2 Timothy 2:11

This is a faithful saying: For if we died with Him, we shall also live with Him. If we endure, we shall also reign with Him. If we deny Him, He also will deny us. If we are faithless, He remains faithful; He cannot deny Himself. — 2 Timothy 2:11-13

Paul's last words from a Roman prison teach us how to live with Christ, endure to the end, and trust the unchanging faithfulness of God.

The Man Behind the Letter

We can't articulate this book without articulating something about its author and what was going on with him. In ancient Israel there was a ruling class made up of the religious elite. Rome occupied the land, but these were the people of respect, the ones you wanted to be seen with and wanted thinking well of you. Among them was a learned, intelligent, academic man—Saul of Tarsus. He was a man of purpose. You do not get to that level of society without being a man of purpose.

Under Roman occupation there were whispers of a Christ to be born, a Messiah. At Jesus' birth that whisper was perhaps the volume of a baby's cry. But as Jesus entered His ministry, performed miracles, taught, and challenged the religious elite, the volume of that message became a roar. When their positions, livelihoods, and respect were threatened, the leaders had only one answer: we will kill this man, and His story will go to the grave with Him.

But the story did not go to the grave, because He rose again. The roar became a scream. The common people looked at their leadership and realized they were fallible, that they had made a mistake. Any time man or the world is confronted with the gospel of Jesus Christ, there is hate, contempt, accusation, and violence—and that is exactly what was taking place in the early church.

Stephen, the Stones, and a Changed Man

In Acts 7, Saul of Tarsus comes upon a scene. A man named Stephen had been called into question for his faith, and rather than deny Christ, he preached to his accusers, telling them they had killed the Messiah just as their fathers killed the prophets. They lost their minds and dragged him into the street for stoning. A man sat smugly by, holding the coats—too good to throw a stone himself, but supporting it by his presence. His name was Saul.

But what Saul saw was not what he expected. Stephen did not deny Christ; he endured. Facing death, he cried out to the Lord and asked Him not to hold their actions against them, reiterating the message of the cross: forgiveness for sin. Saul was smart enough to know people do not die for a lie. That tweaked him. That changed him.

When everything we think is wrong and we get caught, we often double down on stupid—and that is what Saul did. He received letters to persecute Christians, lock them up, and have them executed, doing it with a fervor that was legendary. Then, on the road to Damascus, a light from heaven blinded him completely. In that culture blindness was viewed as some great sin or something spiritual coming upon you—and he was right, because God wanted him. "Saul, Saul, why do you persecute Me?" "Who are You?" "I am Jesus." Three days later his sight was restored, God gave him a new name, and Paul went on to write most of the New Testament—perhaps one of the greatest men of faith who ever walked the earth.

Last Words in Chains

Paul was a man of purpose, but he had lost every relationship, every position, and likely everything he owned for the cross of Christ. He had been beaten, shipwrecked, cold, hot, tired, hungry, and abused. At the moment this letter is written, he is in a Roman prison, and these are literally his last words. He writes them in chains. If you have ever known constant pain, imagine the torment of having a chain wrapped to you for years.

He is writing his last words to a young pastor he loved, in whom he had an investment, whom he trusted to carry on the ministry. This resonates with me. I'm 55, and in the Old Testament the priests served until they were 50 and then trained new priests. I'm excited about the young men and women coming to be trained for ministry. But I've never gone through anything like Paul. As he passes this on to young Timothy, the hope of the ministry, we have to realize these words carry gravity. Every nugget has importance.

Let's back up to verse 8: "Remember that Jesus Christ, of the seed of David, was raised from the dead according to my gospel, for which I suffer trouble as an evildoer, even to the point of chains; but the word of God is not chained. Therefore I endure all things for the sake of the elect, that they also may obtain the salvation which is in Christ Jesus with eternal glory."

Set Free for Liberty

Verse 11: "This is a faithful saying: For if we died with Him, we shall also live with Him." What does it mean to die with Him and live with Him? In Romans 6:5-8 Paul explains: "If we have been united together in the likeness of His death, certainly we also shall be in the likeness of His resurrection, knowing this, that our old man was crucified with Him, that the body of sin might be done away with, that we should no longer be slaves of sin... Now if we died with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with Him."

It is for liberty that we are set free. Galatians 5:1 says, "It is for freedom that Christ has set us free; stand firm then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by the yoke of slavery." We are not just set free to be excused from punishment—we are set free to walk, live, and be like Christ. We are given that freedom, that latitude, that mission.

Sin entered the world through one man, Adam. In the Garden, Adam and Eve walked in fellowship with God, and when the very first test came, they betrayed that trust by doing the one thing He asked them not to do. As sons and daughters of Adam by human birth, we are born in sin. But our old man, our sinful nature, is put to death with Christ, and we live with Him and are set free. The things that chained us, the things we could not resist, are not only forgiven—we are given the power to conquer them.

