We must be sober and ready, clothed in the armor of God. And today, we heard about the shoes—“the readiness given by the gospel of peace” (Ephesians 6:14-18).

 

Peace—what peace? Romans 5 says we were enemies of God, now reconciled through Jesus. That peace is not a mood; it’s a new status that births a new spirit. Ephesians 2:14 says this peace can spread horizontally, breaking tribal walls. Without it, we elevate our tribe, banish “those people,” and never own our own need. With it, we become peacemakers. Richard Morgan, an atheist moderating Dawkins’ website, printed months of vicious comments aimed at Pastor David Robertson—and David’s steady, non-anxious kindness. That witness won him. Peacemaking is not soft; it’s a weapon.

 

Shoes mean movement. What moves the church forward is not shepherding schemes, TV glitz, small-group fads, social niceness, or celebrity cool. The world is drowning in image and hunger for the real. Jesus is the real. The gospel of peace is the power. That’s why we fight for simplicity here: pray, praise, preach, the table, fellowship (Acts 2:42). We won’t boast in buildings or methods (1 Corinthians 1:26-31). I’m convinced: I can be full of myself, or full of the Spirit. And I want the church Jesus builds (Matthew 16:18), planted firmly in the shoes of the gospel of peace.

 

You don’t gear up once the battle starts. You put it on now, or you bleed. So what is the gear? How do we prepare for battle and not find we walked piece by piece through what it means to stand.

 

The belt of truth keeps a life together. In the ancient world you’d “gird up your loins” so you wouldn’t trip—truth does that for the soul. Lies aren’t neutral; they rewire reality. Believe a lie about your spouse and it will change your home. Believe a lie marketed for profit (think OxyContin) and communities pay. In a world of influencers, spin, and weaponized narratives, we need a wise information diet. I won’t deep-dive fads. I want to be useful where I can actually act. I avoid demagogic voices, follow the money, and ask whether this input helps me love my neighbor and remember the spiritual battle. Community matters too. The Asch experiments showed that one honest voice can help another person tell the truth. Wear the belt of truth; be that voice.

 

Then the breastplate of righteousness. Righteousness means a life examined and approved by a higher authority. Every human heart aches for that. If my “rightness” rests on my performance, I ride a roller coaster. If it rests on people’s approval, they own me. God gives a better way: imputed righteousness. Jesus aced the wilderness, the trials, the cross—and He credits His record to us. That breastplate protects the heart so we don’t start starved for approval; we start full. Martin Luther prayed, “Jesus, I am your punishment and you are my reward.” When the enemy condemns, we answer with 1 John 3:20 and Colossians 3:3—my life is hidden with Christ in God. I don’t preach, parent, or work to get approval; I move from approval. That shift reframes everything: obedience flows from love, difficulty becomes formation, and we carry a humble swagger—Jesus for me, in me, and through me, in spite of me.

God’s armor may not always feel comfortable, but it is necessary. It’s not a buffet. It’s irreducibly complex. Miss one piece and you’re vulnerable—like an old VW bus with 12,000 parts and no brake fluid. One small omission can become a big disaster. We tend to trust our strengths too much. Blind spots are real. David, Peter, Abraham, Moses—giants with gaps. The armor is “of God.” That means the source and the standard are God, not me. I traced the cultural shift in authority: ancient (Scripture), modern (science), postmodern (self). We live in the age of “I feel,” where feelings often sit in the driver’s seat. But Ephesians assumes an ancient posture: God speaks; Scripture is authority; I submit my emotions, not the other way around. With God’s armor, we CAN withstand. Not easily, but truly (1 Corinthians 10:13; Romans 6). We celebrate forgiveness—and we should—but we should also celebrate that we are no longer slaves to sin. New covenant hearts want God. We get deceived when we trade deep joy for cheap thrills. Cheap is available. Deep takes patience and wisdom. Porn promises intensity and leaves people empty, ashamed, and alone. Shallow “community” at the bar gives the feeling of companionship without the truth that transforms us. Buying kids off with stuff substitutes for the hard and beautiful work of forming souls. When tempted, pause and ask, “What do I most want in ten years?” Pray. Phone a friend. Choose the long game. Then there’s “the evil day.” Not Revelation horses. The personal season when the waves don’t stop. Some in Scripture fell on their evil day; others stood—Joseph, Daniel, Shadrach/Meshach/Abednego, Paul, and Jesus. We come to the Table to be strengthened, so when that day comes, we can stand.

I opened with a simple equation: we keep adding up lights, carols, sweaters, and “holiday spirit,” but we forget the other side of Christmas—the result. Luke 2 puts it plainly: “Fear not… good news… great joy… for all people.” That’s the outcome. The cause—the other side of the equation—is a person: “Unto you is born… a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” When we give our attention to the result but ignore the source, we end up with short bursts of cheer and long shadows of fear. So I asked us to look squarely at our fears—financial, relational, health, and the biggest of all, death—and to let the angel’s words do their work. We live on a steady diet of bad news, and our souls weren’t built to carry the world’s pain. The problem isn’t just smartphones; it’s what we feed on. English-speaking media often monetizes anxiety, turning ordinary worries into catastrophic identities. The result is the “worried well”—exhausted, medicated, self-diagnosed, and still empty. But the gospel gives a different diet: Fear not. Good news. Great joy. For all people. Why? Because Jesus is a Savior. Not a coach. Not a content creator. A Savior. Self-salvation never answers the question “what is enough?” Our hearts are wired to demand more (the old “covenant of works”), and even our best moments come up short. Oskar Schindler saved over a thousand lives and still felt the ache: “I could have saved one more.” That ache is exactly why we need Jesus. He saves us from sin and the sentence of death; He delivers what our discipline can’t. And when death loses its power, fear loses its grip. John Harper on the Titanic shows that—he gave away his life jacket because he had a better Life already secured. Joy, then, isn’t pretend happiness or a grin glued on hard days. Joy is a byproduct of being with Jesus and seeing His kingdom break in—sick healed, captives freed, good news landing on the “wrong” people. Walk with Him, practice gratitude, keep reading Luke, and joy will surprise you. And this gift is for all people. Scripture is full of flawed names—murderers, liars, runners, doubters—turned into sons and daughters. No one is “too bad” for Jesus; the only people He can’t help are the ones who don’t think they need saving. Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ.

This sermon, rooted in Ephesians 6:12, explores the true nature of conflict in our lives. While it often seems that our struggles are with other people—family, friends, coworkers, or even strangers—the Apostle Paul reminds us that our real battle is not against flesh and blood, but against spiritual forces of darkness. The message traces this theme from Genesis, showing how evil works through deception and human participation, leading to sin and brokenness. The sermon challenges us to recognize the deeper spiritual reality behind human conflict and calls us to respond not with curses or retaliation, but with blessing, following the example of Jesus. By choosing to bless rather than curse, we break the cycle of evil and become agents of God’s light in a dark world.

 

 

Today’s sermon focused on Ephesians 6:10-11, where Paul exhorts believers to “be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might.” The message began with the stark reality of spiritual warfare, emphasizing that Christians are not passive spectators but active participants in God’s kingdom. Using vivid analogies—like the hard-working farmer, the IKEA furniture builder, and the mountaineer—the sermon highlighted the necessity of partnering with God, not just relying on His sovereignty as an excuse for inaction. The armor of God is not for show; it’s essential equipment for standing firm against the devil’s schemes, which are subtle, persistent, and often disguised as good. The sermon closed with a call to vigilance, self-examination, and a reminder that compromise is a slow drift, not a sudden fall. Communion was presented as a time to reorient ourselves to God’s truth and grace.