1 Peter 1:3

Peter writes to “the strangers scattered throughout Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia” (1 Peter 1:1), believers in the Roman provinces of Asia Minor, Jewish and Gentile converts together. They were living with social ostracism and verbal abuse, and perhaps sporadic local persecution, because they refused to take part in the civic and religious cults of Rome. In a world of many gods and of emperor worship, a people who served one God and gave their whole allegiance to Christ looked suspect. Peter calls them strangers, parepidēmoi, people living away from home, and his letter keeps returning to that picture of believers as pilgrims whose true home is with God.

Right after his greeting (1 Peter 1:1–2), and before he says a word about their troubles, he turns their eyes to God: “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.” An opening like this is a doxology, a formal word of praise. The word for “blessed”, eulogētós, comes from the verb for speaking well of someone, and it means worthy of praise. When we bless God we are receiving everything and giving him only what is already his due, the praise his goodness deserves. He is named here as the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, so every blessing in these verses comes from the Father through the Son.

All that Peter later asks of these believers rests on this opening, from holy living as God’s own people (1 Peter 2:9–10) to patient endurance when they suffer for Christ (1 Peter 4:12–16). Before he tells them how to live, he tells them what God has done.

The reason for the praise is that God, “according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again”. The new birth starts with God’s mercy and flows from his compassion alone, apart from anything we have earned. Paul says the same: “But God, who is rich in mercy, for his great love wherewith he loved us, even when we were dead in sins, hath quickened us together with Christ” (Ephesians 2:4–5), and “according to his mercy he saved us, by the washing of regeneration, and renewing of the Holy Ghost” (Titus 3:5).

“Begotten us again” translates anagennáō, made of ana, again or anew, and the verb for begetting or giving birth. It is a spiritual rebirth, and God alone is its author. Through it the Holy Spirit gives new life and a new nature, a change far deeper than moral improvement or a change of mind, and it marks the start of a person’s life with God. Jesus told Nicodemus, “Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God” (John 3:3), and in the verses that follow he explains that this birth is of the Spirit (John 3:3–8). In daily life the new birth shows itself in a new desire for God’s word, a growing hatred of sin, and a new love for righteousness and for God’s people.

God begets us again “unto a lively hope”, and “lively” in the KJV means living. The phrase joins záō, to live, with elpís, expectation or confidence. The hope is alive because it rests on the living God and the living Christ, and it brings life and vigour to the one who holds it. Worldly hopes can be dashed by circumstances. This hope is a confident expectation of what God has promised, and it is secure.

It is ours “by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead”. The resurrection happened in history, and everything in these verses stands on it. It shows who Jesus is, it won the victory over sin and death, and it guarantees our inheritance and our own resurrection. Without it the hope would be baseless and futile. The apostles preached it from the first: God raised him up, “having loosed the pains of death: because it was not possible that he should be holden of it” (Acts 2:24). Paul calls the risen Christ “the firstfruits of them that slept” (1 Corinthians 15:20), the first of a harvest still to come, “for as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive” (1 Corinthians 15:20–22).

The new life we have now is tied to his rising: “like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life” (Romans 6:4). The hope also reaches forward to his promise to go and prepare a place for us and to come again and receive us to himself (John 14:1–3). Christ’s death paid the penalty for our sins and his resurrection showed God’s power over sin and death, so God’s mercy, our new birth and our hope all reach us in him.

The living hope has an object: “an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you”. The word klēronomía means heirship, a patrimony, a possession received by lot or by right of succession. The idea runs back to God’s promise of a land to Abraham and his descendants, and through Scripture it grows to take in spiritual blessings and eternal life. Here it is the final fulfilment of God’s promises to his people, given freely to those he has begotten again.

In the Roman world an inheritance meant land, property or standing passed down in a family, and all of it could be lost to political upheaval, confiscation, lawsuits, decay or natural disaster. Peter’s readers, already losing things for their faith, knew how fragile such a legacy was. He describes theirs in three ways.

• Incorruptible. The word áphthartos joins a negative prefix to a word meaning to decay or perish, so this inheritance is imperishable and safe from destruction of every kind. Jesus warned against laying up treasure “upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal” (Matthew 6:19), and told us to lay up treasure in heaven, “for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also” (Matthew 6:19–21).
• Undefiled. It is pure, free of any stain of sin or imperfection, fitting the holiness of the God who gives it and of the heaven where it is kept.
• That fadeth not away. The word here is amarantos, and it describes something that keeps its freshness and beauty. Flowers wither and treasures lose their lustre, while this inheritance keeps its full splendour for ever.

It is “reserved”, tēréō, which means to guard, keep, watch over or preserve. The word speaks of careful, active custody, so the inheritance is held safe by God himself. It is kept in heaven, out of reach of thieves, failing markets and every earthly power, and it is kept “for you”, for each believer personally. Our hold on it depends on God’s power to preserve it for us. God has also given us a pledge of it now, because believers are sealed with the Holy Spirit, “which is the earnest of our inheritance” (Ephesians 1:13–14). Paul tells believers that “of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance” (Colossians 3:24), and Hebrews says that Christ is the mediator of the new testament so that the called “might receive the promise of eternal inheritance” (Hebrews 9:15).

