.
If I die—I get to be with Jesus.
Either way, I win.
That’s what the Gospel does.
It doesn’t just give you hope in life.
It redefines what counts as gain.
When I was younger, “gain” meant things going my way—health, success, reputation, a sense of control.
But Paul shows us something better:
Gain is not what you hold in your hands. It’s who holds your heart.
Even in chains, Paul is free.
Even with an uncertain future, he has peace.
Because his identity isn’t tied to his situation—it’s tied to his Savior.
And friends, this is a word for all of us—kids and adults alike.
There will be times when you feel left out, unseen, behind.
There will be moments when life doesn’t go the way you hoped.
But if your purpose is rooted in Christ—
You haven’t lost. You’re not behind. You’re anchored.
That’s the kind of faith I want.
Not a faith that works only when life is good—
But a faith that shines even in uncertainty.
Because Paul’s not just writing theology here.
He’s writing his reality.
He’s torn.
He’d love to be with Jesus—no more pain, no more struggle.
But he also knows—“It’s better for you if I stay.”
See that?
Even in life and death, Paul’s not thinking about himself.
He’s thinking about others.
He’s thinking about fruit—eternal fruit.
And that brings us to our next point…
Point 4 – A Fruitful Life Is a Visible Life
(Philippians 1:22–26)
Paul doesn’t just say, “If I stay alive, I’ll survive.”
He says:
“If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me.”
He’s not clinging to comfort—he’s committed to bearing fruit.
Paul sees his life as a garden.
Planted by grace.
Watered by the Spirit.
Meant to grow something real.
Not just private peace.
Not just personal spiritual moments.
Visible fruit.
Fruit that blesses others.
Fruit that shows up in how you treat people, how you respond under pressure, how you serve without being noticed.
If Jesus is alive in you—someone else should taste that.
Paul says, “It’s better for you that I remain.”
He wants to stick around, not for more personal achievements—but for your progress and your joy in the faith.
That’s a life that multiplies.
So let me get real for a second.
If you’re walking with Jesus… it should show.
Not perfection.
But evidence.
Love that breaks tension.
Joy that resists despair.
Patience that surprises people.
Peace that confuses the chaos.
Here’s a bold challenge—one I dare you to actually try:
Ask someone at work or school—someone who doesn’t go to church, or maybe doesn’t even like you:
“Do you see anything different in me? Anything that reflects what I claim to believe?”
That’s scary.
But that’s also Gospel courage.
Because the world doesn’t need more invisible Christians.
It needs believers who live with fruit on display.
So ask yourself:
Who is growing because I’m in their life?
Who’s being nourished by the way I live?
Am I planting anything eternal?
The Gospel was never meant to be a secret garden.
It’s meant to spill over—into homes, classrooms, boardrooms, and checkout lines.
Paul says:
“I’m staying… for your joy. For your growth.”
That’s what fruitful labor looks like.
A life where someone else can say:
“Because they stayed faithful… I found hope.”
Conclusion:
Let’s come back to Paul’s words:
“For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain.”
That wasn’t a slogan for Paul.
It was his center of gravity.
It was how he interpreted both prison and freedom, joy and suffering, life and death.
And here’s what strikes me:
Paul wasn’t in control of his circumstances—but he was deeply confident in his calling.
The Gospel had redefined everything for him:
Pain became purpose.
Being overlooked became an opportunity to lift up Christ.
Even death wasn’t defeat—it was a doorway.
That’s the life I want.
Not a life of ease. Not a life of applause.
But a life where every breath says, “Jesus is worth it.”
And so I’ll ask again:
If someone watched your life this week—your choices, your reactions, your words—would they see Jesus?
Would they know what you live for?
Here’s the challenge:
Ask the Holy Spirit:
“Is Christ the reason I wake up? Is He the goal of my decisions? The focus of my hopes?”
Because Icarus isn’t just a story about falling.
It’s a story about ambition without surrender.
It’s about soaring on wings not built to last.
And tragedy reveals what strategy hides.
So don’t settle for “just enough Jesus to get by.”
Let Him be your everything.
Because when Jesus becomes your life—
you don’t have to fear death.
You don’t have to chase approval.
You don’t have to fake strength.
You are free.
And on that day—when all is revealed—
You’ll stand, not with wax wings, but with resurrection strength.
Not unfinished, but completed.
Not alone, but held.
So today, let’s live surrendered.
Let’s live fruitful.
Let’s live like we truly believe:
“For me… to live is Christ.”
And when that day comes—
to die will be gain.
