Colossians Chapter 4 – Honest Walk Through the Last Chapter
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I remember the first time I read Colossians chapter 1 slowly. Like really slow. Coffee getting cold. Phone face down. I wasn’t rushing to “finish a chapter.” I just kept stopping, rereading sentences, feeling small and also strangely steady at the same time. Paul does that sometimes. He doesn’t shout, but his words feel heavy in a good way, like a warm blanket you didn’t know you needed.
So this is not a polished academic commentary. This is more like notes scribbled in the margin, thoughts that wander, feelings that interrupt theology. A bit messy, like real faith usually is.
“Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ by the will of God, and Timothy our brother…”
Paul starts the letter grounded. He doesn’t say “Paul, the genius” or “Paul, the church planter superstar.” He says apostle by the will of God. That phrase always humbles me. Paul didn’t promote himself. God did the calling. Paul just answered, sometimes badly, sometimes well, often tired.
Timothy is mentioned too, almost casually. Not alone. Faith rarely grows alone, even when letters are written from prison.
“To the saints and faithful brethren in Christ who are at Colosse: Grace to you and peace…”
Grace first. Always grace first. Peace follows grace, not the other way around. We often chase peace by fixing things, controlling outcomes, arguing our point. Paul says no, grace comes first, peace flows after. Simple but not easy.
Paul says he thanks God always when he prays for them. Always. That word stings a little. I’m honest enough to admit I don’t always pray with gratitude. Sometimes it’s panic prayers. Sometimes complaint prayers. Paul starts with thanksgiving because he sees God already at work.
He talks about their faith in Christ Jesus and love for all the saints, and how both spring from the hope laid up in heaven. Faith, love, hope. That trio again. It’s not accidental. Hope fuels love. Love proves faith. Faith leans on hope. You remove one, the structure wobbles.
Then Paul says something beautiful about the gospel: it’s bearing fruit and increasing in all the world, just as it’s doing among them. The gospel is alive. It grows quietly, underground sometimes, like roots you don’t see till later.
Epaphras gets mentioned here, their teacher. Paul honors him. I like that. Paul doesn’t act threatened by another leader. Healthy ministry always gives credit.
Paul shifts into prayer mode again, and this prayer is deep. He doesn’t pray they become rich, safe, or powerful. He prays they may be filled with the knowledge of His will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding.
Not just head knowledge. Spiritual understanding. The kind that shapes how you live when nobody’s watching.
He prays they walk worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing Him, bearing fruit, increasing in the knowledge of God. It’s growth language. Faith isn’t static. If nothing is growing, something is wrong.
Then comes strength. Not superhero strength. Strength with patience and longsuffering with joy. That hits home. I want strength to escape suffering, not endure it joyfully. Paul flips the idea.
And gratitude again. Always gratitude.
“He has delivered us from the power of darkness and conveyed us into the kingdom of the Son of His love…”
This is rescue language. We didn’t crawl out of darkness on our own. We were delivered. Pulled out. Darkness isn’t just ignorance; it’s power. And Jesus breaks that power.
Redemption. Forgiveness of sins. Simple words, massive meaning. Sometimes we forget how dark darkness really was.
This section feels like worship poetry more than a letter. Paul zooms out, way out.
Jesus is the image of the invisible God. If you want to know what God is like, look at Jesus. Not your fears. Not your assumptions. Jesus.
Firstborn over all creation. That doesn’t mean created. It means supreme, heir, ruler. Everything was created by Him and for Him. That last part messes with me. For Him. My life too.
He is before all things. In Him all things hold together. Including the parts of me that feel like they’re falling apart.
Then reconciliation. Peace made through the blood of His cross. Not through negotiation. Not compromise. Through sacrifice. Costly peace.
Paul brings it personal now. “And you, who once were alienated…” No sugarcoating. We were enemies in our minds. Not misunderstood friends. Enemies.
But now reconciled in the body of His flesh through death. Why? To present you holy, blameless, above reproach. That’s how God sees us in Christ. Even when we struggle to see it ourselves.
Then comes a gentle warning: if indeed you continue in the faith. Faith continues. It stays. It doesn’t mean perfection. It means not walking away when things get hard.
This part always surprises people. Paul says he rejoices in his sufferings. I don’t. I complain. Paul sees suffering as participation in Christ’s work, not pointless pain.
He talks about the mystery now revealed: Christ in you, the hope of glory. That phrase alone could carry you through a bad year. Christ in you. Not just Christ for you, or with you. In you.
Paul’s goal is maturity. Not crowd size. Not applause. Presenting everyone mature in Christ. That’s hard work. Labor. Striving. Paul admits it costs him everything.
Colossians chapter 1 doesn’t rush. It builds. It starts with gratitude, climbs into prayer, explodes into worship, settles into identity, and ends with mission.
When I close the chapter, I don’t feel hyped. I feel anchored. Like someone reminded me who Jesus is again, and who I am because of Him.
Some days faith feels strong. Some days it’s thin like thread. But Christ holds all things together, even on the days we don’t.
And that’s enough to keep going.
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