Chapter 8
So this transaction, this stupendous exchange, does more than just release us. When Barabbas got released, he presumably slunk away into Jerusalem and melted into the crowd to consider his options. We never hear from him again in the New Testament. And this is exactly where the analogy breaks down — the analogy between what happened to Barabbas when he was let out of prison and what happens to us when we are released from our sins. When we fully understand it, we find we get so much more that it is overwhelming. Yes, we get released, and yes, we get justified — but we are not left alone to wander the streets and weigh up our options. We are not even left to try to be better people.
God takes us in as His children.
You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus. (Galatians 3:26)
When we are crucified with Christ, we join Him in His death — but we also join Him in His resurrection; we join Him in His life. We become part of God's family. When we are baptised into Christ (that is, when we go through the outward symbol that signifies our faith), we are raised up with Him and clothed with Him. We are dressed in Christ Jesus, and that tells us we are part of God's family.
For all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. (Galatians 3:27)
Some people who come to Christ feel that it stops at the forgiveness of sins. They are released from judgement, and that is all. They feel the blessing is that they are "off the hook," or that they "go to heaven." They are like Barabbas, now free to roam the streets and do whatever they like. But when someone goes through the law and is baptised into Christ, they become God's child. And it would be reasonable to assume that God will look after His child. He may bless them. He may teach them. He may discipline them. He may ask them to do things for Him. All manner of things may happen — but He will not condemn them. He will bring them home. They may be a good child of God or a bad child of God, but either way they are still His children.
Of course, Paul is not only speaking to each person individually, saying, "You are God's child, and you are God's child — so feel free to live your lives completely separately." He is saying that each person who is clothed in Christ joins a family. The true church — those who have clothed themselves in Christ — is a gathering of God's children.
And so it proves to be.
A gathering of those who have clothed themselves with Christ is one of the very few communities where rich and poor come together, where old and young meet, where no race is excluded, where master and servant come together on equal footing, where the genders are equal as they are equal in a family. If Paul sounds so bewilderingly modern in his call for equal status, that is because the secular world has finally caught up with him.
There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. (Galatians 3:28)
Those who belong to Christ are all Abraham's seed. We are all heirs according to the great promise given in antiquity. We are welcomed into the heavenly family as God's children, where divisions dissolve. We are welcomed into the inner sanctum of the palace, where we join God's family.
And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham's seed and heirs according to the promise. (Galatians 3:29)
Faith in Christ — faith in His death and resurrection, and being clothed in Him — means that one becomes God's child.
A son of God, or a daughter of God? What does this actually mean? How does it alter us? Someone hearing this for the very first time might think it means we are transfigured into beings of shining light, as if we were angels — not unlike King Nebuchadnezzar's exclamation when he saw four men, not three, walking around in the fiery furnace:
"Look!" he exclaimed. "I see four men, unbound and unharmed, walking around in the fire—and the fourth looks like a son of the gods!" (Daniel 3:25)
But of course this is not what Paul means for the Galatians. What it means is that our status changes. It means we become children of the promise. It means we become heirs. It means we can expect an inheritance that can never rust, fade or spoil. Christians are people of great expectations.
And we "come of age" when we clothe ourselves in Christ.
What I am saying is that as long as the heir is a child, he is no different from a slave, although he is the owner of everything. (Galatians 4:1)
An heir, by its very nature, does not yet receive the full inheritance.
He is subject to guardians and trustees until the date set by his father. So also, when we were children, we were enslaved under the basic principles of the world. (Galatians 4:2–3)
Paul now reiterates his message. In case anyone has missed it, this message — this gospel — is one of redemption.
But when the time had fully come, (Galatians 4:4a)
Paul is also implying that God is concerned not only with our words and actions in this life, but with the timing. There was a set time for His Son to be sent. The world had to wait for it to come to pass. History has meaning.
Many have pointed out that Jesus came at a time when the circumstances were conducive: the relative peace of the Roman Empire, Greek as the lingua franca, the Jewish nation ripe for a Messiah. It has been truly observed that Caesar Augustus decreed a census should be taken, completely unaware that his bidding was part of God's plan to fulfil His own history. It was not only the wise men who thought the King of the Jews was about to be born. History is not circular; it is linear. It is travelling towards a point. The world had to wait for His first coming, and it has to wait for His return.
God sent His Son, (Galatians 4:4b)
God sent His Son — that is, God ordained it. This was all part of the plan. This was all considered, as Paul mentions in another letter, before the creation of the world. It was not as if the fall of man recorded in Genesis 3 took God by surprise, so that He had to have a good hard think about what to do next, and then, in a lightbulb moment, decided to send His Son. (As if God said, "What a mess. What can I do? I know — I'll send Junior. He's bound to fix it.") God knew this would happen. God the Father sent God the Son before He ever said, "Let there be light."
