Colossians 3 — Raised with Christ, Clothed in Love

Today’s Passage: Colossians 3

For two chapters Paul has lifted the church’s eyes to the towering height of who Christ is, the image of the invisible God, the One in whom all the fullness dwells, the head of the body, the One in whom we were buried and raised in baptism. Now, at the opening of chapter 3, all of that soaring doctrine comes down and takes the shape of a life. And it comes down on a single hinge, the small word “therefore.” Because you have been raised with Christ, live the life that flows out of it. Everything Paul is about to ask, seeking the things above, putting to death what is earthly, taking off the old self and putting on the new, letting love bind it all together, ordering a household under the Lord, rests entirely on what God has already done. He does not tell dead men to climb. He tells raised men to live like what they now are.

As you read, hold this: Because you were raised with Christ, take off the old self and put on the new.

Colossians 3:1–4 (BSB)

¹ Therefore, since you have been raised with Christ, strive for the things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. ² Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. ³ For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. ⁴ When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with Him in glory.

Everything begins with that first word, “therefore.” It reaches back over the whole letter and gathers it up. Because Christ is supreme, because in Him the fullness of God dwells, because you were buried and raised with Him, therefore live accordingly. Paul does not ground the Christian life in effort or fear but in an accomplished fact. You “have been raised with Christ.” It is already true of you, and everything that follows is simply the working out of that truth. Notice that he gives two commands here, and they are gentle, inward things. “Strive for the things above” and “set your minds on things above.” The word behind seeking is the deliberate pursuit of a heart that leans one direction, and the word behind setting the mind is a settled disposition, a habit of thought. Paul is not asking for a frantic reach into heaven. He is asking where your heart tilts when it is at rest, what your mind drifts toward when nothing forces it.

And he tells you why the heavenward tilt makes sense. “For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God.” Here is one of the most quietly comforting sentences in all of Paul. Your true life is not on display, exposed to every threat, hanging on your own frail grip. It is hidden, tucked away, kept in the safest place in the universe, “with Christ in God.” A believer’s security does not depend on how well the believer holds on, but on the fact that the life is already stored where no thief can reach and no failure can spend it. And this hidden life is not hidden forever. “When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with Him in glory.” The day is coming when what is now concealed will be unveiled in splendor. The Christ who is presently seated will one day appear, and on that day the humble, hidden believer will appear too, radiant, sharing the glory of the One in whom that life was kept.

Colossians 3:5–7 (BSB)

⁵ Put to death, therefore, the components of your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires, and greed, which is idolatry. ⁶ Because of these, the wrath of God is coming on the sons of disobedience. ⁷ When you lived among them, you also used to walk in these ways.

Now comes the first hard command, and it is bracing. “Put to death” the earthly things in you. Paul does not say manage them, or tame them, or keep them at a polite distance. He says kill them. There is a violence in the word, an executioner’s finality, because these desires will not be reasoned with. The list he gives is the ugly underside of a heart still bent toward the world: “sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires, and greed.” And he pins a startling label on the last of them. Greed, he says, “is idolatry.” The grasping to have more, to possess what God has not given, is not a small vice. It is worship pointed at the wrong throne, a heart bowing down to a created thing. Scripture guards the gift of the body with a clear and kind fence, sexual intimacy belongs within the covenant of marriage between one man and one woman, and everywhere else the call is to purity. Paul is not scolding a foreign people. He is naming what the raised life leaves behind.

He gives two sober reasons to take the killing seriously. First, “because of these, the wrath of God is coming.” These sins are not neutral habits. They stand under the righteous judgment of God, and to cling to them is to cling to what He has set Himself against. Second, and more tenderly, “when you lived among them, you also used to walk in these ways.” This was your old country. You have emigrated. To go back and take up the old practices again is to return to a land you have already left, to put back on the grave clothes God has taken off you. Paul appeals not only to fear of judgment but to the sheer inconsistency of it. This is not who you are anymore.

Colossians 3:8–11 (BSB)

⁸ But now you must put aside all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips. ⁹ Do not lie to one another, since you have taken off the old self with its practices, ¹⁰ and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator. ¹¹ Here there is no Greek or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave, or free, but Christ is all and is in all.

