“But godliness with contentment is great gain, for we brought nothing into the world, and we cannot take anything out of the world. But if we have food and clothing, with these we will be content.”
— 1 Timothy 6:6–8 (ESV)

We live in a culture obsessed with climbing ladders, chasing paychecks, and measuring success by what’s in the bank account or on the résumé. The pressure is constant—achieve more, own more, prove more. Yet beneath the surface of all that striving, many discover that the higher they climb, the emptier they feel. What the world calls “success” often leaves people restless, anxious, and enslaved to the very things they thought would set them free.

Paul’s words to Timothy in 1 Timothy 6 cut through the noise with a radically different perspective: true wealth isn’t in your wallet—it’s in your witness. He reminds us that money itself is not evil, but the love of it can quietly poison our hearts. The hunger for more has led countless people—both in Paul’s day and ours—into ruin, compromise, and disillusionment.

This is why Paul calls Timothy, a young leader in a materialistic and status-driven world, to anchor his life in something far greater than possessions: godliness, contentment, and eternal treasure. And his charge echoes across the centuries with striking relevance. Success in the Kingdom looks very different than success in the world. It doesn’t crumble with market shifts, fade with time, or vanish when life ends. It endures because it is built on Christ.

---

Paul’s Blueprint for True Wealth

“Let all who are under a yoke as bondservants regard their own masters as worthy of all honor, so that the name of God and the teaching may not be reviled. Those who have believing masters must not be disrespectful on the ground that they are brothers; rather they must serve all the better since those who benefit by their good service are believers and beloved.”
— 1 Timothy 6:1–2 (ESV)

Paul begins this section with instructions to Christian bondservants. In the first-century Roman world, slavery was an entrenched social system, not based on race but on economics, war, and debt. While Scripture never endorses slavery as God’s design, Paul consistently addresses how believers should live faithfully within unjust systems. His concern here is missional: the way bondservants treated their masters would either bring honor or dishonor to “the name of God and the teaching.”

The Greek word for “yoke” (ζυγός, zygos) paints a vivid picture. It was used to describe the wooden bar placed on oxen — a symbol of burden and submission. Paul acknowledges the weight of their condition, yet calls for a posture of honor so that the gospel would not be slandered. Even when faith places us in hard, unjust circumstances, our response can become a testimony to Christ.

For those serving under believing masters, Paul adds a nuance: don’t take advantage of spiritual equality as an excuse for laziness. Instead, serve even more faithfully, because the one benefiting is “beloved.” Here we see Kingdom economics: relationships are redefined by love, not by power.

While Paul speaks specifically to slaves and bondservants (douloi) in a first-century system, the principle travels: where power is uneven (workplaces, teams, economies), believers honor Christ by dignifying others and serving with integrity (cf. Eph 6:5–9; Col 3:22–4:1).

“If anyone teaches a different doctrine and does not agree with the sound words of our Lord Jesus Christ and the teaching that accords with godliness, he is puffed up with conceit and understands nothing…”
— 1 Timothy 6:3–5 (ESV)

From there, Paul pivots sharply to false teachers. Their motives were not rooted in godliness but in gain. The Greek word for “sound” (ὑγιαίνω, hygiainō) literally means “healthy” or “wholesome.” Paul is saying the true words of Christ bring spiritual health, while distorted teaching breeds pride, division, and — significantly — financial exploitation. In the ancient world, itinerant philosophers often charged fees for their teaching, turning wisdom into a commodity. Some in Ephesus were twisting the gospel for personal profit, causing envy and strife within the church.

This sets the stage for Paul’s famous declaration:

“But godliness with contentment is great gain, for we brought nothing into the world, and we cannot take anything out of the world.”
— 1 Timothy 6:6–7 (ESV)

Here, Paul redefines “gain.” The false teachers sought financial profit, but Paul insists the real profit (porismos in Greek) is found in godliness with contentment. The word for contentment (autarkeia) was a prized Stoic ideal in Paul’s day, describing self-sufficiency and detachment from circumstances. Yet Paul reframes it: true autarkeia isn’t independence from others but dependence on God’s provision. We brought nothing in; we take nothing out. Between those bookends of life, contentment is the greatest wealth.

“But those who desire to be rich fall into temptation, into a snare, into many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction.”
— 1 Timothy 6:9 (ESV)

The danger is not wealth itself but the desire (βούλομαι, boulomai) — a deliberate, willful striving after it. Paul layers images: a “snare” (παγίς, pagis), the trap of a hunter; “plunge” (βυθίζω, buthizō), a word used of ships sinking beneath the sea. The love of money doesn’t simply distract — it drowns.

“For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils.”
— 1 Timothy 6:10 (ESV)

This oft-misquoted verse doesn’t say money itself is evil, but that the love of it is a root from which many evils sprout. In the ancient world, greed drove exploitation, betrayal, and even violence. Paul warns Timothy that misplaced love can pierce the soul with grief.

