I want to tell you the story of a man named Barry. Barry was an engineer in Los Angeles. Then he lost his job. Then his home. The rest of his worldly possessions followed shortly thereafter. Drugs became an escape, and then an addiction—a chain that bound him to this new reality. Eventually Barry took up residence under an LA freeway, an overpass not far from the Dream Center.
Pastor Matthew Barnett found Barry and offered him food, shelter, the Gospel—none of which interested Barry in the least. For fifteen long years Matthew prayed and reached out, and for fifteen long years Matthew was shut out. No one could reach Barry. This gave Barry a somewhat mythical status at the Dream Center. Everyone knew about Barry, and just as many tried to reach him… and just as many failed.
Then one day a country girl from Oklahoma—only sixteen or seventeen years old—went on a mission trip to the Dream Center for a week. And she, too, heard the legend of the ornery overpass man. And while out with Pastor Matthew and some others, she asked if she could invite Barry to come for a meal.
Matthew laughed inside himself at the naive optimism of this young girl, but gave her his blessing and sent her in. A short while later, she emerged from under the bridge, leading the crusty curmudgeon out by the hand.
For the next six months Barry would show up for meals, eat, and then leave—without even attending the five-minute Bible study, never mind asking about the housing or rehab programs. Barry only wanted the food, nothing more.
As Barry continued to take only what he wanted while ignoring every plea to save his soul, Pastor Matthew became more and more frustrated. Eventually he prayed to the Lord in his anger, “How long do I allow this man to take advantage of us!?”
The Lord’s reply was as clear as it was direct. But it’ll have to wait for the end of the sermon. So for now, put Barry in your pocket and turn with me to Ephesians chapter two.
The Passage
(Ephesians 2:1-10, NRSVue) 2:1 You were dead through the trespasses and sins 2 in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the ruler of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work among those who are disobedient. 3 All of us once lived among them in the passions of our flesh, doing the will of flesh and senses, and we were by nature children of wrath, like everyone else, 4 but God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us 5 even when we were dead through our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved— 6 and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, 7 so that in the ages to come he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. 8 For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God— 9 not the result of works, so that no one may boast. 10 For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we may walk in them.
The Prayer
Father, thank You for Your Word. Thank You that You do not leave us guessing about who we are or what You have done, but You speak clearly and kindly to us. As we open Ephesians 2 together, would You help us to see the truth about our condition apart from Christ and the greatness of Your mercy in Christ?
Holy Spirit, would You wake up sleepy hearts, soften hard hearts, and encourage wounded hearts. Help us not just to understand these verses with our minds, but to receive them with faith, to be humbled by Your grace, and to be changed by Your love.
Lord Jesus, You are the One who makes the dead alive. So would You do Your work among us today—for Your glory and for our good. In Your name we pray, amen.
The Problem
(Ephesians 2:1-3, NRSVue) 1 You were dead through the trespasses and sins 2 in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the ruler of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work among those who are disobedient. 3 All of us once lived among them in the passions of our flesh, doing the will of flesh and senses, and we were by nature children of wrath, like everyone else,
[We were] dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate.
Literary—or Christmas—fans in the room might recognize that from A Christmas Carol. And I feel like it really underscores the point Paul is making. If we do not appreciate that we were dead, then we cannot possibly appreciate being brought back to life!
And the way Paul brings it up is almost comical! It’s like a “smash cut” on TV where one character is like, “I will never, ever do that thing! Not in a million years!” Then the scene immediately cuts to the character doing that exact thing.
Paul basically says, “Jesus was and is the ultimate, supreme, high ruler over all things who reigns forever in eternity! … You were dead.”
It’s also critical to understand that we did not start off physically dead—obviously—but spiritually dead. Not sick, not lost, but D-E-A-D: dead. The Greek word—nekros—is unambiguous: we were spiritual corpses. We still had this temporal body and an independent mind—not independent in the sense of being separate from all other minds, but independent in the sense that the mind isn’t identical to the body. Our mind is who we are, how we think, and what we value. I believe it is the connection point between our body and spirit. The brain is simply the mechanism by which the mind interacts with the physical world.
I know this may feel a little abstract, but it matters. Our minds are one of God’s great gifts of common grace. They allow us to reason, to recognize truth, and to connect what we know of God with our need for Him. In other words, the mind is ordinarily the bridge God uses to awaken the spirit. But this doesn’t mean salvation depends on intelligence or age or mental capacity—God judges every person with perfect mercy, perfect justice, and perfect knowledge of what each heart can truly grasp. The point Paul is pressing here is simply this: even the ability to recognize our need for God is itself a gift from God. Without His grace—mind, spirit, and all—we would remain what Paul says we once were: dead in our trespasses and sins.
