I Shall Not Be Moved

Before we move into the text itself, I want us to slow down and picture where this letter is going.

Colossae was not Rome.

It was not Jerusalem.

It was not Corinth or Ephesus.

Colossae was ordinary.

It was a small town in the Lycus Valley. It used to matter more than it did by the time Paul writes. Trade routes had shifted. Bigger cities nearby—Laodicea and Hierapolis—had grown more important.

Colossae had become… average.

Think Smithtown, USA.

White picket fences.

A collie in the yard.

Small businesses.

Families who know each other’s names.

Not a center of influence.

Not a place that would make headlines.

And in that ordinary town was a small, ordinary church.

We don’t even know that Paul ever visited them personally. The letter suggests he hadn’t.

The church was likely started by Epaphras—not by an apostle with public visibility.

Imagine that.

A small congregation.

In an ordinary town.

Gathering in someone’s home.

Trying to follow Jesus faithfully.

No stage lights.

No podcast.

No publishing arm.

No conference headquarters.

Just believers.

When Paul writes to this church, what does he talk about?

He does not begin with:

“Here are your problems.”

He does not begin with:

“You need to fix your structure.”

He does not begin with:

“You are drifting morally.”

He begins with Christ. Not a soft introduction to Christ. He begins with cosmic Christ.

The image of the invisible God.

Firstborn over all creation.

Creator of all things. Before all things. Holding all things together.

That is not how you usually open a letter to a nobody church.

Unless something subtle is happening.

Unless the danger is not rebellion—but displacement.

Unless people who believe in Christ are slowly beginning to live as though He is not enough.

Not denying Him.

Just supplementing Him.

Adding weight.

Carrying things He already settled.

Colossae was not under persecution the way Philippi was.

They were not in moral collapse like Corinth.

They were not divided over apostles like Galatia.

They were pressured.

Pressured by ideas.

Pressured by voices.

Pressured by the suggestion that fullness required something more.

A little tradition.

A little spiritual technique.

A little hierarchy of spiritual access.

A little insurance policy.

Not denial.

Addition.

And addition, over time, shifts confidence.

Here is where this gets quietly uncomfortable.

Most of us would not say we are at war.

That sounds dramatic.

But, many of us would say we are tired.

Tired of carrying.

Tired of stabilizing.

Tired of making sure everything doesn’t fall apart.

Tired of making sure our faith doesn’t weaken,

our family doesn’t drift,

our church doesn’t fracture,

our responsibilities don’t collapse.

What Paul is doing in Colossians is not scolding.

He is re-centering.

He is saying, in effect:

“Before you fix anything—look again at Christ.”

Before you tune in to the noise.

Before you calculate what is missing.

Before you reinforce the structure.

Look again.

Because if Christ is who he says He is—

then reconciliation is not partial.

Peace is not fragile.

Stability does not depend on your constant vigilance.

That is where we begin.

Not with behavior.

Not with application.

With orientation.

Because if orientation is wrong, everything downstream shifts.

So here is the question we carry into the text:

If reconciliation is already settled…

why do so many of us live like everything still depends on us?

Let’s open Colossians 1.

Peace Already Made

(Colossians 1:20–22)

Listen to Paul’s words:

“And through Him to reconcile all things to Himself, having made peace through the blood of His cross…

And you, who once were alienated and enemies in your mind by wicked works, yet now He has reconciled

in the body of His flesh through death, to present you holy and blameless and above reproach in His sight.”

There is something almost startling about how Paul writes this.

He does not say:

“You can be reconciled.”

He does not say:

“If you perform, God will reconcile you.”

He says: “He has reconciled.”

Past tense.

Completed.

Settled.

Peace has already been made.

Notice the order.

He does not begin with us.

He begins with Christ.

“Through Him… having made peace…”

Peace is not negotiated.

Peace is not maintained by our emotional stability.

Peace is not recalculated every morning.

It was made.

Through the blood of His cross.

This is not abstract theology.

Blood is concrete.

Cross is concrete.

Death is concrete.

Paul is not describing an idea—he is describing an event.

Something happened in history that altered your standing before God.

Paul assumes it is finished.

Then he turns to them:

“And you, who once were alienated…”

Alienated does not mean mildly distracted.

It means separated. Estranged. Cut off.

“And enemies in your mind…”

The hostility Paul describes is not God’s emotional volatility.

It is the human mind that lives suspicious of Him.