"Steady As We Go" (May 17, 2026 Sermon)
/Steady As We Go
Philippians 4:1-9
Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved.
I urge Euodia and I urge Syntyche to be of the same mind in the Lord. Yes, and I ask you also, my loyal companion, help these women, for they have struggled beside me in the work of the gospel, together with Clement and the rest of my coworkers, whose names are in the book of life.
Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. As for the things that you have learned and received and heard and noticed in me, do them, and the God of peace will be with you.
Last night, I went to a Dave Matthews Band concert by myself in Charlotte. I happened to be in that corner of the state yesterday for a wedding I was doing, and the algorithm gods learned of my plans and let me know that Dave Matthews Band would be playing immediately after the ceremony. Though it didn’t make last night’s setlist, on the way home to Greensboro, I found myself humming a beautiful song by the band called “Steady As We Go.” It’s a song sung from one lover to another, giving thanks for the steadiness of their committed relationship, which keeps the person grounded when everything around them seems to be shifting beneath their feet. The lyrics, in part, are as follows.
I walk halfway around the world
Just to sit down by your side,
And I would do most anything girl
To be the apple of your eye
Troubles they may come and go, but good times are the gold.
If the road gets rocky girl just steady as we go
When the storm comes shelter me
I don't say a word anymore and you know exactly what I mean
In the darkest times you shine on me
Set me free forgive me
Steady as we go
As a pastor whose first church was on a small island with no bridges, so boats were kind of important, I appreciate a solid nautical metaphor. “When the storm comes, shelter me,” Dave Matthews sings, “…so steady as we go.” That phrase, or, more specifically, “steady as she goes,” is a helmsman’s phrase. It doesn’t mean “stop moving.” It doesn't mean “drop anchor” or “wait for better weather.” It means hold your current heading, stay true to the course, trust that the destination is ahead, and the vessel is sound.
Steady as She Goes
This advice offers a good summary of the heart of the fourth and final chapter of Paul’s letter to the Philippians. But Paul doesn't arrive at this counsel out of nowhere. We’ve had hints in earlier chapters of division or tension within their congregation. In the first chapter, Paul spoke of others preaching Christ out of envy or rivalry. He also encouraged his readers not to be frightened “by those opposing you.” In chapter two, he urged them “to do all things without murmuring or arguing.” In chapter three, he spoke frankly about others who are living as “enemies of the cross of Christ.” Though we don’t know the specifics of these conflicts, we can imagine the world of the Philippian church not so different from the one we inhabit today.
At the Presbytery Meeting I attended last week at nearby Westminster Presbyterian Church, we briefly discussed a concept known as “mutual forbearance.” It’s a phrase that may sound foreign to us, but it’s important because mutual forbearance is one of the historic principles of the Presbyterian Church. Mutual forbearance is a fancy term that means this: it calls on theological opponents to accept differences, respect conscience, and continue working together to maintain church unity. If any of you have a Book of Order, part of the constitution of our denomination, you’ll find it explained as such in F-3.0105: “We…believe that there are truths and forms with respect to which [persons] of good characters and principles may differ. And in all these we think it the duty both of private Christians and societies to exercise mutual forbearance toward each other.”
The Book of Order didn't invent mutual forbearance. It inherited it — from a letter written in a Roman prison, addressed to a congregation very much like ours. In this anxiety-ridden atmosphere, we hear an ancient word from Paul, an old wisdom for our contemporary world: steady as we go, or, to put it in Paul’s words, “stand firm.” I asked myself what those two words - “stand firm” - sound like in today’s context. My first reaction was “hold your ground, be stubborn, and never budge.” But that’s not what Paul means by “stand firm.”
The very next verse names a conflict between two women, Euodia and Syntyche, and invites them to come together, or, as he puts it, “be of the same mind in the Lord.” What Paul is describing, in other words, is mutual forbearance. Notice what Paul does not do here. He doesn't take sides. He doesn't tell us who is right. He names them both with love, calls them both his coworkers, and trusts that the same gospel that sent them into the work together can bring them back to each other. “Stand firm,” he says, “by coming together.” “Stand firm,” he says, “by helping one another.” “Stand firm,” he says, “by being gentle with one another.”
But gentleness, helping one another, and coming together are not disciplines our body politic seems to reward these days. Which is why Paul doesn’t expect these fruits of the spirit to come from such places. Instead, Paul insists they are freely given because “the Lord is near.” Mutual forbearance is possible because “the Lord is near.” “Steady as she goes” is doable because “the Lord is near.” This is an important theological move by Paul because it would be tempting to think that our abysmal circumstances are evidence of Christ’s absence. But Paul points to the opposite. “The Lord is near,” he says, “even when you are in conflict.” “The Lord is near,” he insists, “even when Euodia and Syntyche, or any of you, don’t see eye to eye.” “The Lord is near,” Paul preaches, “no matter the difficulties that assail you.” Paul has been saying this from his prison cell since chapter one. And he is not finished yet.
