Suffering Slaves and the Suffering Servant


“For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps. He committed no sin, neither was deceit found in his mouth. When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to him who judges justly. He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed. For you were straying like sheep, but have now returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls.” —1 Peter 1:21–25 (ESV)

Peter calls on slaves to suffer for doing good, motivated by the exemplary and empowering suffering of Christ. As you read 1 Peter 2:21-25, it is clear that Peter is drawing from the most familiar passage in the Old Testament concerning the sufferings of Christ, Isaiah 53. When you read Isaiah 53, you must begin with Isaiah 52:13 where the one suffering is addressed by God as “my servant.” Peter then is telling slaves that they were called to suffering because of the suffering of the servant of Yahweh. Further, the letter makes it clear that this is not just the calling of these saints because they are slaves, but of these slaves because they are saints.

Jesus’ suffering stands underneath our suffering in two ways: it is exemplary and empowering. This isn’t multiple choice. This is all of the above. But one of the answers is foundational, standing underneath the other. If Jesus’ life is only an example, it is a crushing one, for none of us measure up. Worse, if Jesus’ death is only an example, then it is one of insanity. Tim Keller illustrates:

“Imagine that you are walking along a river with a friend, and your friend suddenly says to you, ‘I want to show you how much I love you!’ and with that he throws himself into the river and drowns. Would you say in response, ‘How he loved me!’ No, of course not. You’d wonder about your friend’s mental state. But what if you were walking along a river with a friend and you fell into the river by accident, and you can’t swim. What if he dived in after you and pushed you to safety but was himself drawn under by the current and drowned. Then you would respond, ‘Behold, how he loved me!’ The example of Jesus is a bad example if it is only an example. If there was no peril to save us from—if we were not lost apart from the ransom of his death—then the model of his sacrificial love is not moving and life-changing; it is crazy. Unless Jesus died as our substitute, he can’t die as a moving example of sacrificial love.”

Jesus’ death was not a meaningless suicide. Jesus death is more than a sign telling us to go this way. It is gas burning in our tanks.

You can only follow Jesus because of how you cannot follow Jesus. The empowering aspect of Jesus’ death stands under the exemplary aspect of His death. As James and John learned, there is a way that we can drink from the cup of Christ’s sufferings, and there is a way that we cannot—that we dare not.

When Jesus died on the cross, He did so as our substitute, accomplishing what we could not. He bore our sins, cursed of God in our place on the tree (cf. Deuteronomy 21:23; Galatians 3:13). His death not only delivered us from the guilt of sin but also from the bondage of sin. Our sins were born by Christ, so that, in union with Him, we might die to sin and live to righteousness (Romans 6:4–7). When one suffers for righteousness’ sake, living honorably, and then endures that suffering not reviling but trusting God, all this righteousness is empowered by Christ’s substitutionary wrath-bearing suffering in our place.

It is only because of how you cannot follow Jesus, that you can follow Jesus. Christus exemplar flows out of penal substitutionary atonement. Because Jesus suffered in a way we can’t, we can suffer like Him. And if we suffer with Him, we will also be glorified with Him (Romans 8:17).

Live as those Freed unto Slavery (1 Peter 2:11–17)


“Be subject for the Lord’s sake to every human institution…” —1 Peter 2:13 (ESV)

What kind of earthy citizens should we exiles be? Keeping our conduct among the Gentiles honorable means submitting to the authorities we are under. It means paying taxes, driving the speed limit, and not ripping those tags off of sofas until we’ve bought them. You cannot proclaim submission to one authority while displaying a disregard for another. Don’t deny Jesus’ Lordship by rebelling against the powers He’s established. We who have a higher citizenship should be the best citizens of the low countries.

Yet, it should be clear that we obey “for the Lord’s sake.” When you are subject to the state, do so knowing that the state is subject to Christ. Obey as free men. This means obeying in fear of God (2:17), and not of men (3:14).

But if the saints are the best of citizens, the salt of the earth, the light of the world and such, abounding in good deeds, why are they persecuted so? Because their obedience is done in such a way that the state is not seen as supreme. Be we as wise a counselor as Daniel, should we insist on worshipping our God, to the lions we go. If we don’t bow to the god of the state, they ready the furnace. The state would rather have disobedient slaves who bow in fear when caught, than righteous free men who stand in confidence. What the rulers of this world really want is not free men who obey, but slaves who fear. If you don’t think such tyranny exists in our democracy, may I propose to you that a dependent woman is a more secure vote than a free man. The state isn’t trying to act as “father” and “husband” purely out of benevolence.

Submit, but do so declaring, “Jesus is Lord.” This was a radical political statement in the ancient world. The Romans were cool with you worshipping your gods, as long as you said, “Caesar is Lord.” The saints replied something like “We will be your best citizens, but we will not say that.”

The only reason to disobey a lesser authority is obedience to a higher one. At the top, every time, is God. We never have permission to be rebels in the absolute. All our acts are to be acts of submission in the ultimate sense. Live are free men who are slaves of God (2:16). Every righteous rebellion is first an act of obedience to Christ as Lord.

When the state calls evil good, do not submit. When the state calls a homosexual relationship “marriage,” do not submit. When the state says gender isn’t biological, don’t submit. When the state calls for you to bow in fear to them and disobey your Lord, stand in confidence before men, bowing in heart to Christ.

Some laws are good. Obey them gladly.

