Citizens of Heaven

Colossians 3:1–4 (LSB)

“Therefore, if you have been raised up with Christ, keep seeking the things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your mind on the things above, not on the things that are on earth. For you have died and your life has been hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is our life, is manifested, then you also will be manifested with Him in glory.”

You are not of this world. You are citizens of heaven—pilgrims passing through, ambassadors of another kingdom. The world says “look around,” but heaven says “look up.” The world says “build here,” but Christ says “your treasure is there. We come today to set our minds where Christ is—to lift our eyes from the noise of earth to the throne of glory. We are gathered not to be entertained, but to be transformed. Not to blend in, but to stand firm. Not to chase comfort, but to pursue Christ. So come—lay down the weight of the week, the noise of the world, the sins that so easily entangle. Fix your gaze on the risen King. Lift your voice to the Savior who rules and reigns.

For we belong to another Kingdom. We live by another law. We wait for another King.

All glory to the Lord Jesus Christ—our life, our hope, our home.

Introduction — Citizens of Heaven (Philippians 3:17–4:1, LSB)

Paul has just told the Philippians to press on toward the goal—to run the race with eyes fixed on Christ, to forget what lies behind and strain forward to what lies ahead. But now, as he turns the corner, Paul shifts from the personal to the pastoral. He lifts his eyes from his own race and looks at the church he loves. And what he says here is not just a command—it’s a call to identity.

He says in verse 17, “Brothers, join in following my example, and observe those who walk according to the pattern you have in us.” In other words, this isn’t a solo race. The Christian life is not a one-man marathon—it’s a community run. God didn’t save you to sprint alone; He saved you to run in step with His people.

That’s where Paul is going. He’s about to show us two ways to live: as enemies of the cross or as citizens of heaven. There are only two paths, only two destinies. The question is not whether you’re running—but where your race is taking you. One ends in destruction. The other ends in glory.

Paul’s tone here is tender but urgent. He isn’t writing as a cold theologian or a distant apostle—he’s writing as a shepherd with tears in his eyes. Verse 18 says, “Many walk as enemies of the cross of Christ, of whom I have often told you, and now tell you even weeping.” Paul knows the danger. He knows the heartbreak of watching people who once professed Christ drift away into worldliness and destruction.

And so this passage becomes both a warning and an anchor. A warning against false confidence and worldly living—and an anchor reminding us who we truly are in Christ. Paul will say, “Our citizenship is in heaven.” That’s the heartbeat of this text. You don’t belong to this world anymore. Your home, your hope, your identity, your King—are all in heaven.

So today we’re going to see what it means to live like that—to walk as citizens of heaven while still standing on earth. To imitate the faithful, to resist the false, and to stand firm until the King comes for us.

Philippians 3:17–4:1 ESV

17 Brothers, join in imitating me, and keep your eyes on those who walk according to the example you have in us. 18 For many, of whom I have often told you and now tell you even with tears, walk as enemies of the cross of Christ. 19 Their end is destruction, their god is their belly, and they glory in their shame, with minds set on earthly things. 20 But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, 21 who will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by the power that enables him even to subject all things to himself. 1 Therefore, my brothers, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm thus in the Lord, my beloved.

Imitate the Faithful (Philippians 3:17, LSB)

Philippians 3:17 ESV

17 Brothers, join in imitating me, and keep your eyes on those who walk according to the example you have in us.

Paul begins with an appeal to imitation. He’s not saying, “Look at me because I’m perfect.” He’s saying, “Look at me because I’m pursuing Christ.” The word example here doesn’t mean idol—it means pattern. Paul’s life, though imperfect, is patterned after the gospel. His aim is that the church would look to him, and to others like him, as living demonstrations of what it means to follow Jesus.

That’s the beauty of discipleship. Christianity is not only taught—it’s caught. Doctrine forms the mind, but example shapes the heart. We need models. We need living, breathing examples of what mature faith looks like under pressure. That’s why Paul doesn’t say, “Just read my letters.” He says, “Watch my walk.”

And notice his tone: “Brothers.” This is family talk. This isn’t a lecture—it’s an invitation. Paul isn’t positioning himself above them; he’s walking beside them, saying, “Come run this race with me.” He’s not the finish line; he’s a fellow runner pointing to Christ.

This is vital in an age obsessed with individuality. The world tells you to blaze your own trail, follow your heart, and be your own example. But the Christian life doesn’t work that way. God has always discipled His people through faithful examples—through parents, pastors, elders, and ordinary saints who live out what they believe. Hebrews 13:7 says, “Remember those who led you, who spoke the word of God to you; and considering the result of their conduct, imitate their faith.”

Reformed Clarity: This is the ordinary means of perseverance. God preserves His people not through isolation, but imitation. The Spirit uses faithful believers to shape other believers. This is covenant community at work—the body building itself up in love (Eph. 4:16).

