The Surpassing Worth of Knowing Christ - Philippians 3:1-11

I want you all to imagine standing before the God in the heavenly realm, as He’s seated on His throne, high and exalted, while the cherubim and the seraphim are all around crying out, “Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of host; the whole earth is full of His glory!” And it’s in that exact moment, you begin to recall all the terrible things you’ve ever done—all the sins of your life come flooding back into your mind. What would you do at that moment? 

Many of you probably already know that that was the prophet Isaiah’s experience. As he stood in the presence of the Lord he suddenly became painfully aware of his own sinfulness and cried out, “Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips…” The sheer and utter holiness of God had left him completely exposed and undone. Every good work he had ever done couldn’t cover his guilt or satisfy the justice his sin deserved. The holiness of God didn’t just impress him—it devastated him, revealing how desperate he was for grace.

This is the stark reality of our human condition: no amount of striving can earn God’s approval. And yet, our hearts instinctively try—boasting in our deeds, in our discipline, or in our own moral pedigree. But the gospel says something radically different. True righteousness and holiness are not achieved by human effort; they are received through faith in Jesus Christ.

And that’s exactly what our passage reminds us of this morning: true righteousness and holiness are not achieved by human effort but received by faith in Christ. And I think Paul makes three helpful points in this passage: first, human effort cannot save you (vv. 1-6), second, knowing Christ is worth everything (vv. 7-9), and lastly, Christ's power changes how we live (vv. 10-11).  

This week, we’re back in the book of Philippians picking up right where we left off. Now if you can remember two weeks ago, the Apostle Paul has told the Philippians that he’s going to send two men to them: Timothy and Epaphroditus. Timothy was Paul’s young protege, and Epaphroditus was a leader in the church of Philippi. Paul writes that he is sending both Timothy and Epaphroditus to them which would have been an incredible encouragement considering the fact that they knew Timothy and were also aware of Epaphroditus’ serious health scare.

So you can imagine the wonderful reception he would have received when he returned to the Philippian church with a letter from the Apostle Paul in hand. The church would have been ecstatic, which is why Paul says what he says in verse 1. He’s celebrating with them for a moment, but he reminds them to stay grounded. They need to celebrate the God who protected and kept Epaphroditus.   

Human Effort Can’t Save You (vv. 1–6)

But then he radically shifts gears in verse 2. He moves away from a happy reunion to warning them about serious spiritual matters. 

“Look out for the dogs, look out for the evildoers, look out for those who mutilate the flesh.” Quite the contrast, huh? And it makes you wonder what exactly Paul is talking about? Who are these unclean animals, evildoers, these people who mutilate the flesh?

Paul is making reference to the Judaizers. The Judaizers were false teachers who taught that in order to really be a Christian you had to maintain elements of the Old Testament law. You needed to follow the dietary laws, keep the ceremonial rituals, and—most importantly—the men needed to be circumcised.

The Judaizers taught that you needed Jesus, but you needed more than just Jesus. In order to actually be saved, you needed to do a few things in addition to believing in Christ’s work. And of course, this created a tremendous problem: that teaching effectively said that faith in Christ’s sin-atoning sacrifice on the cross was insufficient. It wasn’t quite good enough. You needed Jesus and the law, Jesus and your obedience, Jesus along with your religious performance.

But of course, Paul completely rejects the teaching of the Judaizers. Notice how he begins verse 3, “For we are the circumcision, who worship by the Spirit of God and glory in Christ Jesus and put no confidence in the flesh…”

Again, you may wonder, what exactly is Paul saying here?

What you learn from the Old Testament passages, particularly Genesis 17, where God reveals to Abraham the covenant sign of circumcision is that the cutting of the flesh was never the main point of circumcision. Circumcision represented something profound, and what it represented was faith.

And this is a major point for the Apostle Paul in the book of Galatians. He said in Galatians 3:7, “Know then that it is those of faith who are the sons of Abraham.” 

Then in Galatians 3:29, “And if you are Christ’s, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to promise.”

Paul’s point is that being a child of God has never been about your ethnic makeup, your zeal for Jewish law, or your ability to maintain Jewish customs. What makes you a child of God is your faith in Jesus Christ.  

And of course, Paul’s point in verse 3! The people of faith in Christ are the true circumcision.

If one’s ethnicity, commitment to the Jewish law, or maintenance of Jewish customs earned you favor with God, then Paul would be flying first class all the way to heaven!

He explains exactly why:

“... [he was] circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; 6 as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness under the law, blameless.”

Much of Paul’s life was about rigidly following Jewish law. He was from the tribe of Benjamin and he was circumcised on the eighth day. And he wasn’t just some run of the mill, nominal Jew. He was an expert in Jewish law, in fact, he was a Pharisee. He even persecuted the church, when Stephen was martyred in Acts  7 those who killed him laid their garments at Paul’s feet. Paul’s point was that he was as Jewish as you could get!

But Paul didn’t compile this list in order to impress the church in Philippi. His point is that if salvation could be earned by good works, and closely following the law, he’d have a first class ticket to heaven! His pedigree, education, and zeal placed him at the very top of the religious world. He had the right family, the right tribe, the right training, and the right passion. If ever there was a man who “deserved” to be justified by works, it was Paul.