“But as for you, O man of God, flee these things. Pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, steadfastness, gentleness. Fight the good fight of the faith.”
— 1 Timothy 6:11–12 (ESV)

The title “man of God” echoes the prophets of old. Timothy is to live distinct from the world’s ambitions. Paul uses athletic and military imagery here: flee greed like an enemy’s ambush, pursue virtue like a runner chasing the finish, fight like a soldier guarding a treasure. Kingdom wealth isn’t passive — it’s an active pursuit of Christlike character.

“I charge you in the presence of God, who gives life to all things, and of Christ Jesus, who in his testimony before Pontius Pilate made the good confession, to keep the commandment unstained and free from reproach until the appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ, which he will display at the proper time—he who is the blessed and only Sovereign, the King of kings and Lord of lords, who alone has immortality, who dwells in unapproachable light, whom no one has ever seen or can see. To him be honor and eternal dominion. Amen.”
— 1 Timothy 6:13–16 (ESV)

Before Paul turns to those with means, he roots Timothy’s charge in the very presence of God and the lordship of Christ (6:13–16). The call to “keep the commandment unstained” is framed by doxology: the blessed and only Sovereign, the King of kings, whose appearing is certain. That vision is the engine of contentment. We loosen our grip on wealth because we’re held by the One who “alone has immortality.” Kingdom wealth begins in worship.

Finally, Paul turns to those who already possess wealth:

“As for the rich in this present age, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God…”
— 1 Timothy 6:17–19 (ESV)

Wealth is precarious — uncertain, shifting like sand. Yet God “richly provides” not just for survival but “to enjoy.” Paul doesn’t call for guilt but for stewardship. The rich are not to cling but to share, to be “rich in good works.” In doing so, they lay a foundation (themelios) for eternity and “take hold of that which is truly life.” Here’s the paradox: generosity doesn’t empty us; it roots us in life that never ends.

---

Living Out Kingdom Wealth

Paul lays out a stark contrast. On one side are those who use faith as a means for selfish gain, falling into “many senseless and harmful desires” (v. 9). On the other side are those who pursue godliness, faith, love, steadfastness, and gentleness (v. 11). Timothy is urged not to chase the temporary treasures of this world but to fight “the good fight of the faith” (v. 12).

This passage doesn’t deny the value of hard work or responsible provision. Instead, it challenges us to ask: What am I really living for? Am I building a life around possessions and status, or around the eternal riches of knowing Christ and making Him known?

Here are three practical ways to live this out:

---

1. Choose Daily Simplicity over Endless Striving

Paul reminds us that “if we have food and clothing, with these we will be content” (1 Tim. 6:8). At first glance, that sounds impossibly minimal—too stripped down for modern life. Yet in the first-century Roman world, where many believers lived on the edge of poverty, this was a radical invitation to freedom. The Greek word for content (autarkeia) was a prized Stoic ideal, referring to a state of self-sufficiency. But Paul reshapes the term: Christian contentment is not about independence from need, but dependence on God. It is not found in detachment but in devotion.

The culture around Timothy equated wealth with honor and success. That same pull lives on in our day—only now it’s magnified by marketing, social media, and endless comparison. Every ad whispers that life will be better with just one more upgrade. Every scroll through our feed tells us we’re behind if we don’t have what someone else does. And yet Paul insists: the mark of true gain is not accumulation but godliness with contentment (v. 6).

Jesus warned in Luke 12:15, “Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.” Notice His words—take care, be on guard. Discontentment doesn’t slip in loudly; it creeps in quietly, reshaping our hearts without us noticing. Before long, striving for “more” is no longer about survival but identity. We don’t just want better things; we want the status, the security, and the control they seem to promise.

Choosing simplicity cuts against that current. It means we stop letting the world define what “enough” looks like. Simplicity is not laziness or lack of ambition. It is living with intentional restraint so that our hearts stay anchored to Christ. It’s budgeting not to hoard but to give. It’s resisting purchases that only feed comparison. It’s carving out Sabbath rest in a culture that glorifies busyness. Simplicity trains our desires to long less for what fades and more for what lasts.

This kind of contentment also creates space for worship. When we pause to thank God for daily bread, we are confessing that our lives are held together not by our striving, but by His grace. Simplicity, then, is not subtraction—it’s addition. It adds margin for joy, freedom for generosity, and room for relationships that aren’t built around possessions. It declares to a watching world: Christ is enough. My value isn’t measured by my salary, my home, or my stuff. My treasure is in Him. This is why Paul can say, “I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content… I can do all things through him who strengthens me” (Phil 4:11–13). Christian autarkeia isn’t self-sufficiency; it’s Christ-sufficiency.