Application: Who are you following? Whose pattern is forming your walk? You are being shaped by someone—some voice, some example. It’s not a question of if you’re following; it’s a question of who. Paul says, follow those who follow Christ. Look for the people who love truth, who endure hardship, who walk humbly, who hold the line when the world bends. These are your examples.

And the flip side is this: be the kind of example others can imitate. Someone is watching you. Your kids are watching. Younger believers are watching. The world is watching. Let them see a life that says, “Christ is worth it.” Because when a church is full of saints who imitate the faithful, the gospel becomes visible in every pew.

Beware the Enemies of the Cross (Philippians 3:18–19, LSB)

Philippians 3:18–19 ESV

18 For many, of whom I have often told you and now tell you even with tears, walk as enemies of the cross of Christ. 19 Their end is destruction, their god is their belly, and they glory in their shame, with minds set on earthly things.

Paul doesn’t whisper this—he weeps it. He’s not a sensationalist preacher trying to stir emotion; he’s a shepherd with tears in his eyes. He says there are many who walk as enemies of the cross, and he says it weeping. That combination matters. Bold warning. Broken heart. That’s the posture of a faithful pastor.

When Paul says “enemies of the cross,” he’s not talking about pagans outside the church gates. He’s talking about pretenders inside the church walls—crossless Christians. People who love to talk about Jesus but hate His terms. They want a crown without a cross, a Savior without a Lord, forgiveness without repentance, heaven without holiness. Paul already dealt with the Judaizers earlier in this chapter, but here his net is wider. He’s describing anyone who empties the cross of its meaning, anyone who wants Christianity without crucifixion.

He then exposes what these enemies look like. He says, “Their end is destruction.” In other words, don’t be fooled by charisma or success. You can build a massive ministry on sand. Jesus already told us: the wide gate and the broad road lead to destruction. The person who minimizes sin and magnifies self is walking toward ruin.

Next, Paul says, “Their god is their stomach.” That means appetite-driven religion. These people worship comfort, approval, pleasure, and prosperity. Their ministry isn’t about the glory of God—it’s about feeding their own cravings. Like Esau selling his birthright for a single meal, they trade eternal truth for temporary satisfaction. And if a man won’t crucify his appetites, his appetites will crucify the truth.

Then he says, “Their glory is in their shame.” They boast about what they should repent of. They call compromise compassion. They call rebellion authenticity. They parade what should bring humility as if it were honor. The prophet Jeremiah said of Israel, “They could not blush.” Our age is the same. We applaud what should make us weep. We redefine sin and call it enlightenment. Paul says that’s glorying in shame.

Finally, he says, “They set their minds on earthly things.” That’s the root of it all. Their horizon never rises beyond this world—numbers, influence, recognition, relevance. They’re more concerned with applause than with holiness. Their gospel is small because their god is small. But the true believer, Paul says, sets their mind on things above. A mind fixed on eternity produces a life that reflects heaven. A mind fixed on earth produces a church that looks just like the world.

This is why Paul calls them enemies—because the cross defines Christianity. The cross is where holiness and love meet. It is where wrath and mercy embrace. It is substitution, propitiation, reconciliation. Any message that sidelines the cross, softens sin, or replaces repentance with self-esteem is not Christianity. It is rebellion dressed in religion.

So, church, beware. Don’t platform teachers who refuse to preach the cross. Don’t tolerate messages that make you feel safe in your sin. Don’t normalize what Christ died to kill. If a message can’t survive the light of Golgotha, if it doesn’t require a bleeding Substitute and a risen Lord, it’s an enemy message. Reject it. Guard the flock. Protect your soul. As Paul told the elders in Acts 20, “Be on guard for yourselves and for all the flock.”

But don’t miss Paul’s tears. We don’t warn with arrogance. We warn with love. We expose wolves not because we enjoy the hunt, but because we love the sheep. Boldness without brokenness becomes brutality; brokenness without boldness becomes betrayal. The cross gives us both. Paul wept as he warned, and so should we.

And now Paul is about to lift our eyes higher—to show us what it means to be citizens of heaven. We’ve seen the counterfeit: appetite-driven, earth-bound religion. Now we’ll see the real thing—people whose hope, identity, and loyalty belong to another kingdom.

Citizens of Heaven (Philippians 3:20–21, LSB)

Philippians 3:20–21 ESV

20 But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, 21 who will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by the power that enables him even to subject all things to himself.

Now Paul lifts our eyes from the false to the true, from the earthly to the eternal. He’s shown us the tragedy of those who live for this world, and now he shows us the triumph of those who belong to another. “Our citizenship is in heaven.” That’s identity language. That’s not wishful thinking—that’s a present reality. If you’re in Christ, your passport has already been stamped with a heavenly seal. You might live here temporarily, but you belong somewhere else permanently.

