Mystery & Mission

INTRODUCTION: A JANITOR AND THE MISSION There’s a well-known story: President Kennedy was touring NASA in the early 60s. He stops a janitor mopping the hallway and asks, “What do you do here, sir?” The man replies, “Mr. President, I’m helping put a man on the moon.”

He wasn’t just mopping a floor—he was participating in a mission. He understood the larger purpose behind his daily grind. Likewise, Paul writes from prison in Colossians 1:24 not discouraged but rejoicing, because he knows he’s part of something eternal: the Gospel, the Mystery, the Mission. His chains weren’t an interruption to the mission—they werepart of it.

You might feel like your season of suffering is a detour. But what if it’s the actual road God is using to build something eternal?

I. SUFFERING WITH A PURPOSE (Colossians 1:24)

“I am glad when I suffer for you in my body, for I am participating in the sufferings of Christ that continue for his body, the church.”

Paul says he rejoices in his suffering. That alone is staggering. We live in a culture that does everything it can to avoid pain. We medicate it, distract from it, numb it, or pretend it doesn’t exist. But Paul leans into it—and not just with gritted teeth but with genuine gladness. He sees suffering not as a setback but as a participation in the redemptive work of Christ.

This is not a theology of defeat. It's a theology of purpose. Paul understood that suffering—when surrendered to Christ—can become a platform for Gospel transformation. His imprisonment didn’t pause the mission; it amplified it. He wrote letters that would outlast empires. He comforted others while in chains. His life testified to a Gospel strong enough to shine in the darkest places.

In this, we see a powerful principle: If you’re walking with Jesus, your suffering is never wasted. It becomes part of His story, written through your life. Your scars preach. Your tears water someone else’s harvest. Your faith under fire becomes someone else's roadmap to hope.

John Piper writes, "Don’t waste your suffering. Every millisecond of your pain in the path of obedience is producing a peculiar glory."

Let’s sit with that. Every single millisecond—not minute, not hour—millisecond of pain, in the context of obedience, is not neutral. It is not forgotten. It is not dismissed. It is actively doing something eternal.

This is a massive shift in how we view hardship. Our culture views pain as pointless. Something to avoid, escape, or numb. But the Kingdom sees pain—especially the pain we endure while walking faithfully with Christ—as purposeful.

Your heartbreak? It’s producing glory. Your exhaustion in raising kids, in praying for prodigals, in fighting that sin no one else sees? It’s producing glory.

The Greek word for “producing” implies that something is being worked out, almost like a craftsman shaping wood or a jeweler cutting stone. God is doing something beautiful through your brokenness.

So don’t waste it. Don’t shortcut it. Don’t let bitterness take root in it. Bring your suffering into the presence of God and ask: “Lord, what glory are you working in me through this?”

Paul’s chains were painful, but they were productive. So are yours.

Application:

That aching marriage you’re committed to? God sees not just the struggle but the sacredness. Every tear cried in prayer, every choice to stay when it would be easier to go, every moment you fight to forgive instead of retaliate—it all echoes with the love of Christ. Your quiet faithfulness mirrors His covenant love, and heaven does not overlook it.

That thankless job you work to provide? God values it more than you know. Every early morning, every late night, every ounce of effort poured out to put food on the table and keep the lights on—none of it escapes His notice. He sees you show up tired but willing. He sees you biting your tongue, choosing integrity over shortcuts. And while the world may not applaud it, heaven does. Your daily grind is a sacred offering. It's not just work—it's worship when done unto the Lord.

That unseen pain you carry in obedience? It counts in heaven. The silent tears you shed on your pillow. The nights you choose purity when temptation whispers loud. The moments you forgive without being asked. The times you serve without a spotlight or applause. God sees every sacrifice you make in secret, every act of obedience that costs you something, and He stores each one like treasure. Heaven counts what earth forgets. And one day, all that was unseen will be honored in the light of His glory.

God doesn't waste pain. If you're in Christ, your suffering has meaning. Your tears are not in vain. Paul knew his imprisonment wasn’t sidelining his ministry—it was central to it.

And so is yours. Maybe you’re not in a Roman prison, but perhaps you’re confined in another way—a health battle, a season of waiting, a family situation that breaks your heart. Maybe you feel stuck in a job that drains you, or you've been quietly enduring depression, grief, or disappointment. The enemy whispers, "You're sidelined. You're benched. You're broken." But the Gospel declares, "You are in the game. You are in the story. You are being shaped by glory."