It was never about works, which is exactly what the Judaizers were teaching. They taught that Jesus accomplished 95% of your salvation, but that last 5% was up to you. Even if 1% is up to you, then the gospel of grace is completely undone. Everything falls apart the moment that you say that any part of salvation is up to you.

In many ways, the Judaizers were an early picture of what later became progressive theology. Think about it: whenever salvation becomes something we achieve, it inevitably shifts the focus to moral effort—what we do, how well we behave, and how much we contribute to society. Over time, that turns Christianity into a system of ethics and social improvement rather than a message of grace. This is the essence of Unitarian belief—that the purpose of Christianity is simply to make us better people and create a better world. But if that’s all salvation is, then Christ’s work becomes unnecessary.

And yet, I think that’s everyone’s default spiritual setting. We want to believe that we can contribute something! This is America after all! We love a good underdog story. We’re inspired by stories like Dr. Ben Carson, who despite growing up in abject poverty in a single parent household, ultimately became the world’s top neurosurgeon. We want to believe in the same way that with enough hard work, with enough effort, we too can overcome our own sinfulness. 

We want to believe that as long as we live a good life and treat everyone with respect, God has to see and respect that, right? 

But that’s not how the kingdom of God works at all, which is precisely Paul’s point. The good news of Jesus Christ isn’t about your works and effort—the good news is that it’s already been done for you. It’s all of grace.

In every other system of belief, in every other religion, the burden is on the individual: Do more. Try harder. Be better. Earn your way to God. But Paul is reminding us that Christianity stands in stark contrast to this way of thinking. The gospel does not say, “Climb your way up to God.” It says, “God has come down to you.” Salvation is not a reward for the righteous—it is a gift for the guilty. You don’t work your way into God’s favor; you receive it by faith in Christ.

The kingdom of God is for the humble, the needy, the repentant. It is for those who come to Jesus with empty hands—nothing to offer, nothing to boast in—except His mercy. That is the scandal and beauty of grace: it is undeserved, unearned, and yet freely given in Christ.

Knowing Christ Is Worth Everything (vv. 7–9)

This is why Paul was so passionate, even fierce, in defending the gospel against those who wanted to add even the smallest human contribution to it. Because the moment you make salvation about Jesus plus something—your obedience, your church attendance, your morality—you empty the cross of its power. Grace ceases to be grace if you have to earn it.

But if Jesus Christ accomplished everything for you and me on the cross, well then, He should mean everything to us. 

Which is why what Paul says in verses 7-8 are so significant: “But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. 8 Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.”

Paul isn’t just warning them about bad theology — he’s pleading with them not to trade the treasure of Christ for the illusion of self-earned righteousness. He knows firsthand how exhausting and enslaving that path is. He had lived it. He had chased perfection, obsessed over the law, and built a spotless religious résumé — and in the end, it left him spiritually bankrupt. Only when Christ found him did he realize that everything he thought was gain was actually loss, because it kept him from seeing his need for a Savior.

That’s why he calls it “rubbish” — not because obedience, discipline, or moral living are meaningless — but because none of those things can save you or earn God’s favor. In fact, when they’re relied upon for righteousness, they become dangerous. They distract you from grace. They tempt you to trust in yourself instead of Christ.

And so Paul says, “Jesus is everything to me because Jesus did everything for me.” That’s the heart of the gospel. Not “Christ plus your effort,” not “Christ plus tradition,” not “Christ plus spiritual performance.” Just Christ. His life in your place. His death for your sin. His resurrection as your hope.

He goes even further at the end of 8 and the beginning of verse 9: “in order that I may gain Christ 9 and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith…”

Paul grasped something that those who wanted to return to various works of Jewish laws and customs failed to recognize: it was all about God’s grace. Even his faith in Christ was not a work he could boast in, but a gift granted by God’s mercy. Paul understood that even the ability to believe was evidence of grace at work in his heart. 

His salvation was not the result of moral effort or religious zeal, but of divine initiative—God reaching down to rescue a sinner who could never climb his way up. This realization transformed everything for Paul. Instead of striving to earn righteousness on his own, he now rested in the righteousness of Christ. His entire identity shifted from self-reliance to reliance upon Jesus Christ, from boasting in the flesh to boasting in the cross.

This is exactly why Paul, “count[s] everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.”

Jesus is enough. He is sufficient. 

And if that’s true — if Jesus really has done it all — then what else is worth clinging to? What else compares? The Judaizers offered law, effort, and pride. Christ offers grace, peace, and rest. One leads to slavery. The other leads to joy.

The 18th century pastor and theologian, Jonathan Edwards, preached in Northampton, Massachusetts, to a deeply religious congregation. These people knew their Bibles, took communion, and were highly moral. Yet Edwards began to see something that concerned him—many loved religion, but not Christ. They trusted in their upbringing and good behavior instead of the gospel.

During his famous sermon “A Divine and Supernatural Light,” Edwards said that people could know about God yet still be lost if their hearts had not been changed by grace.

