A Sheep Contemplates Colossians 3:11-12

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A New Wardrobe

Colossians 3:11-12 (NIV)

Here there is no Gentile or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but Christ is all, and is in all.
Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.

My dear friends,

As we gather around with Bibles in hand alongside a steaming cup of Welsh Breakfast Tea or our favorite coffee, let us be inspired and encouraged by the words of the Apostle Paul.

There is a quiet, almost tender power in these two verses. Paul has spent the earlier part of the chapter reminding the Colossians (and us) that we have been raised with Christ. Our old life is dead; our true life is now hidden with Christ in God. Because of that, the old dividing walls that once shaped every relationship no longer have the final word. In Christ there is no Gentile or Jew, no slave or free, no insider or outsider. Christ is all, and Christ is in all.

Then comes the gentle “therefore.” Because this is true of you—because you belong to a people who have been chosen by God, set apart as holy, and held in the arms of His deep affection—live like it. Clothe yourselves. The image is intimate and ordinary at the same time. Just as we wake each morning and put on the clothes that fit the day, so we are invited, day by day, to put on the character that fits our new identity. These are not clothes we earn. They are the garments that already belong to those who know they are dearly loved.

Paul names five pieces of clothing. They are not abstract ideals; they are the very qualities of Jesus Himself, offered to us by the Spirit so that the church becomes a living picture of the unity Christ has already created. Let’s take a few moments and look closer at each one.

Compassion is tender mercy that feels the pain of another as if it were our own. In the original language it carries the sense of being moved in the deepest part of the heart—literally, “bowels of mercy.” It is the opposite of cold indifference or quick judgment. Compassion looks at the person who has failed, who is struggling, who is different, and refuses to look away. It is the heart of God leaning toward the broken and saying, “I am with you in this.” When we put on compassion, we stop asking first, “How does this affect me?” and begin asking, “What does love look like here?”

Kindness is active goodness. It is not merely the absence of cruelty; it is the presence of useful, generous, thoughtful care. Kindness notices what someone needs and quietly meets it. It speaks words that build rather than tear down. It gives the benefit of the doubt. In a world quick to criticize, kindness is startling because it treats people better than they may deserve—precisely because that is how God has treated us.

Humility is lowliness of mind. It is not thinking less of yourself in a self-loathing way; it is thinking of yourself correctly or honestly. Humility remembers that every gift, every breath, every opportunity comes from God, and that the person next to us is equally loved by the same Father. It frees us from the exhausting need to prove we are better, smarter, or more spiritual. In humility we can listen, we can learn, and we can serve without keeping score.

Gentleness is strength under control. It is not weakness or passivity. The gentle person has power—the power of truth, the power of conviction, the power of position—but chooses not to crush or dominate with it. Gentleness is the opposite of harshness. It corrects without humiliating, leads without bullying, and holds the fragile with care. Jesus described Himself as gentle and humble in heart; when we put on gentleness, we begin to resemble Him in the way we handle one another’s souls.

Patience is long-suffering. It is the ability to wait without exploding, to endure irritation without retaliation, to give someone room to grow. Patience does not ignore sin, but it refuses to demand immediate perfection. It remembers how patient God has been with us, and it extends that same slow, steady mercy to others. In a culture of instant reaction, patience is a quiet act of faith that God is still at work in the people around us.

These five virtues are not a checklist we manage by willpower alone. They are the natural clothing of people who know they are chosen, holy, and dearly loved. The more deeply we rest in that love, the more freely we can offer it to others. And as we do, the unity Paul proclaimed in verse 11 becomes visible. Each of us sheep truly become a flock. The world sees a people who no longer define one another by the old categories, because Christ is all, and Christ is in all.

Personal Reflection Questions

  1. Which of these five garments—compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, or patience—do you most easily put on right now? Which one feels most difficult, and what fear or wound might be making it hard to wear?
  2. Where are you still tempted to relate to others according to old categories (background, personality, politics, past failures) rather than according to the reality that Christ is all and is in all?
  3. Think of one person who is hard for you to love well. What would it look like, in a specific and practical way this week, to clothe yourself with just one of these virtues toward them?
  4. How does remembering that you are “dearly loved” by God change the way you approach your own failures in these areas? Where do you need to receive the compassion and patience of Christ for yourself today?
  5. In what setting (home, church, workplace, neighborhood) is the Lord inviting your community to make the unity of verse 11 visible through the clothing of verse 12?

