Growing in a Relationship With God
Lesson 1
You may use this for presenting and studying the current Sabbath School Lesson.
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Growing in a Relationship With God
Lesson 1
You may use this for presenting and studying the current Sabbath School Lesson.
Sabbath School
Standing in All the Will of God
Lesson 13 - Friday Further thought
Two Sides in the Great Controversy: The Urgent Call to Choose Christ
The idea that there are only two sides in the great controversy is not a comfortable one—but it is a biblical one. Jesus states it plainly in Luke 11:23: “He who is not with Me is against Me, and he who does not gather with Me scatters.” There is no neutral ground, no middle space where we can safely stand without choosing. That reality cuts against human instinct, because we often prefer to think of ourselves as independent, able to delay decisions or live in spiritual gray areas. But Christ removes that illusion.
From a Seventh-day Adventist perspective, this truth sits at the heart of the great controversy between Christ and Satan—a conflict not merely over power, but over allegiance, character, and love. Every human life becomes a stage where that conflict is revealed. And the uncomfortable truth is this: if we are not actively surrendering to Christ, we are—by default—aligning with the enemy.
That should stop you in your tracks.
It means that spiritual passivity is not harmless. Indifference is not neutral. Delay is not safe.
Scripture reinforces this urgency again and again. In Joshua 24:15, the appeal is direct: “Choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve.” Elijah echoes the same in 1 Kings 18:21: “How long will you falter between two opinions?” And in Revelation 3:15–16, Christ rebukes lukewarmness with sobering clarity: “Because you are lukewarm… I will vomit you out of My mouth.” The Bible does not accommodate divided loyalty.
Why is this so absolute?
Because the core issue in the great controversy is not behavior first—it is the will. God does not force obedience, and Satan cannot force rebellion. Both seek control of the will, because the will determines whom we truly belong to. Proverbs 4:23 says, “Keep your heart with all diligence, for out of it spring the issues of life.” The “heart” in Scripture is the seat of the will, the center of decision.
This is why surrender is everything.
Many people try to live the Christian life by modifying behavior without surrendering the will. They try to be better, do better, avoid certain sins—but still retain control. That approach will fail every time. Romans 8:7 explains why: “The carnal mind is enmity against God; for it is not subject to the law of God, nor indeed can be.” Without surrender, the natural heart resists God at its core.
Ellen White captures this reality with striking clarity:
“Everything depends on the right action of the will. The power of choice God has given to men; it is theirs to exercise. You cannot change your heart, you cannot of yourself give to God its affections; but you can choose to serve Him.” (Steps to Christ, p. 47)
That’s the dividing line. You may not feel spiritual. You may struggle. You may fall. But the decisive question is: who has your will?
She continues:
“Through the right exercise of the will, an entire change may be made in the life. By yielding up the will to Christ, we ally ourselves with divine power.” (Steps to Christ, p. 48)
Notice that word: ally. That takes us right back to the great controversy. When you surrender your will, you are not just making a personal improvement—you are choosing sides in a cosmic conflict. You are aligning yourself with heaven.
But here’s where you need to be honest with yourself.
If you delay surrender—if you keep certain areas of your life under your control—you are not standing still. You are drifting. And drifting, spiritually, always moves in one direction. Hebrews 2:1 warns, “We must give the more earnest heed… lest we drift away.”
This is why the call to surrender is urgent, daily, and non-negotiable. Jesus Himself said in Luke 9:23, “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me.” Daily surrender means daily choosing whose side you are on.
From an Adventist perspective, this also connects to the final crisis. Revelation describes a world divided into two groups—those who worship the Creator and those who follow the beast (Revelation 14:6–12). That final division does not suddenly appear; it reveals choices that have been forming over time. The habits of surrender—or resistance—being built now will determine where we stand then.
So don’t treat surrender lightly.
It’s not just a spiritual suggestion. It’s the hinge point of your entire life.
If you’re waiting to “feel ready,” you’ll wait too long. If you’re trying to negotiate terms with God, you’re missing the point. Surrender is not partial, and it is not conditional. It is a decisive placing of your will into Christ’s hands—trusting that His plans are better than your control.
And here’s the hope: when you do surrender, you are not left to struggle alone. Philippians 2:13 promises, “For it is God who works in you both to will and to do for His good pleasure.” The very act of surrender invites divine power into your life.
That’s the paradox of the gospel: when you give up control, you finally gain victory.
So the real question isn’t whether there are two sides. Scripture is clear—there are. The real question is: have you actually chosen?
Not in words. Not in vague belief. But in the daily, practical surrender of your will.
Because that choice determines everything.
Prayer
Heavenly Father,
I recognize that there is no neutral ground in this great controversy. You have shown me clearly that my will must be surrendered, not partially, but completely, to You. Forgive me for the times I have tried to hold control, to delay, or to live in between.
Today, I choose You. I place my will into Your hands. Shape my desires, guide my decisions, and align my heart with Yours. When I am weak, remind me that You are strong. When I am tempted to take control back, give me the courage to surrender again.
