I want to begin with the story of Anastasia. She was born to an unremarkable family in the Czech Republic. Eastern Europe has a proud heritage of musical excellence, and her mother—Nadia—had played a little violin as a girl. So, on Anastasia’s eighth birthday, she handed her daughter a small wooden case. By nine, Anastasia was playing well. By ten, she could learn and perform complex pieces almost on sight. By thirteen, she was a prodigy—a true virtuoso. Her playing was infused with fury and passion, as if she breathed through the instrument itself, and, ironically enough, critics said her music could make an audience forget to breathe.
But the secret to her success—the thing that made her flawless—wasn’t only genius; it was perfectionism. Others could make mistakes, but not her. A single note, even slightly sharp or flat, felt like betrayal. She could move an audience to tears and finish a concert with thunderous applause, but walking off stage, all she could hear was that one flat B in the second act. So she practiced until dawn, slept in chairs, and played until her fingers bled. Discipline. Devotion. Obsession. And it worked. Prague. Sydney. Carnegie. The world stood to applaud.
Until a rainy night in London. Anastasia had just finished a concert at the Royal Festival Hall—perhaps her finest performance yet. Not a single sour note. Perfection itself. She stepped out into the biting November rain, still glowing from the ovation, and started toward a café across Belvedere Road. Out of habit, she glanced left to look for traffic. Seeing no one coming, she stepped off the curb. Tires screamed. A horn blared. And in that frozen instant—realizing her mistake—she turned right and stared with horror straight into the headlights of fate. The impact sent her onto the hood, her right side crushing the windshield before she hit the pavement in a heap. A crowd gathered, horrified to see the great Anastasia lying motionless on the wet asphalt.
When she finally awoke, it had been two full days and she was in the hospital. Her right arm wrapped and casted with support bars and almost no skin visible at all. Before long she spoke to a doctor who offered her bad news. The impact had done irreparable damage to her bowing hand. She would eventually be able to play again, but the fine motor control she once enjoyed was lost forever.
With a brazen mixture of fear and defiance Anastasia laughed his in face. Driven by discipline, devotion, and obsession she practiced day and night from the moment she was able to hold a bow again with the words her mother spoke over her as a girl echoing in her head:
“You have a gift, Ana. Share it with the world.”
Did Anastasia beat the odds? Did she return to the great orchestral houses of the world? We both know Anastasia’s fate will have to wait for the end of the sermon, so let’s drop the virtuoso in our pockets and turn to Ephesians chapter 1.
(Ephesians 1:13-14, NRSVue) 13 In him you also, when you had heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and had believed in him, were marked with the seal of the promised Holy Spirit. 14 this is the pledge of our inheritance toward redemption as God’s own people, to the praise of his glory.
Prayer
Father, thank You for Your Word that still speaks with power and clarity. As we open Ephesians today, help us not to rush past familiar words, but to hear them fresh. Teach us what it means to be sealed by Your Spirit—to trust You fully, to walk in confidence, and to live for Your glory. Mark us again with Your presence, and let this truth take root in both our minds and our hearts. In Jesus’ name, amen.
(Ephesians 1:13) 13 In him you also, when you had heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and had believed in him, were marked with the seal of the promised Holy Spirit;
Called to Live on Mission
In Him you also. You also? Who is “you also”? This comes on the heels of “we” in the previous verse. Paul writes, “We who were the first to set our hope on Christ.” Paul is referring to the first generation of believers: the Jews. And they—the “we” of verse 12—shared the good news with the second generation of believers: you, the Gentiles. And now it becomes the responsibility of the second generation to continue sharing that good news to the third and so on.
This is still our calling today. Whether you are a new Christian or you have called Jesus your Saviour for the last 60 years, the call remains the same: Show and Tell.
Show them how Jesus has changed you. Live a life that makes people wonder at what you have that they don’t. Not in the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous sense—wealth and recognition can fill your hands but still leave your heart empty. It’s like trying to live on McDonald’s fries: they’re hot, they’re salty, and they taste good for a moment, but an hour later you’re still hungry. Real satisfaction isn’t found in success; it’s found in significance.
When your neighbors see peace where there should be panic, when your coworkers notice integrity where compromise would be easier, when your friends see forgiveness where bitterness would feel justified—that’s the kind of life that shows Jesus. In fact, this happened to my wife not long ago. Someone important to both of us had walked away from faith many years ago, and we’ve been praying for her ever since. While on vacation with her family, she told Kelly how she’d been experimenting with different drugs in search of… something. Then she paused, looked at Kelly inquisitively, and asked, “Why are you so happy all the time?”