My friends, may you walk today clothed in the love that first clothed you. You are chosen. You are holy. You are dearly loved. And because of that, you are free to put on the heart of Jesus.

Your fellow sheep

A Sheep Contemplates Colossians 3:8-10

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Put Away the Old, Put On the New

My dear friends,

With some warm tea or hot cocoa in hand, let’s keep going in our study of Colossians. We’re still sitting in chapter 3, right after Paul told us to put to death the earthly things that used to run our lives. Now he turns to the way we treat each other with our words and attitudes.

Here’s what he writes:

“But now you must put them all away: anger, wrath, malice, slander, and obscene talk from your mouth. Do not lie to one another, seeing that you have put off the old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge after the image of its creator.” (Colossians 3:8-10)

That little phrase “but now” is full of hope. He’s not saying, “Try harder so you can become someone new.” He’s saying, “You’ve already put off the old self and put on the new one. So live like it’s true.” The work of becoming new is already underway. Our part is to stop wearing the old clothes.

Let’s look at the list, because these show up in everyday conversations more often than we’d like to admit.

Anger is the slow burn—the irritation that simmers when someone cuts you off in traffic, dismisses your idea, or fails you again. It feels justified, but it quietly poisons the atmosphere around you.

Wrath is anger that boils over. It’s the sharp word, the raised voice, the outburst that leaves everyone else walking on eggshells. It may feel powerful in the moment, but it usually leaves regret behind.

Malice is the desire to see someone else hurt or diminished. It’s the quiet satisfaction when things go wrong for a person who wronged you, or the willingness to withhold help just because you can.

Slander is speaking about someone in a way that damages their reputation—whether it’s true but told with a twist, or simply exaggerated so others will think less of them. It often hides behind “I’m just being honest” or “I need to process this with someone.”

Obscene talk is speech that is crude, degrading, or sexually charged in a way that dishonors people made in God’s image. It can be the joke that goes too far, the comment that objectifies, or the language that treats sacred things as casual.

Then Paul adds a simple but searching command: “Do not lie to one another.” Lying isn’t only bold-faced deception. It can be the half-truth that protects your image, the silence that hides what you did, or the carefully edited story that makes you look better than you are.

All of these belong to the old self. Paul says we’ve already put that self off. We’ve already put on the new self—the one that is being renewed, day by day, to look more like Jesus, the true image of God. That renewal doesn’t happen by sheer willpower. It happens as we keep coming back to who Christ is and who we are in Him.

My friends, as I look at this list, the Holy Spirit convicts me that I am nowhere close to imitating Jesus in my life. I have issues that still need to be worked on and actions that I need to repent and ask forgiveness for. Thank God that He invites us to come to Him for the strength needed.

That invitation is both simple and costly: when anger rises, when the sharp word is on your tongue, when the half-truth feels safer than honesty—remember whose clothes you’re wearing now. You don’t have to keep putting on the old ones.

A few questions to sit with

  1. Which of these (anger, wrath, malice, slander, crude speech, or lying) shows up most easily in your life right now? What does it usually look like in practice?
  2. Is there a relationship where you’ve been living more from the old self than the new? What would “putting away” look like in that relationship this week?
  3. Where do you need the Spirit to renew your mind so that the new self feels more natural than the old habits?

Prayer
Father, thank You that I have already put off the old self and put on the new. Help me live like that’s true—especially with my words and attitudes toward others. When the old responses rise up, remind me whose image I’m being renewed into. Renew me in the knowledge of You. Amen.

Your fellow sheep,

A Sheep Contemplates Colossians 3:5-7

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Put to Death What Is Earthly

Hey my friends,

Pull up a chair for a minute. Grab an ice-cold lemonade or Southern sweet tea and open your Bible to Colossians 3. Paul’s been talking about how we’ve been raised with Christ and how our real life is hidden with Him in God. Now he gets practical—really practical.

Here’s what he says:

“Put to death therefore what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry. On account of these the wrath of God is coming. In these you too once walked, when you were living in them.” (Colossians 3:5-7)

That “therefore” is important. He’s not suddenly switching gears into a list of rules so we can try harder. He’s saying, “Because you’ve already died and been raised with Jesus, live like it.”

