I Have Been Crucified with Christ

I started repeating Galatians 2:20 because I was tired of myself. Not in a dramatic, altar-call way. More like the slow fatigue of a man who keeps trying to run his own life and keeps bumping into the same walls.

I learned it in pieces. First the opening line, because it was sharp. Then the rest of it, because the opening line will crush you if you don't keep going.

Paul isn't handing out a motto for high achievers. He's talking about a death that already happened.

The old man is not getting a glow-up

I used to treat the gospel like a repair shop. Bring in the temper, the pride, the lazy prayer life. Get them sanded down. Drive out the same man, only nicer.

Paul won't have it. "I have been crucified with Christ." The "I" that bargained with God, that kept score, that wanted credit for believing in the first place, that man isn't upgraded. He's done.

If that sounds harsh, good. Soft religion left me exhausted because I was trying to improve a life God had already put in the ground.

Union with Christ isn't a mood I visit on Sunday. If I'm joined to Jesus, His death is mine and His life is mine. I don't add Him to my story. I get buried with Him, and whatever comes next is His.

I still have a body, a wife, and kids

"It is no longer I who live" can sound like you disappear. I don't think that's what Paul means. I'm still here. I still burn the eggs. I still raise my voice when I shouldn't. I still have a history in the Army and a stack of homeschool books on the table.

The point is the engine changed. I don't get to live this week on self-trust. I live it "by faith in the Son of God." Faith, for me, is usually just admitting I don't have what the next hour requires.

That admission is harder than it looks. The old soldier in me wants a plan and a finish line. Most of the Christian life is smaller than that. Math pages. A short word with my wife after the kids are down. Sitting under a sermon I thought I already knew.

He loved me and gave Himself for me

Paul won't let this stay abstract. The Son of God loved me. He gave Himself for me. Me, not a category. A real cross, a real substitute.

I need that when homeschool goes sideways, and when I'm cold toward the people I promised to love, and when I start thinking I can raise the dead by trying harder. I have not become impressive. I have been loved at my worst, and the life in me now isn't something I can manufacture.

If you take one thing from this, take the verse itself. Don't take my comments. Read it again until it stops sounding like a poster.

Christ lives in me. That's the whole thing, and I still forget it by Thursday.