What if your current struggle isn't a detour but a divine assignment? What if God is doing His deepest work in the moments you feel weakest?

So don’t despise your season. Ask God to help you see it with spiritual eyes. You may not be writing letters like Paul, but your prayers are changing lives. Your quiet acts of faithfulness are echoing into eternity. Your brokenness isn’t the end of your story—it’s the place where resurrection begins.

II. THE MYSTERY REVEALED (Colossians 1:25–27)

“God has given me the responsibility of serving his church by proclaiming his entire message to you. This message was kept secret for centuries and generations past, but now it has been revealed to God’s people. For God wanted them to know that the riches and glory of Christ are for you Gentiles, too. And this is the secret: Christ lives in you. This gives you assurance of sharing his glory.”

Paul says there is a "mystery" that was hidden but is now revealed. In biblical terms, a mystery is something once concealed but now made known by God.

Here’s the shocking part of the mystery: it's not "do better, try harder, clean up first." It's Christ in you.

Not just Christ near you. Not just Christ for you. But Christ in you. This flips everything upside down.

Think about it—religion says, “Climb up to God.” The Gospel says, “God came down to you—and then took up residence inside of you.”

This is not just inspirational—it’s transformational. When you place your faith in Christ, He makes your heart His home. His Spirit dwells in you. That means you carry the presence of God into every moment, every meeting, every conversation, every trial.

When you feel overwhelmed—Christ is in you. When temptation knocks—Christ is in you. When you face the impossible—Christ is in you.

You are not alone. You are not empty. You are not helpless. You are a walking temple of the Living God.

This is why Paul calls it the "hope of glory." Because the greatest hope we have is not in our strength but in His presence inside of us. That’s the secret. That’s the scandal. That’s the mystery made known.

So stop striving to be good enough. Let Christ in you be your goodness. Stop trying to earn your way. Let Christ in you be your righteousness. Let this truth root deep in your identity: you are not your past, not your pain, not your performance. You are His dwelling place.

Application:

You don't carry Christ like a backpack. He dwells in you. He doesn't just come along for the ride. He’s not an accessory to your life—He is the Author of it. A backpack can be taken off when it's inconvenient. It can be set down when it's heavy or when you're in certain company. But Christ is not detachable. He is not seasonal. He is not situational.

When Christ dwells in you, He shapes your thoughts, your decisions, your relationships, your identity. It means He has access to the whole house—not just the guest room. He rearranges the furniture of your soul, renovates your desires, and sanctifies your motives.

This changes how we walk through pain. We don’t go looking for Christ—He’s already here. We don’t plead for strength—His Spirit supplies it from within. And we don’t face temptation alone—He dwells with us, fights for us, and leads us in victory.

The pressure is not on your performance but on His presence.

And here’s the beauty of that: His presence is not earned—it’s invited. We don’t perform to get closer to God; we posture our hearts in humility. We don’t have to run spiritual laps to enter the presence of Christ. We simply open our hearts, quiet our souls, and say, "Jesus, I need You here."

Entering His presence can happen in a moment—while you're driving, washing dishes, walking the dog, or sitting in silence with an open Bible. It's not about theatrics; it's about trust. Scripture says, "Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you" (James 4:8). He’s not playing hide-and-seek. He’s waiting, eager to meet with you.

So breathe. Stop striving. Invite Him into the moment. Let His presence carry you—not your performance.

You don’t have to beg God to show up. He already moved in.

This is the miracle of the Gospel: God's presence is not distant, delayed, or dependent on your performance. If you are in Christ, then the same Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead now lives in you (Romans 8:11). You don’t have to stir up His presence through effort—you simply have to become aware of what’s already true.

So when you're overwhelmed, anxious, or numb, pause and remind yourself: He's here. Speak to Him. Acknowledge Him. Let your internal dialogue turn into communion. The invitation is not to summon God—it’s to sit with Him.

He already moved in. You’re not waiting for a visitation—you’re living in habitation.

There is no other religion where God says, “I will make my home in you.” That’s the mystery. That’s the hope of glory.

Lean into that. Not around you. Not beside you. In you. This is not symbolic. This is supernatural. The God who split the sea, who thundered on Mount Sinai, who raised Jesus from the dead—He doesn’t just dwell in temples made by human hands. He chooses hearts. He chooses yours.