“Put to death” is strong language. It’s not “try to do better” or “feel guilty about it.” It’s more like cutting something off because you know it’s hurting you. Think of it like finally unplugging a device that’s been draining the battery all night, or deciding you’re done feeding a habit that’s been quietly taking over. Paul isn’t asking us to manage these things. He’s calling us to stop giving them room to breathe.

I feel like we need to look at the list a little more closely, because these words can feel abstract until we see what they look like in real life. I believe it will do us good to know exactly what Paul is telling us to put to death in out lives.

Sexual immorality is any sexual activity outside of God’s design for marriage between a husband and wife. It includes adultery, premarital sex, pornography, and any other expression of sexuality that steps outside the covenant of marriage. It might look like secretly watching things you know you shouldn’t, justifying an emotional or physical affair because “it doesn’t feel wrong,” or treating sex as something casual rather than sacred.

Impurity is the broader category of uncleanness—anything that dirties the heart and mind. It can be the lingering effects of sexual sin, crude jokes that degrade others, or a thought life that stays stuck in places it doesn’t belong. Sometimes it’s the way we replay certain memories or images because part of us still wants them.

Passion refers to uncontrolled, burning desires that drive us. It’s the kind of craving that feels bigger than we are—whether sexual, emotional, or otherwise. It might show up as an almost compulsive need for attention, approval, or physical pleasure, where the desire itself starts calling the shots.

Evil desire is simply wanting what is wrong. It’s the quiet (or not-so-quiet) longing for something God has said no to. It can be the fantasy you keep returning to, the resentment you nurse because it feels justified, or the desire to get even, to escape, or to take what isn’t yours.

Covetousness, which Paul says is idolatry, is wanting what someone else has so badly that it becomes a rival god. It isn’t just wishing you had a nicer car. It’s the restless “if only” that steals your peace—comparing your marriage, your bank account, your looks, your ministry, or your life to someone else’s and believing that what they have would finally make you okay. It can hide in constant upgrading, in envy dressed up as ambition, or in the quiet bitterness that says, “God has been better to them than to me.”

Paul says these things are idolatry because they treat created things as if they were the Creator. They promise life, satisfaction, and identity, but they can’t deliver. My friends, these things aren’t just prevalent in the world, they are prevalent inside the family of God as well.

The Apostle also reminds us that God’s wrath is coming because of these things. That’s not God being mean. It’s God being unwilling to let His kids stay stuck in what destroys them. And then the good news: “In these you too once walked, when you were living in them.” Past tense. That used to be your story. You’re not living there anymore. You’ve been moved into a new place—with Christ. You can no longer use the excuse that you are merely human. Now that God has placed His Holy Spirit inside of you, you have access to His supernatural power to overcome these things.

Most of the time the Spirit doesn’t yell about these things. He just quietly puts His finger on something we’ve been feeding and says, “This doesn’t belong in your new life.” Putting it to death usually isn’t one big dramatic moment. It’s a bunch of small choices—closing the laptop, redirecting the thought, choosing not to rehearse the resentment, deciding you’re done chasing what only Jesus can give. And we can do that not because we’re strong, but because we’re already alive in Him.

A few questions to sit with

  1. As you look at that list, is there one thing the Spirit seems to be highlighting in your life right now? What would it look like to stop feeding it this week?
  2. Where have you been treating these things like minor issues instead of rival loves? How does remembering that you’ve already been raised with Christ change the way you look at them?
  3. Is there any part of your life where you’re still living like you belong to the old neighborhood? What would it look like to live more from your real address—hidden with Christ?

Prayer
Father, thank You that my life is already hidden with Christ in You. Show me the earthly things I’m still feeding. Help me starve them, not in my own strength, but because I’m already alive in Jesus. Teach me to live like someone who’s been raised. Amen.

Remember that warnings come because God deeply loves you and wants you to live in a close relationship with Him. He desires to give you a life that will become joyfully abundant by walking as His Son walked.

Your fellow sheep,

When The Coyote Finally Opened The Book

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Wile E. Coyote had tried everything. ACME rocket skates. Catapults disguised as mailboxes. A boulder rigged with a tripwire and a helpful “FREE BIRD SEED” sign. Every single plan ended the same way: the Road Runner went “beep-beep,” and Coyote became the punchline, usually while flattened under his own clever idea.

