Grace That Brings Us Home (1 Peter 5:6-11)
As Peter closes his letter, he circles back and ties in all of the themes that have been mentioned in the book: themes of suffering, hope, humility, and glory.
To summarize the book itself, He writes to elect exiles, the chosen strangers scattered in the dispersion, pilgrims who do not quite belong anywhere in this world. They have been displaced, but not abandoned. They were chosen by the Father before the foundation of the world, regenerated by the Spirit who made them alive in Christ, and gathered into the covenant people of God through the blood of the Son.
This identity has been Peter’s anchor throughout the letter. Because they belong to God, they can endure the hostility of men, and because they are heirs of glory, they can walk through the fire of suffering. Again and again, Peter has called them to “set their hope fully” on the grace that will be revealed at the coming of Christ, because this is the fuel that will carry them through their suffering.
Now, as he draws the letter to a close, Peter brings the focus back to the One who sustains them through it all. He leaves them with three reminders: first, the call to a posture of humility (vv.6–7); second, the reality of a present enemy (vv.8–9); and third, the certainty of a promised hope (vv.10–11). These three movements, submitting, standing, and looking, summarize the life of elect exiles until Christ returns.
A Posture of Humility (vv.6–7)
Peter has just told the church to clothe themselves with humility (v.5). In verse 6, he moves this submission from horizontal to vertical. He writes, “Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time: casting all your care upon Him, for He careth for you.”
To understand the phrase “mighty hand of God,” we have to again look to the Old Testament. When they were pilgrims in the wilderness, It was Israel’s confession after the Exodus, “By a mighty hand the Lord brought us out of Egypt” (Exod. 13:9) and Moses’ prayer, “O Lord God, you have only begun to show your servant your greatness and your mighty hand” (Deut. 3:24). The mighty hand of God is the hand that delivers His people, topples Pharaoh, parts seas, and secures victories. As Charles Cranfield noted, the phrase is shorthand for God’s providential rule over all things.
To humble yourself under this hand, then, is to bow before providence. It is to confess, “I am not in control, but my Father is.” This humility is not simply lowliness of spirit but a posture of confidence that God’s sovereign hand is guiding even the paths of exile.
And this humility has two sides.
First, it means not grasping for control. Exiles, pressed by hostility and fear, are tempted to seize power, to carve out their own safety, to retaliate when wronged. This is the natural bent of anyone; when the world strips away stability, the instinct is to claw for security. But Peter is counterintuitive; rather than fight, he writes to submit, to trust that God’s mighty hand is not absent in trial but present, weaving purposes we cannot yet see. To humble ourselves under God’s hand means accepting not only His blessings but His trials as part of His design. It means believing that the same hand that shattered Egypt’s armies is the hand guiding through the wilderness, and that His purposes, though hidden now, will one day be made plain.
Second, humility means handing over your burdens. “Casting all your care upon Him, for He careth for you.” To humble yourself is not only to bow beneath His providence but to place your anxieties in His hands. Submission to God’s sovereignty does not mean that worry just disappears; no, the exile’s life is filled with very real fears, real suffering, real anxiety. Peter knows this, and that is why he doesn’t scold believers for their stress; rather, he tells them what to do with it. Cast them, hand them over, transfer the weight from your shoulders to His.
And notice whose hand you place them in. The same mighty hand that rules history, the hand that brought Israel out of Egypt and humbled Pharaoh, is the very hand that bids you to place your cares there. Sovereignty is not cold, and providence is not detached. The God who governs the cosmos bends low to carry the burdens of His children.
And Peter gives the reason: “because He cares for you.” You are not telling God what you are worried about, because God needs to be informed; quite the opposite, He already knows your needs before you ask (Matt. 6:8). We are taking them to Him, because He delights to sustain. Christ’s willingness to take our burdens is greater than our need to lay them down.
Think about it, the God who spoke galaxies into existence stoops to receive your smallest care. The hand that holds up the universe also holds up your weary heart, so cast them onto the One who bore your sins and now bears your sorrows.
A Present Enemy (vv.8–9)
Peter then shifts the focus from God’s mighty hand to Satan’s roar: “Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour” (v.8).
This switch seems strange if taken from the context of the whole book. One moment, Peter tells us to rest in the hand that cares for us, and the next, we are warned of an enemy who seeks to consume us.
To grasp, we need to go again to the Old Testament. In Jeremiah 51, Babylon is described as a devouring lion against God’s people, one that is ruthless, insatiable, and destructive, and Peter applies that same image to Satan. Like Babylon, he prowls the earth seeking to enslave God’s people once again, to drag them back into captivity. Exiles who have been freed by Christ must understand that freedom does not mean safety from attack. The lion is there, and he is still hungry.
How does he devour?
Kim Riddlebarger rightly notes that Satan’s sharpest claws are not always obvious temptations but subtle distortions of the gospel itself. His primary tactic is dilution.
Sometimes he does it through legalism — turning Christianity into a treadmill of rule-keeping, causing them to become so focused on themselves that they cannot see what is around them, and are unable to view the hope that they are walking to.
Other times, he does it through licentiousness — twisting grace into permission for sin, causing them to have their focus drawn toward the attractions of the world and their own desires.
Both ditches, though opposite in appearance, accomplish the same end: they draw us away from the pure gospel of Christ.
This is why Peter calls us to be sober and vigilant. Sobriety means clarity; it means not being intoxicated by worldly desires, distractions, or counterfeit gospels. Vigilance means attentiveness; it means keeping watch, knowing that the lion is real and relentless.
To be clear, the Christian life is not a casual stroll through safe pastures (although that is where we are being led by our Chief Shepherd). It is a pilgrimage through enemy-ruled territory, where an adversary lurks at every bend.
So Peter gives three commands to the exiles.