And my wife—like a total boss—just said, “You need Jesus!” We still haven’t got her across the finish line, but to have that question asked after so many years of praying was an incredible breakthrough moment for us. Because once they’ve seen it, they’ll want to hear about it.
Let’s live lives worthy of the ‘why’!
Called to Speak the Gospel
And we have to be ready to tell them! That’s where the second part of Paul’s line comes in: “When you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation.”
You’ve probably heard the saying, “Preach the gospel at all times; when necessary, use words.” It sounds good, holy, even clever—but it’s mostly an excuse to avoid doing what we’ve been called to do.
Paul doesn’t tell the Ephesians they believed because they saw someone living a good life. The fact that Peter tells us to be ready to give an answer for the hope within us proves that simply living consistently with that hope is not enough to advance the Gospel. We have to tell people about Jesus—or at least invite them to church so I can tell them about Jesus!
How is a world cloaked in darkness going to come running into the light if it feels like we are embarrased to talk about it? Paul doesn’t mince words in Romans 10:14:
(Romans 10:14, NRSVue) But how are they to call on one in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in one of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone to proclaim him?
That’s on us, church. We cannot—hear me now—we. can. not. claim that we love someone while watching them sprint toward a cliff at full speed without even whispering, “Please, don’t.” If we don’t love someone enough to make even the smallest attempt to save their life, then we don’t love them at all… either that or we don’t actually believe Jesus is saving us from anything particularly dangerous.
May I have your permission to be heartbreakingly raw with you, church? I carry the weight every day of my own cowardice in this area. My father would have said he was a Christian, but if I’m honest, I don’t think he had any genuine relationship with Jesus. I wanted to tell him—to challenge him, to push him toward faith—but I didn’t. I was worried it would be awkward. My father died of cancer on October 3, 2013, and despite many opportunities over the years, I never pressed him to make a real commitment to Christ. And now my opportunities are gone. I don’t know if the last time I saw my dad will forever be the last time I see him. I hope that somewhere in those final days, when he was too weak to get up or even speak, he sought out his Saviour—but I don’t know. I just… don’t know.
What I do know is this: on a cold, gray October day in a cemetery outside a small country church in Cape Breton, I made a vow before the Lord that I would never let that happen again. No one I love will spend eternity separated from God if I can possibly help it.
If We Truly Believe, We Will Trust
I want everyone I know to hear, and—like Paul says—having heard, I want them to believe. Belief means faith. Trust. Confidence. And I have confidence in my God not just because of what the Bible says, or what preachers have told me over the years. I have confidence in my God because He has shown Himself faithful to me—day after day, month after month, year after year. I have seen the promises of Scripture come alive because I’ve put my faith, trust, and confidence in Him in every area of my life: my time, my talents, and my tithe.
Do you believe? Do you? Do you have faith, here today? Do you trust God in every area of your life, or do you only trust you? Do you have confidence that God will take care of you? Then take a step of faith, a step of confidence and trust the Lord with your time, talents, and tithe and I promise you, as I stand here today, you will see Him come through in ways you never thought possible. It’s exciting, church! And when we get excited no one will be able to stop us from telling people about it. It’s awesome to share the ultimate life hack with people!
So if belief is faith and faith is trust, the next question is obvious: Can I really trust this? Maybe you are struggling to really rest the full weight of your life and eternity on the Gospel? Fortunately that’s exactly where Paul goes next.
We Can Trust It Because We Are Marked
And this is actually one of the most debated phrases in the New Testament: “marked with the seal of the promised Holy Spirit.” The progression matters: you heard, you believed, and then you were marked. Some of your Bibles say “sealed.” Either way, we have to ask: what does that actually mean?
This is where we run straight into the doctrine people call the Security of the Believer. Most of us outside the Reformed tradition grew up with something called Conditional Security: you’re secure in Christ as long as you remain with Christ. It’s a relational view. God is faithful, but faith isn’t a one-time transaction; it’s a living posture.
The strength of that is obvious: it takes holiness seriously. It reminds us that grace isn’t a license to coast. The problem is that, if we’re not careful, it quietly morphs into fear. Salvation starts to feel like being asked to walk a large pane of glass across a busy highway. “If I mess up, if I sin too much, if my faith dips for a season—maybe I’ll drop it and it will shatter.” You end up living with this low-grade anxiety: “Am I still saved? Did I just lose it?” That’s a miserable way to follow Jesus.
On the other side is a view called Eternal Security. You’ve maybe heard the slogan, “Once saved, always saved”. The idea is that if you’ve ever truly been saved, you cannot lose it. It’s impossible. But there’s a catch. In that system, if someone ever does walk away from the faith, the only possible conclusion is: they were never truly saved in the first place. Which means—as R. C. Sproul himself admitted—you can’t really know for sure that you’re saved until you die. Because the only proof is that you never fall away. For many honest beleivers this is more terrifying than the first view. Instead of being scared of losing salvation, you’re scared you maybe never had it. I have worked shoulder-to-shoulder in the trenches of minsitry with guys who are no longer serving the Lord. Am I next? Same anxiety, different packaging.
