The Unshakable Life

Dr. Spencer R. Fusselman


In a world obsessed with self-preservation, self-expression, and self-fulfillment, the words of the Apostle Paul are nothing short of revolutionary. From a cold Roman prison, chained and facing a possible death sentence, he writes a letter not of despair, but of explosive joy. His central claim is one of the most profound and challenging statements in all of Scripture: “For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21). This single verse shatters our modern definitions of life. It’s built on the apostle's ultimate ambition, found just one verse earlier, where he states his "earnest expectation" is that "Christ will be magnified in my body, whether by life or by death" (v. 20). But what does it truly mean to "magnify" Christ? It doesn't mean we make Christ bigger than He is; He is already infinitely great. Instead, it means our lives are to be the lens that makes Him, who may seem distant or abstract, appear clear, glorious, and intimately near to a watching world.

The great preacher Charles Spurgeon captured this idea: "If we desire to glorify God, we must not be seeking to glorify self... Oh, that we could magnify Him! We cannot make Him greater than He is, but we can make Him seem greater in the eyes of men." This is the very essence of John the Baptist's famous declaration, "He must increase, but I must decrease" (John 3:30). Our lives become the lens, and our ambition is to draw attention away from ourselves and focus it squarely on the glory of Jesus. As Pastor Steve has said, "When we live with our focus on Jesus and not ourselves, the hard things and the hard times, they don't take our joy".

How is such a life possible? Paul gives the answer: "For to me, to live is Christ..." Notice the verb. He doesn't say, "I live for Christ" or "I live with Christ." He says, "to live is Christ." This is a statement of total identity. It’s not that Christ is a part of his life—the "religious" slice of the pie chart next to "career" and "family." No. Christ is the pie. He is the substance, the purpose, and the very definition of Paul's existence. This is what it means to be "conformed to his image"—it is "allowing Jesus to live out his life through us" so that when people look at us, they see a picture, however faint, of Him. C.S. Lewis wrote about this radical exchange of self: "Your real, new self (which is Christ's and also yours, and yours just because it is His) will not come as long as you are looking for it. It will come when you are looking for Him."

This total identity in Christ is what makes the second half of the verse perfectly logical: "...and to die is gain." If Christ is your life, then death is not a loss; it is an "advantage" , an "increase". Why? Because death brings you into the unhindered, face-to-face presence of the One who is your life. If Christ is your ultimate treasure, then dying is simply going home to your treasure, as Jesus taught: "For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also" (Matthew 6:21). This is why Paul could say he was "hard-pressed between the two," with a "desire to depart and be with Christ, which is far better" (v. 23). He wasn't being fatalistic ; he was being logical. As J.I. Packer wrote, "The man who has God for his treasure has all things in One."

But this joyful theology is not just for a peaceful life or a triumphant death. It is forged in the fire of conflict. Paul reveals one of the deepest truths of the Christian faith when he encourages the Philippians to "stand fast in one spirit... not in any way terrified by your adversaries" (v. 27-28). Then he gives the stunning reason: "For to you it has been granted on behalf of Christ, not only to believe in him, but also to suffer for his sake" (Philippians 1:29). This is a theological bombshell. Salvation is a gift. But in the very same sentence, Paul says suffering is also a gift. It has been "granted" to us, just like faith. We are taught to see suffering as an interruption of God's plan. Paul sees it as a privilege. It is the very means by which we share in the "same conflict" as Paul and as Christ Himself (v. 30). As Voddie Baucham often says, "The question is not if you're going to suffer, but how you're going to suffer." Our suffering is not meaningless; our courage in it is a "proof... of salvation" (v. 28) and the very lens that magnifies Christ most clearly.

This is a glorious, high-stakes theology. But how do we live it? How do we begin to die to self so that Christ can increase?

First, start with daily surrender. The life of "to live is Christ" begins the moment you wake up. Before your feet hit the floor, make a conscious choice to "decrease." This is not about self-hatred; it's about self-forgetfulness. Acknowledge your identity as a "bondservant", one who serves out of love. Pray a simple prayer: "Lord, I am Yours. Today, let my will decrease and Your will increase. Let me be the lens. You be the light. Magnify Yourself in me."

Second, behave like a citizen of heaven. Paul commands us to "let your conduct be worthy of the gospel" (v. 27). The word for "conduct" is a political one; it means "to live as a citizen". Paul is reminding us that our true citizenship is in heaven. We must practically live out this heavenly reality in our words and actions. This isn't a solo mission. Paul commands us to do it "with one mind striving together for the faith of the Gospel" (v. 27). True heavenly conduct is lived out in cooperation and unity with the body of Christ.

Third, reframe your trials with purpose. When a trial comes, your first instinct will be to ask, "Why is this happening to me?" To magnify Christ, you must reframe the question. Ask instead, "How can Christ be magnified in this?" This is the "earnest expectation" Paul had (v. 20) . It is an active, confident watching for God's purpose. Whether it's a frustrating phone call, a severe illness, or persecution, your response is your telescope. Your trust in His purpose—powered by "the supply of the Spirit of Jesus Christ" —brings the glory of a distant Christ right into the room for everyone to see.