Keep me faithful in the daily choices, so that I may stand firmly on Your side—not just now, but in the final moments of this great controversy.
I trust You, Lord. Lead me, change me, and keep me.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Who was Tychicus?
Tychicus is mentioned multiple times across Paul’s letters and the book of Acts:
These references span years of ministry, showing long-term trust and consistency.
Tychicus is identified in Acts 20:4 as being from the province of Asia (likely western Asia Minor, modern-day Turkey).
He was part of a group traveling with the Paul the Apostle during his later missionary journeys—already placing him among Paul’s trusted inner circle.
In Acts, Tychicus is listed among several men accompanying Paul as he travels. This wasn’t a casual role—these companions often helped:
Tychicus was in the mix from early on, which tells you he had already proven himself.
This is where Tychicus really stands out.
In both Ephesians 6:21–22 and Colossians 4:7–8, Paul says nearly the same thing:
Tychicus will tell you everything… he is a beloved brother, faithful minister, and fellow servant in the Lord.
That repetition matters.
Tychicus was entrusted to:
Think about that for a second—these letters would become part of the New Testament. Paul trusted Tychicus not just to carry them, but to represent him accurately.
That requires maturity, clarity, and credibility.
Paul didn’t just use Tychicus as a courier—he sent him as a stabilizer.
In 2 Timothy 4:12, Paul writes:
“I have sent Tychicus to Ephesus.”
And in Titus 3:12:
“I am sending Artemas or Tychicus to you…”
This shows that Tychicus could be deployed to:
He wasn’t just delivering messages—he was part of maintaining the health of entire congregations.
One of the most underrated details about Tychicus is how often he appears across different periods of Paul’s life.
From Acts to Paul’s final letter (2 Timothy), Tychicus is still there.
That kind of longevity is rare.
It means:
Tychicus came from the Roman province of Asia, a region full of major cities like Ephesus and Colossae. This area was a hub of early Christian activity but also a place of:
Serving there required both resilience and adaptability.
In the first century, letters didn’t travel through organized postal systems like today. Instead, trusted individuals carried them by hand—often over long and dangerous journeys.
That makes Tychicus’ role even more significant.
He wasn’t just dropping off mail. He was:
In a sense, he was the living extension of Paul’s ministry.
Tychicus isn’t remembered for a single dramatic moment—he’s remembered for sustained reliability.
Paul repeatedly entrusts him with sensitive missions—letters, people, and communication.
Paul calls him:
That’s both relational and functional trust.
Wherever he goes, his purpose is to encourage and stabilize believers.
He shows up consistently across multiple stages of Paul’s ministry.
Tychicus challenges the idea that impact requires visibility.
Here’s the reality:
If you want to be useful in any meaningful work—spiritual or otherwise—this is the standard:
Show up. Stay steady. Do the job well enough that people trust you with what matters most.
Tychicus is the kind of person every movement needs but few people notice—the one who carries the message, strengthens the people, and stays faithful over time.
He may not have written Scripture, but he helped deliver it. He may not have led from the front, but he made leadership possible.
And in the long run, that kind of quiet, dependable faithfulness is what holds everything together.
Who was Onesimus?
Onesimus: From Runaway Slave to Beloved Brother
Onesimus is one of the most compelling personal stories in the New Testament. Unlike figures who travel widely with Paul, Onesimus’ story is intensely personal—centered on failure, transformation, and reconciliation. When you read carefully, you realize his story quietly demonstrates the power of the gospel to change relationships at the deepest level.
Onesimus is mentioned in two key New Testament books:
Though brief, these references give us a surprisingly complete narrative.
Onesimus was a slave belonging to a Christian man named Philemon. At some point, Onesimus:
This wasn’t a minor issue—in the Roman world, runaway slaves could face severe punishment, even death.
In Philemon 1:10, Paul writes:
“I appeal to you for my son Onesimus, whom I have begotten while in my chains.”
This tells us that Onesimus became a Christian through Paul’s ministry while Paul was imprisoned.
Paul uses deeply personal language—calling Onesimus his “son”—indicating a close spiritual relationship.
Paul makes a powerful wordplay in Philemon 1:11:
“Formerly he was useless to you, but now he is indeed useful…”
The name “Onesimus” actually means “useful” or “profitable.”
So Paul is saying:
That’s real transformation—not surface-level behavior change, but a shift in identity and purpose.
In Colossians 4:9, Paul describes Onesimus as:
“a faithful and beloved brother, who is one of you.”
This is significant.
Paul doesn’t reintroduce him as a slave, a criminal, or a runaway—but as:
That’s a complete redefinition of who Onesimus is.
The entire book of Philemon centers on Onesimus.
Paul sends Onesimus back to his master—but not in the same status.
In Philemon 1:15–16, Paul writes:
“Perhaps he was separated from you for a while for this purpose, that you might have him back forever, no longer as a slave but more than a slave—a beloved brother.”