The inheritance is ours in Christ. God has appointed the Son “heir of all things” (Hebrews 1:2), and we are “heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ” (Romans 8:17). It is incorruptible because Christ conquered death and corruption. It is undefiled because his sacrifice cleanses us, to “present you holy and unblameable and unreproveable in his sight” (Colossians 1:22). It is unfading because his kingdom is “the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ” (2 Peter 1:11). And it is reserved in heaven because he has gone to prepare a place for his people (John 14:1–3). A pure inheritance also calls us to pure lives now, as people whose future home is holy.

“Who are kept” refers back to the “you” of verse 4, so the God who keeps the inheritance in heaven also guards his people on earth until they receive it. “Are kept” is passive, because the keeping is God’s own action. The verb phrouréō means to guard, protect or garrison, and it was a military word for soldiers guarding a city or fortress. God’s people live under that kind of watch, actively defended against every threat.

The guard is “the power of God”. The word dýnamis means force, might and ability, used especially of miraculous power. Said of God, it is his limitless power to act, to protect and to bring his purposes to pass. Our security rests on his strength and faithfulness, which hold firm when our own strength and performance waver. That assurance carries the readers through the sufferings Peter describes later in the letter (1 Peter 4:12–19).

That power works “through faith”. Faith, pístis, is trust and reliance on God, and it is the channel through which his keeping reaches us. The keeping is God’s gift and faith receives it, as the posture of someone who leans on God and so stays within his care. That trust goes on through the whole of life, well beyond a single decision at the start. “Without faith it is impossible to please him” (Hebrews 11:6), and Paul writes, “For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God” (Ephesians 2:8–9).

The keeping leads “unto salvation ready to be revealed in the last time”. Salvation, sōtēría, means here salvation in its fullness, the glorification still to come. We are saved already, with new life and a secure inheritance, and the full glory of that salvation is still to be shown. It is “ready”, hétoimos, prepared and waiting for its appointed moment. It is “to be revealed”, apokalýptō, to take off the cover or disclose, the word behind “apocalypse”, so what is veiled now will be brought into the open. “The last time”, éschatos kairós, is the final period of God’s plan, begun at Christ’s first coming and completed at his return, and here it points to that return, when salvation is shown publicly. So we are “looking for that blessed hope, and the glorious appearing of the great God and our Saviour Jesus Christ” (Titus 2:13), and “if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it” (Romans 8:24–25).

“Wherein ye greatly rejoice” points back to all of verses 3 to 5, the living hope, the inheritance and the salvation ready to be revealed. The joy comes from those certainties, so it holds firm whatever the circumstances. The verb agalliáō is said to come from words meaning “much” and “to jump”, and it means to exult with a leaping, overflowing joy, deeper than ordinary happiness.

Yet the same believers “are in heaviness”. The word lypéō means to grieve, to be weighed down by sorrow or distress, and Peter names their pain honestly. We are called to rejoice, and we are also free to grieve, because trials really hurt. The joy and the grief stand side by side because we live between the salvation we have already and its full arrival.

Two phrases set limits on the grief. “Now for a season” renders olígos, a little, and marks the suffering as brief and finite in the light of the glory that follows. Paul calls it “our light affliction, which is but for a moment” (2 Corinthians 4:16–18). “If need be” tells us the trials have a purpose. God has a reason for them and a good outcome in view, and the next verse names it.

“Manifold”, poikílos, means varied, of many kinds. For Peter’s readers it meant pressure to conform to pagan practices, economic hardship because of their faith, and the hostility of neighbours. Persecution, illness, money troubles and broken relationships all belong to it. Paul could say, “we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience” (Romans 5:3–5).

Jesus walked this road first. “For the joy that was set before him” he “endured the cross, despising the shame” (Hebrews 12:2), and his own suffering had its “need be”: “thus it behoved Christ to suffer, and to rise from the dead the third day” (Luke 24:46). Our joy flows from our union with him. We suffer with him “that we may be also glorified together” (Romans 8:17), and at the end “God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes” (Revelation 21:4).

The purpose behind “if need be” follows at once. The word “that”, hina, introduces a purpose, so “the trial of your faith” is meant for a good end. The word for trial, dokímion, means testing or proving, an examination that brings out the true quality of something, the way an assay shows the purity of metal. It looks toward a good result, faith shown to be trustworthy.

Gold was the common measure of value, and yet it “perisheth”. The verb apóllymi means to destroy fully, to perish or be lost, and it marks gold and every earthly possession as passing. Faith that has been proved is “much more precious” (polýs tímios), of lasting worth far beyond any wealth.

Refining was a familiar craft in Peter’s day. Refiners heated gold to very high temperatures to burn off its impurities and leave the pure metal, and both Jewish and Greek writers used the picture for the testing of character or truth. The fire (pŷr) is the suffering believers endure. It is painful, and it purifies and strengthens faith. The Lord promised to do this work in his people: “he shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver: and he shall purify the sons of Levi, and purge them as gold and silver” (Malachi 3:3). Peter later tells the same readers, “think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you”, and to rejoice as partakers of Christ’s sufferings (1 Peter 4:12–13). James and Paul both say that tried faith works patience (James 1:2–4, Romans 5:3–5).

