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In our ongoing In Christ series, Pastor Kelly Kinder led us back into Ephesians with two short verses that open an entire world of hope: “In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of His grace, which He lavished upon us in all wisdom and insight” (Ephesians 1:7–8). Kelly reminded us that Paul’s language is breathtakingly present—the literal sense is “we are having redemption.” Redemption isn’t a distant promise held in escrow for the end of time; it is the believer’s current address. It’s where we live now in Christ.

To help us feel the weight and beauty of that word, Kelly slowed down long enough to ask what redemption actually means. In Scripture, the term carries the idea of “deliverance by payment of a price.” He walked us through two New Testament words that fill out the picture. Agorazo speaks of buying in the marketplace—you see a thing you value, you pay for it, and now it is yours. Lutroo (and the related apolutrosis) takes that everyday image into the realm of liberation; it means paying the price to set someone free from bondage, whether a prisoner of war or a slave whose freedom is purchased. Redemption is not God tossing us a helpful life tip; it is a costly rescue that changes owners, status, and future.

Kelly illustrated that with a vivid story from West Africa. When slave traders marched captives through villages in irons, a local chief who recognized a friend or relative might stop the caravan, pay the demanded price, and personally remove the iron collar. In the Bambara language, the phrase used for redemption is “God took our heads out.” That is a shocking and appropriate picture for what Jesus has done—He did not negotiate a discount with sin, death, or the Accuser; He paid the ultimate price and removed the collar. This was not with perishable things like silver or gold, Kelly said, echoing 1 Peter 1:18–19, but with the precious blood of Christ. Or as Paul says elsewhere, “though He was rich, for your sake He became poor, so that you by His poverty might become rich” (2 Corinthians 8:9). God’s extravagant gift of redemption proves and reveals the value He places on us.

That value shows up most immediately in the forgiveness redemption secures. Kelly lingered over how sweeping God’s forgiveness really is. Scripture piles up metaphors to help us believe it: as far as the east is from the west, into the depths of the sea, remembered no more. Isaiah speaks of sin swept away like morning mist; Micah of God trampling iniquities underfoot; Jeremiah of sin that God refuses to recall. If we confess our sins, John says, He is faithful and just to forgive and cleanse. We often forgive like accountants—grudgingly, with ledger in hand. God forgives like a Father who has already paid the bill in full and delights to welcome us home.

Kelly said our trouble is not just with receiving forgiveness in general; it’s that consciences often ache under the weight of specific guilt and accusation. He told the story Charles Colson shared about Albert Speer, the only high-ranking Nazi leader to fully admit guilt at Nuremberg. After twenty years in prison, Speer confessed on national television that he could not rid himself of his guilt; no amount of punishment or public contrition could silence his conscience. Colson wanted to tell him that the blood of Christ cleanses the conscience, but Speer died shortly after the interview. Kelly’s point landed with quiet force: some of us in church carry a similar ache, a sense that something in us is irredeemably stained. The Accuser hammers that lie into our hearts. But the gospel’s answer is not more self-punishment; redemption means the price has been paid, and forgiveness flows “according to the riches of His grace.”

That phrase matters. Kelly contrasted two ways a wealthy person might give—out of his riches (a controlled amount) or according to his riches (commensurate with the scale of his wealth). God gives forgiveness, favor, and help according to the riches of His grace. It is not an eyedropper release in a spiritual drought. It is Niagara. Kelly lingered over that image too—200,000 tons of water thundering over a 12-story drop every minute. It’s overwhelming, abundant, and deafening. That’s how God’s grace answers the accusations that try to define us. It roars louder. It drowns the shame. It keeps coming.

While we rightly treasure forgiveness, Kelly showed that Paul’s sentence in Ephesians also highlights an often-overlooked fruit of redemption: “wisdom and insight.” God lavishes grace “in all wisdom and insight.” Redemption doesn’t just free us from penalty; it opens up spiritual perception for the journey. The Spirit searches out the deep things of God and reveals them to us (1 Corinthians 2:10). In Christ are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge (Colossians 2:3). In fact, Paul says Christ Himself has become to us wisdom from God, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption (1 Corinthians 1:30). This means that redeemed people are not left to stumble blindly; we are invited to ask, seek, and receive insight for the decisions and complexities we face. Grace instructs as it forgives.

