When Love Grows a Backbone: Ephesians 5 and the Courage to Live Awake
I want to talk about a chapter that refuses to stay tame. Ephesians 5 is often quoted softly, selectively, and sometimes defensively, but it was never written to be gentle background music for polite faith. It was written to wake people up. It was written to give love a backbone, holiness a heartbeat, and daily life a direction that does not drift with the mood of the room. This chapter does not whisper. It insists. It does not flatter our culture, and it does not negotiate with our comfort. It calls us to live awake in a world that prefers spiritual sleep.
What strikes me every time I sit with this chapter is how practical it is. Paul does not begin with lofty abstractions. He begins with walking. With living. With the way your feet hit the floor when nobody is applauding you. He talks about how believers move through the world, how they speak, how they desire, how they handle power, how they love, how they submit, and how they reflect Christ when no one is staging a debate or filming a clip. Ephesians 5 is about the unseen hours. It is about the integrity of a life that claims Christ not only in confession but in posture.
Paul opens with an audacious call: imitate God. Not admire God. Not talk about God. Not quote God. Imitate Him. And immediately he grounds that imitation in love. Not sentimental love, not vague kindness, but the love that gave itself up. The love that absorbed cost. The love that chose sacrifice over self-protection. The love that did not wait to be deserved. This is where the chapter sets its tone. Love here is not passive. Love here moves first, pays first, bleeds first if necessary. And Paul is clear that this love is not theoretical. It is patterned after Christ’s self-giving life, not merely His teachings.
Then the chapter takes a turn that makes many people uncomfortable, because Paul does something our culture dislikes. He draws boundaries. He names behaviors that are incompatible with this way of life. He speaks plainly about sexual immorality, impurity, greed, crude speech, and careless joking that hollows out the soul. Not because he is prudish. Not because he wants control. But because he understands something we forget: what we normalize eventually shapes us. What we excuse eventually trains our conscience. What we joke about eventually dulls our sensitivity to what is sacred.
Paul is not listing sins to shame people. He is describing a way of living that cannot coexist with a heart oriented toward Christ. This is not about perfection. It is about direction. You cannot walk toward the light while making peace with darkness. You cannot claim to follow Christ while feeding patterns that Christ came to heal. The issue is not whether believers ever stumble. The issue is whether they have decided to stop caring.
One of the most misunderstood elements of Ephesians 5 is the way Paul talks about identity. He does not say believers should avoid darkness because it is bad behavior. He says they should avoid it because it is not who they are anymore. “You were once darkness,” he says, “but now you are light in the Lord.” That is a profound shift. He does not say they lived in darkness. He says they were darkness. And now they are light. Identity precedes behavior. Transformation begins with a new sense of who you are, not just a new list of rules.
This is where many Christians get exhausted. They try to modify behavior without renewing identity. They try to clean the outside while still believing they are fundamentally broken, unworthy, or defined by their past. Paul refuses that framework. He says you are light now. So live like it. Walk like it. Speak like it. Let your life expose what is hidden not through condemnation, but through clarity. Light does not argue with darkness. It simply shows what is real.
Paul then gives one of the most piercing commands in the chapter: wake up. “Awake, O sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.” This is not written to unbelievers. This is written to the church. That alone should sober us. Paul is not addressing people who reject God. He is addressing people who have drifted into spiritual drowsiness. People who believe the right things but live half-awake lives. People who have settled into routines that numb their attentiveness to God.
Spiritual sleep does not always look like rebellion. Often it looks like distraction. Busyness. Familiarity. A life filled with noise but emptied of reverence. Paul’s call is not merely to moral correctness but to alertness. To awareness. To a life that is intentionally lived rather than passively inherited from the surrounding culture.
