On Second Thought
Ephesians 5 is not a casual chapter. It is not written for spectators of faith but for participants in a holy calling. Paul exhorts believers to “be imitators of God” and to “walk in love,” grounding his appeal in Christ’s self-giving sacrifice. Then he presses further, speaking of the church as a bride whom Christ is sanctifying. “That He might sanctify and cleanse her with the washing of water by the word, that He might present her to Himself a glorious church, not having spot or wrinkle or any such thing, but that she should be holy and without blemish” (Ephesians 5:26–27). These are not cosmetic terms; they are covenant terms. Christ’s aim is not superficial adjustment but inward purification.
The story John Trent recounts about Billy Graham illustrates the tension between profession and practice. A man loudly abusing flight attendants turns around and declares that Graham’s crusade “changed his life.” It is almost painful in its irony. Something may have stirred him emotionally at a crusade, but whatever cleansing occurred had been buried beneath layers of unexamined behavior. The problem is not merely hypocrisy; it is forgetfulness. We forget what the Word says about holiness, about self-control, about representing Christ in everyday interactions.
Paul’s language of “washing” draws from the imagery of cleansing water. The Greek word katharizō carries the sense of making clean, purifying from stain. But notice the instrument: “the washing of water by the word.” The Word is the agent of sanctification. It functions like a mirror that reveals what we would rather overlook. James says, “For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man observing his natural face in a mirror… and immediately forgets what kind of man he was” (James 1:23–24). The conscience, left to itself, can become distorted. It can rationalize what Scripture rebukes and excuse what Christ died to remove.
It does not take much for the conscience to grow dull. Repeated exposure to sin—whether through media, culture, or private indulgence—gradually shifts our internal standard. What once startled us begins to seem normal. What once convicted us now barely registers. Yet the Word does not shift with the culture. Its standards are not updated to accommodate trends. The holiness Paul describes is not extreme spirituality; it is the normal expectation of those who belong to Christ.
In seasons like Lent, when the church historically emphasizes reflection and repentance, Ephesians 5 feels particularly relevant. We are reminded that Christ is preparing a bride. He is not indifferent about our conduct. He is committed to our sanctification. That word, often misunderstood, simply means being set apart for God’s purposes. It is less about isolation from the world and more about alignment with God’s character.
You cannot trust your conscience alone because it can be conditioned. You must measure your life by Scripture. That requires more than occasional reading. It requires allowing the Word to interrogate you. Hebrews 4:12 says that the Word of God is “living and powerful… discerning the thoughts and intents of the heart.” It reaches beneath behavior to motive. It exposes not only what we do but why we do it.
This is where many believers hesitate. We prefer inspiration to examination. We like sermons that uplift but resist those that confront. Yet the cleansing work of Christ is not harsh; it is loving. A groom who desires a radiant bride does not shame her; he prepares her. The washing Paul describes is purposeful. It moves toward presentation—“that He might present her to Himself.” The end goal is glory, not guilt.
On Second Thought, the paradox is this: the standards of the Word are not meant to crush us but to free us. At first glance, holiness feels restrictive. We assume that lowering standards will increase joy. Yet the opposite is often true. When standards decline, shame increases. When obedience erodes, peace diminishes. The Word’s demands expose us, but they also protect us. They guard our relationships, our witness, and our intimacy with Christ.
Here is the unexpected turn: the conscience is not useless; it is simply insufficient. It must be calibrated by Scripture. Think of it like a compass that needs alignment with true north. Without that alignment, it can point confidently in the wrong direction. The Word provides that calibration. It corrects drift. It restores sensitivity. It sharpens what has grown dull.
If you sense areas in your life where compromise has quietly settled in, do not panic. Return to the Word. Let it wash you again. Let it define what is acceptable, not your feelings, not the majority, not convenience. Christ’s vision for His church is radiant purity, not performative piety. And He supplies the very means to accomplish it—His living Word.
Holiness is not outdated language; it is bridal language. It speaks of preparation for a coming presentation. When Christ returns, He is not seeking a church that merely felt spiritual but one shaped by truth. That shaping happens daily, often quietly, as we submit ourselves to Scripture’s searching light.
On second thought, perhaps the greatest mercy is not that the Word reveals our stains but that it refuses to leave them there. It cleanses. It renews. It prepares. And in doing so, it draws us closer to the One who is making us glorious.
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