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Pastor Scott Wiens led our church deeper into the In Christ series by asking a piercing question: what if the deepest divides in our world aren’t political or cultural at their core, but spiritual—and what if that core fracture has already been healed in Christ? Turning to Ephesians 2:13–22, Scott unfolded Paul’s audacious claim that Jesus didn’t just reconcile us to God; he put hostility to death. In the ancient temple, a literal stone barrier warned Gentiles to keep their distance. In modern life, the same barrier shows up in the soul—pride dressed up as “principle,” law-keeping stocked with suspicion, and habits of contempt that calcify into identity. Paul says the cross fulfilled the law, tore down the wall, and created one new humanity. The cornerstone is Christ himself. With him setting the plumb line, the church rises like a living temple, each person a stone fitted together from every nation, tribe, and tongue.

Scott named the termites that compromise that temple from the inside: racism, nationalism, elitism, and the polite contempt that hides in curated feeds and snap judgments. Unity, he reminded us, is not a slogan we print on a banner. It is a miracle we steward with repentance, humility, and hope. Even communion, when rightly understood, becomes more than ritual. It is common union—shared life at a level table where the broken body and shed blood of Jesus recalibrate our loyalties. We remember where peace was made, then we rise to practice it.

From there, Scott did what he often does: he put theology on the ground. He told a story about Steve, a traveling coworker years ago, whose steadiness and gentle words quietly lit the path toward Christ. No sermons on the road, just integrity, encouragement, and conversations that never took the bait of darkness. Years later, after Jesus got hold of his life, Scott called Steve to say thank you: “You loved me at my ugliest, and you shone the light of Jesus.” That memory opened the door to Ephesians 3:1–13 and a simple, two-part pattern: God commissions and then God empowers.

Paul’s commissioning was clear and personal. The risen Christ spoke to him, called him to carry the gospel specifically to the Gentiles, and the Spirit confirmed it through the church. Paul owned that call—with humility, but without half-measures. “I am the apostle to the Gentiles,” he writes elsewhere, not as a boast but as a settled identity. Yet in Ephesians 3, Scott showed how Paul’s story also signals a wider truth: every believer carries what he called a “commission of grace.” You may never hold an office or a microphone; you may never go across an ocean. But if you are in Christ, you are sent. Jesus said to the crowds, not just the inner circle, “You are the light of the world.” That is not flattery. That is assignment. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Lamps don’t belong under baskets. Let your light shine so people can see a different way of life and give glory to the Father.

That commission of grace is deceptively simple: reflect the gospel you believe. Live and speak in ways that make the mercy you’ve received visible. Be ready, as Peter says, to give a reason for the hope within you, and do it with gentleness and respect. Walk in wisdom toward outsiders, as Paul tells the Colossians, letting your words be gracious and salty enough to do good. This is not a corporate strategy. It is a way of being in Christ that shows up on Mondays as much as Sundays.

Scott pressed this home with three concrete practices that keep the light uncovered. First, live a holy life. Romans 12 calls us to be “all in,” presenting our bodies as living sacrifices and refusing the mold of the age. This isn’t moral theater; it’s worship. Scott was refreshingly honest about the normal compromises that dim our witness: white lies dressed up as kindness, sarcasm that subtly wounds, entertainment that dulls conviction, and intimacy outside God’s design rationalized by comparison. The point isn’t tallying failures—shame never makes anyone shine brighter. The point is that holding back parts of our life blocks the light. If we want to be a beacon to neighbors, coworkers, and friends, we can’t live with one foot in the shadows. Ephesians 4 says it this way: put off the old self, be renewed in the spirit of your mind, and put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness. People often prefer to see a sermon rather than hear one. Consistency over time builds credibility.

Second, serve. Jesus redefined greatness as a towel and basin, not a throne and scepter. Scott reminded us that serving can be opportunistic and ordinary—helping a stranded driver, noticing a need in your neighborhood, tipping generously with no strings attached. It can also be intentional—volunteering in local kitchens, mentoring students, joining a team at church, or partnering with organizations that lift burdens in our city. Service softens hearts, including our own, and it opens doors for truth to be heard. Our world is weary of words. When love stoops and works with its hands, the ground gets cleared for seed to take root.

Third, share your testimony. Know the core gospel, yes. But don’t wait for perfect words to tell a true story. Some will reject Scripture’s authority or doubt the church’s motives. It’s much harder to dismiss a changed life. The man born blind in John’s Gospel put it simply: I was blind; now I see. Scott urged us to be ready with that simplicity. Where has Jesus freed you? What desires has he reshaped? What chains has he broken? Even resistance softens when humility tells the truth about grace.

All of this might sound inspiring and exhausting at once—until we remember the second half of the pattern. Paul’s ministry was “by the working of God’s power.” Commissioning and empowering always travel together. This is not self-help with religious language. Ezekiel foresaw a day when God would remove hearts of stone and give hearts of flesh, putting his own Spirit within people and causing them to walk in his ways. That promise is fulfilled in Christ, and the Spirit now dwells in us. Paul goes so far as to say that the same Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead gives life to our mortal bodies. He doesn’t merely forgive; he animates. He doesn’t merely command; he enables.

Scott was tender and direct here. Perfection isn’t the proof of real faith. Persistence is. Freedom is possible, even from long-standing chains, when surrender meets divine strength. It may look like confessing sin to trusted people, asking for prayer, and beginning again. It may look like turning down the volume on outrage, curating your inputs for peace, and making room at your table for those who don’t share your background or opinions. It may look like saying no to the old scripts of contempt so you can say yes to God’s script of reconciliation. The fruit that grows is courage to bring peace where the world trades in poison, to see opponents as neighbors, and to live like citizens of a kingdom that overrules every wall.

That brings the circle back to Ephesians 2. If Christ has killed hostility and made one new humanity, then the church doesn’t fabricate unity; we receive it and protect it. We repent fast, forgive freely, and repair quickly. We treat communion as a holy recalibration, remembering that the ground is level at the foot of the cross. We expect the Spirit to build us together into a dwelling place for God. And we refuse the lie that unity requires uniformity. Stones fitted together are not identical; they are shaped to interlock around the cornerstone.

Scott closed with a sober word from 1 John: God is light, and in him there is no darkness at all. If we claim fellowship with him while walking in darkness, we lie. But if we walk in the light as he is in the light, we share fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus cleanses us from all sin. That is both invitation and warning. It’s an invitation to step into the light where real cleansing happens, and a warning against the halfway life that hides a lamp under a basket and then wonders why no one can see the path home.

The thread through this message was plain. In Christ, the wall is down. In Christ, we are commissioned. In Christ, we are empowered. Our world is desperate for a peace it cannot manufacture. The church carries that peace in cruciform shape: a people who tell the truth without contempt, who serve without superiority, who repent without excuses, and who love without calculating advantage. That is the commission of grace. And as Scott reminded us, we aren’t sent alone. The Spirit who indwells us delights to make us holy, make us useful, and make us one.