An equally common view is that some people, when they read "God's Son," take the phrase to mean that God's Son is less than God. They see it as though God's Son was pretty much human, with a few special characteristics — insight, serenity, the gift of healing, special teaching. In this way they see Jesus as half man, half God, like Hercules from Greek mythology but more impressive.
But if I had a son, he would be no less than me in his nature. That is, I am a human, and he, my son, is a human. He is not any less of a human for being my son. This is true of any creature. When a dog has a puppy, that puppy is still a dog. When God sends His Son, that Son is still God.
born of a woman, (Galatians 4:4c)
Born of a woman — that is, fully human. When Jesus came to earth, He subjected Himself to full humanity. He humbled Himself. He became a baby.
This was just too much for some in the ancient world, as it is for many in the modern world. It was hard enough to accept that God would be human. But to be born, to be a baby, to be a child, was beyond the pale. It was so impossible that ideas grew up in the ancient world to make it more palatable. Jesus was just a human, they claimed, until the start of His public ministry, when He was baptised by John in the Jordan and the Spirit descended on Him like a dove. That is when He became truly God. (The same people also claimed that the Spirit left Him at some indeterminate point in the garden of Gethsemane, since they were equally distressed by the idea of a suffering God.) The only trouble with that heresy is that it is completely unsupported by the New Testament. Jesus was fully God and fully human, and as such He experienced everything we humans go through — including being born and growing up.
born under the law, (Galatians 4:4d)
Born under the law — so this is incredible. God comes as a man and bows before His own law. This is another fact that often trips people up. Maybe it is because we have had so many stories, from the Iliad onwards, of gods or superheroes breaking their own rules, either for selfish gain or for the greater good. The Greek gods were full of all the mischief of narcissists. Thor is the classic disobedient, handsome maverick. Even Superman turns back time when he is forbidden to. There is not a hero in history or fiction who has lived under the law — his own or anyone else's. But here comes God incarnate, ready to practise what He preaches — and He does so.
For example, some have asked why Jesus did not make His divinity obvious to everyone.
One answer is that it was because He bowed before the law. He did not perform a sign on demand. He did not call up a legion of angels when He was in the Garden of Gethsemane. Jesus submitted Himself to God's law — the same law that all of us are beholden to. It meant that His extraordinary power was hidden. Even though He had the power to incinerate His enemies, He never used it. In Luke 9, James and John get a little overexcited and ask Jesus' permission to call down fire from heaven on a village that had refused to welcome them:
When the disciples James and John saw this, they asked, "Lord, do You want us to call down fire from heaven to consume them?" But Jesus turned and rebuked them. And He and His disciples went on to another village. (Luke 9:54–56)
Jesus would have none of it. He rebuked James and John and simply went on to another village. (Can you imagine any world leader of that era taking such a course?) Likewise, when Jesus was in the Temple, He used words — only words — to try to persuade His enemies of His message. And do not think that was a walk in the park for Him. Jesus suffered the same trench warfare of temptation we all do — yet did not fall.
to redeem those under the law, (Galatians 4:5a)
To redeem those under the law — that is, to rescue us. As we have seen, Paul's message is the detail of a rescue operation. Jesus' coming to this earth was not some random appearance, like the spirit of Obi-Wan Kenobi materialising out of the blue to give sage but ineffectual advice. Jesus had a mission. He had a task to perform, and that task was to redeem those under the law.
Why? To save them? To cleanse them? To make them holy? In answer, Paul goes much further than simple salvation. The reason is family.
that we might receive our adoption as sons. (Galatians 4:5b)
This is the apogee of Paul's message. It is the whole point. It is the story of redemption, rescue and adoption. We are welcomed into God's family.
And because you are sons, God sent the Spirit of His Son into our hearts, crying out, "Abba, Father!" So you are no longer a slave, but a son; and since you are a son, you are also an heir through God. (Galatians 4:6–7)
Many of us in the English-speaking world are fairly used to the idea of God being our Father. That is because we still have a culture with the vestiges of being soaked in the Christian faith. Not so in other cultures and other faiths. When Jesus spoke of His Father, we know He was talking about His Heavenly Father — but those who listened to Him were bamboozled by the reference.
