Christ Our Power

As we begin a new series in Colossians, we’re first pausing to reflect on a passage from 1 Thessalonians that reveals the heart of the Apostle Paul as a pastor and servant of Christ. Paul traveled across the Mediterranean, preaching a gospel that offended both Jews and Gentiles, yet in Thessalonica, many believed. Their faith echoed throughout the region, even as persecution forced Paul to flee. Still, lives were changed. How? What did Paul have that we often lack? Three things: he had love, he had poise, and he had power.

Love

In verse 17, Paul uses deeply personal language: “We were torn away from you.” The Greek implies a violent separation, like being orphaned or bereaved. He longed intensely to see the Thessalonian church, “[making] every effort” to be with them. The word he uses for “longing,” epithymia, is typically negative in Paul’s letters, often associated with lust or idolatry. But here, it reflects a holy affection. His well-being is bound up in theirs. In verses 19-20, he writes, “For what is our hope, our joy, or the crown in which we will glory in the presence of our Lord Jesus when he comes? Is it not you? Indeed, you are our glory and joy.” Paul’s life is so poured into theirs that their joy is his joy. Their hope is his hope. When they suffer, he can’t remain unaffected. This is gospel-shaped, pastoral love. Most of us don’t love like that. We might be involved in people’s lives, but their pain doesn’t always touch us. Why? Because our joy isn’t fully tied to theirs. We haven’t fully invested ourselves.

Some of us are incredibly accomplished: graduates of top-tier universities, enrolled in elite graduate programs, or already advancing into significant leadership roles in our careers. But if you’re trying to change people through brilliance or insight alone, you’re still relying on the same tools the world uses: willpower, argument, credentials, charisma. As an old Baptist pastor once said, “People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.” How did Paul do it? How did he bring a gospel that was scandalous to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles into towns where he had no influence—and still oversee complete spiritual transformation? First, his message was true. Jesus rose from the dead, which brought credibility. Second, Paul poured himself out for people. They knew he loved them. Some of us think: I’m not gifted. I don’t have the right words. But it’s never been about gifts or words—it’s about a big gospel and a big Savior who speaks into a culture that says, Stay out of my finances, my family, my sexuality, my parenting. But Paul didn’t let culture define his love. He didn’t reduce Christian fellowship to casual hangouts. For him, love meant presence, instruction, and challenge. That’s why being torn away from the Thessalonians felt so devastating—he had intended to remain and shepherd them to maturity.

In verse 1 of chapter 3, Paul is so concerned about how the Thessalonians are enduring persecution and temptation that he sends Timothy, even though it meant being left alone—their spiritual well-being mattered more than his own comfort. It wasn’t a safe decision. Timothy was walking into hostile territory, but Paul sends him anyway to strengthen their faith. And when Timothy returns in verse 6 with news that they’re standing firm and longing to see Paul, his response is striking: “Now we really live.” In other words, I was dying inside, but now I live because I know you’re standing firm in the Lord. That kind of love is risky. Most of us avoid it. We’re afraid of offending or being misunderstood, so we keep our relationships at arm’s length. But no one opens up their heart until they know you’ve opened yours. That’s love. And that’s how Paul brought the gospel with power.

Poise

We don’t live in a world harsher than Paul’s—his was more pluralistic and more hostile to the gospel. Yet we often use “grace” as a reason to avoid truth, afraid of being labeled as judgmental. Ironically, in doing so, we sit in judgment over God’s Word, deciding which parts are too sharp, offensive, or uncomfortable. That’s not humility—it’s arrogance. We might say, I love this person, so I don’t want to hurt them. But we often confuse grace with permissiveness, hollowing out love. Jesus calls us to make right judgments, and Scripture commands us to speak into one another’s lives. Silence, when love demands truth, can be just as harmful as speaking wrongly. Real grace is truth spoken with humility and tears. Some of us would rather see those we love in spiritual slavery as long as we're on good terms, but Paul loved the Thessalonians enough to risk their approval. He could bear their anger, but not their misery without Christ.