But I will pause at this point in the sermon and confess, if I’m honest with myself, that knowing in my head that Christ is near and feeling it in my heart are two very different things. There is much in today’s passage from Philippians that can sound terribly trite in the complex world we inhabit. “Do not be anxious about anything” can fall flat in an anxious world, with anxious algorithms, anxious consumers, and one anxious news cycle after another. “The peace of God…will guard your hearts” can feel like an empty promise when our hearts feel they can’t take another blow. “Rejoice…again I will say, rejoice” can feel like a tall order when joy feels indulgent amid the sheer volume of suffering around us.
But we must never forget that these words of encouragement did not come from places of comfort and privilege. They do not come from the mouth of someone in a smoking jacket, swirling a martini, with Sinatra on the record player and not a care in the world. These words come from someone in literal chains, who doesn’t know whether this letter he’s writing to his friends in the Philippian church will be his last. And I think that matters.
What Paul is turning us to here is not some Pollyannish theology. On the contrary, he was all too aware of the fact that it can be hard to hold a “steady as she goes” approach to faith when so much around us appears to be falling apart. He knows that standing firm is no easy task. He knows that mutual forbearance is not an instinctual posture for most of us, especially when we’re taught that what matters most is what’s best for “me and my own.” Paul knows none of that is easy.
Which is why he gives the Philippians a list of things to which they should tune their attention: “Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.” Paul knows that we must train our gaze on these things in order to stay “steady as she goes.” And we are doing exactly these things, right now, in this room.
The Church’s Gathered Life
We focus on whatever is true when we affirm the Apostles' Creed together, declaring what the church has held to be true across centuries and continents.
We focus on whatever is honorable when, for example, we dedicate flowers in someone’s memory, such as the flowers today given in honor of Mary L. Sullivan by the Stiles family.
We focus on whatever is just when we collect Pennies for Hunger to help feed our hungry neighbors.
We focus on whatever is pure when we confess our sins, trusting in the mercy of God, and seek to turn away from evil.
We focus on whatever is pleasing when we simply show up — when we choose, on a Sunday morning, to be here with one another rather than anywhere else we could be.
We focus on whatever is commendable when we share the peace of Christ with one another in the Passing of the Peace, reminding ourselves that God calls us to be at peace with one another in a divided world.
We focus on whatever is excellent and worthy of praise when we sing hymns that the church has carried across centuries — including one whose refrain is drawn almost word-for-word from the very passage we're sitting with this morning.
Paul isn’t giving the Philippians a self-help checklist. He’s describing the Church’s gathered life. What you and I do every Sunday—confess, receive pardon, sing, give, pray, pass the peace, hear Scripture, go out with joy—is the practice of directed attention that Paul commends. And when we focus on these things—repeatedly and with intentionality—we’re offering a counter-liturgy to the endless scroll of whatever anxious, divisive, degrading, and enraging things in the world around us.
Closing: A Hymn for Restless Spirits
As we do from time to time here at Guilford Park, y’all are going to help me finish the sermon by singing the next hymn, “Jesus, Thou Joy of Loving Hearts.” We'll close with a hymn that has been on the lips of Christians since the 12th century — and I want to sit with you for a moment in its fourth verse before we sing it:
Our restless spirits yearn for thee,
where'er our changeful lot is cast,
glad when thy gracious smile we see,
blest when our faith can hold thee fast.
“Our restless spirits yearn for thee” - as the Philippians did, we come to worship in a restless world, with our spirits often feeling like that boat that carried the disciples on a stormy sea. We are not at peace, but we’re reaching for it. We come here, by pew or livestream, because, like the Philippians, we long to be at peace with one another and ourselves, yet we know we need help.
“Where’er our changeful lot is cast” - And we know we need this help because everything is changing so fast. Amid such shifting ground beneath our feet, we know we need a steadiness that doesn’t come from ourselves.
“Glad when thy gracious smile we see” - And though we’re restless, and though everything changes at a dizzying pace, we remain “steady as she goes” because we trust that God smiles upon us even and especially in our feeble, fearful moments.
“Blest when our faith can hold thee fast” - And, finally, we find what Paul found in chains: that the faith by which we hold is itself the gift of the One who held us first. We do not hold ourselves steady. We are held steady. Steady as we go.
Please rise in body or in spirit…
[sing “Jesus, Thou Joy of Loving Hearts]
In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s children, say: Amen.