by Ginny Owens
Yet here was Paul, amid his own suffering, declaring to his friends in Philippi—and to me and you—that peace was not only possible but the result of deep faith. What did Paul know about trusting God that I did not? Did he possess a superhuman sense of peace that we non-apostles aren’t capable of? Or did his miraculous conversion and incessant suffering lead him to sing—and to teach us to sing—of the contentment available to all of us? My exploration of Philippians sent me on a quest to find my missing peace.
Trusting the Truth
We are first introduced to Paul in the book of Acts, where we find him persecuting Christians. He oversaw the murder of Stephen, a devout man who preached the gospel and served the poor (8:1). In Acts 9, we hear that Paul was “still breathing out murderous threats against the Lord’s disciples” (v. 1 NIV).
But on his way to Damascus to abuse more Christians, Jesus met him. A blinding light sent him to the ground, and a voice spoke: “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” (v. 4). Paul asked who this was, and he was answered: “I am Jesus, the one you are persecuting” (v. 5).
In that moment, everything changed for Paul. Not because he had a random spiritual experience, but because he had discovered that what Christians believed about Jesus was actually true. Jesus was the resurrected Son of God—the hope of those Paul had been persecuting was real after all.
From that point on, Paul preached boldly, endured suffering, risked his life, and experienced peace and contentment because he banked his life on the truth that Jesus is the Messiah and author of salvation. In fact, Jesus Himself is the ultimate truth—in John 14:6, He said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” Not the truth just for Paul, but the truth that can set everyone free.
Before Paul sang to the Philippians about rejoicing and finding peace, he sang to them a first-century hymn about who Jesus is—the humble king and Son of God, whom everyone from everywhere will bow before in worship one day. He insisted that his church friends sing this truth until it became their reality (Phil. 2:5–11).
One of the mantras of our culture is “Your deepest truth is found inside you, so you do you.” In a certain sense, that’s right. It’s true that cheese makes me ill—so I’m going to avoid eating it, while others will embrace it as their favorite food. I love singing and songwriting but not math, so I’ll go on tour instead of getting an accounting job.
But personal truth is not the type of truth Paul was talking about. Paul was talking about unchanging, universal truth—like the fact that murder is wrong or that kindness toward others is good. Paul based his life on the premise that Jesus is the unchanging truth for everyone.
Our feelings change often, so instead of living by “you do you,” I base my life on a universal truth outside myself—a truth that remains constant, even when my feelings and circumstances change. The same truth that Paul based his life on.
Paul’s Philippian friends needed to be reminded of this ultimate truth, just as we do. They were a motley crew of new believers: Lydia the fashionista, a shrewd businesswoman and devout Christian (Acts 16:14–15); the slave girl, a possessed fortune-teller who followed Paul around, shrieking that he was a man of God, until he healed her (vv. 16–18); and the prison guard who almost took his own life the night the chains fell off Paul and Silas but who changed course when he heard the truth of Christ (vv. 25–34).
With the truth of Jesus at the center, the young church was learning how to live in harmony despite their ethnic and class differences. There was no sense of “you do you”; they didn’t live by what felt right to them, regardless of who it affected. They were, however, beginning to experience persecution because of their faith. Paul based all his encouragement to sing in the darkness on the premise that the gospel of Christ was the reality on which they built their lives (Phil. 2:1–5).
If Jesus is truly the risen Son of God, it changes everything. Many consider Him to have been a devout moral teacher with exceptional character. But as C. S. Lewis said, “A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic—on a level with the man who says he is a poached egg—or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God: or else a madman or something worse.”1
If Christ is who He said He is, then He can absolutely be trusted with every worry and care we have. If the claims of Jesus are true, we are never fighting our battles alone, we aren’t facing circumstances that are beyond His control, and we are being carried by someone who has experienced suffering and will one day demolish every bit of it.
In Matthew 11:28–29, Jesus said, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls” (ESV).
Life can often feel like a grind—especially as a believer. Loving our enemies (or even our neighbors and family) takes showing up and putting in the work. It isn’t easy to be purposeful about doing what is good and right, especially when no one would notice if we made a different choice.
But Jesus as the risen Lord means we have hope! Not only is He an example to follow, but He has also given His all for our infinite joy and freedom. And He has sent the Spirit to empower us with all we need to love and live well.
Some days this truth may be all we have to hold on to, but it is truth worth basing our lives on!
Singing the Truth Together
I often get to experience seeing through the eyes of others. One of my favorite memories of this was after a show in Washington State. On a walk in the desert with my friends Kyle and Andrew, who played guitar and percussion with me, they both commented on how particularly beautiful the sky looked. Kyle explained to me that the sun was visible on one side of the sky and the moon on the other.
I tried to comprehend this but got nowhere. I’d always assumed that when the moon or sun could be seen, it filled the sky—or at least most of it. The guys were surprised at my theory and explained that, from our vantage point, the moon is never larger than their thumbnails. I was stunned. How could a thumbnail-sized object in the sky radiate enough light to be noticed by any eye?