This is an interesting phrase. For the note-takers in the room, “sins” and “trespasses” aren’t just two interchangeable words. They actually carry two different meanings.
Trespasses is a more specific term that describes breaking the explicit commands or boundaries given by God. These are the “thou shalt not’s” of the Old Testament and the “But I say to you’s” of the New Testament.
Sin, however, is a more general word. It’s an all-encompassing term that covers all actions, activities, and attitudes that run afoul of God’s perfection. Like, maybe Jesus never said, “Don’t be a big grumpy pants,” but that attitude of ingratitude puts you at odds with the posture of thankfulness the Lord calls us to—so that’s sin. I’m sure we could brainstorm a great many examples, but I hope you get the idea. Sin refers to anything and everything that puts us at odds with our Creator.
And what does it mean that we “walked” in these sins and trespasses? This was a common idea among the Jews of the day. “To walk,” in this sense, meant conduct moving in a particular direction with steady progress. Each of us—no matter where we started or where we’re headed—is taking his or her next steps.
God-hating atheist Friedrich Nietzsche coined the phrase “a long obedience in the same direction,” which Christian author Eugene Peterson famously used to describe discipleship. And the fact that both men could use the same phrase with such radically different worldviews tells us two things:
- Our next steps are leading us somewhere.
- We are all being discipled by someone.
Unfortunately, we all started out in the Nietzsche camp—away from God—with our next steps drawing us further from a relationship with Him. As the great American poet Bob Dylan once said:
It may be the devil or it may be the Lord, but you’re gonna have to serve somebody.
And if it’s not the Lord, who’s left? The world? The ruler of the power of the air? Your heart? They’re all bad—tainted and corrupted by sin. But they also roll back to Satan. Because our fallen hearts are shaped by a fallen world, and the world is fallen because of Satan’s influence. So let’s talk about him.
What does it mean that Satan is the “ruler of the power of the air”?
- “Ruler” = someone with real but limited authority, like a prince over a rebel province.
- “Power” = influence, not sovereignty; ability, not command.
- “Air” = the unseen spiritual realm surrounding human life. This was a common ancient way of describing the sphere where spiritual beings operate.
But if Jesus is King over the spiritual realm, then why does Satan still have authority and influence there? Simple: God wants us to choose Him, and in order for there to be choice, there must be at least one other option. And James is extremely clear that God never tempts us into sin. So instead of tempting us Himself, He permits Satan limited freedom to tempt, test, and try us within boundaries He sets. And so Satan becomes option number two.
We, of course, failed our first test in the Garden of Eden. Job did better when Satan took almost everything from him. And in Luke 22, Jesus tells the disciples that Satan has asked to sift them—and though things were touch-and-go for a while (especially with Peter’s denials), eventually they came out the other side refined rather than ruined.
But that’s where we all start: in sin. In submission to Satan, the world, and our fallen hearts. In need of a God who can show us the way out of the darkness.
“But pastor,” I hear someone say, “I am a good person! I coach soccer! I give to charity! I help little old ladies across the street! I hold the door for the person behind me!”
That’s all great. But you know what none of that is? The Gospel. None of that addresses the separation between us and God, a separation that can only be healed by placing our trust in the death of Jesus on the cross and His bodily resurrection three days later—His death in our place.
Let me fill you in on the great secret Satan doesn’t want you to know: he doesn’t care if you’re a good, moral person. That’s awesome. Satan doesn’t want you to be evil—he wants you to be dead. He’s not trying to hire you; he’s trying to kill you.
So Satan is happy to let you have a good life, be a moral person, and whistle Dixie right off a cliff. In fact, someone who’s fat and happy often doesn’t think they need Jesus at all. And if you find yourself believing you already have everything you need, that’s when you know you’re in real danger. Because the only thing we truly need is Jesus. Everything else is a want. And our wants, left unchecked, are leading us toward an open grave.