One particularly bruised morning he sat on a cactus, staring at the latest hole in the ground that had been meant for someone else. In a fit of desperation—or maybe just because the package was cheaper than another anvil—he ordered a book. When it arrived it was red, thick, and surprisingly free of spring-loaded boxing gloves. The cover simply said HOLY BIBLE.

He opened it somewhere near the middle and read Proverbs 26:27:

“If you set a trap for others, you will get caught in it yourself. If you roll a boulder down on others, it will crush you instead.”

Coyote’s ears went up. His eyes got very wide. For the first time in decades, the universe seemed to be speaking his language.

The verse was not a suggestion. It was a weather report. Set a snare, and the snare develops a personal interest in you. Push a boulder, and gravity files a formal complaint with your name on it. Coyote had been living the illustrated edition of that proverb for years and never noticed he was the main character.

Most of us are not quite so cartoonish, yet the principle still holds. We smile and offer “helpful” information that is really a carefully aimed rock. We stay quiet when a half-truth would make someone else look worse and us look better. We rehearse the perfect comeback and call it justice. Then we are shocked when the same snare tightens around our own ankle, or when the story we started rolling comes back downhill at twice the speed.

Scripture does not say, “Don’t ever protect yourself,” or “Pretend the Road Runner is your best friend.” It simply observes that schemes aimed at other people’s downfall have a way of becoming self-addressed. God is not mocked by clever engineering, whether the device is an ACME product or a whispered rumor. What we plant, we harvest—sometimes with a large cartoon rock attached.

Coyote, for once, closed the book carefully instead of using it as a projectile. He still wanted the Road Runner. He just no longer trusted his own blueprints. That is often the first small step of wisdom: realizing that the person most likely to be caught in the trap we are building is the one holding the hammer.

And somewhere on the desert floor, a very small bird kept running, blissfully unaware that the coyote had finally read the warranty.

A Few Questions for the Rest of Us (Who Don’t Order from ACME)

  • Where am I currently “improving” a situation by leaving out a key detail, steering a conversation, or quietly hoping someone else trips—so that I look better or stay safer?
  • If my hidden motives were turned into a cartoon blueprint and played on a loop, would I still be proud of the design, or would I start looking for the exit?
  • What would it look like this week to drop the boulder (or the subtle snare) and simply tell the truth, trust the outcome to God, and let the Road Runner run?

Nimrod: The Mighty Hunter Who Aimed at the Sky

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Meet Nimrod. If the post-Flood world had a “Most Likely to Found an Empire and Annoy the Almighty” yearbook superlative, he would have won by a landslide. Son of Cush, grandson of Ham, and great-grandson of Noah, he shows up in Genesis 10 as “the first on earth to be a mighty man” and “a mighty hunter before the Lord.” The text even notes that people started using his name as a proverb: “Like Nimrod a mighty hunter before the Lord.”

⁠From that hunting prowess he pivots to city-building. His kingdom begins with Babel, Erech, Accad, and Calneh in the land of Shinar, then expands into Assyria, where he builds Nineveh and other cities. In short, Nimrod is the Bible’s original empire-builder—part skilled outdoorsman, part ambitious urban planner. The Bible itself is relatively restrained. Later Jewish and Christian writers, however, read between the lines and decided this was the guy who tried to storm heaven itself.

The Hebrew name Nimrod is widely understood to come from the root marad, “to rebel.” Ancient Jewish commentators noticed the wordplay and concluded that his very name meant something like “we shall rebel” or “he who makes the world rebel.” Whether the etymology is strictly accurate or a later interpretation, the association stuck hard. By the time of the rabbis and the early Church Fathers, Nimrod was the prototype of proud defiance.

The phrase “mighty hunter before the Lord” has also been debated for centuries. It can simply mean a hunter of extraordinary renown in God’s sight. Many later traditions, however, read it as hunting against or in the face of the Lord—extending from animals to people. The Targums and midrashim portray him as a hunter of men who led others away from God. Augustine, in The City of God, leans into the adversarial reading and calls him a giant hunter “against the Lord,” the proud founder of the earthly city of Babylon (literally “Confusion”).

The Bible never explicitly says Nimrod built the Tower of Babel, but the connection was irresistible. Genesis 10 places the beginning of his kingdom at Babel; Genesis 11 immediately describes the tower project in the same plain of Shinar. Jewish writers from Philo and Josephus onward filled in the details.