That means wherever you go, He goes. When you walk into a boardroom, a hospital, a conflict, a quiet night of anxiety—He’s not watching from above; He’s working from within. It also means we don’t have to fear the silence. Sometimes we look for fireworks, but He often speaks in a whisper inside the soul. A whisper that says, "You're mine." A whisper that reminds you, "I’m here."

You carry the mystery of the ages inside you. You are a temple, not because you’re worthy—but because Jesus is willing. The hope of glory isn’t wishful thinking. It’s a Person. And He lives in you.

III. STRIVING FOR MATURITY IN CHRIST (Colossians 1:28–29)

“So we tell others about Christ, warning everyone and teaching everyone with all the wisdom God has given us. We want to present them to God, perfect in their relationship to Christ. That’s why I work and struggle so hard, depending on Christ’s mighty power that works within me.”

Paul wasn’t aiming to make fans of Jesus. He was committed to forming people into the fullness of Christ followership.

He didn’t just want people to admire Jesus from a distance—he wanted them to be shaped into His image up close. Paul understood that the end goal of ministry wasn’t a crowd, it was a community of people being conformed to Christ. He wasn’t chasing numbers—he was cultivating depth.

This is where the modern church must wrestle. It’s easy to settle for inspirational messages, emotional highs, and big attendance. But are we forming people into disciples who look, live, and love like Jesus? Are we warning and teaching with wisdom so people are growing in the grace and knowledge of Christ?

Paul used every ounce of his strength to help people grow spiritually mature. He says he struggled, he labored, he agonized—but not in his own power. He depended on the strength of Christ that worked powerfully in him.

This is our call too. Whether you’re a pastor, a parent, a teacher, or a friend—your job isn’t just to inspire; it’s to disciple. It’s to walk alongside others, pointing them toward the fullness of Jesus until Christ is formed in them.

This word "perfect" doesn’t mean sinless; it means mature, complete.

Paul Tripp puts it this way: "The goal of the Christian life is not arrival. It’s direction."

It teaches that the Christian life isn’t about perfectionism or arriving at a fixed point of moral or theological success. Instead, it’s about movement — a daily, faithful, grace-fueled walk toward Jesus.

We live in a culture obsessed with outcomes and end results. But Paul Tripp reminds us that discipleship isn’t a destination—it’s a journey. God isn’t impressed by your checklist; He’s interested in your trajectory.

Are you heading toward Christ? Are you being shaped by His Word, His Spirit, His people? Are you growing in love, truth, humility, and holiness—even if you still stumble?

Spiritual maturity isn’t about never falling—it’s about always getting back up with your eyes on Jesus. Direction > perfection.

Application:

Maturity in Christ is not instant. It’s not microwave—it’s slow-cooker. It’s not something you achieve overnight with a few sermons, a new Bible reading plan, or an emotional high. Real maturity takes time, tension, and trust. Think of how a slow-cooker works—it heats consistently over time, infusing flavor and tenderness through sustained, patient process. That’s exactly what the Holy Spirit is doing in you.

Some days you may feel like you're not growing at all, but God is doing more than you see. Every quiet prayer, every small act of obedience, every time you say no to sin and yes to truth—it’s marinating your soul in Christlikeness. So don’t despise the slowness. Don’t chase shortcuts. Let grace do its deep work. The goal isn’t speed; it’s substance.

Discipleship means patience, correction, and consistency.

We’re not called to coast. We’re called to contend.

Contending means we don’t spiritually sleepwalk. It means we lean into the fight for our faith, for holiness, for others. Coasting is easy—just drift. Just blend in. Just consume without contributing. But contending takes effort, intentionality, and dependence on the Spirit.

Paul wasn’t playing defense—he was on mission. He labored to see Christ formed in people. And we are called to do the same. Contend in your prayers. Contend in your parenting. Contend in your friendships. Contend for your thought life, your purity, your peace.

The Christian life isn’t a lazy river—it’s a race marked out with resistance. But we don’t run alone. Christ is in us. His power fuels our perseverance.

Paul says, "That’s why I work and struggle so hard." The Greek word is "agonizomai"—to agonize. Ministry is not casual. It costs something.

IV. CONTENDING FOR THE CHURCH (Colossians 2:1–5)

“I want you to know how much I have agonized for you and for the church at Laodicea and for many other believers who have never met me personally. I want them to be encouraged and knit together by strong ties of love. I want them to have complete confidence that they understand God’s mysterious plan, which is Christ himself. In him lie hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. I am telling you this so no one will deceive you with well-crafted arguments. For though I am far away from you, my heart is with you. And I rejoice that you are living as you should and that your faith in Christ is strong.”

