It's an incredibly familiar passage. Most of you probably wanted to keep on reciting, moving on to verse 15 and laying out the glorious list of armor, that impressive inventory of all the tools we have been given in our battle against the enemy. Images of noble Roman soldiers float through our heads, sharp noses underneath that striking red-crested helmet, glistening swords, tall sandals standing erect on a dusty road. We imagine ourselves in that armor, every piece polished—and, of course, intricately decorated with the word that Paul assigned to designate it—our heads held high, and our own noses tilted in just the right direction so that the photographer can get the perfect shot.
Or maybe a different image pops into your head—a medieval knight, perhaps. But, if you're anything like me, this passage is almost always just that: an image. Paul's vivid description calls up the stories of blood and dust and victory that used to fascinate us in our youth—and probably would still fascinate us now if we could drag them far enough out of the cobwebbed corners of our rigidly-scientific, grown-up minds.
It's a cool thing to think about. And I think Paul's analogy here was written to carry some of these very images. I think he wanted us to envision the armor, to attach the word "truth" to the concept of a "belt" and the idea of "faith" to the "shield," to see the Christian life as a battle—because, in a lot of ways, that is what it is.
At the same time, though, my own familiarity with these images sometimes messes up my reading of the book of Ephesians. (I blame myself for this, of course, not Paul.) I catch myself reading through the rest of the epistle quite nonchalantly, reading it (at best) as a flimsy stage for the dramatic battle at the end. As I read, my thoughts wind up like this: Yes, yes. Jesus. Yes, yes. Church. Mmhmm. Okay. Oh, love. That's cool. Jesus, church. Commands...ugh. Okay, yep. Um. Oh! There we go. Roman soldiers. Then it ends. Well, that was nice.
What is this? Is chapter six some odd climax to a bunch of nothingness? Is it even a climax? Do we get anything from this imagery? Are these final verses a fancy picture to remind us that the Christian life is a battle and (yawn)...What a nice cloud in the sky...Oh, wow. That one looks like a soldier...
I hope your reading of this actually beautiful epistle has been better than mine. But if not—if the words keep going over your head and the elusive images of sword-fights and statues keep pulling you from a thorough grasp of why this passage (and the context of the letter in which it sits) is so foundational to our life with Christ and with His church—then I invite you to sit with me on just one thing. Let's rest here, on just one piece of the armor, and look at it through the lens of all that Paul has written beforehand. Let's start with the breastplate of righteousness.
Our first question is pretty obvious: What is a breastplate? The answer is pretty obvious too. It's the piece of armor that covers the chest—all the vital organs from the neck to the waist and, most importantly, the heart. The Romans actually used to call it a "heart guard."¹
So what is it that Paul wanted to make sure guarded our heart? Righteousness. Righteousness. And I don't think he meant our own, because we've never been all that great at being "righteous." I think he meant Christ's righteousness. I think he meant that our hearts should be guarded by an identity that is sure not because we earned it but because our Savior shed His own blood to give it. The breastplate, the heart guard, is Christ's righteousness on our chests.
Why is this important? I think Paul knew as well as we all do that Satan's favorite target is our identity. If he can convince us that we are dirty, miserable sinners whose future is inevitably a repeat of our past, we crumble. We stop fighting, we stop serving, we stop loving, and we stop believing. But if the crux of our identity is Christ's righteousness—if we realize that, because of His death and resurrection, we are called holy (Eph. 1:4, 5:3, 5:25-27)—then we can stand firm (6:14).
The heart of the epistle to the Ephesians, you see, is anchored in the concept of identity. Read it! Look for this! Paul is telling us that, because of Jesus, we are chosen (ch. 1); we are saved and adopted into a family that is united by the Spirit and called the church (ch. 2); we are loved more than we can possibly imagine (ch. 3); and we are empowered to "live a life worthy of the calling [we] have received" (4:1), a life that makes sense in the light of those truths (chs. 4-6). And at the end of it all, there really is a climax—not one that gives stale imagery but one that tells us to watch out. The "armor" tells us that everything that Paul has so diligently explained to us will be under attack.
You see, Paul says, we need to wrap the identity that Christ has made true of us around our bodies as if our lives depended on it—because if we forget who we are, all bets are off. Will we lose? Not necessarily. But we'll be bearing a whole bunch of aching wounds that we would never have even felt if we had let Christ wrap us in His armor.
So the breastplate? It's just one piece. It's just one protector of our identity. But I wanted to focus on this one so you could see just how much we need this armor—how much we need all of it.
What's the enemy telling you today? What lies is he whispering into your ear? What dagger is he thrusting into your heart? Is he telling you that you're dirty? that you're hopeless? that no one wants you?
He's lying. Don't believe a word he says.
Rest in this instead: Your Lord has shed His blood for you to tell you that you are forgiven and clean (I John 1:9). You "were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God" (I Cor. 6:11, NIV 1984). There is "now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus" (Rom. 8:1, NIV 1984). In the words of MercyMe, "No matter the bumps, no matter the bruises, no matter the scars, still the truth is the cross has made you flawless."²
The whole point of the epic conclusion of Ephesians is to tell you that it is finished. Christ has won. While we wait for the knees of the rest of the world to acknowledge that reality, we must stand firm. We must remember who we are because of who He is. The breastplate gives us one facet of that identity: We wear His righteousness on our chests.
How do we "get" this? How do we understand it? How do we bury this truth deep in our souls so that it guards our heart against the relentless attacks of the enemy's lies? Paul's prayer in Ephesians 3:14-21 seems to give us the answer. We begin to understand our identity in Christ by the power of the Spirit and in the Church. Yeah, I said it. We can't do it on our own. We need the Spirit. And we need the Church. 'Cuz you know what? All those people sitting beside you in the pews? the ones who have called on His Name just as you did? Yeah. He called them holy too. We wear the armor together, and it all begins in the bottomless love of Jesus Christ. This love enables us to know who we are, and this love enables us to live how we were meant to live. When we get this—together—we've got the armor, and we can stand firm.
Cue Paul: "And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen" (Eph. 3:17b-21, NIV 1984).
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¹ Hollis, Benjamin. “Tools of War: Armor & Shields.” The Roman Military. N.p., n.d. Web. 14 June 2015. romanmilitary.net.
² MercyMe, “Flawless” (2014).
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