He follows this with counsel that feels almost startlingly modern: be careful how you live. Not as unwise, but as wise. Make the most of your time because the days are evil. Paul is not predicting some distant apocalypse. He is naming a reality: time is always slipping away, and cultural currents always pull us toward shallowness if we are not deliberate. Wisdom, in this chapter, is not intellectual brilliance. It is attentiveness. It is the ability to discern what matters and to refuse what distracts.
Paul contrasts being filled with wine with being filled with the Spirit, and this is often misunderstood. He is not merely condemning drunkenness. He is contrasting sources of influence. What fills you will guide you. What saturates your inner life will shape your reactions. Wine promises escape but delivers loss of control. The Spirit produces clarity, worship, gratitude, and mutual submission. One numbs awareness. The other heightens it.
This leads into one of the most quoted and least understood sections of the chapter: submission. Paul begins not with marriage, but with community. “Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ.” That sentence is often ignored, yet it frames everything that follows. Submission here is not about hierarchy for its own sake. It is about mutual deference rooted in devotion to Christ. It is about choosing humility over dominance. Service over self-assertion. Love over leverage.
When Paul speaks to wives and husbands, he does so within this framework. He does not describe a power struggle. He describes a sacrificial dance. Wives are called to trust and respect. Husbands are called to love with a self-emptying love that mirrors Christ’s love for the church. And Paul defines that love in no uncertain terms. Christ loved the church and gave Himself up for her. He did not demand submission. He earned trust through sacrifice.
This is where so many conversations go wrong. People argue about roles while ignoring character. They debate authority while avoiding accountability. Paul does neither. He places the heavier burden on the one with greater responsibility. Husbands are not told to rule. They are told to die. To lay down comfort. To protect, nurture, and cherish. To love not as the world loves, but as Christ loves.
Paul’s vision of marriage is not romantic idealism. It is spiritual realism. Two imperfect people are invited into a covenant that reflects something larger than themselves. Marriage becomes a living parable of Christ and the church, not because it is flawless, but because it is faithful. Because it practices forgiveness. Because it chooses endurance. Because it keeps pointing beyond itself.
What I find most compelling about Ephesians 5 is that it does not offer shortcuts. It does not promise ease. It offers formation. It shapes a people who live with intention, courage, and reverence. It calls believers to grow up, to wake up, and to live like their lives actually mean something in the cosmic story God is telling.
This chapter refuses to let faith remain private or theoretical. It insists that what we believe shows up in how we speak, how we love, how we handle desire, how we spend time, and how we treat one another. It calls us out of spiritual sleep and into spiritual maturity. Not through fear, but through identity. Not through control, but through love that has learned how to stand firm.
Ephesians 5 does not ask whether we are comfortable with this way of life. It asks whether we are willing to be transformed by it. It does not ask whether the world approves. It asks whether Christ is reflected. And that question lingers long after the chapter ends.
In the next part, I want to go deeper into what it means to live awake in a culture that profits from distraction, how love and truth coexist without compromise, and why Paul’s vision in this chapter is not outdated, but urgently needed now.
Living awake, as Paul describes it in Ephesians 5, is not a one-time spiritual decision. It is a daily posture. It is the quiet, repeated choice to remain attentive to God in a world designed to dull spiritual senses. That is why this chapter feels confrontational even now. Not because it is harsh, but because it is clear. Clarity always feels threatening to a culture that thrives on ambiguity.
One of the great dangers Paul is addressing is not outright rebellion but gradual accommodation. He knows how easily believers can absorb the values of the surrounding culture without ever consciously rejecting Christ. Over time, the sharp edges of faith are sanded down. Convictions become preferences. Holiness becomes optional. What once felt weighty becomes negotiable. Ephesians 5 is written as a corrective to that slow drift. It is a reminder that following Christ is not about blending in gracefully, but about standing out faithfully.
When Paul tells believers to “test what pleases the Lord,” he is inviting an active, discerning faith. This is not blind obedience. It is thoughtful alignment. It requires asking hard questions of our habits, our entertainment, our ambitions, and our relationships. Not “is this allowed?” but “does this reflect the character of Christ?” That shift alone changes everything. It moves faith from rule-keeping to relational loyalty.