I am One who testifies about Myself, and the Father, who sent Me, also testifies about Me. (John 8:18)
So Jesus said in John's Gospel. His confused listeners retort in the very next verse:
"Where is Your Father?" they asked Him. (John 8:19)
They thought He meant His physical father. The idea of referring to God as Father was not entertained. God was simply not spoken of in this way.
Likewise, Bilquis Sheikh, a Pakistani woman, wrote about her experience of coming to faith in Christ under the title I Dared to Call Him Father, explaining that in her world God was never referred to as "Father." To do so was an enormous presumption.
Truly it is an audacious claim. For if God is our Father, and we are His children, then it is not implausible to think He may look after us — and bring us home. Yet some seem to rail against this very logic, the logic that brings reassurance. But even to us, us of little faith, the Heavenly Father is pleased to give us the kingdom.
So those who have responded in faith to the message are indeed able to claim it without presumption. Those who have died with Christ are risen with Him. Those who are "in Christ" are now "in" the heavenly family. They are not only saved; they are adopted, and they have an inheritance.
Formerly, when you did not know God, you were slaves to those who by nature are not gods. (Galatians 4:8)
The contrast is incredible. The Galatians have gone from slavery under weak and miserable principles — whether the theology of the Greek gods or their own moral code and honour — to being part of God's family. From a pigsty to a palace.
But now that you know God, or rather are known by God, how is it that you are turning back to those weak and worthless principles? (Galatians 4:9a)
Indeed — how is it?
Do you wish to be enslaved by them all over again? (Galatians 4:9b)
Does the child wish to be stripped of his adoption? Does the son or daughter choose to go back into the black hole of a prison cell? Do they honestly wish to return to slavery? Is the pigsty actually attractive?
In this situation, no one would actually say "yes." They may not do it in their words, but they might do it in their actions. They may do it because that is what they have "always done." They may do it because it makes them feel better, because it gives them a sense of control and (false) reassurance. They may do it to hedge their bets — to serve Jesus and the law. This is the great temptation for all followers of Jesus.
What harm could there be in making absolutely sure that you have salvation? In doing stuff to secure your position?
The harm is that it is not by faith. It is not trusting God. It is unbelief. It is going back to doing stuff. And that sort of harm spreads like a contagion. It spreads like yeast in dough.
This may seem obvious to us when we see the Galatians' penchant for circumcision. We may indeed think it ridiculous that God will not accept you unless all the males have undergone a surgical procedure.
But what about less obvious stuff? What about the subtle stuff that makes us feel reassured we have salvation? What harm is there, for example, in observing religious festivals as reassurance of salvation — as a sign that we are right with God? What is the harm if we do? Indeed, some might say we may be punished if we don't. We would want to put everything we can on the positive side of the ledger, to make sure God will accept us — right? Faith is a little too flimsy to rely on when such matters are at stake.
You are observing special days and months and seasons and years! (Galatians 4:10)
This happens in our modern world too — when the ceremony and the rituals become more important than they actually are, when they loom larger than faith, when they actually replace faith.
Once, I had to remove my wedding ring for a few weeks to let a scar on the finger heal. When I took the ring off — and it had not been off for longer than thirty seconds since the day I put it on — I did not see it as a sign that my wonderful marriage was somehow in trouble, or that I would cease adoring my wife now that the symbol was gone. I did look down at my hand and long for the day I could put it back on and proclaim to the world that I was married to Vanessa — but the symbol of the wedding ring did not register at all against the love, trust, faith and promises made at the altar before Almighty God.
But imagine if it had. Imagine if I had burst into tears, declared the marriage over because I couldn't wear the ring, and started packing to leave. That would be a sign that something was not right in my thinking. The symbol had become more important than the reality.
This "making the symbol more important than the reality" is more common than people may realise — both in congregations and in their ministers. I recall a movement in the Anglican Church in Australia to "allow" lay people to administer communion, which had previously been the preserve of the clergy. It was a bold move to replace centuries of tradition. When it was proposed, some of the Anglican clergy in Australia were appalled. To quote one archbishop interviewed on television, "If you take that away from us — what's left?" That man had confused the symbol with the reality.
It is exactly the same for those who go to church at the religious festivals of Christmas and Easter in the hope of hedging their bets, that it will put them in favour with God. Those who go to curry favour with the Almighty are putting the symbol ahead of the reality.
That is what Paul's complaint is. That is why he is worried. If they are observing festivals and the whole religious calendar, it is a sign to him that they are relying on the symbol over the reality they already have in Christ. It is a sign that they misunderstand — or have departed from — his message.
That is why Paul fears for the Galatians.
I fear for you, that my efforts for you may have been in vain. (Galatians 4:11)
What is to be done?
