PENnED

Colossians 2:20–23

ESV Ed’s Study Version (in some parts interpretive and in other parts literal)

20 Since with Christ you died (and are separated) from the principles of the world, why, as if you were still alive in the world, do you submit to regulations—
21 “Do not handle, Do not taste, Do not touch”
22 (referring to things that all perish as they are used)—according to human precepts and teachings?
23 These have indeed an appearance of wisdom in promoting self‑made religion and asceticism and severity to the body, but they are of no value in stopping the indulgence of the flesh.

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The Beethoven Moment

There’s a line from Beethoven quoted in The Piano Guys’ Beethoven’s 5 Secrets video that has stayed with me:

“Don’t only practice your art,
but force your way into its secrets;
for it and knowledge can raise men to the divine.”

It’s inspiring.
It carries that human instinct to strive, to push deeper, to uncover hidden layers of mastery.

But as I sat with that quote, I realized something:
Beethoven is describing the way humans approach greatness.
Paul, in Colossians 2, is describing the way God approaches us.

Beethoven says: Force your way into the secrets.
Paul says: The secret came to you.

Beethoven says: Strive your way upward.
Paul says: Christ descended to you.

Beethoven says: Master the art to reach the divine.
Paul says: You died with Christ — and He raised you already.

This contrast sets the stage for Paul’s message.

Identity First (v. 20)

Paul begins not with effort but with identity:

“Since you died with Christ…”

He’s not challenging them.
He’s reminding them.

You already died with Christ.
You are already raised with Him.
You already belong to the realm of light, not the old world of darkness.

And once Paul names that identity, he exposes the contradiction:
resurrected people acting like the old world still has jurisdiction.

Joe at the Behavioral Health Center

A few days ago, I sat with a man — let’s call him Joe.
He was drowning in guilt and shame.

“I could have done the right things,” he said. “But I didn’t. And now I don’t know if my relationship will ever recover.”

He wasn’t talking about a casual relationship.
He meant his fiancée — the woman he was about to marry.

Joe believed what many of us quietly believe:
that doing the right things makes us good people.

I told him what Paul tells us:
Becoming good doesn’t begin with doing good.
It begins with dying with Christ.

When our identity is rooted in Him, our being is changed.
And when our being is changed, doing good flows naturally from who we already are.

Joe’s struggle wasn’t about morality.
It was about identity.

The Absurdity of Old Allegiances (vv. 20–22)

Paul asks:

“Why do you submit to regulations…?”

Why obey rules that belonged to a life that ended the moment Christ claimed us?

We do this too.
We obey expectations that died the day Jesus called us His own:

• the expectation to prove ourselves
• the expectation to appear spiritually competent
• the expectation to earn God’s approval
• the expectation to measure holiness by visible discipline

These feel familiar.
They feel safe.
They feel like the way religion is supposed to work.

But Paul says:
Those rules belong to a world that no longer governs us.

Bible College at 5 AM

In Bible college, we had a 5 AM wake‑up bell for “personal devotions.”
The idea was that discipline would make us spiritually mature.

My roommate prayed loudly.
A classmate prayed even louder — sometimes like he was lamenting.
Coming from a quiet Catholic background, I felt insecure.

I didn’t know how to compete with that kind of spirituality.
So I read my Bible quietly and hoped no one noticed.

But here’s the truth:
I didn’t grow spiritually because of those 5 AM devotions.

What shaped me was my gratis work.

As a scholarship student, I helped maintain the campus grounds.
They gave me a sickle to cut grass and weeds.
Out there — alone, swinging that sickle, what I jokingly called “playing golf” — that’s where I met with God.
That’s where I conversed with Him.
That’s where my relationship deepened.

Not in the performance.
Not in the pressure.
Not in the comparison.

Paul would say:
Those early‑morning displays had an appearance of wisdom — but no power.

The Appearance of Wisdom (v. 23)

Self‑made religion attracts people because it looks holy.

Paul says:

“These have indeed an appearance of wisdom…”

Asceticism looks disciplined.
Severity looks committed.
Self‑made religion looks mature.

