Philippians 3:1–11 | Trash for Treasure

There is a song out right now by Forrest Frank that kids love: "Life gave me some lemons, but my Jesus he be making lemonade!" It’s catchy, it's fun, and it’s a wonderful thought—God taking the sour things in our lives and making them sweet. Lemons into lemonade!

But if we’re honest, the process of getting squeezed hurts. When life gets incredibly sour—when the doctor calls with the test results, when you fail, when you get passed over; or kids, when the whole class loses recess because of one person—we don’t feel like singing do we!

You see, we assume joy is a luxury reserved only for when life is easy or when we have been perfectly good people.

But what if joy isn't dependent on a sunny day or a flawless record? What if true joy is actually defiant?

Today, the Apostle Paul is going to shatter our assumptions. We are going to read a verse written by a man sitting chained under Roman house arrest. Facing execution! His life is as sour as it gets. And from that cell, he is going to issue a command that sounds borderline crazy for him to say, and feels absolutely impossible for us to live out.

But Paul isn't just preaching it; he is actively practicing it right there in the dark.

When we read it, we’ll be left wondering—how? How do we do what He commands? And we’ll see it’s because Paul’s joy is not tied to the prison he is in; his joy is anchored to the Savior he belongs to.

If you have your Bibles, open them to Philippians chapter 3. We are in week seven of our series. Look closely at the very first verse. Philippians 3:1

Philippians 3:1 NLT

1 Whatever happens, my dear brothers and sisters, rejoice in the Lord. I never get tired of telling you these things, and I do it to safeguard your faith.

Did you see what he did there? "Whatever happens... rejoice." He is in the middle of a Category 5 hurricane of sour circumstances. Yet, notice he doesn’t say, "Rejoice in your circumstances." He doesn't ask you to slap a fake, plastic Mr. Potato Head smile on your face and pretend the cancer isn't scary or the divorce didn't break your heart. He says, "Rejoice in the Lord."

I hope what you’re seeing in this series is that defiant joy is not about learning to ignoring the storm or pretend like life is always awesome. No, defiant joy is learning to plant your feet on the solid rock of who God is, regardless of how life feels.

Gratitude in the middle of a storm is not escapism. It’s not burying our heads in the sand! It is spiritual warfare.

You see Church, Joy is something we have to fight for! We have to fight for it, because we live in a love story set in a world at war!

We have a real enemy, and if he can't steal your salvation, his main aim is to steal your joy. Now, he often uses suffering to try and do this. But not always. If we are in a war, that means the enemy is actively trying to disarm us with whatever works, and he has another, much sneakier tactic. Sometimes, he uses bad religion.

Watch how abruptly Paul pivots right here in our text to expose this exact sneak attack.

Look at verse 2:

Philippians 3:2 NLT

2 Watch out for those dogs, those people who do evil, those mutilators who say you must be circumcised to be saved.

Paul goes straight for the throat. He calls out a group of false teachers known as the Judaizers. (Everybody say BOOOOOOOOO!)

These were religious leaders telling new believers, "It’s great that you trust Jesus. But if you want God to really love you, you need to obey the dietary laws. You need to be circumcised. You need Jesus plus your own performance."

And just like Leo the Lion, they were handing out tissue paper, tape, and gold stars, telling people to build a raincoat of their own goodness. They were introducing the tyranny of the "shoulds"—and friends, there is no faster way to lose your joy than trying to survive the storms of life in a paper raincoat built of "shoulds."

Now, we can boo at those Judaizers for heaping up "shoulds" on people (Everybody say BOOOOO!)... but Church, this is a temptation for all of us today, isn’t it? In fact, the truth is, most of the adults in this room walked in here this morning wearing a paper raincoat.

Now Kids, I know what you’re thinking. You’re looking at the adults next to you and thinking, “They don’t walk around with tissue paper and gold stars taped to their shirts.” And you're exactly right. You can't see them, because adults are a little more sophisticated than Leo the Lion. We don't usually roar at the playground, “Look at my coat! I am number one!”

But we do build them. We are just more subtle. We tape invisible stars to our chests using the classic "humble brag." It sounds like a complaint, but it’s really a flex. "Ugh, I am just so exhausted from managing my three highly successful businesses while waking up at 4 AM to train for my Ironman... please pray for my schedule, guys, I’m just so tired!" (Yeah, I’m not praying for that! I might punch you in the face, but I ain’t praying for that!)

We laugh, but the temptation is very real. The world constantly yells, “Prove you are a good person! Show the world your stars!” And so, we spend our lives frantically taping together an invisible raincoat or resume to prove that we have worth.

Some of you tape on professional stars—a promotion or the right degree. Some tape on family stars—perfect organic parenting or a carefully curated Instagram. And many of us in the church tape on moral stars—a strict Bible reading plan, theological exactness, or the right political affiliations.

We are trying to build a life out of "shoulds." I should be a better provider. I should have perfect kids. I should have a spotless moral record. I should do this. I should do that to prove I’m good! To prove my worth, to the world, to my self and my family, to God!