“But now.” With those two words Paul swings from the old life to the new, and he brings a second list, this one gathered from the wreckage that sins of the tongue and temper leave among people who live close together. “Anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language.” And, plainly, “do not lie to one another.” These are the sins that fracture a household and a church, the hot word and the cold grudge, the whispered slander and the small convenient falsehood. Paul says put them aside, set them down, as a man takes off a coat at the door. And then he gives the reason underneath the whole command, and it is the image that carries the chapter. You have “taken off the old self with its practices” and “put on the new self.” The old self is a garment already stripped away (ἀπεκδύομαι) apekdyomai, pronounced ap-ek-DOO-om-ai. Strong's G554, to strip off completely, to take off, to divest oneself of. When Paul says you have taken off the old self, he pictures something vivid and forceful: the way a man pulls off soiled and stinking clothes at the end of a long day and drops them on the floor, done with them. It is the same verb Paul used one chapter earlier, in Colossians 2:15, where on the cross Christ “disarmed the powers and authorities,” stripped them bare like a conquered army. The old self is not straightened or laundered. It is taken off and thrown down. And note the tense: a completed action. This is not a garment you are struggling to remove. In your union with Christ it is already off you. Set against it stands its twin, the verb endyō (to put on, to clothe), which Paul uses for the new self in verse 10 and again in verse 12, “clothe yourselves.” Take off, put on. The whole moral life of the chapter lives inside that pair. You do not manufacture a new heart by effort. You strip off what Christ has already removed, and you put on what He has already made you, the new self “renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator.” in your union with Christ, and the new self is a garment already pulled on. The command to stop lying is not a heavy new burden. It is simply an appeal to dress like the person you have become.

And look at what this new self is. It is “being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator.” The verb is present and ongoing, a garment that is still being tailored, day by day, more and more into the likeness of God. Paul chooses that word “image” with care, for he has already told us in chapter 1 that Christ is “the image of the invisible God.” To be renewed into the image of the Creator, then, is to be remade to look like Christ. This is the humanity Adam lost and Christ restores. And in this new humanity the old walls simply fall. “Here there is no Greek or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave, or free.” The deepest divisions of the ancient world, of race, of religion, of culture, of class, lose their power to separate, “but Christ is all and is in all.” He fills the whole picture. He is the one thing every believer holds in common, and in Him the many become one.

Colossians 3:12–14 (BSB)

¹² Therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with hearts of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. ¹³ Bear with one another and forgive any complaint you may have against someone else. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. ¹⁴ And over all these virtues put on love, which is the bond of perfect unity.

Having named the garments to strip off, Paul now opens the wardrobe of the new self and hands us, one by one, the clothes to put on. And notice first who he says we are before he tells us what to wear. “The elect of God, holy and beloved.” Chosen, set apart, dearly loved. These are not names we earn by dressing well. They are the settled truth about us that makes the dressing possible. Because you are already beloved, clothe yourselves. And then the garments, five of them, all soft and warm and made for life together. “Compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience.” Every one of them turns a heart outward, toward the needs and the failures of another. This is the wardrobe of a people who must live in close quarters and rub against one another’s rough edges.

So Paul turns at once to the friction. “Bear with one another and forgive any complaint you may have against someone else.” He knows there will be complaints, that grievances are the ordinary weather of any household or church, and he does not pretend otherwise. Instead he gives the one standard that keeps forgiveness from being merely polite. “Forgive as the Lord forgave you.” Not as the offender deserves, but as you have been forgiven, freely, fully, at great cost, while still in the wrong. The measure of the pardon we extend is the pardon we have received. And then, over the whole outfit, one final garment that holds every other piece together. “Over all these virtues put on love, which is the bond of perfect unity.” Love (ἀγάπη) agapē, pronounced ag-AH-pay. Strong's G26, love; deliberate, self-giving love. Over the whole wardrobe of the new self Paul lays one final garment, and he chooses the highest word his language has for love. It is not the love of warm feeling or natural affinity, not the fondness of friends or the pull of desire. It is the deliberate, self-giving love that seeks another’s good at cost to itself, the love God shows toward the undeserving, the love supremely revealed when Christ gave Himself for His people. Paul says to “put on love,” to wear it as the outermost layer, and then he tells us what it does. It is “the bond of perfect unity,” the sinew that binds the whole body together and holds every other virtue in place. Compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, patience, these are the separate garments, but love is the belt drawn over them all, gathering them into one and keeping them from slipping off. Where love is worn, a fractured people become one body. This is why Paul crowns the list with it. Not because the other virtues do not matter, but because without love they come apart, and with it they are bound into the beauty of a unified church that looks, at last, like her Lord. is the belt that gathers the robe, the cloak thrown over everything else. Without it compassion and patience hang loose and fall away. With it the whole life is bound into one, and the many are knit into a single body.

Colossians 3:15–17 (BSB)

¹⁵ Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, for to this you were called as members of one body. And be thankful. ¹⁶ Let the word of Christ richly dwell within you as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God. ¹⁷ And whatever you do, in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.

Now Paul shows what a people clothed in love look like when they gather. Three great things are set loose among them. First, “let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts.” The word behind “rule” is drawn from the athletic games, the work of the umpire who settles the contest and awards the prize. So the peace of Christ is to sit as umpire in the heart, calling the decisions, settling the disputes, keeping the members of the one body from tearing at each other. And Paul adds, almost as a refrain he cannot stop repeating, “be thankful.” Second, “let the word of Christ richly dwell within you.” Not merely visit, but dwell, take up residence, and richly, abundantly, filling the rooms of the common life. And where the word dwells richly, a people teach and admonish one another and sing, “psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs,” the truth passing from heart to heart in instruction and in music alike.