The outcome is that faith “might be found unto praise and honour and glory”. Glory, dóxa, is something plainly visible: dignity, honour and praise. This is God’s own approval, given openly to those whose faith has held. The time is “the appearing of Jesus Christ”, his apokálypsis or unveiling at his second coming. Christ receives praise, honour and glory himself on that day, and he shares it with his people: “when he shall appear, we shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is” (1 John 3:2).

Christ is the pattern of tested faithfulness. He “became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross” (Philippians 2:8), and he suffered for our redemption with no impurity of his own to burn away, as “the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world” (John 1:29). He is also “the author and finisher of our faith” (Hebrews 12:2), so the faith being refined is his gift, begun and sustained by him.

The one Peter’s readers love is Jesus Christ, risen and ascended, and they know him by faith while their eyes have yet to see him. Their love, agapáō, rests on God’s revelation of his Son and on a settled conviction, and the Holy Spirit makes Christ’s presence real to them. We come to know and love Christ through his word, the Gospels and letters that tell of his life, death and resurrection, through the Holy Spirit who lives in us and bears witness to him (John 14:26), and through our own experience of his grace, forgiveness and presence. Our love answers his: “We love him, because he first loved us” (1 John 4:19).

“Though now ye see him not, yet believing” puts belief, pisteúō, at the centre. Trust and reliance join us to him while he is out of sight, and they lead to joy. Jesus spoke of exactly this to Thomas: “blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed” (John 20:29). Paul says, “we walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7). Christ’s bodily absence is part of God’s good plan, as Jesus told his disciples: “It is expedient for you that I go away: for if I go not away, the Comforter will not come unto you” (John 16:7).

In the Roman world religion was public and visible, tied to images of the gods, temples and the imperial cult. To love and trust an unseen Jewish Messiah, crucified and raised, set these believers apart from everyone around them.

Their joy is the same exultant agalliáō as in verse 6, and Peter calls it “unspeakable and full of glory”. The word aneklálētos means not spoken out, unutterable, a joy deeper than words can carry. “Full of glory” translates doxázō, to render or esteem glorious, as a passive participle, so the joy has been glorified, filled with the splendour of God. It is a foretaste of the glory still to come, and the Spirit gives it. Joy is part of the fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22), and Paul prays, “Now the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that ye may abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Ghost” (Romans 15:13).

This joy thrives in hard places. The apostles left the council “rejoicing that they were counted worthy to suffer shame for his name” (Acts 5:41), and Paul writes, “Rejoice in the Lord alway: and again I say, Rejoice” (Philippians 4:4). He also says, “I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us” (Romans 8:18). The joy we know now looks ahead to the day when we see him as he is (1 John 3:2).

“Receiving the end of your faith, even the salvation of your souls.” The verb komízō means to obtain, or to carry off as one carries off a prize, and it suggests a reward received and secured. Believers are already coming into this salvation, and it will be complete at the end.

The word for end, télos, is the point aimed at, the goal, purpose and fulfilment of something. “The end of your faith” is what faith is for, and the goal is “the salvation of your souls”. Salvation, sōtēría, means rescue or safety, and here it is full deliverance and wholeness. The soul, psychḗ, comes from the idea of breath, and here it means a person’s very life and self. The salvation of the soul is the deliverance of the whole person from sin and its consequences into the presence of God. Its last chapter is the new heaven and the new earth, where “the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them” (Revelation 21:1–4).

God works this salvation from first to last, from election “according to the foreknowledge of God the Father” (1 Peter 1:2) to final glory. Paul says, “ye have your fruit unto holiness, and the end everlasting life” (Romans 6:22), and the one who began a good work in us will perform it (Philippians 1:6). Christ is “the author and finisher of our faith” (Hebrews 12:2), and he calls himself “Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last” (Revelation 22:13). Our faith rests on his finished work as the Lamb of God (John 1:29), and of his sheep he says, “they shall never perish” (John 10:28). The end of our faith is union with Christ in glory. God has predestinated us “to be conformed to the image of his Son” (Romans 8:29), and “when Christ, who is our life, shall appear, then shall ye also appear with him in glory” (Colossians 3:4).

These seven verses give us reason to praise God before we ask him for anything. He has given us new life by his mercy, raised his Son as the ground of our hope, kept our inheritance safe in heaven and set his own power to guard us on the way there. Our identity rests on that heirship, far more than on anything we own or any standing we have in the world.

Grief in trials is real, and Peter makes room for it. Beneath it runs a joy that comes from what God has done, and the trials themselves are measured by him, brief and purposeful. The faith they prove will be honoured when Christ appears. Gold perishes, so we can hold earthly things loosely, and the purity of what is waiting for us calls us to holy lives now.

Our love for Christ grows as we meet him in his word and as his Spirit bears witness in us, and the joy that comes with it is his gift. When our faith feels weak, we can remember who is doing the keeping. God guards us by his power, and the end of our faith, the salvation of our souls, is his promise to us.