The Church United, Philippians 2:1-3

True unity in the church comes not from shared preferences but from shared humility under the doctrine and person of Christ...

The first word of Philippians 2 is "therefore."

And, of course, we must ask what’s the “therefore” there for? It connects. Paul has just reminded the Philippians of his chains, of his suffering, of how they too have been called not only to believe but to suffer. Therefore, he says, if you want to make my misery bearable, do this: be united. Be of one mind, one love, one purpose.

Now Paul could’ve commanded it. He was an apostle after all, able to swing the rod if need be, as he did with the Corinthians. But here, with the Philippians, he appeals not to power but to love. He pulls on their affection, not their fear.

Leadership—like parenting—is a toolbelt. Sometimes you need the hammer. Other times, a softer touch. Paul chooses the latter. He calls to mind the shared things that bind them: encouragement in Christ, comfort in love, fellowship in the Spirit, affection and compassion. If those things are real—and they are—then make his joy complete by being united.

Division destroys. Not all at once. It’s like a slow leak in the soul of a church. That’s why the Bible speaks so often and so fiercely about it. Paul’s list of the deeds of the flesh in Galatians includes not just the usual suspects—idolatry, sorcery, drunkenness—but also the quieter killers: envy, rivalry, factions, dissension. And in Corinth? People were splitting into fan clubs: “I follow Paul,” “I follow Apollos,” “I follow Christ.” Paul’s response: Is Christ divided? Then why are you?

We divide today, too—but over dumber things.

They homeschool, we classical Christian.

They do hospital births, we unmedicated at home.

They eat GMO corn; we churn our own butter.

They like guitars; we like the organ.

Birds of a feather flock together—but the church isn’t natural. It’s supernatural. God builds a unity that isn't rooted in preference but in truth. That’s why we must be clear about what’s central and what’s not. Unity around fluff won’t last.

Some churches are like crash diets—missing essential nutrients. At first, they seem fine. Over time, the deficiency shows. Churches can build a temporary unity around some secondary issue: being the pro-life church, the anti-woke church, the homeschooling church. But that’s a brittle unity.

We don’t want that. At East River, we aim to be reformed and catholic.

Reformed, meaning deeply rooted in the truths recovered during the Reformation.

Catholic, in the older small-c sense—generous in orthodoxy, wide in heart.

That’s our bullseye. That’s our first domino. If we get that right, the other stuff will eventually fall in place.

Now, unity like that—real unity—requires humility. Not the soft-spoken, self-doubting, Western-kosher kind. That’s just performance. Real humility is knowing who you are, and more importantly, who you aren’t.

Chesterton nailed it:

“Modesty has moved from the organ of ambition to the organ of conviction.”

People now doubt truth and assert themselves. It should be the other way around.

Paul says: Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit (v. 3). That’s the poison. Selfishness is the need to be noticed. It takes every preference and makes it principle. And vain conceit—kenodoxia, empty glory—is the pride that blinds you to others.

But humility? It’s gladly laying down your rights in the service of others. It’s seeing Christ and losing the taste for applause. You can compare yourself to other men and be proud. But compare yourself to Jesus and you’ll be quiet.

Blaise Pascal once said, “What amazes me most is that everyone isn’t amazed at his own weaknesses.”

That’s why Paul’s about to take us to Christ himself in the next verses. Not just to humble us, but to show us the path.

May God grant us unity—not superficial peace, but deep, abiding, doctrinally-rooted harmony—for the glory of Christ and the good of his church.