Summary of my sermon, based on Colossians 3:12-15. Preached at Greenhills Christian Fellowship Toronto on December 7, 2025.
Resilience is an interesting attribute in dire situations. It’s something celebrated across cultures, and it’s the kind of thing people make movies about. Take the story of Louis Zamperini. His life was told in the book—and later the film—Unbroken. Zamperini was a bit of a delinquent as a youth, but he got into long-distance running and competed in the 1936 Berlin Olympics. Then World War II began. In 1941 he joined the U.S. Army Air Corps and became a bombardier in the Pacific, flying missions against Japanese-held islands. During a search-and-rescue mission his plane had mechanical failure and crashed. He and two others survived on a small life raft, fighting off sharks and nearly capsizing in a typhoon. On the 47th day they reached land—the Marshall Islands—only to be captured by the Japanese. They were tortured, malnourished, and beaten as prisoners of war for years until the war ended. Even after release, Zamperini struggled with what we now call PTSD, but eventually he attended a Billy Graham crusade and gave his life to Christ. That began a different kind of journey—a different kind of resilience.
His story is awe-inspiring, but it turns out most people actually have a high “baseline resilience.” Studies show that the majority who suffer trauma don’t end up with severe, chronic psychiatric issues; many do bounce back with family, community, and professional support, and some even find growth and meaning through what they endured. I’m not minimizing trauma—those who carry lingering effects like PTSD need care, not stigma—but for the vast majority, our God-given capacity to recover is real.
Interestingly, the opposite often shows up with things that aren’t catastrophic. For example, 80–95% of people who lose weight regain it within two years. When it comes to endurance in everyday disciplines—dieting, sustained lifestyle change—we’re not so resilient. Another area is relationships. “Cutting out toxicity” is the buzzword now—cutting off toxic bosses, coworkers, friends, even family. I read pieces after the 2024 U.S. election asking whether to invite relatives who voted for the other party to Thanksgiving. Now, there’s a difference between toxicity and abuse; abuse should never be tolerated. But on a lot of plain differences and offenses, our age seems increasingly unwilling to endure.
That is the opposite of what our passage teaches. We’re in our series on the “one another” commands; this is our eighth, since we’ve been doing one on the first Sunday each month. Today’s command is “bear with one another” (Colossians 3:12–15). Paul tells us, as God’s chosen, holy, and beloved, to put on compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another; and if anyone has a complaint against another, forgiving each other as the Lord has forgiven us (Colossians 3:12–15). We tend to hear “bear with one another” and think, “Just put up with little annoyances for the sake of peace.” But Paul ties it to real forgiveness when real hurt has happened. This is more than personality quirks. It’s learning to endure and forgive when we’ve actually been wronged.
In Romans, Paul frames it this way: “We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves,” seeking our neighbor’s good to build them up (Romans 15:1–2). That implies closeness. If we truly function as a family, conflict will happen. You actually have to care to get hurt. I’d be more concerned if a church never had conflict—it might mean we’ve stopped engaging from the heart. So we must bear with the failings of others.
There are limits, though, because the aim is to build up (Romans 15:2). Some things shouldn’t be “endured.” Abuse must never be endured. And habitual, unrepentant sin must not be ignored; it destroys witness and may reveal salvation issues. Hebrews warns that if we go on sinning deliberately after receiving the knowledge of the truth, we face judgment (Hebrews 10:26–27). That’s why Jesus and the apostles give the church a process for discipline: not to shame, but to rescue. If we “bear with” ongoing, unrepentant sin, we may miss the chance to call someone to the gospel.
A recent example of courage here is what happened in the Southern Baptist Convention removing Saddleback Church from fellowship over theology—specifically complementarian convictions about the pastoral office. Saddleback started with solid theology, but over time some positions were revised using a hermeneutic that treats certain biblical commands as merely first-century cultural. Where does that end? If Scripture is culture-bound wherever we feel tension, what guards us from drifting on issues like the sanctity of life? The SBC chose to uphold what they are convinced Scripture teaches, even though Saddleback is a very large church. The point isn’t to relitigate that vote here, but to say: bearing with one another doesn’t mean papering over serious doctrinal or moral departures. Love sometimes looks like hard, humble clarity.
So how do we rightly bear with one another when real hurt (but not abuse or entrenched sin) is involved? Paul already gave us the clothing to put on: compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, patience (Colossians 3:12). Compassion and kindness mean more than gritting our teeth; they move toward the other’s good. Humility and meekness remember that today I’m bearing with your failings; tomorrow you may be bearing with mine. Patience is the bedrock of Christlike endurance.
“Above all,” Paul says, “put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony,” and “let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts,” since we were called to peace in one body—and be thankful (Colossians 3:14–15). That throws us back to the first sermon in this series: “love one another.” Love is the only way the one-another commands actually happen. The problem is that love is hard, especially if we’ve absorbed a transactional view: I love you because you benefit me. When the benefit dries up, so does the love. But Jesus says the greatest love lays down its life for friends (John 15:13). Biblical love is sacrificial and others-focused. Paul’s famous description of love—patient, kind, not envious or boastful, not rude or self-seeking, not irritable or resentful; rejoicing with the truth; bearing, believing, hoping, and enduring all things—confronted a divided church (1 Corinthians 13:4–7). That’s the kind of love that makes real bearing possible.
We can’t manufacture that love. We love because he first loved us (1 John 4:19–21). So we have to keep cultivating our hearts in the love of God—stirring our affections for Christ in the ways that most help us: worship, prayer, meditation, study of the Word. As we come to Advent, pick up the devotional if you haven’t. Let it help you set your heart on Christ’s first coming and long for his second. And let the peace of Christ rule in your heart (Colossians 3:15). He is the Prince of Peace, and by his death, burial, and resurrection he has made peace for us with God. Without Christ’s peace within, this kind of love will feel impossible. If you don’t know him, I invite you to come to him—let his peace rule in your heart today. And if you do know him, be thankful. This is what we remember at the Lord’s Supper: Advent’s hope, the cross’s grace, and the promise of his return. Only through the gospel can we truly love God and one another, and only with that love can we bear with one another in a way that honors Christ.
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