Get rid of the symbol? Stop trusting in symbols and festivals and put your faith in Christ? Repent? All these things may be required — but Paul's actual response is the last thing anyone would expect.
I beg you, brothers, (Galatians 4:12a)
Wait for it...
become like me, (Galatians 4:12b)
What? "Become like me?" Who says this? What would we think of some preacher who told us, "You should be like me"? Paul gives the reason why.
for I became like you. (Galatians 4:12c)
This Apostle has known both worlds. In effect, Paul became like a gentile. He did it for the Galatians, and he did it for us. He became all things to all people so that he could win people for Christ.
So Paul has experienced all sides. He knows what it is like to be a Galatian, he knows what it is like to be a Jew, and he knows what it is to be a follower of Jesus. And one of those things vastly out-does the others — by an astronomical degree.
So when he says "become like me," he is not thinking, "We've all got strengths and weaknesses, but my way is kind of better, so I suggest you be like me." He understood that his message meant going from darkness to light, from slavery to adoption, from death to life — abundant life. Think of an immigrant who comes to a country, makes good, does well, and lives a fuller, richer life in a safer, more just society — then goes back to the country of his birth and sees people in squalor, poverty and misery. What might he say? He might say, "Become like me." But in Paul's case the stakes are higher than any immigrant's. Indeed, the stakes could not be higher, and the reward could not be greater. He says this so that the Galatians would not miss out — which is exactly what it looks like they were about to do.
Just read on. His distress comes through even two thousand years later.
You have done me no wrong. You know that it was because of an illness that I first preached the gospel to you. And although my illness was a trial to you, you did not despise or reject me. Instead, you welcomed me as if I were an angel of God, as if I were Christ Jesus Himself. (Galatians 4:12d–14)
A lot of commentators get sidetracked wondering what Paul's illness might have been, and where this event fits in the timeline of his life. But the point of the paragraph is that Paul is reminiscing about his relationship with the Galatians. They treated him as if he were an angel of God. They loved him. He loved them. He preached the gospel out of love. They cared for him as for a heavenly being. But now it seems everything has gone wrong. They think he is dodgy — perhaps worse than dodgy: an enemy. They think his message is now wrong. That is what makes this letter so visceral.
What then has become of your blessing? For I can testify that, if it were possible, you would have torn out your eyes and given them to me. Have I now become your enemy by telling you the truth? (Galatians 4:15–16)
This is Paul stripped bare. As he dictates, he puts everything on the table. He has just told them the truth.
And the truth Paul told is not bad news. It is weighty. It is portentous. It is cosmic — but it is also wonderful. It is great news.
What Paul wants for the Galatians is their good. And this same message, for us, is for our eternal good — unlike those people who came preaching another gospel, which is no gospel at all.
Those people are zealous for you, but not in a good way. (Galatians 4:17a)
It is a curious thing that those who want to pervert the gospel of Christ are often zealous about it. They can spend a great deal of time and energy proclaiming their own message — but it is normally directed at people who have already accepted Paul's message. These zealous people are not interested in unbelievers. (Why would they be? Their gospel doesn't save anyone.) They are only interested in believers, and in changing their minds. That is why they are up to no good. They may appear thoughtful, wise and reasonable, but in reality they are destroyers, and they alienate people.
Instead, they want to isolate you from us, so that you may be zealous for them. (Galatians 4:17b)
Contrary to what some people have said, Paul was not difficult to get along with. Many of his letters end with genuine greetings to all sorts of people. At the end of his letter to the Romans, no fewer than twenty-five people are mentioned, many with a personal note. He was the archetypal minister. He knew people's names. He knew their situations and troubles. He was involved in their lives. He loved them. And the last thing on Paul's mind was himself. His principal concern was that people knew, understood and obeyed his master, the Lord Jesus Christ — but always with the undergirding of compassion and love for people. His purpose was good.
Nevertheless, it is good to be zealous (Galatians 4:18a)
Of course it is. Being zealous, like being in love, is neutral. Whether it is good or bad depends on what the zeal is fixed upon. If someone were really zealous about bashing someone else, we might not think too highly of that zealousness.
Notice that Paul does not say it is essential to be zealous. He does not say intensity is a prerequisite. Many Christians, in the distant and the recent past, have confused zealousness with faith. The two are not the same. This is a great relief to most Australians, who have an inbuilt, natural suspicion of intensity and zealousness.
if it serves a noble purpose— (Galatians 4:18b)
What good is Paul talking about? Is it just a general statement of truth — "It's fine to be zealous provided the purpose is good"? It is fine to be zealous if you just do good stuff? If that were the case, then those insisting on circumcision would jump in and agree wholeheartedly: "Yes, yes, exactly! That is what we're saying. Circumcise your boys. The purpose is good."