I've known people who battled alcoholism for years. They find Christ, and the fight is still there, but for the first time they have the power to flee it. Sometimes they slip; the battle keeps going. I tell them: Jesus is not putting you in the car and driving you to the liquor store. You are free from this. It's easy to say and hard to conquer—and that is endurance. We are forgiven for it, and we are free from it.

The Picture of Baptism

One of the most beautiful physical ceremonies God has given us is baptism. As the person goes under the water it symbolizes that they are dead and dying, and when they come out they are alive in Christ, forgiven, clean. We are not saved by the act of baptism—we are saved by our confession of faith—but baptism is the public example of where our hearts are.

As a pastor, one of the greatest things I've ever seen is something supernatural in those faces coming out of the water, with the realization that their sin is forgiven and they have taken one step closer to the Lord. It's humbling. I've had the privilege to baptize my mom, my dad, my kids, and my wife. It's special.

We do many of our baptisms in public at the beach. Sometimes I'll hang back like a secret shopper and listen: "Mom, what are those people doing?" "It's a Jesus thing—why don't you go ask?" I've had people meet me at the beach, start talking about baptism, get saved right there, and be baptized right there. It's a powerful witness, a dedication, and it's public.

What It Means to Endure

Verse 12 poses a condition: "If we endure, we shall also reign with Him." What is Paul doing as he writes this? He is in for the long haul. Waiting on the Romans, not knowing when execution comes, he keeps the faith. He doesn't bail, doesn't denounce Christ, doesn't blame others. He is enduring.

Contrast that with King Saul in 1 Samuel. Selected as king by the people, he fell out of favor with God by disobeying, refused to truly repent, and the Spirit of the Lord left him. When he got into a crisis—still driven by his original sin of wanting to look good before the people—he went to the witch of Endor for a word. He didn't endure; he went somewhere else. People tell me all the time, "If this prayer doesn't work, I'm going to go see a witch." That's not enduring.

Paul, in chains, knows the next footsteps he hears could be a loaf of bread—or the guard saying, "Paul, it's your turn." Yet I don't see fear or stress in his writings. I see a man enduring, treating every rattling chain and every new soldier as another opportunity.

Endurance From Drama to Martyrdom

Our Christian experience varies. On one end is the teenage girl who isn't getting enough likes on her post—to her that drama feels like martyrdom. On the other end is Pastor Wang Yi in China. Google him. He's a leader in the Chinese church who isn't trying to change the government or overthrow the communists—he just wants to preach the gospel rightly, and it's freaking the government out. He wrote a letter saying that if he disappeared for more than two days, it should be printed and circulated worldwide. It's a beautiful, Paul-like testimony. They haven't seen him in five weeks. Whole house churches—thirty people at a time—are being rounded up and disappear.

For you and me, we're not going to be picked up on the streets for our faith right now. Our enduring is different. It's more of an erosion that grinds away at us every day—commitments we've made, relationships. One of the greatest training grounds for endurance is marriage. You make a covenant before the Lord, and some days it's a blessing you can't imagine living without, and other days, not so much—and we know what that means because of the divorce rates, usually because of something us guys did.

What Endurance Looks Like

My dad is 83 and has been sick for about a year—cancer, the whole deal. I've watched my mom model what endurance looks like. She'll even say, "Next time you teach a marriage class, show them this," and hold up a urinal—and I tell her, I'm going to use that. That's endurance.

When my wife and I first married, I met her step-grandmother, a little old lady from Pasadena who seemed insignificant to me as a young man. One day I heard her story. Back in the 1950s, she and her husband Del played Mr. and Mrs. Claus at Santa's Village in Arrowhead, and she worked in the jam shop at Knott's Berry Farm. On those normal jobs they owned three homes in Lake Arrowhead. Everything was perfect—until Del had a stroke.

For almost twenty years her days were the same: get on the bus, go to the care facility, give him a shower, comb his hair, brush his teeth, talk to him without any answers, help feed him, wipe his chin, and provide companionship to someone she wasn't even sure understood. The most she ever got was "yeah." Almost twenty years. There had to have been voices telling her, "You don't need to do this. This is pointless. Move on." But there's a point in endurance where you say, "No—this is what Christ would have me do. This is my prison. This is my ministry."

I read the prayer requests and know so many of you are caring for elderly parents, giving rides to the doctor, taking care of people who aren't even your parents, and they're not getting better. Some of you have children in prison whose lives aren't improving, who have left the Lord. But it's not about the circumstances—it's about enduring. The trials of this life are building the throne for your eternity, because the verse says we will reign with Him. We are being prepared to reign and rule with the Lord by the very things we endure here.