Other laws are dumb, but not immoral. Mock them, then obey with a jolly heart. Laugh at such rules as though you are a foreigner from a country where there is no such folly—for you are. Laugh like you have a King who makes such laws appear petty and go along unflustered, for you know that your King is Lord even over such nonsense. When the speed limit is 60 mph in New Mexico on a stretch of highway where you can see the only other car on said highway approximately two counties away, drive the speed limit joyfully obeying your Lord and labor to end such stupidity as a way of honoring others (2:7). But until the law is undone, submit.

Other laws are are evil. Say they are such. Disobey them. Work against them. Subvert them. But do this in glad-hearted obedience to God.

Submit as far as you can, so that when you do disobey, it is clear that it is not for selfish reasons. The state is used to selfish disobedience. Obey when it costs you and disobey when it costs you even more. If you go to jail, may it be not for tax evasion, but for sharing the gospel at an abortion mill. If the state ever punishes you, may if be for your obedience to Christ.

Who Are We? (1 Peter 2:4–10)


“As you come to him, a living stone rejected by men but in the sight of God chosen and precious, you yourselves like living stones are being built up as a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. For it stands in Scripture:

“Behold, I am laying in Zion a stone,
a cornerstone chosen and precious,
and whoever believes in him will not be put to shame.”

So the honor is for you who believe, but for those who do not believe,

“The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone,”


“A stone of stumbling, and a rock of offense.”

They stumble because they disobey the word, as they were destined to do.

But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.” —1 Peter 2:4–10 (ESV)

Who are you?

How did you answer that question? With your name? Your vocation? Your heritage? Your ethnicity? Your nationality? Your alma mater?

There are multiple ways this question could be rightly answered. Context will determine much. In the workplace you won’t answer by explaining who your great uncle is. At the family reunion you will not reply with your job title. But in a vague context, where your​ mind goes first can be revealing. When you think about who you are, do you ever think “saint” or “child of God?” Beyond this, do you find yourself only thinking in individualistic rather than corporate categories?

Ours is an age that emphasizes the individual at the expense of any corporate identities. Yet we wonder why we’re so lonely, detached, and isolated and we continue to gasp at rampant consumerism and selfishness. Church, Peter’s aim in these verses is clear. He wants us to know who we are. Being a Christian has implications for each of us individually, but you cannot think of who you are as​ a saint independently, apart from the body of Christ.

While it is clear that Peter wants us to know who we are, what is less clear is why? Why does Peter want us to know who? Peter doesn’t spell this out, but I think we all realize something of why as we look at who, and it is that who speaks to why. Who determines purpose. When your identity consists​ of being “elect exiles” (1:1) this has radical implications for why and how you live.

How many of the church’s problems stem from a failure to understand who she is? She is full of people acting like individuals, approaching church and spirituality as consumers looking to fill their personal needs. The church corporately responds to this by marketing herself to this individualism. How often do you get the sense that what really makes a church tick is the desire to express her individualism? It is not enough to simply be the church of the Lord Jesus Christ. We must be a unique one.

Jesus has adorned the church. She doesn’t need to doll herself up. Any such effort won’t be an improvement. The church’s make-up identity skills suck. She hamfistedly globs on the mascara​ trying to attract the wrong kind of guy. What the church needs is to realize who she is in Christ and act accordingly. Instead of behaving as a prostitute whoring after the world, let us strive to be faithful to the one who has loved us into beauty. In Him we are a temple, a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, and a treasured possession. If we realized this, we’d quit trying to tout our uniqueness and start offering up spiritual sacrifices acceptable in Christ. We’d start declaring the glories of Him who called us out of darkness and into His light.

The Futility of Pelagian Love (1 Peter 1:22–2:3)


“Having purified your souls by your obedience to the truth for a sincere brotherly love, love one another earnestly from a pure heart.” —1 Peter 1:22

This is no simple command. Love is given lip-service world-round. Nearly anyone can sing, “What the world needs now, is love sweet love.” Most nod the noggin to “All You Need Is Love.” Those songs are classics. They are hits. I enjoy them, but let the listener understand. That such songs are so popular while malice, deceit, hypocrisy, and envy flourish, speaks louder than any lip service given to “love, love, love.”

That pure and simple love would bring world peace, is a Pelagian lie. Pelagius was that heretic who opposed Augustine saying that man wasn’t born fatally depraved, but righteous, and thus could will to live righteously of himself. Man cannot simply fix the world by choosing to love. Man, left to himself, hates the One who is love. All this talk of love is both a dim reflection of the Creator in whose image we are made and a mask for covering our hatred of him.

But how many churches have the same vain focus on love? They might speak of Jesus’ death as love, but the emphasis is on the sacrifice of Christ as an example for us to follow. If we are to love, we need something to stand on, and too often the church, like the world, is attempting to build a castle in the air. There’s no foundation. Try to build love on this world that is fading, this world of sand, and you’ll find it’s too weak to support something as massive as love. You cannot build love on hatred.

All the world’s talk of love is in the imperative. It is a command. It’s sheer law. But we first need a declaration—a transforming declaration. Before we are told to love, we must be told that we are loved. We need a love that transforms us.

Peter’s command to love is buried in this sentence. It’s buried deep in gospel truth. Peter gives reasons why we are to love. Not reasons that lie out in front like “love is good,” but reasons that lie behind pushing love forward and out. Peter tells us not simply that we should love, but establishes why it is that we can love. From one angle we might say that the command to love is buried in this sentence, from another, we can say that Peter lays a foundation for the command to rest on, v. 22.