Girded Saints

There is a kind of readiness that feels loud.

It announces itself.

It comes with urgency, energy, momentum.

People speak faster.

Plans multiply.

Language sharpens.

For a long time, many of us assumed that kind of readiness was faithfulness.

If someone was energized, they must be ready.

If someone was decisive, they must be responding to God.

But most of us have lived long enough to know that is not always true.

Because there is another kind of readiness.

Quieter.

Heavier.

Harder to name.

It does not feel like adrenaline.

It does not look impressive.

It does not come with a sense of urgency.

It feels like weight settling.

You are not rushing.

You are not hesitating.

You are not bracing.

You are simply present.

Most of us do not know what to do with that feeling.

We often misread it as boredom, fatigue, or lack of vision.

We assume something is wrong if we do not feel compelled to act.

So we explain ourselves.

We say we are “in transition.”

We say we are “waiting on the Lord.”

We say this is just a “season.”

Sometimes those things are true.

But sometimes they become a way of postponing presence.

We are not always waiting for clarity.

Often, we are waiting for permission to feel settled.

That discomfort shows up clearly in church life.

Church language is good at motion.

It is good at direction.

It is good at exhortation.

It is not very good at posture.

We know how to talk about doing.

We are less practiced at talking about being held together.

That is where Scripture introduces a phrase that sounds foreign to modern ears: “Gird your loins.”

Most of us hear that phrase and tense up.

It sounds corrective.

It sounds forceful.

It sounds like someone is about to tell us to toughen up or brace for impact.

But that reaction says more about our exhaustion than about the phrase itself.

In the ancient world, people wore long garments.

They were dignified.

They were comfortable.

They were also dangerous when responsibility arrived.

If you needed to work, travel, or carry weight, loose fabric could trip you or slow you down.

So before movement, before labor, before engagement, you did not put on armor.

You gathered yourself.

You pulled in what was loose.

You secured what was flapping.

You made sure nothing would interfere with your ability to stand or move.

Girding was not about battle.

It was about support.

It did not protect you from enemies.

It protected you from collapse.

That distinction matters.

We live in a time when many people are defended but not supported.

We know how to talk about protection, resistance, and standing firm.

We spend far less time helping people become internally coherent.

As a result, many believers are faithful and sincere, yet quietly exhausted.

They are not worn down by opposition.

They are worn down by being internally scattered.

They arrive in moments already divided.

Their attention is pulled in too many directions.

Their energy is spread thin.

Nothing dramatic is happening.

Nothing is obviously wrong.

They are simply not fully present anywhere.

This message is not a call to urgency.

It is not a demand for action.

It is not preparation for battle.

It is an invitation to posture.

To notice what is loose.

To gather what has been flapping.

To stop explaining why the moment is not quite right.

Sometimes the most faithful thing you can do is not move forward.

It is to stand, gathered and available, in the moment you are already in.

---

>> Part One — Fear-Girding and Fig Leaves

The first time Scripture shows someone girding themselves, it is not strength.

It is fear.

Adam and Eve have eaten the fruit.

Their eyes are opened.

They become aware of something they did not know before.

They are exposed.

The text is careful.

It does not say they feel guilty first.

It says they know they are naked.

Vulnerable.

Uncovered.

Seen.

Before God speaks.

Before judgment.

Before consequence.

They act.

They sew fig leaves together and gird themselves.

No command is given.

No instruction is offered.

The response is immediate.

Fear moves faster than reflection.

This is not readiness.

This is damage control.

They are not preparing to obey.

They are preparing to hide.

The first human response to sin is not defiance.

It is self-covering.

“If I can manage how I appear, maybe I can survive being seen.”

That instinct never disappeared.

It refined itself.

We still gird ourselves.

Not with fig leaves.

With strategies.

We gird ourselves with explanation.

With competence.

With spiritual language.

With activity.

With moral seriousness.

Anything that reduces exposure.

Fear-girding often looks responsible.

It looks thoughtful.

It looks mature.

It can even look spiritual.

But it is not readiness.