That would have hit the Philippians right in the chest. They were proud Roman citizens. Philippi was a colony of Rome—Roman laws, Roman customs, Roman pride. Yet Paul says, “Your true homeland isn’t Rome. It’s heaven.” He’s saying: live like where you’re from. Live like you belong to the King of kings, not the rulers of this passing age.

And look at how he describes our posture: “We eagerly wait for a Savior.” That’s not passive waiting. That’s active anticipation. We’re not sitting around holding our breath; we’re living with our eyes fixed on the horizon. Our Savior is coming. He’s not a political reformer, not a cultural icon—He’s the risen, reigning Lord Jesus Christ. The same One who conquered sin and death will return in glory.

Paul says He will “transform our lowly body to be like His glorious body.” That’s glorification. The process that began with justification and continues in sanctification will end here—with resurrection. These frail, broken, sin-marked bodies will be remade to match the glory of Christ’s own. The curse undone. The decay reversed. The image of God restored in full.

And how will He do it? Paul tells us: “by the power that enables Him even to subject all things to Himself.” The same divine authority that rules the universe is the power that will one day raise and renew you. The same hands that flung galaxies into space will reshape every cell of your being into perfection. This isn’t metaphor—it’s promise.

This is the climax of Christian hope. We are not waiting for escape from earth; we’re waiting for renewal. The King who reigns in heaven is coming to reign on earth. The Garden we lost in Adam will be restored in Christ. The story that began in Genesis ends in Revelation—with God dwelling among His people, wiping away every tear, death and sorrow gone forever.

So let me ask you: what are you waiting for? What are you longing for? Because whatever captures your anticipation controls your affection. The enemies of the cross long for comfort and applause; the citizens of heaven long for Christ. Our eyes aren’t on the news cycle or the stock market—they’re on the clouds. Because one day, those clouds will part, and the Savior we’ve been waiting for will step through them.

Until that day, live as citizens of heaven. Let your speech sound like the kingdom you belong to. Let your priorities reflect your true homeland. Let your hope be unshakable because your King is unstoppable. The One who began this good work will finish it. And when He does, every knee will bow, every tongue will confess, and His people will stand radiant—perfect, glorified, home.

Stand Firm in the Lord (Philippians 4:1, LSB)

Philippians 4:1 ESV

1 Therefore, my brothers, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm thus in the Lord, my beloved.

Paul ends this section like a father gripping his children by the shoulders, looking them square in the eyes, and saying, “Don’t move.” After everything he’s said—the warning about the enemies of the cross, the reminder that our citizenship is in heaven, the promise of transformation—he drives it home with one command: stand firm in the Lord.

This is not a call to stubbornness or arrogance; it’s a call to stability. To be anchored in truth when everything else shakes. To hold the line when compromise feels easier. To keep pressing when the world mocks and the flesh protests.

And notice his affection. Twice in this one verse he calls them beloved. These aren’t abstract believers to him—they’re his joy and crown. His words are weighty, but his heart is warm. He’s not scolding them; he’s strengthening them. True pastoral conviction never comes detached from love. Paul wants these believers to endure—not by gritting their teeth, but by grounding their hope in Christ.

So what does it mean to stand firm? It means to plant your feet in the gospel. To refuse to be moved by false doctrine, cultural pressure, or personal comfort. It means to cling to the cross when the world calls it foolish. It means to confess Christ as Lord when everyone else bows to lesser gods. Standing firm doesn’t mean you never tremble—it means you never let go.

This is perseverance of the saints in motion. We stand firm because the Lord holds us firm. The grip that drew you out of death is the same grip that will not let you fall. As Jude 24 says, “Now to Him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to make you stand in the presence of His glory blameless with great joy…” That’s how we stand—by His keeping power.

But standing firm also requires resolve. The tide of the world will always pull against you. The gospel will always run upstream. You can’t drift into holiness; you have to fight for it. You have to guard your mind against earthly thinking, your heart against idolatry, and your soul against apathy. And yet—every bit of that endurance is fueled by grace. The power to stand comes from the same Christ who will one day make you stand glorified in His presence.

So don’t lose heart. The battle is fierce, but the victory is certain. The same King who reigns in heaven will return to rule on earth. The same Savior who began your salvation will bring it to completion. The same Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead is the One who strengthens your weary legs to stand today.

Stand firm in the Lord, beloved. Stand firm when the world tempts you to compromise. Stand firm when sin whispers that it’s easier to bow. Stand firm when you’re tired, when you’re lonely, when you’re afraid. Because the Lord you stand in is the Lord who stood for you. He bore the cross. He conquered the grave. He reigns forever. And soon, He’s coming back.

Until that day, plant your feet on truth, lift your eyes to heaven, and let your life declare to a watching world—Christ is worth it.