The Story of Jephthah, that story really sits heavy on the chest, doesn’t it.
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I always feel a little strange when I come to the last chapter of a Bible book. It’s like reaching the final pages of a letter from someone you’ve grown attached to. You want to read carefully, slower even, because endings matter. Colossians chapter 4 isn’t loud or dramatic. There’s no big theological fireworks like chapter 1. No strong warnings like chapter 2. It’s quieter. Practical. Personal. And honestly, that’s what makes it beautiful.
This chapter feels like Paul sitting down, rubbing his tired eyes, and saying, “Alright… here’s how this faith thing actually plays out in real life.” And then he starts naming people. Real people. With messy lives and real relationships.
Let’s walk through it verse by verse, not rushed, not polished, just honest.
This verse can feel uncomfortable. It should. We don’t need to pretend otherwise. Paul is speaking into a world where slavery existed as a social structure, and instead of ignoring it, he drops a heavy reminder: earthly power is never absolute.
What stands out to me is that phrase, you also have a Master in heaven. Paul flips the power dynamic. He’s saying, “You think you’re in charge? Remember, you answer to Someone too.” It humbles human authority. It pulls pride down a notch.
I think about leadership today. Bosses. Managers. Even church leaders. The verse still whispers, maybe even shouts: treat people right. Be fair. God is watching, and He’s not impressed by titles.
Sometimes I imagine how different workplaces would feel if this verse actually lived in people’s hearts. Less fear. Less ego. More decency.
This one sounds simple, but it’s sneaky hard.
Devote yourselves. Not dabble. Not pray when desperate. Devote.
Prayer isn’t meant to be a last resort, it’s the rhythm of breathing for believers. Paul links prayer with watchfulness and gratitude. That combination matters. If we pray without watching, we get passive. If we pray without thankfulness, we get bitter.
There are seasons when prayer feels dry. I’ve had those mornings where words feel heavy and fake. But devotion isn’t about feelings. It’s about showing up anyway, like sitting with a friend even when there’s nothing clever to say.
Paul asks for prayer. That still gets me.
This great apostle, this theological giant, doesn’t act self-sufficient. He asks for help. Specifically, prayer for open doors. Not safety. Not comfort. Opportunity.
I notice he’s in chains when he writes this. And still, his concern is the message getting out. That’s conviction. That’s clarity of purpose.
Sometimes I pray for doors to close because I’m scared. Paul prays for doors to open even when opening them costs him.
Clarity matters. Truth poorly communicated can be misunderstood. Paul doesn’t assume that because the message is powerful, his delivery doesn’t matter.
This verse reminds me that speaking about faith isn’t about sounding spiritual. It’s about being clear. Honest. Human.
I’ve heard sermons that were technically correct but emotionally empty. Clarity includes heart, not just words.
Paul shifts the focus from prayer to daily behavior. Faith isn’t hidden in church walls. It walks into markets, homes, streets.
Being wise doesn’t mean being sneaky or fake. It means aware. Thoughtful. Knowing when to speak and when to stay quiet.
Make the most of every opportunity. Not force it. Not manipulate. Just stay open. Sometimes opportunity looks like a deep conversation. Sometimes it’s simply kindness when someone expects judgment.
This is one of my favorite verses in Colossians.
Grace and salt. Kindness and truth. Warmth and flavor.
Speech without grace is harsh. Speech without salt is bland. Paul says we need both. Our words should heal but also have substance.
I think of online conversations today. Comment sections. Arguments. This verse feels painfully relevant. Grace first. Always.
“Tychicus will tell you all the news about me…”
Paul starts naming people now. This isn’t filler. This is community.
Tychicus isn’t famous. He doesn’t write books. But Paul trusts him. Calls him dear brother, faithful minister. Those titles matter more than popularity.
God’s work is carried by many unseen hands.
Paul sends Tychicus to encourage hearts. That phrase lingers.
Encouragement is spiritual work. It’s not extra. It’s essential. People get tired. Discouraged. Lonely. Paul knew that letters weren’t enough; presence matters.
Sometimes the most godly thing you can do is show up.
Onesimus shows up here quietly. If you know his story, it hits deeper. A former runaway slave, now called “faithful and dear brother.”
The gospel changes labels. Past failures don’t get the final word.
I imagine Onesimus reading this later, seeing his name, feeling dignity restored. That’s grace in action.
Aristarchus. Mark. Jesus called Justus.
Paul values companionship. Ministry was never solo. Even strong leaders need friends.
Mark’s mention is special. Earlier, Paul and Barnabas had conflict over him. Now Mark is trusted again. That’s reconciliation. That’s growth.
Failure isn’t permanent.
Epaphras wrestles in prayer. I love that wording. Prayer isn’t always calm. Sometimes it’s intense, sweaty, emotional.
He prays for maturity. Stability. That believers would stand firm.
That’s a good prayer. Not just success, but depth.
Luke the beloved physician. Gentle detail. Paul notices kindness.
Demas is mentioned too, without comment. Later, we learn Demas leaves. That silence feels heavy. Not everyone stays faithful.
And that’s real life. Some walk away. Some fade out.
The church meets in homes. Faith lived in living rooms. Shared meals. Real relationships.
Christianity started small. Ordinary. That comforts me.
Paul expects Scripture to be shared. Read aloud. Passed around.
Faith was communal before it was personal.
“Complete the ministry you have received in the Lord.”
Short. Direct. Loving but firm.
Some assignments need reminding. Don’t quit halfway. Finish well.
“I, Paul, write this greeting in my own hand. Remember my chains. Grace be with you.”
He ends with grace. Always grace.
He doesn’t hide his suffering. Remember my chains. Faith isn’t denial of pain. It’s presence in it.
Colossians 4 doesn’t try to impress. It invites us into real faith. Prayer that struggles. Speech that heals. Community that matters. Leaders who need help. People who fail and get restored.
It smells like ink and parchment. Sounds like footsteps in a prison corridor. Feels human.
And that’s the beauty of it.
Grace be with you too.
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