Christ Lives in Me

Transcript

Hello, my friend… so glad you're with me today. This is By God's Call — day 33, Christ Lives in Me.

"I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." Galatians 2:20.

Let that land for just a moment.

Paul is not talking about self-improvement. He is not asking you to try harder, promise more, or pull yourself together. He is talking about something far more decisive — a burial. The old self, the self that ran on its own effort, that spent its energy trying to earn what had already been given — that self was crucified with Christ. Grace does not begin with a coaching program. Grace begins with a funeral.

And I know that sounds stark. But that is exactly what Paul means: it is no longer I who live. The center of gravity has shifted. Self-effort has stepped down from the controls — not because you gave up, but because someone greater stepped in.

Christ in you. Not a distant supervisor reviewing your performance from above. Not a set of rules you're struggling to keep. An indwelling Savior — one who lives, who dwells, who moves from the inside of your life outward. The Christian life, at its deepest root, is Christ living His own life in yours. You are not trying to imitate Jesus from a distance. You are being inhabited by Him from within.

And Paul is remarkably earthy about where this happens. Not only in the sanctuary, not only in the high and holy moments. He means this body, this schedule, this morning you are living right now. The Christ who indwells you is for the ordinary Tuesday, for the meeting that will drain you, for the hard conversation you've been avoiding, for the weariness that sets in before noon. He is Lord of the unremarkable hours.

But then Paul does something that stops me every time. Right in the middle of this sweeping theology, he writes in the singular: who loved me. Not "who loved the world in general" — who loved me. Personal. By name. Faith does not rest on an abstract idea of divine love. It rests on a love that knows your face, that knew your name before you were born, and that still — deliberately, personally, really — chose the cross for you.

That changes the whole feel of the life you're living. You are not grinding through duty. You are not walking on eggshells before a judge. You are living by faith in a love that gave everything for you on purpose.

So today — before breakfast, before the phone, before the day pulls you into its current — stop. Just a moment. And pray one sentence: "Jesus, live this day in me." Then look at the first thing on your list — whatever it is — and name it as His. Not as religion. As reality. Because if Christ lives in you, then this day belongs to Him too.

Stay close to God. Pray — then act. I'll see you tomorrow, my friend.