Be sober. Do not be intoxicated by the distractions and desires of this age. Sobriety here isn’t abstaining from alcohol; it is keeping a mind unclouded by the fog of worldly pursuits. It means clarity of thought, a steady heart anchored in Christ, eyes fixed on eternity rather than the fleeting pleasures or anxieties of the present.
Be vigilant. Pay attention. There is an enemy, and he lays snares in the road, snares of false teaching, snares of temptation, snares of despair, and the one who drifts through life inattentive is easy prey. The exile must keep watch, alert to danger and awake to the promises of God.
Resist. We are called to resist, but notice carefully what Peter says we are resisting. We are not called to resist temptation, actually, Scripture tells us to flee from it (1 Cor. 6:18). We are called here to resist the devil himself. And how do we resist? “Steadfast in the faith.” We are not resisting the Devil by our spirituality or our faithfulness, but by clinging to Christ in the gospel.
Faith is the battlefield of the Christian life; thus, every dart of the evil one is aimed at undermining faith. Every scheme of the enemy is designed to loosen our hold on Christ. This is why, through Peter’s epistle, he works to strengthen our faith, and practically, this is the reason that we gather every Lord’s day to hear the gospel and partake of the means that strengthen faith.
In this resisting, Peter adds this comfort: you are not alone. “Knowing that the same afflictions are accomplished in your brethren that are in the world.”
Suffering isolates, or at least it feels like it does. The most dangerous place for a believer to be is isolated, alone in their head, alone on the path. The enemy will always pick out the weakest, and the weakest are typically those who are alone. But the truth is, that even though you may feel like you’re alone, you are part of a global family walking the same road. Across centuries and continents, the church has endured the lion’s roar; standing shoulder to shoulder with a multitude no man can number, all upheld by the same Christ, all waiting for the same crown.
A Promised Hope (vv.10–11)
After warning of the enemy, Peter lifts their eyes once again: “But the God of all grace, who hath called us unto his eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you. To him be glory and dominion for ever and ever. Amen.”
Here is the climax of the whole letter.
Peter’s final word of assurance before his closing greetings.
He lifts the eyes of weary exiles from their present trials to the God of all grace and the glory that is to come.
First, notice the contrast. Suffering is “for a little while,” but glory is eternal. Peter does not mean that persecution will vanish quickly in earthly time; he means that when measured against the endless ages of eternity, even a lifetime of trial is but a moment. The weight of glory so far outweighs the weight of sorrow that the two cannot be compared (2 Cor. 4:17). The brevity of suffering is not chronological but theological: all earthly pain is swallowed up in eternal joy.
Second, notice the source. It is the God of all grace. Not the God of some grace, not the God of occasional grace, but the God whose grace meets every need. Grace chose you, grace sustains you, and grace will finish the work. Peter piles up the emphasis: this God is the one who called you, the one who keeps you, the one who Himself will complete what He began. The Christian life begins in grace, continues in grace, and ends in grace.
Third, notice the promise. Peter names four actions God Himself will take:
- Restore: What was lost in Adam will not only be repaired but surpassed in Christ. Paradise lost becomes paradise restored, with Christ at the center.
- Confirm: God Himself will declare you secure. Your salvation is not tentative, not fragile, but established by His own verdict, and will be validated.
- Strengthen: Every weakness borne in exile will give way to power. The feebleness of your faith will be swallowed up in His unshakable strength.
- Establish: You will be set immovably in glory, never uprooted again. No more wandering, no more exile, no more instability, but forever home.
And all of this is framed in doxology: “To Him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.” The final word is that though suffering may last for a season, glory and joy will come in the morning. The dominion is His, the glory is His, and He has promised to share it with His people.
This is the heartbeat of Peter’s entire letter: grace for the present, glory in the future, and Christ in all.
Peter ends by reminding them that the glory once veiled is now revealed and will one day be fully unveiled.
Under the old covenant, God’s glory was always shielded. It shone in the tabernacle, but was hidden behind curtains. It filled the temple, but only the high priest saw a glimpse once a year. When Moses descended from Sinai, the radiance on his face was so bright that the people begged for a veil to cover it.
The message under the old covenant was clear: God’s glory is real, but it is too great, too holy, too blazing for sinners to endure.
But in Christ, the veil has been lifted. Paul says, “We all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image” (2 Cor. 3:18). The glory that once struck fear now shines in the face of Jesus Christ. Hebrews tells us that through His blood, the curtain has been torn, and we have boldness to enter the holy place (Heb. 10:19–20). What was once distant and dangerous is now near and gracious in Him.
Even now, we glimpse this glory by faith. When the church gathers on the Lord’s Day, when the Word is preached and the sacraments are administered, when voices rise together in prayer and song, the veil grows thin and the exiles see by faith the face of Christ. They taste in part what will one day be theirs in full.
And yet, this is only the beginning. A day is coming when faith will give way to sight, as John says, “We shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is” (1 John 3:2). The same Jesus who prayed, “Father, I desire that they also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am, to see my glory” (John 17:24), will answer His own prayer when the God of all grace will bring His exiles home.
On that day, there will be no more suffering, no more sorrow, no more weakness, no more exile. Only glory, eternal, unfading, unshakable glory. The inheritance Peter promised in chapter 1 will be the possession of God’s people forever. What Adam lost, Christ has restored in overflowing measure, and what was once glimpsed in shadow will blaze in fullness.
This is the hope that steadies suffering saints.
This is the vision that anchors weary shepherds and fearful sheep alike.
Grace has carried us this far, and grace will bring us home. The roar of the lion will be silenced, and the tears of the exiles will be wiped away. The journey will end not in despair, but in the presence of the Chief Shepherd and the eternal glory of God.
To Him be the glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.