The Solution
(Ephesians 2:4-6, NRSVue) 4 but God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us 5 even when we were dead through our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved— 6 and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus,
This is so good, church! Paul has just painted the bleakest, blackest picture of who we were without Christ: spiritual corpses with no pulse, no hope, no life. “You were dead,” he says—dead as every dead thing that has ever died. But God. Those two words sit like a lightning strike in the middle of this passage. The God for whom all things are possible. The God for whom death is a minor inconvenience. The God who spoke time and matter and light into existence with a single breath. That God stepped in. That God had a plan. That God determined that He would make a way to redeem us.
So when Satan slides into your DMs with his usual schtick—“You’re not good enough. You’re a failure. You’re a fraud. You’re a wretched, wrecked, unworthy sinner”—the answer is simple: amen… but God! Not just any god, but my God. A God who is rich in mercy and overflowing in love—a God who loved me even when I was dead. And we need to pause on those two words, “mercy” and “love,” because Paul stacks them intentionally. Mercy is compassion toward the helpless. Love is committed action toward the unworthy. Mercy sees our misery; love moves toward us in response. Paul wants us to feel that God’s motive in saving us comes entirely from within Himself, not from anything admirable or promising in us.
Imagine two homeless men. The first sports thin jacket against a bitter wind, cracked hands wrapped around a cardboard cup, eyes that look like they’ve forgotten what hope feels like, lips trembling as he asks for enough money to buy a hot meal. It’s not surprising to feel compassion for someone like this. It almost rises in your heart uninvited.
The second stands outside your favourite coffee shop, wild eyes darting around, a rusted shopping cart rattling against concrete as he shoves it forward, shouting and cursing at you for being too close to his belongings. He is frothing at the mouth as the smell of cheap alcohol clouds the air. He demands that you back away immediately—but also insists that you owe him money for a meal. How many of us would feel compassion for that man?
And yet, spiritually speaking, we are the second man. You might recoil and say, “Pastor, I wasn’t an angry atheist shaking my fist at the sky!” But ask yourself this: Did we take credit for God’s daily mercies without offering Him thanks? Did we do whatever we wanted with no regard for His design or purpose? Did we ignore the voice of our Savior while accusing Him of being unjust? Did we invoke God’s name only when it suited our opinions or arguments? When we live that way—claiming God’s gifts while acting as if we are the center of the universe—are we not spitting in His face?
And yet God’s mercy is greater than our hostility, and His love is so vast that it compels Him to act in spite of that hostility. And how does He act? Paul gives us three verbs: He made us alive, He raised us up, and He seated us with Christ. Each verb tells a different part of the story.
First, God made us alive. This is resurrection language. This is eternal CPR. Every one of us was born spiritually dead—unable to respond to God, unable to love Him, unable to perceive His goodness. But the moment we confess Jesus as Lord, our spirits are reanimated. We come to life. And the same God who raises us also sustains us, so that we can share in Christ’s eternal life even while living in this imperfect, ordinary world.
But God doesn’t stop there. He also raised us up with Christ. He didn’t resurrect our spirits just to leave them lying around a spiritual graveyard. No—He pulled us up and out. This is the transfer of realms Scripture speaks about: from darkness to light, from death to life, from Satan’s dominion to Christ’s authority. Our revived spirits are not only alive; they are relocated. We’re moved into participation with spiritual realities we couldn’t even perceive before.
And then, the crescendo: God seated us with Christ in the heavenly places. This is authority language. Not equality with Christ—but union with Christ. It means that believers, by virtue of being united to Jesus, share in His victory and operate under His delegated authority. This is why James can say the prayers of a righteous person have great power—not because we are powerful, but because our prayers begin to echo the will of the One who is powerful. We don’t command heaven. We don’t decree anything. But the prayers of a person aligned with Jesus resonate with the purposes of God, and God delights to answer prayers that sound like His Son.
Do you see it, church? We went from dead in sin, to raised with Christ, to seated with Christ, to participating in His activity. From corpses in a graveyard to deputies of Jesus. So the next natural question is: Why? Why would God do all of this? Fortunately we have the answer here in the next verse.
The Purpose
(Ephesians 2:7, NRSVue) 7 so that in the ages to come he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus.
The natural first question is: what are the “ages to come”? Many interpreters see that phrase and immediately jump to the end times. I tried to read the passage through that lens—I really did—but the more I wrestled with it, the more unsatisfying that interpretation became. I couldn’t understand how living in the new heavens and the new earth, standing fully in God’s unveiled presence, would highlight His kindness. Glory? Absolutely. Righteousness? Of course. Majesty? Without question. Love? One hundred percent. But kindness felt strange to me in that context. Kindness, almost by definition, requires a contrast. It’s only appreciated when it stands next to what is unkind, harsh, unfair, or undeserved. You don’t know what a good boss is until you have a bad one. And as much as I could rationally explain an eschatological interpretation, I couldn’t preach it with passion, because it just didn’t feel right.