Josephus, writing in the first century, portrays Nimrod as the bold, strong grandson of Ham who persuaded people not to credit God for their prosperity but to trust their own courage. He gradually turned the community into a tyranny and declared he would avenge the Flood by building a tower higher than any future waters could reach. The people, Josephus says, were eager to follow, regarding submission to God as cowardice. God responded not with another flood but with a more elegant solution: the confusion of languages.

⁠Rabbinic tradition expands the portrait further. Nimrod becomes the great rebel who led the world into idolatry, built the tower as a center of false worship, and (in a story that parallels the later Daniel narrative) threw the young Abraham into a fiery furnace for refusing to worship idols. Some sources even identify him with the Amraphel of Genesis 14. In these tellings, Nimrod is not merely ambitious; he is the man who recognized God and deliberately chose to oppose Him.

Lessons from the Original High-Achiever

What can we actually learn from a figure whose biblical footprint is brief and whose later reputation is largely legendary? Quite a bit, if we keep the Scripture primary and treat the traditions as illuminating commentary rather than canon.

First, skill and strength are not the same as wisdom. Nimrod was genuinely impressive—the proverb about him proves people noticed. Yet the very next chapter of Genesis shows a people who said, “Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower… and let us make a name for ourselves.” The contrast with Abraham is deliberate: God later tells Abraham, “I will make your name great.” One man tries to manufacture significance; the other receives it as a gift. Human ambition detached from dependence has a way of producing impressive ruins and confused construction crews.

Second, unity is not automatically virtuous. The Babel builders were remarkably coordinated—one language, one purpose, nothing they planned would be impossible for them. God still scattered them. Shared language and shared vision become dangerous when the vision is “let us make a name for ourselves” rather than “let us serve the One who already has a name.” The humor of the story is dry and divine: the people who refused to be scattered ended up more thoroughly scattered than if they had simply obeyed the earlier command to fill the earth.

Third, God has a particular way of dealing with proud plans. He does not always smash them with lightning. Sometimes He simply makes the blueprints unreadable. The mighty hunter who could track game across the plain could not track the conversation on his own building site. That is not just ancient irony; it is a standing warning about any project—technological, political, or personal—that begins with “we will make a name for ourselves.”

Finally, the traditions about Nimrod and Abraham highlight a choice that keeps recurring: will we use power to demand worship, or will we recognize that true greatness is received rather than seized? Augustine framed the whole history of the world as the conflict between the earthly city (founded in pride and domination) and the City of God (founded in humility and faith). Nimrod, in that reading, is simply an early and vivid representative of the first.

English eventually turned “nimrod” into slang for a fool, thanks largely to Looney Tunes cartoons, with both Daffy Duck and Bugs Bunny using it as an insult to an inept hunter, Elmer Fudd. The shift is fitting in its own way. The biblical Nimrod was never a fool in the ordinary sense; he was formidable. The danger was not incompetence but competence without reverence. The lasting lesson is not “don’t build” or “don’t lead,” but “don’t build a tower whose top is meant to replace the sky.”

God still confuses the languages of the proud—sometimes with actual linguistic barriers, more often with the quieter scattering of plans, reputations, and certainties. The mighty hunter before the Lord discovered, one way or another, that the Lord was not particularly impressed by the size of the bow or the height of the tower. That discovery remains available, and considerably less expensive, if we learn it sooner rather than later.

A Sheep Contemplates Colossians 3:1-4

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Hidden In Christ

My good friends,

This morning’s verses are full of encouragement. As your coffee or tea stimulates your mind as you sip it, let this passage from the Bible stimulate your soul. Because our Heavenly Father deeply loves us, He has the Apostle Paul write these encouraging words.

“Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.”
— Colossians 3:1–4 (NIV)

Come a little closer, friend. Let these words settle over you the way morning light slowly fills a quiet room. You have been raised with Christ. That is not a hope you are still reaching for; it is the solid ground already beneath your feet. Because of Jesus, you have been lifted out of the old life and placed into a new one—secure, living, and held.

Paul writes to people who felt the pull of many voices, much like we do. He doesn’t begin with a list of things they must do. He begins with what God has already done. You died with Christ, and your life is now hidden with Him in God. Hidden the way a seed is tucked safely into rich soil, waiting for its season. Hidden the way a child is sheltered in a parent’s arms while the wind blows outside. The world may not see the fullness of who you are, and some days you may not even feel it yourself. But God sees. And God holds.