And I’ll admit it—that invisible paper vest feels really good in the sunshine. When life is easy, when people are praising you, and the economy is booming, you can strut around puffing your chest out.

But deep down, in the quiet of the night, we are all terrified of the rain.

Because we know, instinctively, that a paper identity of "shoulds" is incredibly fragile. If your identity is built on your career, an economic downturn melts you. If your identity is built on your parenting, a rebellious teenager destroys you. If your identity is built on your moral superiority, a harsh critique tears your paper to shreds.

And here is the darkest part: Living a life built on a paper raincoat of "shoulds" doesn't just make you exhausted and fragile. It actually makes you cruel.

Remember what happened to Leo the Lion? Once he got his paper coat perfectly taped together, he became mean. He looked at the messy cubs and pointed his finger: "You're doing it wrong! Don't get near me!"

You see, when your core identity is built on your own performance, you will inevitably become a Pharisee. You will become a tyrant in your own home. A mean and bossy bully! You will look at your spouse, or your kids, or your coworkers or classmates, and instead of loving them, you will use them as props to build up yourself. And when they mess up your "shoulds," you will treat them like trash. Think back with me about Paul’s story. He knows this intimately.

You see, before he met Jesus, he had the greatest paper raincoat or resume in history. And he anticipates the skeptic in the back of the room thinking, "Well, Paul, it’s easy for you to say 'don't trust your resume' because you probably didn’t have a very good one."

Paul says, Oh, really? You want to play the resume game? You want to compare gold stars? You want to compare who has more Cat Cash!? Well, let’s go. Listen to Paul lay out his paper raincoat.

Look at verse 4-6:

Philippians 3:4–6 NLT

4 though I could have confidence in my own effort if anyone could. Indeed, if others have reason for confidence in their own efforts, I have even more! 5 I was circumcised when I was eight days old. I am a pure-blooded citizen of Israel and a member of the tribe of Benjamin—a real Hebrew if there ever was one! I was a member of the Pharisees, who demand the strictest obedience to the Jewish law. 6 I was so zealous that I harshly persecuted the church. And as for righteousness, I obeyed the law without fault.

Paul pulls out his paper coat, and it is blinding.

He says, "Heritage? I was born into the elite royal tribe of Benjamin—the Rockefellers of the Bible world, He had the family name.

Religious devotion? Paul says, I was a Pharisee, educated at Harvard Divinity! Right he had the Harvard Sweatshirt not because he bought it on Amazon, but because He actually graduated from there!

Morality? Paul says, by every measurable metric, I was flawless. They don’t come better than me. I was squeakly clean good! The teachers pet. The apple of my parent’s eye! I was G-Double O- D GOOD!

If anyone could survive the storms of life in a paper raincoat, it was Saul of Tarsus. But did you catch the dark side of that resume in verse 6?

"I was so zealous that I harshly persecuted the church."

Paul was so obsessed with proving he was the ultimate "good guy," that he hunted down Christians and killed them! He murdered people!

You see, when you live under the pressure of having to prove your own righteousness, you will crush anyone who threatens your resume.

But then Paul met the resurrected Jesus on the road to Damascus. The storm of God's holy presence hit him, and he realized his paper coat was absolutely worthless. He stopped building his resume, and he just started following Jesus. Watch what he then does next in our text. This is the most radical, violent, and glorious accounting shift in the history of the world. Paul says I used to count my worth based on how good my gold stars were, but now now… well let’s read it:

Look at verses 7 and 8:

Philippians 3:7–8 NLT

7 I once thought these things were valuable, but now I consider them worthless because of what Christ has done. 8 Yes, everything else is worthless when compared with the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have discarded everything else, counting it all as garbage...

This is the language of a ledger. Paul says, "I used to put my gold stars in the 'Profit' column and my failures in the 'Loss' column, frantically trying to keep the profits higher."

Isn’t that how we live? We meticulously track our gains—the promotions, our kids' achievements, the days we haven't lost our temper. We build an identity on the math of our performance.

But when Paul met Jesus, he didn’t just adjust the math. He tore up the ledger. He realized that the most dangerous place to be in the world is not a wretched sinner who knows they are drowning; it's a highly moral, self-justified Pharisee convinced their paper boat will survive the ocean.

So look at what he calls his flawless resume, his paper raincoat: 'Garbage.' In the original Greek, the word is skubalon. Say it with me: Skubalon. It’s a fun word, but I have to warn you, it ain’t polite! You all just swore in church! (Not really... but the word literally means dung, toxic waste. The closest English equivalent we have is the word 'crap'.)

Kids, I know we usually tell you that’s not a very nice word to say, but Paul is using it on purpose! He is saying, 'All my good deeds, all my shiny gold stars... compared to knowing Jesus, it’s all crap!'

Paul looks at his Bible memorization, his flawless moral record, his discipline—the absolute best things about him—and he calls them skubalon. He drops all his 'shoulds' right into the dirt.

Now, I’m not sure how you feel reading that, but for me, it makes me want to say… 'Well, oh crap!'

Because I try to be a good guy, but let's be honest, I ain’t the Apostle Paul. And if Paul’s absolute best is trash... where does that leave you and me? If his incredible paper raincoat is garbage, and the storm of God's holy justice is rolling in, we are completely exposed.