Enter Dr. Lynn Cohick—praise the Lord for good scholars! She points out something crucial: the phrase “ages to come” is in the present sense. Paul isn’t pointing us to some final, distant future. He’s describing the unfolding ages we live in right now. The Radio Age. The Space Age. The Information Age. All of it. Every era, every season, every cultural moment in human history—God uses them to showcase “the immeasurable riches of His grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus.”
This means something profound: God is not waiting for heaven to show you His kindness. He is doing it now. Every day. Every hour. In every season we pass through as a world and in every moment you pass through as a person. Paul wants us to recognize that the kindness of God is not theoretical, not distant, not something we’ll only appreciate when we finally “get there.” He is actively demonstrating it in the contrast between who we were—dead, hostile, enslaved—and who we are now: alive, raised, seated with Christ.
And His kindness is also visible in how He treats others who currently stand where we once stood. Look at the patience He has with people who still shake their fists at Him. Look at the grace He extends to those who ignore Him, deny Him, dismiss Him, or even mock Him. The same mercy that reached into our grave still reaches into theirs. The kindness that rescued us is the kindness still holding the door open for them.
Paul wants us to see this contrast—our past and present, their resistance and God’s patience—so we can begin to grasp the sheer magnitude of His grace. Because once you see His kindness clearly, once the contrast is unmistakable, the only natural response is to ask: “How? How do we obtain a grace like this?” And that question sets us up perfectly for where Paul goes next.
The Method
(Ephesians 2:8-9 NRSVue) 8 For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God— 9 not the result of works, so that no one may boast.
And here we have arrived at one of the most familiar salvation passages in the whole Bible. For the nerds and note-takers in the room, this is the doctrine of salvation—what theologians call Soteriology. Paul’s flow here is beautiful. In verses one through three we saw the problem: we were dead. In verses four through six we saw God’s solution: He made us alive, raised us up, and seated us with Christ. In verse seven we discovered God’s purpose: that throughout every age and season of our lives, we would see and savour His kindness. And now, in verses eight and nine, we see the method by which this saving work becomes ours.
Paul says it plainly: “By grace you have been saved through faith.” Grace is God’s plan, God’s initiative, God’s execution, and God’s ongoing work in our lives. From the Father’s design, to the Son’s obedience, to the Spirit’s beckoning tug on our hearts—every part of salvation flows from grace. We cannot claim to have contributed anything to those unmerited gifts.
So then, what is faith? Faith is the conduit through which grace reaches us. If grace is the sunlight, faith is an open window. When I first got saved and my pastor told me, “God is a gentleman and won’t come into your life unless you invite Him,” my brain immediately—incorrectly—pictured God as Dracula. According to old vampire lore, a vampire can’t enter your home without an invitation. It’s a goofy comparison, but maybe it will help someone here remember the point: you have to open the door for grace to enter.
Now, this is where my Calvinist brothers and sisters immediately stand up and lovingly object. “Pastor, Paul says this is not your own doing—it is the gift of God! The grace and the faith are gifts!” And if that’s what the Greek said, I would agree. But here’s the issue: Greek is a gendered language. Nouns have gender. Pronouns match their nouns. In this verse, “grace” is feminine and “faith” is feminine, but “this” (“this is not of your own doing”) is neuter. That means “this” does not refer to faith or grace individually. Paul is pointing to the whole salvation package—the grace, the faith, the rescue, the new life, the entire process—and saying, “All of this is God’s gift.” But that does not necessarily mean that each piece of it is God’s unilateral choice.
The next objection is, “But pastor, faith is a work! And Paul says salvation is not the result of works! Faith has to be God’s gift!” But this objection actually misunderstands what faith is. Faith doesn’t do anything. Faith isn’t a moral achievement or a meritorious deed. Faith simply acknowledges what God alone can do. Imagine a woman experiencing incredible thirst who whispers, “Water.” Does that whisper produce the water? Does she earn the water? No. Her need does not diminish the giver’s generosity.
To illustrate this, there is a classic salvation analogy that Calvinists love to roast. It pictures a drowning man in the ocean, unable to save himself. A ship pulls alongside and asks if he wants help. He cries out “Yes!” and they throw him a life preserver, telling him just to grab it. And the Calvinists rightly scoff: “Grab it? The man is dead! Dead men don’t grab anything!” And honestly, that criticism is fair.