Paul is not casually sending a newsletter. He is spiritually agonizing over their souls.

He wants the church to be:

Encouraged

Knit together in love

Confident in understanding Christ

John Mark Comer writes, "The battlefield is in the mind." That’s why Paul says in verse 4, "I am telling you this so no one will deceive you with well-crafted arguments."

Paul is aware that deception rarely begins with an obvious lie—it starts in the thought life. The enemy doesn’t kick down the front door; he whispers through the cracks. Ideas matter. Doctrine matters. What we believe about God shapes how we live, what we value, and how we respond in trial.

That’s why Paul doesn’t just pray for emotional warmth—he wants the Colossians to be grounded in understanding. He wants their minds anchored in Christ so that no clever speech or polished rhetoric can pull them away from truth.

Think about the voices vying for your attention today—online, in culture, even in Christian spaces. Not everything that sounds spiritual is actually sound doctrine. And Paul is pleading: don’t get swept up in arguments that dress themselves in wisdom but leave you distant from Christ.

The way we fight this battle is not with clever counterarguments—but with clear, Christ-centered convictions. Renew your mind daily in the Word. Be shaped by God’s voice before anyone else’s. And anchor your identity in Christ, not in comparison, cultural approval, or self-help hype.

Application:

Don’t fall for spiritual-sounding lies that aren't rooted in Scripture. Just because something sounds deep doesn’t mean it’s true. In our content-saturated world, we are bombarded with phrases that feel powerful but carry no biblical weight. “Follow your truth,” “God just wants you happy,” “Manifest your destiny”—they sound appealing, but they’re not anchored in God’s Word.

Paul warns us that deceptive ideas often come wrapped in eloquence. The danger isn’t always obvious. That’s why we must be people of the Book. Filter every teaching, trend, and TikTok reel through the lens of Scripture. If it contradicts the heart of the Gospel or shifts your eyes off of Christ, it’s not truth—it’s poison dressed up as wisdom.

The safest place for your soul is in alignment with God’s Word. So hold fast to it. Know it. Love it. Live by it.

Be knit together. We need community, especially when truth is under attack. Lone-ranger Christianity may sound appealing, but it’s not biblical. The enemy loves isolated believers—because they’re easier to pick off. Paul knew that when the church is united in love, grounded in truth, and supporting one another, it becomes far harder to deceive, discourage, or divide.

To be "knit together" implies intentional closeness. It means stitching your life to others—showing up, being honest, praying together, carrying one another’s burdens. When the winds of doubt blow or the culture shifts, it’s your brothers and sisters in Christ who help hold you steady.

This is why the local church matters. Not just Sunday services, but small groups, friendships, discipleship conversations, and spiritual accountability. Truth thrives in community. Lies unravel when we are known, challenged, and encouraged by one another. So don’t walk alone—link arms, build trust, and commit to Christ-centered community.

Everything Paul has written in this passage leads us to one unavoidable conclusion: it’s all about Jesus. The mission is Christ. The mystery is Christ. The maturity we aim for is only possible in Christ. And the security we long for, especially in confusing and deceptive times, is found in Christ alone.

So here’s the question: Do you know Him? Not just know about Him—but does Christ live in you? Has the mystery become personal?

This is the moment the message turns into invitation. Because the Gospel is not just something we admire—it’s something we respond to. And if you’ve never said yes to Jesus, or maybe you’ve drifted and want to come home, this is your moment.

V. GOSPEL CALL AND SINNER’S PRAYER

The greatest mystery is this: That God, through Jesus, made a way for sinners like us to be forgiven, filled, and free.

You may be here and you feel like a fraud. You feel like you’re too far gone. Maybe church has felt like a place where you had to pretend.

But friend, if Christ is not in you, there is no hope of glory. But today, He can live in you.

You don’t have to fake it. You don’t have to fix yourself. You just have to open the door.

Sinner’s Prayer: Jesus, I believe You are the mystery revealed. You died for me. You rose again. I confess my sin. I receive Your grace. Come live in me. Be my Savior, my Lord, and my closest friend. I give You my life. Amen.

Let’s go live as people who carry the mystery—not just in theory, but in our hearts, our homes, and our mission. Amen.