Paul was deeply invested in those around him, but he wasn’t emotionally dependent on their approval. That’s poise. If you have poise without relational investment, you stay detached, never risking your heart. But if you’re overly invested without poise, you end up in codependent, even idolatrous relationships. In both cases, no one changes. In contrast, Paul writes in 1 Thessalonians 3:10, “Night and day we pray most earnestly that we may see you again and supply what is lacking in your faith.” He longs to see them (deep affection) but also wants to correct them (deep courage). In essence, he’s saying, I can’t wait to see you, so I can tell you what’s wrong with you. That’s a hard word. But they could receive it because they knew Paul’s love was real. Timothy’s report confirmed it: they still longed to see Paul too. Their affection was mutual, built on a trust that empowered Paul to speak boldly. At the end of 1 Thessalonians, he exhorts the church to honor leaders, work diligently, forgive, rejoice in suffering, and avoid retaliation. In 2 Thessalonians, he goes even further: Settle down. Earn the bread you eat. Warn the idle. Avoid the unruly. And then: “If anyone does not obey our instruction… do not associate with him, in order that he may feel ashamed.” That sounds harsh to modern ears, but Paul’s boldness was grounded in love. He spoke truth without superiority and corrected without contempt. That’s poise: a heart that loves enough to say what needs to be said.

In areas like fitness, finances, or career, we’re willing to pay for professional critique. But when it comes to our faith and character, we often resist input from others. We say we want community, but our egos become easily bruised when people speak into our lives. It’s striking, isn’t it? If we truly believed holiness mattered more than comfort, we’d welcome the people God has placed near us—those who love us enough to tell the truth. Not all hurt is harm; sometimes, pain is mercy. So Paul pushes us to examine ourselves: Do I care more about someone’s holiness, or their approval? When I offer critique, do I carry an air of superiority? Can I receive correction without collapsing or retaliating? These are gospel questions. If you love someone’s holiness more than their affirmation, you’ll risk being misunderstood. When people see you pouring out your heart for them, they’ll know that your correction came from love. That’s gospel poise. That’s what Paul modeled.

Question 1:
What stood out to you most in these two sections? Why?

Question 2:
How do these sections challenge your current understanding of love and poise?

Power

How did Paul love with such endurance, confront with such poise, and pour himself out with such joy? He tells us in verse 19: “For what is our hope, our joy, or the crown in which we will glory in the presence of our Lord Jesus when he comes? Is it not you?” That may sound unsettling. Shouldn’t Christ alone be our crown and glory? Of course. But Paul isn’t replacing Christ with people; he’s showing how the fruit of the gospel in others magnifies Christ’s glory. In most modern relationships, we pour into others hoping for affirmation. When that doesn’t come, we either become discouraged or detached. Paul had a different goal: their maturity in Christ. The Greek word for “glory” here, doxa, can mean reputation or record. Paul is saying, Your faithfulness validates the gospel I preached. If you stand firm, my work wasn’t in vain. In verse 8 of chapter 3, he writes, “Now we really live, since you are standing firm in the Lord.” His emotional vitality was tied to their spiritual health. He was looking ahead to the parousia, the return of Christ. On that day, what would he present with joy? Not a resume or list of achievements, but the people he loved. Their holiness would be his joy and crown. Paul could love like this because he had experienced the patient, personal, and persistent love of Christ. Jesus had strengthened him through years of resistance and sin. And that gave Paul the patience to love others into maturity, not just confront them with truth.

Rather than giving salvation as a set of teachings or a checklist of rules, Jesus gave himself. He took our place and bore our misery. Isaiah 53 says, “He will see the results of his suffering and be satisfied.” Hebrews 12:2 adds, “For the joy set before him, he endured the cross.” That joy was us. As Jesus hung on the cross—beaten, abandoned, suffocating—he was sustained by the vision of his people standing holy and blameless before the Father. That’s why he came in poverty: you are his wealth. Why he wore no earthly crown: you are his royal crown. Why he bore the cross: to make you his joy forever. In the Old Testament, the high priest wore twelve jewels on his breastplate, one for each tribe of Israel, symbolizing how we’re always near to God’s heart. Jesus, our Great High Priest, poured out his blood, his body, his reputation, his very self. Forsaken and alone, he bore the “cup of wrath” referenced in Psalm 75, drinking every last drop so there would be none left for you. All that remains now is the cup of joy and peace. Just as Paul sent Timothy to check on the Thessalonians, the Father sent his Son to rescue us. When Timothy returned with good news, Paul said, “Now we really live.” On the cross, Jesus reversed that—now I really die—so that we might live.

When you see Jesus binding his joy to yours, taking on your misery so that his joy could become your joy, it changes how you love. Their holiness becomes your goal. Their joy becomes your crown. Their rejection no longer defines you, because Christ’s love already does. So love one another. Open your hearts to one another. Pray like crazy for one another. Speak into each other’s lives. Encourage one another toward holiness and joy in Christ. Because this is how lives change. This is the power of Christ—the power of the gospel. That was Paul’s prayer. Let it be ours too.

Question 3:
How does knowing you are Jesus’ joy and crown shape your love for others?