Don't Stop Enduring

About ten weeks ago I got a text—shared by permission—from a brother who has struggled with alcoholism for over twenty years. I could tell by the tone he was getting ready to commit suicide. He knows his Bible. I texted back, "Don't do this," and sent Garrett and an usher to his house while I called the police. Garrett called me five minutes later: "He's okay. I just pulled a gun out of his hand." I said, "Garrett, they don't teach you that in Bible school." The brother is alive, doing well, back in church and back with his group, putting his life together. He stopped enduring.

When we stop enduring, it isn't just about us—it's about everyone around us. It's our light and our witness to the world. We don't endure for ourselves alone; part of this is enduring so that we will be with Jesus. There is a purpose for it. We are being prepared for a throne.

Denying Him

This next one is hard but true: "If we deny Him, He also will deny us." Matthew 10 says, "But whoever denies Me before men, him I will also deny before My Father who is in heaven." That's straight up. That's not the warm fuzzy thing you'll get on a TV preacher program—but it's the truth, and there's good news at the end of it.

There are different ways of denying Jesus. There were two thieves crucified beside Him. One mocked and doubted; the other defended Him, knowing Jesus had done nothing wrong. At the last moment that thief recognized who Jesus was and said, "Lord, remember me when You come into Your kingdom." Jesus answered, "Today you will be with Me in paradise." That's simple.

We can deny Jesus flat out—when someone brings us the message of the cross and we say, "No, thank you." But there's a more subtle denial. I see people who call themselves Christians who talk like heaven but live like hell. There's a cheap grace movement—say the prayer, get your fire insurance, and you're good no matter what you do. That's not how it works. A sanctified, redeemed life doesn't look like that. It's not perfect, but we can deny Christ with our actions, attitudes, and track record.

Restored Like Peter

Here's the good news. Peter was a fisherman picked by Jesus. He had revelation other men didn't have. He saw the miracles, heard the very words of Jesus, sat at His feet, ate with Him. Yet when things looked bad and public opinion shifted, when he was called to endure, he denied Jesus three times. Then they moved Jesus, and Jesus looked at Peter, and Peter saw what was left of His face and stared into His eyes—and Peter wept bitterly. His emotion showed he had repented.

Later, on the beach, the risen Jesus restored Peter. Three times He asked, "Do you love Me?" and Peter, rather than deny Him three times, affirmed it three times with more fervor and more emotion. We can do that too. We can make a mistake, deny, be faithless—and be restored, because our God isn't like us.

He Remains Faithful

Verse 13: "If we are faithless, He remains faithful; He cannot deny Himself." The faithless are those who have actually lost faith. Luke 15 gives us the prodigal son. A young man would rather not wait for his father to die before getting his inheritance, goes off into riotous living, and comes back a beggar wanting only to be a servant, certain he could never be received as a son again.

But this parable reveals God's heart. The father was already looking for him, expecting him, wanting him back. It is not God's desire that any should perish, but that we would leave denial and faithlessness and come back to Dad. One verse uses the word Abba—the name for Father, like "Daddy." The heart of the Father is to seek and save the lost and to welcome them with open arms.

But "if we are faithless, He remains faithful" doesn't mean we're saved simply because God is faithful. It means God is always the same—pure, holy, just. His standard for approaching His throne has not changed and will never change: it is the blood of Jesus Christ. You need to be saved and covered by that blood. He must be your Messiah and Savior. There's no other way, and God cannot deny who He is. To change His word would be to lie, and He cannot lie. He cannot deny Himself.

Closing Charge

These are hard words, given by a pretty intense man, but they are true words—and they are also words of hope. We live in a society that is currently denying Jesus, that is faithless. We are placed here as a light, an attraction, and we don't want to hide that. We also can't shine it if we're walking around with our own burdens, in denial and faithlessness.

So I would encourage you today: there's no place you've been, nothing you've done, that can keep you from the Father. Know that you're forgiven. Know that His arms want to receive you. And know that as you endure—caring for your parent, praying for your son, waiting in a marriage that feels hopeless, waiting for someone to be saved—that endurance is important, it matters, and it counts. Avail yourself of the power of Jesus Christ in those trials.

Closing Prayer

Dear Father, thank You so much. You have given us these words from Paul and allowed me this morning to talk about them. I know by the look on some of our faces, Lord, that we've been struck by this—that we've realized what a hard place we're in, or maybe we're super encouraged to feel and know that You are carrying us along in these bad situations. Father, I pray for those in this room, that they would continue to see the hope and the promise and the joy that lies in a relationship with Jesus Christ. I ask You would bless them, encourage them, lead and guide them. And when they are out in the marketplace, Lord, give them the words to say, and let their countenance reflect that they have You in their hearts. In Jesus' name, amen.