Andrew further complicated matters in my mind’s eye by explaining that he could see craters on the moon’s surface. They looked like raised dots, he said. Fascinating! I soon discovered that stars appear as tiny dots of light in the sky. Until that moment, I’d always assumed they were the shape and size of the stars I’ve decorated my Christmas trees with. Clouds, in my mind, were thick and dark or light and wispy mounds of floating cotton balls. Now I was discovering they’re much larger—more like small houses or even bigger.
I was equal parts deflated and fascinated, and I peppered them with questions for weeks afterward. I had to figure out what else in nature I’d imagined as different from the reality. It turned out that I needed the eyes of others to help me gain true perspective on the world.
Paul knew we all need that. We can’t have a balanced viewpoint if we’re listening only to ourselves. But he also knew it wouldn’t be easy to trust one another and get along. He called the Philippians to “stand firm in the Lord” (4:1), knowing that Jesus will return and that the best is yet to come (3:20–21).
In chapter 4, he called two women leaders who were in disagreement to “agree in the Lord” (v. 2) and called for their fellow believers to help them do it (v. 3).2 Paul wasn’t saying, “Get along because God wants you to.” He was saying, “Be humble and loving toward each other, even when you have differences, because that’s what Christ would have done.” As my friend Dr. Paul Jeon said, when we have the mind-set of Christ, “we can disagree without becoming disagreeable.”3
Paul was also challenging the Philippians (and us) to spend ourselves in one another’s lives as Jesus has invested in us. Because our names are written in the Book of Life, we know that there will come a day when our disagreements are dissolved for good.4 Paul went on to call the
church to “rejoice in the Lord always” and to be reasonable and gracious, because the Lord is near (vv. 4–5).
This is why the song of the church is set apart from that of all other faiths. But these are unbelievably challenging ideals for our very individualistic world. With political tensions and theological differences so intense, we will find peace only as we learn to do life together, even with our differences, and joyfully trust that God’s Spirit is working in all of us. We cannot truly see God without each other’s help, and we will not see and know how true and near He is until we invest in one another’s lives.
One of the reasons my anxiety grew to a fever pitch was my lack of church community. My full travel schedule found me surrounded by people—but not people I was spiritually connected to. Friendships were often superficial or had a short shelf life, because companions would move or go out on different tours and we’d never connect again.
I told myself that even though this wasn’t ideal, it was just a season. I was reading books about the spiritual life and listening to my fair share of sermons and podcasts, after all. Besides, I was with different church communities every day.
But not doing life day in and day out with the same folks meant I couldn’t see God clearly. I wasn’t being changed by the truth of the gospel. I didn’t have anyone to call me out on unhealthy and unwise decisions. Because I had no deep church commitment and connection, I wasn’t doing much rejoicing or learning to be gentle in a community. And as a result, I wasn’t seeing the light of truth that could break through the dark of my anxiety and restlessness.
To make matters worse, when I was home, subtle lies about church began to creep in. When you sing sacred music and you happen to be blind, walking into church can be a bit of a harrowing experience. Either people know your music and awkwardly accost you to talk about it, or they don’t know, and they awkwardly avoid you because you’re blind. This became my banner excuse for getting to church just in time for the service and leaving right when it was over.
But Paul called us to get over ourselves and stop making excuses by showing us his own need for other people. He called the Philippians his “joy and crown,” those he “loved and longed for” (4:1).
Even though Paul had personally met Jesus, was made an official apostle, and had a full schedule planting and growing churches, his Christian friendships brought him joy and encouragement he couldn’t live without. He needed their love, their care, and their prayers.
I have come to see that my singing, writing, and thinking are all off when I don’t have community. But when I do, things are different. Listening and being listened to, seeking and offering wisdom, asking for prayer, worshipping, and just doing life with believers I’m connected to—all these practices lead me to see tangible evidence of God’s love and to sing more confidently of what is true.
Talking to God on our own is a key part of learning to sing in every situation, of course. But we all know that many negative things happen in our minds when we’re alone with our fears and our phones. We get more anxious and more illogical. We get confused about what’s true and what’s important. It has been my experience that God speaks much louder to us through other people than He does when we’re trying to navigate life alone.
That does not make it easy. Church can be one of the hardest spaces for many of us to find our place. It still is for me. But it will always be the most important place for us to find and reflect Christ.
The Way to Be Worry-Free
In Philippians 4:6–7, Paul told us to not be anxious about anything. Instead, he said, take your requests and your thankfulness to God, and peace that you can’t even comprehend will surround you and protect your minds in Jesus.
Paul didn’t suggest that we not be anxious—he commanded it. Which shows, at the very least, that it’s possible to not be anxious. Why would he command us to do something that is impossible? Paul never said God would answer our worries according to our wishes. But he said, to paraphrase, “Don’t worry; pray.” Or as Martin Luther said, “Pray, and let God worry.”5
Similarly, Peter ordered us to throw all our anxieties on God because He cares for us (1 Pet. 5:7).