This kind of discernment requires courage because it often places believers out of step with the world around them. Paul does not pretend otherwise. He acknowledges that light exposes darkness, and exposure is rarely welcomed. But exposure is not the same as attack. Light reveals what is already there. When a believer lives with integrity, clarity, and love, it confronts illusions simply by being real. That confrontation can be uncomfortable, but it is also merciful. It creates the possibility of healing rather than hiding.
Paul’s insistence on gratitude is also deeply countercultural. He repeatedly emphasizes thanksgiving as a defining mark of a Spirit-filled life. This is not shallow positivity. It is defiant gratitude. Gratitude that persists even when circumstances are difficult. Gratitude that anchors the heart in trust rather than complaint. In a culture fueled by dissatisfaction, gratitude becomes an act of resistance. It declares that God’s presence is more significant than our lack.
What often goes unnoticed is how closely Paul connects gratitude to speech. He understands that words shape atmosphere. Crude joking, empty talk, and careless speech do not merely offend others; they shape the speaker. They train the heart toward cynicism and detachment. Gratitude, by contrast, trains the heart toward awareness. Toward humility. Toward reverence. The way believers speak is not incidental. It is formative.
When Paul transitions into his teaching on marriage, he is not changing subjects. He is applying the same principles to the most intimate human relationship. Marriage, in this chapter, becomes a proving ground for awakened faith. It reveals whether love is truly sacrificial or merely sentimental. Whether submission is mutual or manipulative. Whether power is used to serve or to control.
Paul’s vision challenges both spouses. It strips away excuses. It leaves no room for domination disguised as leadership or passivity disguised as peace. Husbands are called to a standard of love that costs them something real. Wives are called to a trust that is grounded not in fear, but in shared devotion to Christ. Neither role exists in isolation. Both are rooted in reverence for Christ first, not for one another alone.
This is why Paul’s metaphor of Christ and the church matters so deeply. He is not romanticizing marriage. He is sanctifying it. He is saying that marriage, when lived faithfully, becomes a visible testimony of the gospel. Not because it is perfect, but because it reflects grace, forgiveness, patience, and perseverance. In a culture that treats relationships as disposable, this kind of covenantal faithfulness is radical.
But Ephesians 5 is not only about marriage. It is about maturity. It is about growing beyond a reactive faith into a responsive one. A faith that does not simply respond to circumstances but responds to God. A faith that measures success not by comfort or approval, but by faithfulness. Paul wants believers who can stand upright in confusing times because they know who they are and whose they are.
Perhaps the most sobering implication of this chapter is that spiritual sleep is always a choice. It is rarely forced upon us. It happens when we stop paying attention. When we stop examining our lives. When we trade intentionality for convenience. Paul’s call to wake up is both a warning and an invitation. It warns that complacency dulls the soul. It invites believers into a life that is fully alive, fully aware, and fully anchored in Christ.
Ephesians 5 ultimately asks a simple but piercing question: are we willing to live as people who belong to the light? Not occasionally. Not selectively. But consistently. Are we willing to let Christ shape not only what we believe, but how we live? How we love? How we speak? How we use our time?
This chapter does not promise applause. It promises purpose. It does not guarantee ease. It offers clarity. And in a world saturated with noise, clarity is a gift.
Living awake means refusing to drift. It means choosing reverence over reaction, gratitude over grumbling, sacrifice over self-preservation. It means letting love grow a backbone. Not a harsh backbone, but a strong one. One that can carry the weight of truth without crushing compassion. One that can stand firm without losing tenderness.
That is the courage Ephesians 5 calls for. And that courage is not produced by effort alone. It flows from identity. From knowing that we were once darkness, but now we are light in the Lord. And light, by its very nature, was never meant to sleep.
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Douglas Vandergraph
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