But it is not good. Why? Because the circumcision group want all that zeal redirected to themselves. Because it undermines faith in Christ. Because it is another gospel, which is no gospel at all.
The "good" Paul is talking about is a Christ-directed good. Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is admirable.
And it must be genuine — not just when an Apostle is watching.
at any time, and not only when I am with you. (Galatians 4:18c)
Paul's blood is up. That is because he is perplexed. He is genuinely worried about these people — that they want to go back to the dysfunctional, corrupt country, that they want to return to the stocks. It is as if they have to start all over again. Paul describes his distress and concern as the pain of a woman delivering a baby.
My children, for whom I am again in the pains of childbirth until Christ is formed in you, how I wish I could be with you now and change my tone, because I am perplexed about you. (Galatians 4:19–20)
Is it any wonder he is perplexed, when people want to give up their adoption into the heavenly kingdom? And that is what is at stake here.
In the past, the letter to the Galatians has often been used to explain Paul's message to people who have never heard it before. Part of the reason is that it is shorter than Paul's magnum opus, Romans, and reasonably straightforward. But we should all keep in mind that this correspondence was written for Christians — for people who had heard Paul's message and accepted it. It is a letter to bring believing people back to their original teaching, and to explain what that teaching is and what it is not.
Do we know Paul's message? The Galatians thought they did, until Paul fired off his correspondence. Some of us might be pitching our tents in the same camp as they did — thinking we are going in the right direction when we are actually running off track. We might be resting on the laurels of teaching we received years ago at Sunday school or at university, not realising that over the years we have been slowly, slowly bewitched into thinking wrong ideas. If it can happen to the Apostle Peter, it can happen to anyone — to you and me.
If all this were truly grasped, then the church — which claims to be God's congregation, God's family — would be amazing to everyone. It would be a new society, marked by unity and acceptance. It would be the greatest draw card to any outsider, ever.
Fast-forward two thousand years, and people can seriously doubt this idea of the church being God's family. They may look at their own church, or at the church from the outside, and find that it is nothing — not even remotely — like a functioning family. Far from divisions being dissolved, the walls of hostility have risen higher. Factions and divisions abound. Petty rivalries and machinations worthy of a political party grow freely. Issues of control and power arise. And much worse than that: nauseating abuse and terrible, lasting damage can be done. Unmentionable evil can occur in places called the church, or affiliated with such an institution. To call that a family is twisted.
Few would disagree.
However, from personal experience, and from listening to the experiences of others, this terrible and evil behaviour is true of individuals and churches that have deviated from, or rejected outright, Paul's message. They may say they are followers of Jesus. They may say they are devout and knowledgeable. They may wear the physical clothes of a follower and sing the songs with gusto — but they have not bowed before the law. They have not been crucified with their Lord. They have not clothed themselves with Christ. Jesus warned us about such people and such groups:
Beware of false prophets. They come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravenous wolves. By their fruit you will recognize them. (Matthew 7:15–16)
The fruit Jesus is talking about here includes behaviour. When a plant produces thistles, it is probably a thistle. When something that looks like a sheep starts eating other sheep, it is probably a wolf.
But this is not true of a congregation who have clothed themselves with Christ. In those churches, where individuals have truly been baptised into Christ, the walls of hostility really have broken down.
A functional church is an amazing and wonderful thing. It is a place where there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female.
Theodore Dalrymple — the thoughtful, urbane and piercing commentator — attended a church in the English city of Birmingham in the late nineties. He found it remarkable because it was the only place in a city of segregated pubs where, as he put it, "a man of the wrong race is as welcome as a blasphemer in Iran" — yet in the church the races, equally represented, were united. Dalrymple, a psychiatrist by trade, saw that they were "united by their mutual experience of the moral squalor that surrounds them, and by the failure of the public authorities to tackle it." As an unbeliever, he may find the idea that the unity comes from being clothed in Christ hard to swallow (indeed, he follows up the story with another anecdote about an extremely dysfunctional Christian cult in the same town). But why isn't there racial unity in the pubs? Is it really the moral squalor that brings and keeps people together?
This tiny example is a drop in a Pacific ocean of examples that could be given down through the ages. The true church — those who have clothed themselves with Christ — is remarkable. I have experienced it myself. Travelling in Africa, I could walk into a church of those who had clothed themselves with Christ and feel part of a family, even though I was the only white-skinned fellow present. I could attend churches in Europe, in America and in Asia, and feel at home.