The key here is that we bring those worries to Him with gratitude. In the Bible, we often hear of people full of fear about what was about to happen or devastated by what had happened, yet they recounted God’s faithfulness as they prayed.
I have come to love recounting to God how He has been faithful, because it instantly changes my perspective. Sometimes I go back to Leah, Moses, and even Adam and Eve. It’s mind-blowing that the God who spoke to them also listens to and speaks to us and cares about our lives.
Every night now, I make a gratitude list of at least five things I’m thankful for. No matter what kind of day I’ve had, I start writing as I pray, and I rarely end up with only five things on that list. By the time I get to my requests, I feel a renewed confidence and peace because, as I look back over my day and over the history of God’s faithfulness, I see how He truly cares and is at work in my life and in the lives of those in my space. I have a sense that even if my circumstances don’t change, He will guide me through, as He has always done.
We learn through Paul’s words to the Philippians that prayer is the place where God’s strength overpowers our weakness and His faithfulness overcomes our fear and restlessness. Without prayer, there is no singing in the dark. There’s no joy. No rest from anxiety. But prayer with gratitude enfolds our hearts with peace.
In the midst of my most restless hour, as I began to practice what Paul commanded, things began to change. For a season I served part-time as a worship leader in a Nashville church that had a couple of campuses. Though it proved to be the most rigorous of my musical experiences so far, it was a beautiful time of growth and change.
When I wasn’t on the road, I was at my home church, leading worship and learning to be in community. I learned to forge ahead during the awkward moments of getting to know new people. I learned to keep showing up for small group, no matter how uncomfortable or even outright boring it could feel. And through sharing the lives of others, day in and day out, I gained a sense of grounding, leading to a peace I hadn’t experienced before.
I also began to pray differently. I talked to God about everything that was going on, with a renewed belief that He saw and cared and could bring change. As I look back over my journals from that season, I can witness the transformation from virtually one-sided blubbering in a place of anxiety and discontentment to an awareness of God’s greatness, holiness, and constant faithfulness.
New community and a deeper attention to Scripture and prayer led to a bigger view of God and began the evolution of a new, more peaceful me. I started to learn how to fight my tendency to worry. Instead of being dominated by stressful circumstances, I began to train my mind to move in the opposite direction—toward the peace of Christ. And I was able to let go of anxiety meds.
Worry and restlessness are constant battles—battles that most of us will face until eternity. And for some of us, medication serves as a life-changing aid to living fully and balanced. (Praise God for brilliant scientists.) But wherever we find ourselves on this spectrum, God longs to give us life-altering, soul-resonating peace through Himself, His Word, prayer, and community with other believers.
We Are What We Sing
Before he wrapped up his letter, Paul gave us a final weapon for our arsenal against anxiety: thinking on the things that are true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, and praiseworthy (4:8). As Dr. Jeon said, Paul told the Philippians to “pay attention to what they pay attention to.”6
I relate everything to music, so I’ve come to think this way: we all have a theme song that’s playing constantly on repeat in our minds. It’s whatever song our circumstances have taught us to sing, and it usually isn’t positive or peace filled. It wakes us up in the morning and plays in the background all day. When we are squeezed by life, it comes to the fore.
The truth is that thi
s song will be stuck on repeat until we figure out how to sing something else.
Paul knew that. There are lots of theme songs he could have chosen to sing. His background music could have been a song of pride because he was well educated, devout, and moral. His theme song could have been one of shame for all the terrible things he had done to Christians before he met Jesus. He could have sung a song of bitterness because, as an apostle, he lived in a constant state of suffering.
Instead, Paul’s theme song in chapter 4 is astoundingly beautiful: “Rejoice in the Lord.” “Do not be anxious.” “The peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts.” “Whatever is true … think about such things.” “I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation.” (vv. 4, 6, 7, 8, 12 NIV)
True Power
How can we, like Paul, choose a theme song about the power and beauty of Christ? The first thing we have to do is actually learn a new song. Then we can start to sing it.
Memorizing is the secret to everything I do in life. Because it’s difficult to read braille and play piano at the same time, I memorize all my music, including the worship songs I lead on Sundays. I’ve also been memorizing Greek and Hebrew paradigms in seminary over the last couple of years.
I don’t have total recall, so I memorize by singing. I’ve discovered that this is my current superpower. If I can sing a paradigm, I memorize it quickly and never forget it. Because of this, I often wake up with the new worship song I led last weekend or the Hebrew paradigm for suffixed pronouns playing in my mind.
I’ve finally figured out that I should memorize Scripture by singing it too. So every day, I sing some Scripture. A few days of this and I have it memorized. When I’m riddled with anxiety, I sing it. When I’m grumpy or discontented, I sing it again. It reminds me of the unchangeable truths I trust.