A Day in the Life
“I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me” (Galatians 2:20, NIV). When I sit with those words, I realize Paul is not offering a metaphor for religious enthusiasm. He is describing a transfer of ownership. The Greek phrase synestaurōmai—“I have been crucified with”—is in the perfect tense, pointing to a completed act with continuing results. Something decisive happened when I came to Christ. My old self, with its self-rule and self-reliance, was nailed to the cross with Him. Now the animating force of my life is no longer ego, fear, or ambition—but Christ Himself.
This is what I call the exchanged life. Jesus does not merely improve my life; He replaces its governing center. That is why Paul can say, “I no longer live.” He is not denying his personality or humanity. Rather, he is declaring that the source of his strength has shifted. When I am weak, Christ does not scold me; He demonstrates His sufficiency. “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9). The word for “power” there is dynamis, divine ability. In the exchanged life, my inadequacy becomes the platform for His activity.
I see this unfold in the Gospels. Jesus consistently modeled dependence on the Father. He withdrew to pray, sought the Father’s will, and declared, “The Son can do nothing by Himself” (John 5:19). The exchanged life mirrors that rhythm. When I face decisions beyond my comprehension, James 1:5 assures me that God gives wisdom generously. When I confront impossibilities—broken relationships, stubborn habits, human limitations—I remember Jesus’ words: “What is impossible with man is possible with God” (Luke 18:27). The Christian life is not about trying harder; it is about trusting deeper.
Oswald Chambers once wrote, “The life of faith is not a life of mounting up with wings, but a life of walking and not fainting.” That resonates with me. The exchanged life is lived in ordinary moments—conversations, frustrations, responsibilities. When I meet someone difficult to love, I often discover the limits of my natural compassion. Yet 1 John 4:7 reminds me that love originates in God. The Greek word agapē describes a self-giving love rooted in God’s character. In the exchanged life, Christ loves through me what I could never love on my own. It is not emotional sentiment; it is divine participation.
There are days when I do not know how to pray for someone. The needs feel complex, the words inadequate. Yet Romans 8 speaks of the Spirit’s intercession. The Spirit of God aligns my heart with the will of God, even when language fails. Paul declares in Ephesians 3:19 that believers may be “filled to all the fullness of God.” That phrase is staggering. It does not mean I become divine; it means I become available. The fullness is His, but the vessel is mine. Andrew Murray wisely said, “God is ready to assume full responsibility for the life wholly yielded to Him.” That is the essence of this exchanged life.
If this is true, then my primary assignment is not to perform but to abide. Jesus’ words in John 15:5 echo in my mind: “Apart from Me you can do nothing.” The Greek term menō—to abide—suggests remaining, dwelling, staying connected. The temptation is always to try to do for God what only God can do. I catch myself striving, strategizing, worrying about outcomes. Yet the exchanged life calls me to surrender, not self-sufficiency. Only God can be God. My role is to yield.
It is marvelously freeing to know that God controls my life and knows what it can become. Instead of anxiously managing my future, I release each area—my family, my ministry, my hidden struggles—to His lordship. That does not produce passivity; it produces peace. The exchanged life does not erase responsibility; it redefines it. I act, but in dependence. I speak, but in reliance. I serve, but in surrender.
Today, as I walk through responsibilities, I want to remember that Christ in me is not poetic language. It is daily reality. When I am tempted to prove myself, I will remember I have been crucified with Christ. When I feel inadequate, I will trust His sufficiency. When love feels impossible, I will invite His agapē to flow through me. This is not self-improvement; it is spiritual union.
For further reflection on Galatians 2:20 and the theology of union with Christ, consider this helpful resource from The Gospel Coalition:
https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/union-with-christ/
The exchanged life is not dramatic spectacle. It is steady surrender. It is trusting that the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me, continues to live His life through me. And that changes everything about this day.
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