The Once-Saved-Always-Saved group loves to point to this verse and say, “See? You’re sealed. Like a vault. Nothing can get in, nothing can get out. You’re good, no matter what.” But that’s a modern idea not present in the ancient word.
In the ancient world, a seal was a mark of authority and authenticity. It was branding. Kings had special rings that they would press into soft wax or clay to seal a letter, secure a document, or mark a shipment as theirs. That impression said, “This belongs to me. This carries my authority. If you mess with this, you answer to me.”
And here’s the key: a seal only guaranteed authenticity as long as it remained unbroken. Everyone knew that. If you received a scroll with the king’s seal intact, you could trust it. If the seal was cracked or tampered with, you knew someone had interfered. And nobody—nobody—broke the king’s seal lightly. To do that was to provoke the full wrath of the throne.
So when Paul tells the Ephesians, “You were sealed with the Holy Spirit,” he’s not saying, “You’ve been shoved in a heavenly safety deposit box until you die.” He’s saying, “The King of the universe has put His mark on you. You bear His brand. You belong to Him. His authority and protection stand behind you.”
Satan, sin, death, demons, the grave, and hell are all powerless to break it. In fact: no outside force can break that seal. The world can’t. Your worst enemy can’t. Your worst day can’t. From the outside, the seal of the Spirit is absolutely secure. God didn’t offer us a contract with conditions and clauses, He offered a covenant relationship coated in grace and rooted in love.
This is where what I call Covenantal Security comes in. I do think a believer can become not a believer. But salvation isn’t like your hat or your sunglasses—something you might drop or forget somewhere. That would be terrifying, to think eternal life could slide off your head because you weren’t paying attention. No, your salvation is—if you’ll pardon the crudeness of the metaphor—more like your underwear. You’re not going to accidentally lose it. You don’t get home, realize they’re missing, and think, “Weird. Where did those go?” If they’re gone, it’s because at some point you made a conscious decision to take them off. That’s how covenant works. You don’t “misplace” it. You either abide in it or you walk out of it.
So hear this very clearly: God will never break this covenant with you. He will never be the one to abandon you. His faithfulness is not fragile. The seal of the Spirit is not fragile. From His side, the relationship is rock solid. The only way it ends is if we stubbornly, persistently, finally reject Him—rip off the ring, tear up the papers, walk out of the house and don’t come back. And even then, He’ll chase you a long way down the road before He lets you go.
And that brings us back to this question: if the Holy Spirit is the seal, what does that look like? How do you know the King’s mark is actually on you? Not by a stamp on your forehead, not by a feeling that comes and goes, but by the fruit and gifts He produces in your life for the sake of His kingdom. According to Galatians 5 the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
These should be things we see in our lives, the very things that outsiders see that makes them say, “How do I get what you’ve got?”, the things that make us worthy of the ‘why’. In other words, the seal doesn’t just secure you; it brands you. It marks you as differfent, as belonging to another Kingdom.
But it’s also just the beginning. Because Paul doesn’t stop with “marked.” He adds one more phrase.
The Pledge as Ongoing Empowerment
(Ephesians 1:14) “This is the pledge of our inheritance toward redemption as God’s own people, to the praise of His glory.”
This is so good, church! How good is it? Soooo good! Because that little word—pledge—literally means “first installment.” Think of it like the down payment on a house.
See, when we are saved, the Holy Spirit comes to live inside us. Scripture talks about being “baptized in the Holy Spirit”—not a second blessing or a mystical upgrade, but the moment God’s presence moves in and starts making Himself at home. From that moment on, the Spirit begins producing fruit in our lives—the same fruit from Galatians 5 that we discussed earlier. But He doesn’t stop there. He also distributes gifts: wisdom, knowledge, discernment, mercy, leadership, teaching, hospitality, administration, encouragement, and more. This isn’t to say that we all have every gift or that we are totally nailing the ones we do have, but their presence and gradual growth are evidence that we’re allowing the Spirit to deepen His influence in our lives.
Now, a lot of believers assume that everything we experience of the Spirit in this life—all that fruit, all those gifts—is the first installment, and that the final payment comes when we get to heaven. That is a very reasonable interpretation, but when I hear “first installment,” I don’t think of a single deposit—I picture a recurring payment plan. And that’s exactly what it meant in the first century.