But none of it has power.

Paul isn’t warning against obvious foolishness.
He’s warning against beautiful forms of religion that hollow us out.

The danger isn’t the ugly sins.
It’s the impressive ones.

The Lopsided Tree

When I moved into my apartment this spring, I was delighted to see a young tree outside my balcony.
I thought, “By summer, this tree will give me shade from the Tucson heat.”

But one morning, I heard chainsaws.
The landscaping crew was trimming anything that looked too bushy.

Pruning is good.
Pruning helps a tree grow.

But trimming is different.
Trimming is cutting for appearance.

And the man who came to my tree… came at it like Rambo.

He didn’t prune it.
He mutilated it.
He cut it lopsided, uneven, without care — as if the tree had done something wrong.

And I thought:

This is what self‑made religion does to people.

It cuts.
It restricts.
It trims away behaviors and desires.
It looks like discipline.
It looks spiritual.
But it doesn’t make anyone healthy.

Paul says these practices “have an appearance of wisdom,”
but they have no power to change the heart.

Only Christ can prune us in a way that brings life.

What Actually Transforms Us

If rules cannot change the heart, what can?

Paul has been saying it all along:

Not a system.
Not a technique.
Not a set of rules.

A Savior.

Union with Christ — the death and resurrection we share with Him — is the only force that reshapes the human heart.

Transformation doesn’t come from tightening the rules.
It comes from deepening our life in Christ.

The Surprise: “You” Is Plural

Here’s the part we often miss.

When Paul says “you,” he doesn’t mean a lone struggler.
He means you all — y’all.

Paul is speaking to a community.

He’s not saying:
“Why are you personally failing?”

He’s saying:
“Why are you all living under a system Christ already freed you from?”

This is not an individual burden.
This is a shared identity.

We don’t grow alone.
We don’t struggle alone.
We don’t unlearn old spiritual habits alone.

The gospel frees us — not just individually, but as a community learning to breathe grace together.

Our Modern ‘Do Not Handle’

So what does this mean for us?

It means naming the modern versions of
“Do not handle, do not taste, do not touch.”

They sound like this:

• “Real Christians should look more disciplined.”
• “If I were truly spiritual, I wouldn’t struggle like this.”
• “I need to earn my place in God’s favor.”
• “Other people seem more holy than I am.”

These are old rules wearing new clothes.
They have an appearance of wisdom.
But they have no power.

Christ is the power.
Christ is the center.
Christ is the life.

The Coal: A Story to Touch the Soul

A pastor once visited a man who had drifted away from church.
Not out of anger.
Not out of rebellion.
But out of unworthiness.

“I just don’t feel holy enough,” the man said.
“I don’t want to be a hypocrite.”

The pastor didn’t argue.
He simply walked to the fireplace, took a single coal from the fire, and set it on the hearth.

They sat in silence.
Slowly, the coal dimmed.
Then cooled.
Then died.

The pastor picked it up, placed it back into the fire, and within seconds — it glowed again.

The man whispered, “I understand.”

Paul’s message in Colossians is the same:

We don’t burn alone.
We don’t grow alone.
We don’t stay alive alone.

We died with Christ — together.
We were raised with Christ — together.
We belong to a new world — together.

And the old rules have no jurisdiction over a people who already died.

The day we place our faith in Christ is the day we begin to live —
a free life, a wonderful life, a beautiful life.

Our day of death is worth celebrating.

Happy Death Day to all of us.

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Prayer

Lord Jesus,
You are our life, our center, our freedom.
We confess that we often return to old rules, old fears, old expectations —
as if the cross did not break them,
as if Your resurrection did not raise us.

Teach us to live as people who already died with You.
Free us from the pressure to prove ourselves.
Free us from the illusion of self‑made holiness.
Free us from the quiet shame that keeps us isolated.

Make us a community that breathes grace,
that carries one another,
that remembers together who we are in You.

And may our lives — not our striving —
bear witness to the power of Your love.

In Your name, Jesus, we pray. Amen.

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