But here’s how we should respond: the drowning story is simply the wrong analogy. Let’s picture something closer to what Paul actually describes. Imagine a man hiking a mountain who slips, falls, and is badly injured. He drags himself to a ledge and is moments from passing out. A rescue team appears and says, “We can save you—do you want us to?” And in the last ounce of consciousness he has left, all he can whisper is “mmhmm” before he goes completely under. The next day he wakes up in the hospital. He is alive, bandaged, hydrated, cared for. Now ask: how much credit can he claim for his rescue?
None. Exactly. He contributed no skill, no strength, no strategy. All he did was stop resisting the rescuers. Faith works the same way. It is not a “work” that earns salvation; it is simply the exhausted, desperate acknowledgment that only God can save.
So if you’re tempted to boast, or tempted to think you made this happen, or tempted to believe you were somehow wiser or more deserving than someone else—just remember who truly deserves the credit. And it isn’t us. Grace saves. Faith receives. God gets the glory.
And all of this leads to the outcome Paul puts forward in verse ten.
The Outcome
(Ephesians 2:10, NRSVue) 10 For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we may walk in them.
We are what God has made us. This matters because salvation isn’t simply something God did for us—it is something God made us to be. This isn’t just an action. It’s not a rhythm or a pattern or a procedure. It is an identity. We have been re-created. And—ironically enough—we have been created for “good works.”
But note the direction of the good works. We are created for good works, not from good works. Our works are not the roots of salvation—they are the fruit. Evidence that the Spirit really is alive and at work within us.
James tells us that faith without works is dead. Not because works keep us in God’s good graces, but because union with Christ produces something. When Christ is alive in you, Christlikeness spills out of you. And that spilling-out is good news, because Paul tells us in Romans that God causes all things to work together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose. Your works—imperfect as they may be—become part of God’s unstoppable redemptive plan.
The Pocket
And this brings us back around to Under-the-Bridge Barry. So take him back out of your pocket. You remember the rural teen who didn’t know he was “unreachable.” She invited him anyway. And to everyone’s surprise… he went. For six months he refused every program, every offer of help, every word of the Gospel—but he took the food. Finally Pastor Matthew prayed in anger and frustration, “Lord, how long do I allow this man to take advantage of us?”
And he felt the Lord reply:
“If you want to be a bridge to the Gospel, you have to allow yourself to be walked on.”
Oof. That’s a gut punch. But Matthew stayed the course. Barry kept coming. And eventually—after six months of nothing but meals—Barry walked in and asked if he could join the rehab program. Then Barry took the Bible classes. And now Pastor Barry serves at the Dream Center every day, preaching the Gospel and reaching people who are exactly where he used to be.
Why? Because Barry recognized that he was spiritually dead… and he asked God to do what only God can do. And now Barry is doing what he was made for: good works that God prepared beforehand, so he could walk in them.
So what about you? What good work does the Lord have for you?
Perhaps you need to be naive enough to demonstrate kindness to someone in the same way that the Lord has shown kindness to you. To demonstrate kindness to someone who you “know” won’t listen. Someone who you “know” is hostile, aggressive, or difficult.
- A coworker who drains you
- A neighbour who frustrates you
- A family member who feels like talking to a wall
- Someone you’ve written off
- Someone who “takes advantage” of your patience
- Someone who, frankly, doesn’t seem worth the effort
Choose one. Extend kindness anyway. Not because they deserve it—but because you were dead, and God made you alive. And that’s what the alive do. They walk in the works God prepared.
Let’s pray.
Lord Jesus, thank You that when we were dead in our sins, You did not walk past us. You made us alive, You raised us up, and You seated us with Yourself in the heavenly places. Thank You that our salvation is all of grace, received through faith, not by works, so that none of us can boast.
Father, we confess that we often forget who we are and what we’re for. Would You remind us this week that we are Your workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works that You prepared beforehand for us to walk in.
Holy Spirit, even now would You bring to mind the one person, the one situation, where You’re calling us to show the same kindness You have shown to us—especially where it feels costly, inconvenient, or “not worth it.” Give us courage to obey, patience to endure, and love that reflects the heart of Jesus.
Send us out as people who were dead but are now alive, people who walk in the works You have prepared, so that others might see our good deeds and glorify our Father in heaven. We ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.