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Pastor Scott Wiens continued our In Christ series with a candid walk through Ephesians 5:3–10, where Paul draws a stark line between darkness and light. Scott began by naming something we all recognize: darkness doesn’t usually announce itself. It sidles in as “it’s not that big a deal,” “everyone does it,” or “that verse doesn’t apply anymore.” Against that fog, Paul writes with clarity. He names the sins that deform a life—sexual immorality, impurity, covetousness—and then turns to the kind of speech that either erodes or strengthens a soul—filthiness, foolish talk, and crude joking. More than a list of rules, Scott showed how the passage exposes what and whom we’re imitating, because we reflect what we look at most.

Before Paul starts naming the darkness, he anchors us in identity: “Be imitators of God, as beloved children, and walk in love” (Ephesians 5:1–2). Scott lingered here, reminding us that transformation in Ephesians runs in this order—grace changes us in Christ, then our lives begin to look different. Children imitate their parents; disciples imitate their Lord. If we fix our eyes on God’s love and live as those who are already loved, our lives start to mirror his character. If we fix our eyes elsewhere, we’ll inevitably reflect what we behold. That simple insight reframes the whole passage: Paul isn’t simply behavior-policing; he’s calling us to change our gaze.

Context sharpened the point. Paul is writing to the church, not to outsiders. That matters for how we hear him. The letter is aimed at people who have already been brought into the life of Christ, who must now learn to walk as saints in a culture normalizing idolatry and lust. Ephesus was a bustling port city and a center of Artemis worship, where temple prostitution and sexual license were as common as market stalls. Scott noted that Paul isn’t calling for public outrage but for personal holiness and communal accountability. The gospel never tells us to weaponize Scripture against those who don’t claim Christ; it calls those who do claim Christ to live distinctly because they belong to him.

With that frame in place, Scott walked through the first three charges. Sexual immorality—porneia in Greek—names any sexual activity outside God’s design of one man and one woman in covenant marriage. In a culture that either glamorizes promiscuity or shrugs at “technicalities,” Paul’s call is both countercultural and pastoral. Scott carefully avoided ranking sins as if some were respectable and some were intolerable; porneia is a broad category that includes adultery, fornication, homosexual behavior—anything that departs from God’s good design. Paul ties this to integrity of body and soul. In 1 Corinthians 6:18 he urges believers to flee sexual immorality, because sexual sin uniquely involves the body that is meant to be a temple of the Holy Spirit. Scott noted how both ancient Gnosticism and modern slogans try to sever what Scripture keeps together—as though our bodies could do one thing while our minds and hearts remain untouched. Paul rejects that split. The heart and body are connected, and the body follows the heart.

That is why he immediately adds impurity—akatharsia—a word pointing to a state of moral uncleanness, especially a mind that celebrates what God forbids. Scott brought in Romans 1:24 to show the link: when desires are enthroned, God “gives them up” to the impurity they insist upon, and the dishonoring of the body follows. Impurity is not merely a failure of behavior; it is a failure of love. It places attention and affection on a rival glory and then follows that gaze wherever it leads.

Which brings Paul to covetousness—pleonexia—greed in its broadest sense. Scott showed how Paul calls it idolatry (Colossians 3:5) because it is the worship of “more,” whether that “more” is money, novelty, or a new hit of desire. Idols always demand more and never satisfy. Linking covetousness to sexual immorality isn’t random; it exposes the spiritual core underneath the behavior. When desire becomes a god replacement, it will rule us and hollow us out. Repentance isn’t willpower management; it is returning from a rival altar to the living God.

After naming these three, Paul adds a surprising limitation: “must not even be named among you, as is proper among saints.” Scott heard in that line a call to live above reproach. Not an anxious perfectionism that measures holiness by how close we can tiptoe to the line, but the opposite posture. He warned against the game of living on the edge—scouring for technicalities to stay “just inside” the rules while secretly feeding desires. If your heart longs to be near the edge, he said, the problem isn’t the line; it’s the love. Saints is the word Paul uses—not because we are impressive, but because grace has given us a new name. People with a new name must learn new habits.