The Greek word Paul uses here, arrabōn, appears all over ancient business contracts. It described the first of many payments and guaranteed the rest would follow. The Spirit isn’t a one-time receipt for a future reward—He’s the ongoing presence that empowers us right now. His indwelling marks us as belonging to God and keeps supplying fresh installments of divine power, guidance, conviction, and comfort as we participate in His redemptive mission.
And it gets even better! In Paul’s world, a pledge wasn’t just a promise—it was a binding, legal obligation that the giver was required to complete. Once a contract was sealed, the one who made the down payment was legally bound to finish the transaction. That’s what Paul means in Philippians 1:6 when he writes:
(Philippians 1:6, NRSVue) I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work in you will continue to complete it until the day of Jesus Christ.
But the coolest part is that it’s so much BIGGER than me or you or us! It means the Holy Spirit is the down payment on God’s cosmic act of reclaiming creation—and we are the instruments He uses to bring that work to completion. How can we hear that and not want to get out there on mission? Amen?
Empowered for Mission
You remember what we said last week: our inheritance is not something we get; it’s something we give. It’s not a treasure we store up—it’s a mission we live out. We are called to press on toward redemption as God’s people. And there’s a little translation gem hidden here. The phrase “toward redemption as God’s own people” can just as easily be translated “toward redemption of God’s own people.” That tiny preposition shifts the focus from what we receive to who we reach.
If I were writing the Conrad’s Unofficial Translation, it would read something like this:
“This is the pledge of our inheritance toward the redemption of God’s own people, to the praise of His glory.”
Like I have been saying all morning: the Spirit isn’t just working in you for your own growth—He’s working through you for the salvation of others. Every new believer is another installment of God’s inheritance paying forward.
So we need to be out there—knowing who saved us, empowered by Him daily, telling anyone who will listen about the hope we have within us. Because there is no joy on earth quite like hearing someone you introduced to Jesus praising His name for the first time. That song forever becomes part of the soundtrack of your life.
Anastasia’s Return: Releasing the Gift
Speaking of soundtracks, do you remember Anastasia? Let’s pull the virtuoso back out of our pockets.
She had just completed a flawless performance only to make the biggest mistake of her life moments later. She woke up in hospital, told she would never be able to play like she use to again, but she determined to defy the doctors and return to the grandest stages of the world.
Anastasia desperately wanted to prove everyone wrong, but when she played, every note betrayed her, the damage was indeed too extensive. The fine motor control that once brought crowds to their feet had been replaced by nerve damage and fused joints that simply couldn’t do what she demanded of them.
Months later, out of savings and options, she took a job teaching children. Not at a conservatory, but in a small elementary school. She almost didn’t go. Outside the classroom door, she could already hear the squeal of tiny plastic violins—off-key, out of rhythm, chaos. Heartbreak. Punishment.
But something inside her remembered the words of her mother again:
“You have a gift, Ana. Share it with the world.”
Even though she felt this was meant to be lived out on stage paying Beethoven, not in a classroom squaking out nursery rhymes, nonetheless she opened the door.
At first, it was awful. Her perfectionism wanted to correct, to control, to fix. But she didn’t. She let them play. And somewhere in that cacophony, she heard something she hadn’t heard in years—joy. Not the joy of mastery, but of discovery, a joy of music not as something to be dominated, but to be delighted in. The realization that her gift wasn’t gone; it had simply changed hands.
Church, that’s what it means to be sealed by the Holy Spirit.
The Spirit doesn’t seal us so we can protect what’s ours; He marks us so we can release what’s His. And more than that, the mark isn’t about control—it’s about trust. The pledge isn’t about safety—it’s about empowerment. When we stop gripping our lives like a performance and start offering them like a song, the Spirit moves through us in ways we never imagined.
Maybe we’ve been gripping too tightly—our plans, our reputations, our ideas of perfection—and the joy has gone quiet. Friend, open the case. Pick up the instrument. Even if our hands tremble, even if it’s not perfect, we must let the Spirit play through us.
Because the seal isn’t a vault—it’s a calling.
The pledge isn’t a promise of comfort—it’s a commitment to power.
And when we stop controlling the gift and start releasing it, heaven’s music begins to swell.
That’s what it means to be sealed by the Holy Spirit: not to perform for applause, but to join the symphony of redemption—where every note, every life, every act of obedience becomes part of God’s great song of grace.
Let’s pray:
Lord, You are the giver of every good gift. You’ve placed Your Spirit within us—not to make us cautious, but courageous; not to make us perfect, but to make us participants in Your redemptive work. Help us to release what You’ve entrusted to us—to open our hands, our mouths, and our lives so that others may see and hear You through us. Let the music of heaven play through our obedience this week, until the world joins the song of redemption. In the name of the One who sealed us forever, Jesus Christ our Lord—amen.