Just as little Leo learned, you cannot bring a tissue-paper raincoat into a Category 5 hurricane.

We are utterly, hopelessly bankrupt. This text strips us of our paper coats and leaves us shivering in the rain. But it leaves us there for a reason: it is preparing us for the only rescue mission that actually works.

Paul has just thrown his entire life’s work into the mud. He is bankrupt in the storm. Why? Because he is preparing for the Great Exchange. He is trading his paper coat for something indestructible."

Look with me at the second half of verse 8 into verse 9.

Phil. 3:8-9 He considers it all garbage...

Philippians 3:8–9 NLT

8 Yes, everything else is worthless when compared with the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have discarded everything else, counting it all as garbage, so that I could gain Christ 9 and become one with him. I no longer count on my own righteousness through obeying the law; rather, I become righteous through faith in Christ. For God’s way of making us right with himself depends on faith.

Paul says, "I don't want a righteousness of my own." Why? Because a righteousness of your own is a paper raincoat. It exhausts you in busy bullying, and it dissolves in the rain of suffering and divine justice. Instead, Paul wants a righteousness that is entirely gifted to him. He wants the heavy, storm-proof, indestructible yellow raincoat of the perfect righteousness of Jesus Christ.

Church, this is what happened on the cross. Jesus Christ, the true and better King, walked directly into the Category 5 hurricane of God's holy justice. He lived the flawless life we failed to live. And then, He took your soggy, ruined, tissue-paper raincoat—your pride, your anger, your self-righteousness, your cruel bossiness over others—and He put it on Himself. He let the storm crush Him so it wouldn't crush you. In exchange, He wrapped you in the heavy, impenetrable robe of His perfect righteousness.

Church, that is the end of your resume. That is the end of your exhausting list of 'shoulds.' But if you're sitting here today thinking, I want that coat, but I don't know how to put it on, look at what Paul says next. How do we get this coat of Christ’s righteousness? Paul says it 'depends on faith.' He calls this the surpassing worth of knowing Christ.

Kids in the room, listen to me right now: Sometimes "faith" is a really big, confusing word. But do you know what faith looks like in real life? It looks like following. When Leo’s Papa wrapped him in that coat, Leo didn't have to earn it. He just had to stay close to Papa. You don't have to earn gold stars! Jesus paid for your goodness, and you get it by following Him!

And adults, the exact same thing is true for you. You don't follow Jesus to earn the coat. You follow Jesus because He already gave you the coat!

When you truly experience that grace, it changes everything.

To the men and women grinding 60 hours a week to secure a promotion: You are living under the exhausting "should" of proving you are a success. Step off the treadmill. You don't have to market yourself anymore. Trade your exhaustion for Christ’s rest.

To the single parents carrying double the weight: You feel the constant pressure to be everything for everybody perfectly. You don't have to carry the weight of proving your worth. Rest in Christ’s covering. Limits are a blessing from Jesus, embrace them in Him!

To the moms and dads: If your identity is built on having the 'perfect family,' you will inevitably turn into a tyrant at home. You start using your spouse and kids to prove your worth, and your 'shoulds' become heavy demands you crush them with. You can drop those demands today. You don't need your family's performance to validate you. Because Jesus gave you His perfect record, you can stop using your family to build your resume, and actually start enjoying them

I could keep making applications, but instead I want to leave you with one question. It’s a question I heard in a podcast recently. The story goes like this, a guy was working in a family business and the owner died. He wasn’t family but he had been at this business a long time and everyone thought he would be the one to step up and take the thing over. He felt pressure to do so! But in his quiet time as he prayed about it, he heard Jesus whisper to his heart, "Would you do this if you didn't have to prove you were a good guy?"

His answer was a resounding "No."

Church, There are so many good things in this world and God has some of those good things for us to do with Him because He enjoys sharing his rule and reign with us! We are called to partnership with God! But not every good thing is a God thing!

Would you be living the way you are living if you didn't feel the desperate need to prove you are a good person?

This is the invitation of Philippians 3. God is inviting you to stop "should-ing" all over yourself. The greatest treasure in life is learning the only "should" of life is follow Jesus!

If you are suffering today... if life has handed you incredibly sour lemons... the false gospel of moralism will tell you, "You must have messed up your resume." That is a lie from hell. The Good King has walked into the downpour with you. The circumstances may be violent, but the coat holds. You can have defiant joy in a hospital room, not because you are happy about the pain, but because your soul is eternally, unshakably secure in Him.

Joy is not found in building a better resume. Joy is found in the absolute freedom of self-forgetfulness—fixing your eyes entirely on the surpassing worth of knowing Jesus and following Him where He leads you!

The storm is real. The world is broken. But you do not have to face it in a paper suit.

Drop the glue. Drop the tape. Throw away the trash. Look to Jesus. Zip up the coat, step out into the rain, and let the world watch you splash in the puddles with the defiant, indestructible joy of someone who knows they are perfectly, eternally safe in the love of the Father.

Let's pray.