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Your life has a kingdom accent, whether you intend it or not. That was the disarming way Pastor Mark Medley began to walk us into Ephesians 4:25–32, part of our In Christ series. Where you live, what you love, and whom you belong to inevitably leave a trace in the way you speak, the way you handle conflict, the way you treat money, and the way you forgive. If you’ve been brought from death to life in Jesus, your habits begin to sound like that new homeland. Mark called them the everyday “clothes” you put on—each choice a thread that reveals where your heart has pitched its tent.

The passage is straightforward: put away falsehood and speak the truth, be angry without sin and reconcile quickly, stop stealing and do honest work so you can share, and refuse corrupting talk in favor of speech that gives grace. But Mark insisted we not hear this as a cold list of rules. He reminded us that the commands of Ephesians 4 come after three and a half chapters of grace-soaked indicatives: in Christ we are adopted, forgiven, made alive, joined together as one new humanity, and sealed with the Holy Spirit. That order is not a footnote; it is the engine. Before God asks anything of us, he gives us himself. “Gentlemen, this is a football,” Mark said, borrowing Vince Lombardi’s famous reset to the basics. Paul does the same. When our default is to measure ourselves by performance, Paul takes us back to the table where Jesus broke the bread and poured the cup and said, “This is for you.” The gospel is the beginning and the ballast. You don’t crowbar your way into change; you are melted by mercy. Only a softened heart can sustain new habits.

With that anchor set, Mark turned to the practical. He even pulled out a story from a recent trip to India, where friends dressed him in South Indian wedding clothes for a celebration. It was beautiful and decidedly not his normal wardrobe, which was exactly the point. In different kingdoms you wear different clothes. Then he recalled a true tale about the early days of Vietnam and Laos when no clear border marked the line; you could tell which kingdom a person belonged to by the culture they carried—what rice they ate, how their houses were built, which symbols crowned their doors. Kingdoms shape people, and people wear their kingdoms. Paul’s list in Ephesians 4 is really a description of that new wardrobe.

The first piece is truthfulness. “Having put away falsehood, let each one of you speak the truth with his neighbor, for we are members one of another.” Mark pressed that lying is anything calculated to deceive, not just outright fabrications but also half-truths that let us angle an outcome. God isn’t merely saying, “Don’t lie.” He is raising the bar and calling us to give the gift of truth. Integrity means wholeness—things are what they appear to be. In Christ, telling the truth becomes an act of love because we belong to each other. Truth protects trust. It also includes reminding each other of the gospel truth when shame hovers or fear lies. Sometimes it means delivering something hard to hear, but with humility and tenderness for the other person’s good. Deception steals clarity; truth restores it. Mark quoted the proverb, “Good understanding giveth favour: but the way of transgressors is hard.” Choosing honesty may be costly in the moment, but it saves you—and your community—from the heavier expense of distrust and confusion.

Next, anger. “Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and give no opportunity to the devil.” Mark treated anger like the red warning light on your dashboard. It is a signal, not an engine. Anger is not inherently sinful; sometimes it is the right response to real wrongs. But if we let it idle, it overheats into bitterness, revenge, and malice. Scripture’s counsel is deeply practical: deal with it quickly. In marriages, friendships, and church life, the pattern of prompt reconciliation shuts the door on the devil’s schemes and keeps resentment from renting space in our hearts. In the In Christ series, we have been talking about unity and maturity in the body. Quick, honest peacemaking is how that vision survives the collisions of real relationships. Mark imagined a church where people give each other the gift of peace: we speak the truth in love, we own our part, we seek understanding, and we move toward one another before the day is done.

Then Mark turned to work and money. “Let the thief no longer steal, but rather let him labor, doing honest work with his own hands, so that he may have something to share with anyone in need.” It is not just “stop taking.” It is a complete re-aiming of energy. Many people, he said, work very hard at scheming to gain an advantage; Paul calls us to work hard at honest labor so we can become givers. Freedom in Christ does not mean less purpose but a new purpose: your productivity becomes a channel of provision for others. And generosity is not a tax bracket; it’s a posture. You can give money, time, attention, connections, skills. The thread running through the whole passage is that our old ways tend to steal from people—deception steals clarity, rage steals safety, theft steals security, slander steals reputation. The new life in Christ gives gifts: truth, peace, provision, dignity. Christian ethics is outward-facing love, not inward rule-keeping.

