Clothed in a Deeper Belonging
Welcome to the divine wisdom within you. I honor the truth that you carry, the questions that stir within your heart, and the longing that brings you here. Whether you arrive today with weariness, hope, grief, or doubt—this message is for you.
The scripture today comes from Galatians 3:23–29, and it is one of the most radical declarations in the New Testament. Paul writes to a divided community trying to navigate the tension between what they had inherited and what they were becoming. People were trying to make sense of faith in a changing world, and Paul writes to say: your identity is no longer built on the structures that once defined you. There is a deeper belonging available. A belonging not limited by status, background, or role. A belonging that comes from being “clothed in Christ.”
Before we move further, I want to say plainly that this is not just a passage about theology or doctrine. This is a message about who we are beneath the roles, beneath the labels, beneath the stories we have told ourselves or been told by others. Paul is not offering ideas. He is offering transformation.
Now listen to this line again, slowly: “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female, for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”
For many of us, those words have become familiar, but they are not soft. They are a spiritual earthquake. Paul is dismantling the primary categories of identity in his world—ethnicity, social class, and gender—and declaring that they do not hold ultimate meaning in light of spiritual union.
Let us take a breath here. This is not about erasing difference. It is not about pretending we are all the same. What Paul is pointing to is that these distinctions, though real in society, do not define our truest identity. They are not where our deepest self lives.
Now, we live in a world obsessed with identity. It begins early. Think of how identity is formed in a child—through the way their parents relate to each other, through family dynamics, through race and gender and neighborhood and culture. You are given messages before you can even speak. And over time, you begin to collect layers: I am this, I am not that. I belong here, I do not belong there. This is who I am allowed to be. This is who I must not be.
And for many, by the time adulthood arrives, identity is a tangle of expectations. We become a performance of what has been allowed or denied. We begin to protect ourselves with roles, titles, achievements, affiliations—because the question of who we really are is too vulnerable to ask aloud.
So let us say it clearly: Identity, for most of us, is socially constructed. And there is nothing wrong with that—until we mistake the construction for the truth. That is the spiritual trap.
In this passage, Paul uses a very specific word—paidagōgos, translated in English as "disciplinarian" or "guardian." It refers to a tutor or servant who would supervise a young child before maturity. Paul says that the law—the external structure that defined religious life—was like that guardian. Necessary for a time, but not the goal.
Before faith, we were guarded. We lived under the law, under rules, under structure. But once faith came, something new was possible. Not the destruction of law, but the emergence of inner freedom. Paul is describing a movement from external control to internal trust. And he names that shift with the word pistis, which is often translated as "faith" but means something deeper—something more like trust, fidelity, deep inner conviction.
That is the movement of spiritual life. Not from wrong to right, but from structure to trust, from protection to openness. It is the process of becoming fully human.
Now let me say something that may surprise some of you. Jesus himself went through this process. Jesus did not come into the world fully conscious of his identity. He did not walk around as a child saying, “I am the Messiah.” He grew. He struggled. He asked questions. He listened deeply. He lived in the dark—just like you do, just like I do.
There is a passage where Jesus asks his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” He is not being rhetorical. He is genuinely wondering. Some say John the Baptist. Some say Elijah. Some say a prophet. He then turns and says, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter responds with the title—Messiah. And what does Jesus do? He rebukes him. He tells him to be quiet. Why?
Because even then, Jesus is not interested in wearing a label. He knows he still has more to live through. He is not yet finished becoming. And that gives all of us permission to still be becoming.
Now hear this with your heart: you do not need to have it all figured out. You do not need to know exactly who you are or what it all means. You are allowed to live into your becoming. You are allowed to unlearn the layers that have covered your true self. And you are allowed to trust that underneath all of it, you are already held.
This brings us to what Paul means by saying we are “clothed in Christ.” That phrase might sound symbolic or abstract, but it is deeply personal. To be clothed in Christ is to live from a deeper identity than the one given by culture. It is to be wrapped in the awareness that you belong—not because of your race, class, or gender—but because of the divine presence that breathes through you.
In the early Church, baptism was a central ritual. And during baptism, the new follower of Christ would put on a white garment. That garment represented a new self, a new way of being, a shedding of old roles and the taking on of a deeper truth. That ritual still echoes today, though many have forgotten its meaning. It was not about joining a religion. It was about awakening to what has always been true—you are already one with the divine.
Paul says that through baptism, we have clothed ourselves with Christ. That means our truest identity is not as American or Hispanic or Black or White or gay or straight or Republican or Democrat. These are all temporary identities. They may shape our story, but they do not define our essence.
And Paul does something even more subversive. He reaches back to the most ancient identity marker he can find—Abraham. He says, if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs of the promise. He is saying, your belonging goes all the way back to the beginning. You are in the lineage of divine intention. You are written into the will of God.
Now I want to speak directly to your lived experience. To the part of you that has felt unseen. To the part of you that has been praised for something that felt hollow. To the part of you that has tried to be everything for everyone, and still feels unknown. This message is for you.
Many people carry grief—not just from loss but from a lifetime of not being allowed to be who they are. The grief of being told you are too much or not enough. The grief of being defined by your gender or your class or your skin color or your political party. The grief of trying to earn belonging in a world that offers it conditionally.
This message invites you to let that grief breathe. Not to push it away. Not to explain it. But to honor it.
And maybe you feel the longing—the longing to belong without pretending, the longing to be whole without performance, the longing to be loved for who you are beneath the labels. That longing is sacred. It is the part of you that remembers. The part of you that already knows. That longing is not a weakness. It is your compass.
And for those who feel tired—tired of fighting to prove their worth, tired of being measured by wealth or productivity or gender norms—this passage speaks freedom. You are already one in Christ. You do not need to earn what has already been given.
But Paul does not stop at personal transformation. There is a social dimension here. This is not just a message for the soul. It is a message for the world.
If we are truly one in Christ, then we must live as though that is true. That means refusing to participate in systems that divide. That means rejecting ideologies that elevate some and diminish others. That means saying no to racism, no to classism, no to patriarchy, no to nationalism that dehumanizes. These divisions do not reflect divine reality. They reflect human fear.
The gospel, when lived, is a social revolution. It levels the playing field. It removes the costumes of power. It asks us to see each person—not through the lens of culture or wealth or gender—but through the lens of shared divinity.
So I ask you today: Who are you beneath your roles? Who are you when no one is watching? Who are you when you take off the mask?
You are clothed in Christ. You are an heir of divine promise. You are already one with God, even if you do not yet feel it. And so is your neighbor. And so is the stranger. And so is the one you were taught to fear.
This is why I have not given up on religion. At its best, religion is not about answers. It is about identity. And not the kind of identity that divides—it is about the kind of identity that sets you free.
So may you walk from this place less burdened by the layers you have had to carry. May you find courage to let go of what no longer fits. May you trust the sacred longing within you. And may you remember that your deepest name has already been spoken by Love itself.
Today’s scripture is not only a text about faith—it is a call to spiritual freedom. It invites you to step out from behind your labels and to remember the deeper truth of who you are. The gospel changes everything—if we are willing to live from the identity that has always been waiting for us beneath the surface.
You are one in Christ. You are a child of God. And you belong.