Isn’t that so true to this day? People can know about God without actually knowing God. Are you trusting in something other than Jesus Christ? Are you trusting in your religious background, your moral performance, your good intentions, or your record of community service? Do you think your kindness, respect, and tolerance for others will earn you favor with God? 

The fundamental question is do you believe that God accepts you because of how much you’ve done for Him—or because of what Christ has done for you? Paul would remind us that anything we place beside Jesus as a basis for our righteousness is false hope, no matter how good it looks on the surface. 

The invitation of the gospel is to stop clinging to self-sufficiency and rest in the sufficiency of Christ alone. To know Him—not just intellectually, but personally—is to trade the exhausting treadmill of performance for the deep joy of resting in God’s grace. 

Christ’s Power Changes How We Live (vv. 10–11)

And maybe some of you hear that and say, “well, of course, Jake!” I already know that! I’ve been taught that my whole life! If that’s the case for you then, amen! That’s wonderful news! I pray that none of this is new for any of you. But the very important follow up question is: how is it affecting your life? Are the decisions you're making right now flowing downstream from what God’s Word teaches us about the gospel? 

Because the Lord will never leave you where you are. Christ empowers you to live for Him. 

Which is exactly what Paul is getting at in verses 10-11: “that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, 11 that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.”

When you trust in Jesus Christ, when you’re united to him by faith something glorious happens: All of your guilt and sin is put on him and that was atoned for on the cross. But Jesus gives you something. He gives you his righteousness, his holiness, and his resurrection power. 

All of those things should be impacting your life right now. Even Christ’s resurrection power isn’t just about what happens after death—it’s about new life right now. The same power that raised Jesus from the dead is at work in you, enabling you to overcome sin, endure suffering, and live faithfully in a fallen world. 

This is why Paul speaks of “sharing in His sufferings” and “becoming like Him in His death.” The Christian life isn’t easy—oftentimes pain marks the path of humility and sacrifice. But it’s through those very hardships that we come to know the power of Christ most deeply. It’s in weakness that His strength is made perfect. It’s in loss that we discover the surpassing worth of gaining Christ.

And ultimately, this resurrection power points us forward—to the day when faith becomes sight, when suffering gives way to glory, and when we are raised to eternal life with Christ. 

Until then, this power sustains us, transforms us, and keeps us pressing on. Because in Christ, we already possess everything we need for life and godliness. His resurrection life now fuels our perseverance, our obedience, and our joy as we wait for the final resurrection to come.

When Paul met Jesus on the road to Damascus, the darkness of his self-righteousness was completely exposed in the blinding light of Christ’s glory. The very things Paul once considered his greatest spiritual assets were revealed to be worthless liabilities. 

At that moment, Paul realized that his spiritual résumé—impeccable as it was by human standards—could not make him right with God. All his religious zeal, all his ritual precision, all his moral discipline were powerless to cleanse his guilty conscience or reconcile him to a holy God. 

That’s because true righteousness and holiness are not achieved by human effort but received through faith in Jesus Christ. That’s the heart of the gospel. Every other religion in the world says, “Do this and live.” Christianity alone says, “It is finished.” 

The difference is staggering. Our standing before God is not based on what we do for Him, but on what He has already done for us through His Son. The life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ are the foundation of all true righteousness. When we trust in Him, His perfect obedience is credited to our account, and we are clothed in His holiness.

The difference is staggering. Our standing before God is not based on what we do for Him, but on what He has already done for us through His Son. The life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ are the foundation of all true righteousness. When we trust in Him, His perfect obedience is credited to our account, and we are clothed in His holiness.

And that changes everything. It means that the pressure to perform is lifted. The need to earn God’s approval is gone. Instead of religion being a ladder we climb to reach God, Christianity becomes a gift we receive from a God who came down to reach us. That’s why Paul can say, “I count everything as loss compared to the surpassing worth of knowing Christ.” Because when you have Christ, you have everything you need—righteousness before God, peace for your conscience, and hope for eternity.

But here is where the question comes home to us: if that’s true—if Christ has done it all—what does that mean for you? It means you don’t have to hide behind good behavior, or Christian heritage, or a spotless reputation. It means you don’t have to pretend. It means you can come to Jesus with empty hands and receive what only He can give: forgiveness, righteousness, and new life.

So what are you trusting in this morning? Your record—or His? Your goodness—or His grace? Your effort—or His finished work? Ladies and gentlemen, there is no middle ground. To cling to your own righteousness is to reject His. But to let go of yours is to take hold of His forever.

And when you do—when you rest in Christ alone—He not only saves you, He transforms you. His resurrection power starts to shape your life. You begin to obey, not to earn His love, but because you already have it. You begin to serve, not out of fear or guilt, but out of joy and gratitude.

That’s the invitation of this passage, and that’s the invitation of the gospel: stop striving, stop trusting in yourself, and come to Jesus. He has done everything necessary to make you right with God. All that’s left is to receive Him by faith.

So as we close, hear these words again—not as distant theology, but as a personal call to your heart: “Whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ… for the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.” May that be our confession too. May we treasure Christ above all things. And may we find in Him the righteousness, joy, and life our souls were made for.

Amen. Let’s pray together.