Paul is not ignoring the social reality of slavery—but he is introducing a radically different way to view Onesimus:
Paul goes even further in Philemon 1:18–19:
“If he has wronged you… charge that to my account.”
This is remarkable.
Paul:
That’s costly advocacy.
Slavery in the Roman Empire was widespread and deeply embedded in society. Slaves:
A runaway slave like Onesimus would have been viewed as both a criminal and a financial loss.
Paul does not explicitly call for the abolition of slavery in this letter—but what he does is arguably more subversive:
He reframes the relationship.
By calling Onesimus a “brother,” Paul introduces a spiritual equality that undermines the entire master-slave hierarchy.
This is one of the clearest examples in the New Testament of how the gospel reshapes human relationships from the inside out.
Early Christian tradition (not confirmed in Scripture) suggests that Onesimus may have later become a church leader—possibly even a bishop in Ephesus.
While not certain, it reflects how early Christians remembered him: not as a runaway slave, but as a transformed leader.
Onesimus’ story is powerful because it’s so personal and relatable.
He runs, he likely steals, and he lives outside what is right.
Through Paul, his life is redirected—not just morally, but spiritually.
He doesn’t stay hidden—he goes back and makes things right.
From “useless” to “useful,” from slave to brother.
Onesimus’ story forces a hard but honest question:
What do you do after you’ve messed things up?
He doesn’t:
He returns, reconciles, and steps into a new identity.
That’s the real evidence of change.
Onesimus is a living picture of redemption in action. His story moves from failure to restoration, from broken trust to renewed relationship, and from social insignificance to spiritual brotherhood.
He reminds you that transformation isn’t just about belief—it’s about returning, repairing, and becoming someone different on the other side.
And that’s not theoretical. It’s costly, uncomfortable, and real—but it’s exactly where lasting change happens.
Aristarchus is mentioned in several New Testament passages:
These references span much of Paul’s missionary career, showing Aristarchus sticking with him over time—not just briefly, but through multiple seasons of hardship.
Aristarchus is identified as a Macedonian from Thessalonica:
That places him in a major city in northern Greece (Macedonia). Thessalonica was a significant urban center and later became a key location in Paul’s missionary work (see Acts 17).
So Aristarchus likely became a Christian during Paul’s early mission work in that region.
In Acts 19:29, Aristarchus is suddenly thrust into chaos:
Paul’s preaching in Ephesus triggers a major riot led by silversmiths who made idols of Artemis. The crowd grabs two of Paul’s companions:
“They rushed as one man into the theater, dragging along Gaius and Aristarchus…”
Aristarchus doesn’t just travel with Paul—he suffers the consequences of association with him. He is physically seized in a violent public uprising.
This moment shows he was close enough to Paul to be targeted.
In Acts 20:4, Aristarchus is listed among Paul’s traveling companions as he heads toward Jerusalem:
He is part of a larger group of trusted coworkers who accompany Paul, likely helping carry offerings and support the mission across regions.
This is not casual travel—it’s dangerous, organized missionary work across the Roman world.
In Acts 27:2, Aristarchus joins Paul on the journey to Rome:
“We boarded a ship from Adramyttium… Aristarchus, a Macedonian from Thessalonica, was with us.”
This voyage becomes one of the most famous survival stories in the New Testament—storm, shipwreck, and survival on the island of Malta.
Aristarchus is there through all of it.
Later in Paul’s letters, Aristarchus is mentioned again:
By this point, Aristarchus is not just a travel companion—he is imprisoned alongside Paul.
That detail matters. It shows he wasn’t just supportive when things were going well. He stayed when loyalty became costly.
Thessalonica was a major port city in Macedonia (northern Greece), strategically located on Roman trade routes. It had:
Paul established a church there during his second missionary journey (Acts 17), though he faced opposition and had to leave quickly.
Aristarchus likely came to faith during or shortly after that early evangelistic work.
Aristarchus belongs to a group of early Christian coworkers who supported Paul’s expanding mission across the Roman Empire. Alongside figures like Timothy, Luke, and others, he represents the “support network” that made Paul’s journeys possible.
He wasn’t a lead apostle. He was a field partner—someone who:
When Aristarchus appears in Paul’s prison letters (Colossians and Philemon), Paul is likely under house arrest in Rome (Acts 28). Even there, Aristarchus is present.
That detail suggests something important: Aristarchus didn’t abandon Paul when he was confined. He stayed close enough to be identified as a “fellow prisoner.”
Aristarchus is defined less by speeches or leadership titles and more by consistent presence.
He doesn’t observe Paul’s hardships from a distance—he participates in them.
The Bible never records him preaching a sermon, but it repeatedly shows him showing up where it matters most.
Aristarchus represents a kind of faithfulness that often goes unnoticed: the quiet companion who doesn’t leave when things become dangerous, inconvenient, or uncertain.
Where Paul goes, Aristarchus goes. When Paul suffers, Aristarchus is there. When imprisonment comes, Aristarchus remains.
In a world that often celebrates visibility and platform, Aristarchus stands for something different—loyalty that lasts longer than comfort.