Living as an Heir in Christ
On Second Thought
There is something deeply human about longing for more. We measure, compare, and quietly wonder if what we have is enough—enough strength, enough wisdom, enough security. The language of inheritance speaks directly into that longing. When we hear the word “heir,” we think of future gain, something yet to be received. Yet Scripture turns that assumption on its head. “[God] has in these last days spoken to us by His Son, whom He has appointed heir of all things, through whom also He made the worlds” (Hebrews 1:2). This is not merely a statement about Christ’s authority; it is a declaration of access. If Christ is the heir of all things, and we are in Him, then we are not waiting for inheritance—we are living from it.
The passage in Colossians 2:1–10 reinforces this truth with striking clarity. Paul writes that in Christ “dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead bodily” and that we are “complete in Him” (Colossians 2:9–10). The Greek word for “fulness” is plērōma (πλήρωμα), meaning totality, abundance without deficiency. And the word “complete” is peplērōmenoi (πεπληρωμένοι), a perfect tense verb indicating a completed action with ongoing results. In other words, we have already been filled, and we continue to live in that fullness. This is not a partial inheritance, nor a deferred promise. It is present reality grounded in the finished work of Christ.
And yet, if we are honest, many of us live as though we are spiritually impoverished. We pray for strength as though God’s power were scarce. We seek wisdom as though it were hidden behind layers of uncertainty. We pursue peace as though it were fragile and easily lost. But Scripture speaks differently. “God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind” (2 Timothy 1:7). The inheritance we have in Christ is not theoretical—it is functional. It meets us in the ordinary pressures of life. When we face confusion, He offers discernment. When we are weary, He provides endurance. When we feel empty, He fills us with Himself.
This is where our Easter focus reshapes everything. The resurrection is not simply proof that Jesus conquered death; it is the validation that everything the Father has given to the Son is now active, alive, and available. The love described in 1 Corinthians 13:4–7 is not an abstract ideal—it is the expression of the life we have inherited. The fruit of the Spirit in Galatians 5:22–23 is not something we manufacture; it is what grows when we live from the resources already given to us. Love (agapē, ἀγάπη) becomes the defining evidence that we understand our inheritance. It is not the result of striving harder, but of abiding more deeply.
Consider how different this makes our daily walk. If I truly believe that my inheritance in Christ is “untouchable, unchanging, and inexhaustible,” then I no longer need to live anxiously guarding what I have. Earthly wealth can diminish, relationships can falter, circumstances can shift. But what God has given in Christ cannot be taken away. Peter describes it as “an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you” (1 Peter 1:4). The Greek word aphthartos (ἄφθαρτος) emphasizes something that cannot decay or deteriorate. This means my security is not tied to my situation—it is anchored in Christ.
A.W. Tozer once wrote, “The man who has God for his treasure has all things in One.” That insight reframes everything. We often think of inheritance in terms of possessions, but in the kingdom of God, the inheritance is ultimately a Person. Christ Himself is our fullness. He is our supply. He is our sufficiency. And this changes how we approach obedience. We are not trying to earn something from God; we are responding to what has already been given. Love becomes not a duty, but a reflection. Generosity becomes not a sacrifice, but an overflow.
But here is where the tension quietly remains. If we are already heirs of immeasurable riches, why do we still feel the pull of lack? Why do we still reach, strive, and search as though something is missing? The answer lies not in the absence of provision, but in the awareness of it. We can possess something fully and yet live as though we do not. It is possible to stand in a room filled with light and still walk as if in darkness simply because our eyes have not adjusted.
On Second Thought
What if the greatest struggle in the Christian life is not receiving from God, but recognizing what we have already received? We often approach God as petitioners when we are, in fact, heirs. We ask for what has already been granted, and we strive for what has already been secured. This creates a quiet paradox: the richer we are in Christ, the more tempted we are to feel poor if we are not attentive to His presence. The problem is not that God has withheld anything, but that we have not fully awakened to the inheritance that is ours.
And here is the unexpected turn—living as an heir does not lead to pride, but to humility. When I realize that everything I have is given, not earned, I no longer need to compare or compete. I no longer need to prove my worth. Instead, I am freed to love without condition, to serve without fear, and to give without hesitation. The inheritance that cannot be diminished removes the anxiety that often governs our lives. I begin to see that the call to become who God wants me to be—especially in love—is not about adding something new, but about drawing from what is already within me through Christ.
So perhaps the question is not, “What do I still need from God?” but rather, “What has God already given that I have not yet lived out?” When we begin to live from that place, everything changes—not because our circumstances shift, but because our understanding deepens. And in that awareness, we discover that we have been rich all along.
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