"What Makes Me Good Enough?"
Have you ever asked yourself, “Am I good enough?”
Good enough to be accepted.
Good enough to belong.
Good enough—for God.
Most of us try to answer that question by performing. We stay busy. We work hard. We try to do the right things, avoid the wrong ones, and control how others see us. And if we’re honest, even in church, we can slip into thinking that God’s love must be earned. That if we don’t try hard enough, we’ll fall short.
That’s the exact pressure the apostle Paul is writing about in his letter to the churches in Galatia.
These were new believers—Gentiles—people who didn’t grow up in the Jewish faith. They had heard the gospel: salvation is a gift, not a reward. You receive it by grace, through faith.
But after Paul left, other voices started creeping in. Teachers came saying, “Faith in Jesus is a good start—but if you really want to belong to God’s people, you’ve got to follow the old religious laws. Get circumcised. Keep the food laws. Do the rituals.”
Suddenly, the message had shifted:
“Jesus is fine—but you’ve got to finish what He started.”
And Paul writes back with urgency. This isn’t just a disagreement over tradition. This is about the very heart of the gospel.
Because Paul knows what it’s like to live under pressure. He had spent his life trying to earn righteousness—until grace knocked him flat and rewrote his story.
So now he writes not as a theologian behind a desk, but as a man who’s been set free—and cannot bear to see others put chains back on.
And if we’re honest, this is still our story. In a world full of pressure to perform, Paul’s words come back strong and clear:
“I have been crucified with Christ. I no longer live—but Christ lives in me.”
That’s not just theology. That’s a new way of being human.
Galatians 1:13-17; 2:11-21
13 You know what I was like when I followed the Jewish religion—how I violently persecuted God’s church. I did my best to destroy it. 14 I was far ahead of my fellow Jews in my zeal for the traditions of my ancestors.
15 But even before I was born, God chose me and called me by his marvelous grace. Then it pleased him 16 to reveal his Son to me[a] so that I would proclaim the Good News about Jesus to the Gentiles.
When this happened, I did not rush out to consult with any human being.[b] 17 Nor did I go up to Jerusalem to consult with those who were apostles before I was. Instead, I went away into Arabia, and later I returned to the city of Damascus.
“This is the Word of the Lord.”
(Congregation replies: “Thanks be to God.”)
Point I: Found by Grace (Galatians 1:13–17)
Paul doesn’t begin by defending doctrine. He begins by telling his story.
He says, “You’ve heard who I used to be.”
And they had. He had been feared—zealous, devout, passionate. But also rigid. And violent. Paul hadn’t just disagreed with Christians—he had been hunting them down.
He was convinced he was right. Convinced he was defending God. But the truth is—he was lost in his own righteousness.
Then comes the turning point. Five simple words:
“But when God… who set me apart and called me by His grace, was pleased to reveal His Son in me…”
That’s it. That’s the shift.
Not “when I figured it out.”
Not “when I got tired of religion.”
Not “when I decided to follow Jesus.”
No—“when God…”
Paul wasn’t searching for Jesus. Jesus was searching for Paul.
That’s what grace is. It doesn’t wait for us to clean up. It meets us in the middle of the mess. It interrupts our pride, our pain, our assumptions—and says, “You are mine.”
In our tradition, we call that prevenient grace—God’s grace that comes before. Before we get the words right. Before we know the theology. Before we even realize we need it.
And maybe that’s your story too.
Maybe you’ve been trying to prove yourself—trying to be worthy, spiritual, “together.”
Maybe you’ve been running, hiding, or drifting.
And right here, in this moment, God’s grace is saying: “You don’t have to earn what I’ve already given.”
Paul’s story didn’t begin with strength—it began with surrender.
And maybe that’s where yours begins too.
Point II: Grace Must Be Lived (Galatians 2:11–14)
After telling his story of grace, Paul shares a story of tension—one that catches most people off guard.
Because in this moment, Paul had to confront Peter.
Yes—that Peter. The leader of the apostles. The bold preacher at Pentecost. The one who saw the risen Christ.
Paul admired Peter. But what happened couldn’t be ignored.