From there Paul turns to speech: filthiness that defies moral standards, foolish talk that trivializes what is weighty, and crude joking that normalizes what is vulgar. Scott didn’t scold; he traced the dynamics of desire and attention. Out of the heart the mouth speaks. Reels and jokes that seem harmless can, over time, dull our appetite for what is good and true. What Paul offers instead is startlingly simple: thanksgiving. Scott’s point was deeply pastoral here. If we stay close to the gospel—if we rehearse daily that we were called and redeemed in Christ when we had nothing to offer—gratitude becomes our reflex. Thanksgiving isn’t a trite substitute for edgy humor; it’s the fruit of a heart that remembers mercy. And over time, it reshapes our vocabulary, because it reshapes our vision.

Paul then issues a sober warning: those who are defined by sexual immorality, impurity, or covetousness—those who make these sins their identity and show no repentance—“have no inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and God.” Scott was careful to distinguish stumbling from surrender. Christians sin. The difference is that the Spirit’s conviction leads us to repentance, which is evidence of life. What Paul rejects is the false assurance that says, “I belong to Christ,” while insisting, “I belong to these sins,” and refusing correction.

That is why he cautions, “Let no one deceive you with empty words.” Scott named the kinds of emptiness that circulate in every age: special pleading that blesses what God calls sin, selective theology that edits awkward verses, cultural permission that treats biblical holiness as outdated. He quoted Tim Keller’s wise diagnosis: what the heart most wants, the mind finds reasonable, the emotions find valuable, and the will finds doable. It is easy to find a teacher who will soothe the conscience; it is impossible to silence the Holy Spirit in a true believer. Conviction is miserable for a moment and merciful for a lifetime. God’s kindness leads to repentance, and repentance leads to freedom and joy.

So how should Christians respond? Paul’s three moves are straightforward. Do not partner with darkness. You were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord—so walk as children of light. Scott stressed the identity shift: Paul doesn’t say you were in the dark; he says you were darkness. In Christ you are light in the Lord. That alone drains shame and fuels holiness. We don’t live differently to become someone else; we live differently because he has made us someone else. Then, discern what is pleasing to the Lord. That requires closeness to God and fluency in Scripture. Sanctification is not automatic; it is relational. As we steep in truth, we learn his heart. And finally, expose the works of darkness—not as moral grandstanders but as confessing saints. Scott reminded us that exposure starts in the mirror. Bringing sin into the light with trusted brothers and sisters is a grace, not a humiliation. James 5:16 calls us to confess sins to one another and pray for one another, because God heals in the light.

Along the way Scott shared honestly about his own sanctification—how the Lord has been confronting areas of anger in his life and how grateful he is for the Spirit’s persistent work. It was a lived illustration of a point he made elsewhere: justification is instantaneous, but sanctification is lifelong. We will be repenting and learning to love until we see Jesus face to face. That reality keeps us humble toward one another and hopeful about our own growth.

The thread tying the whole message together was attention and imitation. In Christ, we are beloved children called to imitate our Father. We will inevitably mirror what we behold most. If our minds are fixed on the mercy that has found us, thanksgiving will season our words, purity will shape our habits, and integrity will guide our boundaries. If we let “empty words” narrate our choices, our hearts will drift toward edge-living, and our speech and desires will follow. Paul’s contrast is not about sinless perfection but about a new direction, marked by conviction, repentance, discernment, and a growing desire to please the Lord.

Scott closed by inviting sober reflection. Where are we looking? What occupies our attention? Are we trying to negotiate with the edge, or are we taking sin seriously enough to step back from whatever dulls our hunger for God? The good news woven through the whole text is that none of this begins with our effort. It begins with grace. In Christ, God has already named us saints, already brought us out of darkness, already made us light in the Lord. Gratitude for that gift is not just the right response; it is the power for a different life. As we remember who we are and whose we are, thanksgiving rises, holiness grows, and the children of light learn to walk.