---

2. Redirect Your Hope toward the Provider, Not the Provision

Paul cautions the wealthy in Ephesus “not to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy” (1 Tim. 6:17). That phrase “uncertainty of riches” would have struck a nerve. In the Roman economy, fortunes could vanish overnight through war, corruption, famine, or a failed venture. Wealth offered no guarantees, yet people built their identity and security upon it.

Our culture isn’t much different. We may not fear invading armies, but the stock market can tumble, a job can be lost, or inflation can erode savings. Riches are still uncertain. Paul’s warning is timeless: when hope is tethered to provision, we are always one crisis away from despair. But when hope is anchored to the Provider, we discover stability the world cannot shake.

The Greek word for hope (elpizō) carries the sense of confident expectation. Paul isn’t saying, “Don’t ever plan” or “Don’t ever save.” He is confronting misplaced expectation—trusting created things to do what only the Creator can. Jesus Himself made this clear: “Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven” (Matt. 6:19–20). Treasures here will always be vulnerable. Treasures there will never fail.

Redirecting our hope doesn’t mean abandoning wise financial stewardship; it means remembering stewardship is not saviorhood. Planning, budgeting, and working hard are good, but they were never meant to hold the weight of our ultimate security. That belongs to God alone. Hebrews 13:5 echoes this: “Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have, for he has said, ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you.’” Notice the contrast: riches are uncertain, but God’s presence is guaranteed. That is where real assurance is found.

Practically, this shift happens in the small, daily moments. It happens when you pause before a financial decision and ask, “Am I trusting this money to give me peace, or am I trusting God?” It happens when a job loss or bill reminds you how fragile life is, and you choose to pray, “Lord, my hope is in You.” It happens when you learn to enjoy what God provides—whether much or little—without turning those gifts into idols.

When hope is anchored in the Provider, provision no longer owns us. We can receive it with gratitude, share it with generosity, and let it go without fear. That is Kingdom wealth: trusting the Giver more than the gift.

---

3. Invest Generously in Eternal Returns

Paul closes this section with a striking redefinition of wealth: “They are to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, thus storing up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is truly life” (1 Tim. 6:18–19). Notice how he flips the script—riches are not measured in possessions but in good works and generosity.

In the Roman world, generosity was often transactional. Wealthy patrons gave gifts to secure honor, influence, or loyalty. It was giving with strings attached. Paul points to something radically different: giving not for recognition, but for the sake of Christ and the blessing of others. To be “rich in good works” was to spend one’s life on things that couldn’t be bought or sold—acts of mercy, encouragement, hospitality, and service.

Jesus tied this principle to the eternal ledger of heaven: “Lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven… For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matt. 6:20–21). Every act of generosity is a deposit into eternity. Unlike investments on earth, these returns never crash, corrode, or vanish. Instead, they form a “good foundation” (themelios, v. 19)—a lasting base that undergirds the believer’s hope of “that which is truly life.” Eternal life isn’t just future bliss; it begins now when our hearts are freed from clinging to what doesn’t last.

The beauty of this truth is that generosity is not bound by the size of our bank account. The widow who gave two copper coins (Mark 12:41–44) outgave the wealthy, because her gift flowed from trust and sacrifice. In the same way, every believer—whether rich or poor—has something to invest. Money, time, talents, encouragement, hospitality—all can be poured into Kingdom purposes.

Living generously is both countercultural and deeply liberating. The world tells us to hold tighter, but Paul urges us to open our hands wider. When we give, we dethrone money’s power over us and declare that our true security lies in Christ. And as we do, we experience the paradox of Kingdom economics: what we release, we never truly lose; what we cling to, we cannot keep.

To “take hold of that which is truly life” is to discover that abundance is not found in accumulation but in sacrifice. Generosity is not a subtraction from life; it is an investment in joy that endures forever.

---

Taking Hold of True Life

Paul’s words to Timothy echo with urgency: don’t be seduced by temporary riches, don’t be lulled into false security, and don’t measure success by what will not last. The world tells us that wealth is accumulation, but Scripture tells us it is contentment, stewardship, and generosity. Kingdom wealth is not counted in dollars or possessions—it is measured in faithfulness, impact, and eternal fruit.

This means the way we live today matters. Every choice to embrace simplicity pushes back against the lie that we need more to be whole. Every decision to anchor our hope in God rather than in wealth trains our hearts for stability in a shaky world. Every act of generosity becomes an eternal investment that will outlive us.

The question isn’t whether we will leave behind wealth when we die—we all will. The question is whether our lives will have invested in something that endures. Paul’s challenge to Timothy becomes ours: “take hold of that which is truly life” (v. 19). Don’t waste your energy chasing shadows. Build your life on what will remain when the world fades away.

True success is not in what you can keep, but in what you give away for the sake of Christ. Live so that your witness—not your wallet—becomes your legacy.