Stepping back, Kelly framed this teaching within the structure of Ephesians he’s been using to guide us—sit, walk, stand. We sit in the blessings of our position in Christ (chapters 1–3), we walk in a manner worthy of our calling (chapters 4–5), and we stand against the schemes of the devil (chapter 6). Paul’s long sentence in 1:3–14 is a cascade of blessings—chosen, adopted, redeemed—and our verses today plant us firmly in the present. In Christ, we are having redemption.

That present reality matters because, as Kelly said with a wry story from an airport counter, many of us live like we don’t know who we are. A frustrated traveler who cuts the line and demands first class asks, “Do you know who I am?” The quick-thinking agent flips on the PA and calls for help for a man who doesn’t know his identity. The laughter of the terminal mirrors our own confusion. Too many believers quietly live as though they are worthless, unlovable, or fundamentally rejected. We try to become worthy by polishing our performance and curating our image, hoping someone will deem us lovable. Kelly named that nagging ache many feel—something is wrong with me—and set it next to the gospel’s unflinching truth—we are unworthy on our own, but never worthless to God. We are not unloved; we are the purchased possession of Christ, redeemed at the highest price.

When redemption moves from concept to confession, it exerts real power over the lies that stalk us. There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus; we are accepted, not rejected. Divine favor is restored; God is for us, not against us. We need not carry a guilty conscience, because the punishment we fear has already fallen on Christ. Yes, the Father disciplines His children, but there is no wrath left for us. And with that comes real joy—not a thin, performative happiness, but deep rest of soul because we are loved all the time. Kelly called this the antidote to “not-enough-ism,” that low-grade anxiety that we lack what matters. Scripture counters it with staggering sufficiency: His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of Him (2 Peter 1:3). We are complete in Christ, who is the head over every ruler and authority (Colossians 2:10). And the Redeemer who gave Himself for our sins did so to deliver us from the present evil age, in line with the Father’s will (Galatians 1:4). The price secures both our status and our supply.

Kelly threaded the pastoral into the theological with stories that made the heart lean forward. He spoke of a little granddaughter with tears in her eyes when Nana couldn’t play in that moment, the child’s heart translating a benign “not now” into a felt “not loved.” We do that with God and with one another all the time. Redemption calls us back to truth. God’s verdict over His children is not rejection; it is beloved. And where our hearts doubt, grace keeps flowing according to His riches, not our performance.

If redemption is our priceless possession and measureless gift, Kelly added, it is also our deepest treasure because it ushers us into a living relationship with the Redeemer. We don’t just celebrate a transaction; we walk with a Person. That’s why the life of faith keeps circling back to Jesus Himself. The more intimately we know Him, the more the sufficiency promised in Scripture becomes our daily experience. You can almost hear the logic in Paul’s question: “He who did not spare His own Son but gave Him up for us all—how will He not also with Him graciously give us all things?” If He paid that price to remove the iron collar, He will not abandon us in the wilderness now.

Kelly closed with words that have steadied Christians for generations. Fanny Crosby, blind in body and bright in faith, called herself the “purchase of God.” That’s redemption language. “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine,” she wrote; “heir of salvation, purchase of God, born of His Spirit, washed in His blood.” It’s the language of people who know where they stand, sit, and walk—in Christ. It’s the song of a people so secure in being loved that joy becomes a quiet habit: “I, in my Savior, am happy and blessed.” That is not presumption; it’s the fruit of knowing what redemption cost and what it covers.

So the call of Ephesians 1:7–8, as Kelly unfolded it, isn’t to squeeze more effort out of tired souls. It is to believe what God says is already true. In Him we are having redemption—now. Our sins are forgiven—truly. Grace is pouring over us—lavishly. Wisdom is available—generously. Identity is settled—securely. And because the price has been paid in precious blood, we get to live our ordinary days with extraordinary freedom: no condemnation, divine favor, cleansed conscience, and the quiet courage that comes from being God’s treasured possession. This is our story. This is our song. And in Christ, it is our present reality.