Finally, words. “Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.” Mark noted that Paul gives the most space to our speech, and it sits right next to this sober line: “Do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, by whom you were sealed for the day of redemption.” Our words are not small. They can rot or they can heal. They can carry grace or they can grieve the Spirit who has marked us for eternity. Proverbs says death and life are in the power of the tongue; Paul says each word should be a gift. Mark shared a simple filter: before you speak, think—Is it true, helpful, inspiring, necessary, kind? Not everything that races through your mind should make the trip to your mouth. He read from the Message paraphrase, which captures the pastoral edge: watch the way you talk, make a clean break with cutting and backbiting, be gentle and sensitive, and forgive as quickly and thoroughly as God in Christ forgave you.

He also paused on something many of us shrug off: profanity. Mark didn’t scold for scolding’s sake, but he did challenge the assumption that a crude tongue is a harmless adornment. Jesus taught that what comes out of the mouth flows from the heart. If we want to live distinctly from the world, honor God’s name as weighty, and aim our words to help rather than harm, then it makes sense to retire language that advertises contempt or indifference. Grace does not make holiness optional; it makes holiness possible. The goal is the same: give grace to those who hear.

Threaded through all of this is a relational logic. Mark said it plainly: in the kingdom of God, morality is not the highest thing—relationships are. Paul’s commands are aimed at our life together. “We are members one of another” grounds truth-telling. Quick reconciliation guards unity. Honest work funds generosity for “anyone in need.” Speech is evaluated by whether it “fits the occasion” and “gives grace to those who hear.” The In Christ series has emphasized that we have been raised up together, joined together, built together into a dwelling place for God. These habits are how we protect and adorn that togetherness. Maturity is when “we is more important than me.”

Mark closed by taking us back, again, to the gospel order. “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.” Forgiveness received becomes forgiveness given. The Holy Spirit who sealed us for the day of redemption is the same Spirit who sensitizes our conscience, restrains our tongue, and bends our hearts toward mercy. And the day of redemption lifts our eyes. We think, act, and speak with eternity in view. Every idle word will be weighed, Jesus said, which does not frighten the child of God but sobers and steadies us. Our purpose is not to impress God with our performance, but to enjoy God and, out of that joy, to give gifts to others.

As our church continues to fast and pray, Mark invited each of us to let the Spirit get specific. What do you need to put off? What do you need to put on? Maybe you sense a pattern of shading the truth that erodes trust, and the Spirit is inviting you to practice radical, humble honesty. Maybe anger has been simmering, and peacemaking means asking for help, choosing a hard conversation, and shutting the door on resentment before it grows. Perhaps work has become a private kingdom, and God is repurposing your labor into a stream of generosity. Or maybe your speech needs a renovation—from sarcasm that wounds to words that build, from careless God-talk to worshipful reverence. Habits are like clothing, Mark reminded us; we inhabit them until they shape the life we inhabit. Every day is a chance to put on Christ.

None of this is possible by white-knuckled resolve. Mark quoted Dane Ortlund’s line: “You can’t crowbar your way into change. You can only be melted.” When the wonder of the gospel is warm in your bones—that you are forgiven, adopted, made alive, and sealed—the heart grows tender. And tender hearts tell the truth, reconcile quickly, work honestly, give generously, and speak with grace. The way of the transgressor is hard, Proverbs says, but the way of the righteous is a doorway to blessing—blessing to you, and blessing through you to the people God has given you to love.

This is the “kingdom accent” of those who are In Christ. It is not flashy. It is deeply ordinary, wonderfully repeatable, and quietly life-giving. In a world eager to take, we get to give. In conversations primed to tear down, we get to build up. In relationships strained by suspicion, we get to tell the truth and pursue peace. And when we fail—and we will—we return to the table where grace comes first, and we begin again, clothed in a righteousness Jesus died to buy for us, learning to speak with the sound of home.