Then Paul draws it all up into a single sweeping principle that leaves nothing outside its reach. “Whatever you do, in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus.” Every word spoken, every deed done, the great acts and the small forgotten ones, all of it offered under His name, as His representatives, for His honor. There is no corner of life too ordinary to be brought under this. And once more, for the third time in three verses, the note of gratitude sounds. “Giving thanks to God the Father through Him.” Peace ruling, the word dwelling, and over it all a rising column of thanksgiving. This is the atmosphere of the raised life, a grateful people doing everything, even the dishes and the day’s dull labor, in the name of the Lord Jesus.

Colossians 3:18–19 (BSB)

¹⁸ Wives, submit to your husbands, as is fitting in the Lord. ¹⁹ Husbands, love your wives and do not be harsh with them.

Now the raised life comes home, into the actual rooms of a household, and Paul begins with marriage. He speaks to the wife first, and briefly. “Wives, submit to your husbands, as is fitting in the Lord.” Notice the anchor he sets on it, “as is fitting in the Lord.” Her submission is not a blank surrender to a man’s every whim, and still less to his sin. It is an act of reverence offered ultimately to Christ, a free and honorable taking of her place in the ordered union God designed, fitting because it is done in the Lord and unto the Lord. Then Paul turns to the husband, and lays on him the weightier and more searching word. “Husbands, love your wives, and do not be harsh with them.” The husband’s headship is not a license to rule but a call to love, the cross-shaped, self-giving love that Christ pours out on His church. And Paul guards it with a plain warning against the very sin a husband is most tempted to, “do not be harsh,” do not let leadership curdle into hardness, coldness, or a heavy hand. The word to the wife is trust, the word to the husband is a tender, self-emptying love. Read together, the two form not domination but covenant, an ordered union in which each is dignified and love sets the shape.

Colossians 3:20–21 (BSB)

²⁰ Children, obey your parents in everything, for this is pleasing to the Lord. ²¹ Fathers, do not provoke your children, so they will not become discouraged.

Paul moves to the next room of the house, and speaks to children and to fathers. To the children, plainly, “obey your parents in everything, for this is pleasing to the Lord.” He addresses them as real members of the household, responsible before God, and he gives them the highest reason a child could have, that their obedience is “pleasing to the Lord.” The ordinary daily obedience of a child, so easily thought small, is lifted up and shown to be a thing that pleases God Himself. And then, as he did with the husband, Paul turns and lays the heavier charge on the one with the power. “Fathers, do not provoke your children, so they will not become discouraged.” Authority in the home is not to be wielded in a way that grinds a child down. The father is warned against the constant fault-finding, the impossible standard, the harsh and belittling word that slowly crushes a young heart. And Paul names the danger with real tenderness, “so they will not become discouraged,” so the spirit of the child is not broken and the flame not put out. The strong are always answerable for how they treat the weak, and the raised life shows itself as much in a father’s gentleness as in a child’s obedience.

Colossians 3:22–25 (BSB)

²² Slaves, obey your earthly masters in everything, not only to please them while they are watching, but with sincerity of heart and fear of the Lord. ²³ Whatever you do, work at it with your whole being, as for the Lord and not for men, ²⁴ because you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as your reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving. ²⁵ Whoever does wrong will be repaid for his wrong, and there is no favoritism.

Paul comes to the last and largest group in the household, the servants, and here he spends his most words, and lifts their ordinary labor to a height they could never have imagined. “Slaves, obey your earthly masters in everything,” he begins, “not only to please them while they are watching, but with sincerity of heart and fear of the Lord.” He knows the temptation of the servant, the divided work that labors hard under the master’s eye and slackens the moment his back is turned. Against that Paul sets a single, transforming truth. There is another Master, always watching, and the true service is offered to Him. “Whatever you do, work at it with your whole being, as for the Lord and not for men.” Here is the sentence that redeems all honest labor. The lowliest task, the most unnoticed work, done heartily as unto Christ, becomes worship. There is no such thing as merely secular work for the one who serves the Lord Christ.

And Paul seals it with a promise and a warning that together level the ground. To the servant, whose earthly labor may bring no earthly reward, he holds out something greater. “You will receive an inheritance from the Lord as your reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.” The slave who owned nothing and could inherit nothing is promised an inheritance from the Lord Himself, the very thing the ancient world said he could never have. His true Master will not forget his faithfulness. And then the warning, aimed to steady every hand. “Whoever does wrong will be repaid for his wrong, and there is no favoritism.” Before the throne of Christ there are no privileged ranks. Master and servant, strong and weak, stand on the same ground and answer to the same impartial Judge. The gospel that dignifies the servant’s work also warns the master’s heart, for the Lord shows no favoritism, and every wrong will be weighed the same.