To set your heart and mind on things above is less like straining upward and more like turning your face toward the One who already has you. It is the gentle turning of a flower toward the sun. Earthly things—the worries that wake you at night, the pressure to prove yourself, the longing to be noticed—still matter. They are part of the life you live. But they are no longer the center. Christ is. He is seated at the right hand of God, and your life is already bound up with His.

There will be days when the hiddenness feels heavy. Days when you wonder if your quiet faithfulness is really making a difference. On those days, remember that what is hidden is not forgotten. It is being kept. And one day, when Christ appears, you will appear with Him in glory. The life you have lived by faith—often unseen, often costly, often offered in the ordinary places—will be brought fully into the light. What was planted in secret will blossom in full view.

Until that day, you are free to live with open hands and a quieter heart. You do not have to manufacture your own significance. You do not have to carry the weight of making your life matter. Your life is already hidden with Christ, and He is enough.

Reflection Questions

  • Where in your life right now do you most need to feel the shelter of being hidden with Christ?
  • What is one place this week where you can gently turn your attention toward Him, the way a flower turns toward the light?
  • How does the promise of one day appearing with Him in glory give warmth or courage to something you are quietly carrying?

Prayer

Father, thank You that my life is hidden with Christ in You—safe, held, and already raised. When the day feels heavy or my heart feels small, remind me that I am sheltered in Him. Help me set my heart on the One who is seated at Your right hand, not in striving, but in trust. Keep me close to Jesus, who is my life, until the day when what is hidden is brought into the light and I appear with Him in glory. Amen.

Remember to always let Him hold you in His love,

Your fellow sheep

A Sheep Contemplates Colossians 2:20-23

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Jesus is Enough

“Since you died with Christ to the elemental spiritual forces of this world, why, as though you still belonged to the world, do you submit to its rules: ‘Do not handle! Do not taste! Do not touch!’? These rules, which have to do with things that are all destined to perish with use, are based on merely human commands and teachings. Such regulations indeed have an appearance of wisdom, with their self-imposed worship, their false humility and their harsh treatment of the body, but they lack any value in restraining sensual indulgence.”

My dear friends,

As we sit sipping our morning beverage and nibbling on toast smothered in guava jelly, lets dive deep into these profound words Paul wrote to the church in Colossae.

Let’s imagine sitting in a small house church in that first-century city. You’ve come to faith in Jesus, and the joy of it is still fresh. Yet new voices have begun to circulate. They sound spiritual, even impressive. They speak of higher knowledge, of special practices, of rules that will supposedly take you deeper. “Don’t touch that food. Don’t handle that. Discipline your body more severely. Humble yourself by these observances.” The pressure is subtle but real: maybe what you have in Christ isn’t quite enough. Maybe you need to add something more.

Into that tension Paul writes these words. He does not begin with a new list of better rules. He begins with a reminder of what has already happened to you.

“Since you died with Christ to the elemental spiritual forces of this world…” This is not a metaphor Paul uses lightly. Earlier in the letter he has declared that God has given us fullness in Christ, and that in Him we were circumcised, buried with Him in baptism, and raised with Him through faith (Colossians 2:9–12). When Jesus died, those who belong to Him died with Him. The old dominion—the “elemental spiritual forces,” those basic principles and powers that once held sway over human life—no longer owns you. You have been transferred into the kingdom of the beloved Son.

Paul’s question is therefore both logical and pastoral: if that is true, why are you still living as though you belong to the old world? Why submit again to its rules? The “Do not handle! Do not taste! Do not touch!” commands sound holy. They create the appearance of careful, serious discipleship. Yet Paul unmasks them. They concern things destined to perish with use—temporary, earthly realities. They rest on human commands and teachings, not on the word of Christ. And while they wear the mask of wisdom—self-imposed worship, a show of humility, harsh treatment of the body—they possess no real power to restrain the deeper desires of the heart. They can modify behavior for a season; they cannot transform the soul.

This is liberating truth spoken in love. Paul is not anti-discipline. He is against any system that treats external regulations as the path to spiritual maturity when Christ Himself is the fullness of God dwelling among us. The false teachers in Colossae offered a spirituality of addition: Christ plus rules, Christ plus special knowledge, Christ plus ascetic practices. Paul’s answer is subtraction: you already have everything in Him. Stop living as though the cross were incomplete.

Here is the warmth of the gospel for weary people. You do not have to keep proving your seriousness by the severity of your restrictions. You do not have to measure your growth by how many things you can refuse to touch. The regulations that once felt necessary may have given you a sense of control, or a way to quiet the accusing voice inside, but they cannot do what only Christ can do. He has already broken the power of the old order. Your life is now hidden with Him. Growth comes not primarily by tighter rules, but by staying connected to the One in whom all the fullness of God dwells.

This does not mean we become careless. It means we become free to pursue holiness from a place of security rather than anxiety. The Spirit produces self-control, love, and purity as fruit, not as a ladder we climb to earn favor. When we try to restrain the flesh mainly by external commands, we often find the desires simply go underground or reappear in subtler forms. But when we live in the reality of our death and resurrection with Christ, the old forces lose their claim. We learn to say no to ungodliness because we belong to Another, not because a list demands it.

Perhaps you have known the exhaustion of the “appearance of wisdom.” The quiet pride of harsh self-treatment. The false humility that draws attention to how little you allow yourself. Or the fear that if you relax the rules even a little, everything will unravel. Paul invites you to set that burden down. Not so you can indulge every desire, but so you can finally rest in the sufficiency of Jesus. He is enough. The work is finished. You have died with Him, and the life you now live is His life in you.

Personal Reflection Questions

  • In what areas of my life do I still feel the pull of “Do not handle, do not taste, do not touch” rules—whether from religious tradition, personal habit, or the expectations of others—and how do those rules make me feel about my standing with God?
  • Where have I been tempted to trust human commands or self-imposed practices more than the finished work of Christ for my growth and acceptance?
  • What would it look like, practically, for me to live this week as someone who has already died with Christ to the elemental forces of the world? Where might I need to lay down a regulation that has only an appearance of wisdom?
  • How can I distinguish between healthy, Spirit-led discipline and the kind of harsh, rule-based restraint that Paul says lacks real power?
  • In what ways has the fullness of Christ already proven sufficient for me, and where do I still struggle to believe it?

A Closing Prayer

Father, thank You for the clear and gracious reminder that we have died with Christ and no longer belong to the old ways of the world. We confess how easily we return to human rules and self-imposed efforts that promise wisdom but leave us empty. Teach us to rest in the fullness we already have in Jesus. Free us from the exhausting need to prove ourselves by what we refuse to touch or taste. Fill us instead with the life of Your Son, so that genuine holiness and freedom grow from our union with Him. Help us to walk in the liberty of those who have been raised with Christ, for Your glory and our joy. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Remember dear ones, God gives us warnings because He loves you deeply. Until our next lesson, be blessed

Your fellow sheep

A Sheep Contemplates Colossians 2:18-19

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Holding Fast To Christ

Beloved friends in Christ,

Let’s settle in together for a quiet moment. Perhaps with a cup of something warm nearby and your Bible open to Colossians 2. Let the words of the apostle bring peace to us who are living in a troubled world.

Paul writes to a church being pressed—subtly, persuasively—to add something extra to Jesus in order to be truly spiritual. The pressure sounds pious. It looks humble. It claims deeper insight. Yet Paul offers a tender, protective warning:

“Do not let anyone who delights in false humility and the worship of angels disqualify you. Such a person also goes into great detail about what they have seen; they are puffed up with idle notions by their unspiritual mind. They have lost connection with the head, from whom the whole body, supported and held together by its ligaments and sinews, grows as God causes it to grow.” (Colossians 2:18–19, NIV)

Notice the kindness in his tone. He is not scolding the Colossians for being weak. He is guarding them from a subtle form of bondage that dresses itself in spiritual language. These teachers delighted in false humility and the worship of angels. They went into great detail about visions they claimed to have seen. It looked like advanced spirituality. In reality, it was pride wearing the mask of humility—“puffed up with idle notions by their unspiritual mind.” Their minds were still operating according to the flesh even while claiming special spiritual experiences.

The decisive failure was this: they had lost connection with the Head.

Christ is the Head. We are His body. From Him alone comes the nourishment that sustains us. Through Him the members are supported and held together by its ligaments and sinews. From Him the whole body grows—as God causes it to grow, not as human effort, special experiences, or self-imposed rules produce it.

Imagine a body whose limbs decide they no longer need the head. They try to feed themselves, direct themselves, and grow on their own strength. The result is not maturity; it is disconnection and withering. So it is when we turn from the simplicity of clinging to Jesus and begin chasing extra requirements, mystical experiences, or impressive spiritual disciplines as the true source of life. These things may look wise. They may feel profound. But if they loosen our grip on Christ, they cut us off from the very Source of growth.

The growth that God causes is quiet, organic, and sure. It happens as we stay connected to the Head—receiving from Him, submitting to Him, and remaining in the body He is holding together. No vision, no angelic intermediary, no severe treatment of the body can supply what only Christ Himself gives.

Brothers and Sisters, this is not a call to be passive. It is a call to restful dependence. Holding fast is not striving to earn more of Christ; it is refusing to let go of the One in whom we are already complete.

For reflection:

  • Where have I been tempted to measure my spiritual life by something other than simple, ongoing connection to Jesus?
  • Have I ever been drawn to “extra” experiences or rules that subtly shifted my focus away from the Head?
  • What would it look like today to more deliberately stay connected to Christ rather than to my own spiritual performance?

Prayer
Heavenly Father, thank You that in Christ we have the Head from whom all true life and growth flow. Guard our hearts from any teaching, however humble-sounding, that would loosen our connection to Jesus. Nourish us, hold us together, and cause us to grow as You cause the body to grow. Keep us holding fast.
Amen.

Your fellow sheep,

A Sheep Contemplates Colossians 2:16-17

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Only A Shadow

Beloved friends in Christ,

As we sit with the Scriptures today, let us let their truths wash over us like a gentle rain that nourishes the garden.

There is a quiet freedom that belongs to everyone who belongs to Jesus, and sometimes we need to be gently reminded of it. Paul writes these words to a church that was being pressured—lovingly, perhaps, but firmly—to add certain practices back onto the gospel in order to be truly spiritual. “Let no one pass judgment on you in questions of food and drink, or with regard to a festival or a new moon or a Sabbath. These are a shadow of the things to come, but the substance belongs to Christ.”

Notice the tenderness in the language. Paul is not scolding the Colossians for being weak; he is protecting them from a subtle form of bondage. The regulations about what to eat, which days to observe, and which festivals to keep were never the main thing. They were shadows—real, God-given shadows, but still only shadows—cast by the reality that was coming. And that reality is a Person.

When Christ arrives, the shadow loses its power to define us. The meal is no longer the point; the One who is our true Bread is the point. The calendar is no longer the point; the One who is our true Rest is the point. The external markers of belonging are no longer the point; union with Jesus is the point. That is why Paul can say, with such calm authority, “Let no one pass judgment on you.” Not because the details of life no longer matter, but because those details no longer determine your standing before God. Christ does.

Paul is protecting the Colossian believers from teachers who were insisting that these Old Testament shadows were still necessary for spiritual maturity or true belonging. His point is not that the Old Testament was worthless, nor that Christians must now be careless. His point is that Christ Himself is the fulfillment and the sufficiency. To return to the shadows as if they still define one’s standing before God is to trade the substance for the outline.

This is good news for weary saints. Some of us grew up in homes or churches where certain rules felt heavy, and we still carry a low-grade anxiety that we might not be “doing it right.” Others of us have swung the opposite direction and quietly judge those who still find joy in practices we have left behind. Both postures miss the heart of the passage. The call is not to carelessness; it is to rest. The substance belongs to Christ. He is enough. He is the fulfillment. He is the One who holds us.

So walk in that freedom this week. When someone questions your liberty, or when your own conscience grows unsettled over secondary matters, turn your eyes again to the substance. You are not saved by the shadow. You are saved by the Savior. And that is more than enough.

Personal Reflection Questions

  1. Where in my life am I still tempted to measure my (or someone else’s) spiritual health by external practices rather than by union with Christ?
  2. Is there a “shadow” I have been clinging to for security—something that once pointed me to Jesus but has begun to take His place?
  3. How might I gently encourage a fellow believer this week who feels judged or burdened by secondary matters, pointing them instead to the sufficiency of Christ?
  4. In what practical way can I rest more fully in the reality that “the substance belongs to Christ,” rather than in my ability to keep every rule or meet every expectation?

Grace and peace to you in the One who is our true substance. Remember that our Father deeply loves you.

Your fellow sheep