Peter had been eating with Gentile believers. He shared life with them, sat at their tables, treated them like equals—just like he should have. He knew God had accepted them fully. He had seen the Holy Spirit poured out on them, just like on the Jews.
But then… a group came from Jerusalem. The kind who still insisted Gentiles needed to follow Jewish customs to really belong.
And Peter—bold, passionate Peter—started to pull away.
Not with words, but with actions. Quietly. Subtly. But clearly.
He stopped eating with the Gentiles.
And others followed. Even Barnabas.
Paul saw what was happening. And he knew—this wasn’t just bad manners. It was a gospel issue.
So he said it plainly:
“You are not acting in line with the truth of the gospel.”
That must have been a hard moment.
To confront someone you respect.
To risk conflict.
To challenge hypocrisy.
But Paul wasn’t being dramatic. He was being faithful.
Because when Peter pulled back, he was sending a message: “These people aren’t quite fully in.”
And Paul says, if grace doesn’t unite us, we’ve missed it entirely.
The gospel isn’t just about being right with God—it’s about being made right with one another.
No one sits at the table of Christ because they earned it.
We are all here by grace.
So if grace is for everyone, we’ve got to live like that’s true.
In the Church of the Nazarene, we’ve always said that holiness isn’t just personal morality.
It’s how we live. It’s how we treat people.
It’s integrity in motion.
That’s what Paul was defending.
Not just a theological point—but a grace-shaped community.
So let’s ask ourselves:
Are there places where we’ve let fear shape our welcome?
Are there ways our actions say “you don’t quite belong,” even if our words say otherwise?
Are we drawing lines that Jesus never drew?
Because if the grace that found Paul is real,
If the grace that confronted Peter is real—
Then it must also change how we live and how we love.
Point III: Justified by Faith, Not by Law (Galatians 2:15–16)
After confronting Peter, Paul doesn't change the subject. He doubles down on the heart of the issue.
He says clearly:
“We know that a person is not justified by the works of the law, but through faith in Jesus Christ.”
That word justified means to be made right with God.
To be in right relationship—not distant, not disqualified, not barely hanging on.
And Paul says there’s only one way that happens: by trusting Jesus.
Not by religious rituals.
Not by rule-keeping.
Not by what you eat, how you dress, or how well you behave.
Not even by how long you’ve been part of the church.
Just faith in Christ.
Now, for many in Paul’s day, this was a radical claim. For generations, righteousness meant doing the right things—keeping the law, observing traditions. And those things mattered—they were gifts from God. But now, Paul says, the law isn’t the door anymore. Jesus is.
We still wrestle with this, don’t we?
We may believe in grace, but we keep trying to earn it.
We carry the quiet pressure of performance.
We compare ourselves to others.
We hide our flaws and try harder.
But Paul says: If righteousness could come through the law… then Christ died for nothing.
Let that sink in.
If we could fix ourselves, we wouldn’t need the cross.
If we could be good enough, Jesus wouldn’t have had to die.
But He did—because we couldn’t.
And because He loves us.
This is why grace matters. Not just to forgive us—but to free us.
To release us from a life of striving, pretending, and measuring.
To invite us into a life of trust, joy, and rest.
In our Nazarene tradition, we’ve always preached this clearly:
Salvation is by grace alone, through faith alone, in Christ alone.
That’s not a slogan. It’s the foundation.
And it’s the difference between religion that crushes and grace that restores.
So the question is simple:
Are we living by trust… or still reaching for the old measuring stick?
Because Paul says: It’s not what you do. It’s Who you trust.
Point IV: Crucified with Christ – Christ Lives in Me (Galatians 2:19–20)
After declaring that we’re made right with God through faith, not law, Paul turns the focus even more personal. It’s as if he steps back and says, “Let me tell you what this has done to me.”
“I have been crucified with Christ, and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.”
That’s not just a metaphor. It’s a spiritual reality.
Paul says: The old me is gone. The person I was—the one who tried to earn everything, who measured his worth by performance, who trusted in rules and religion—that version of me has died. I’ve been crucified with Christ.
It’s a bold, beautiful statement. But it also tells a hard truth.
Transformation doesn’t begin with self-improvement.
It begins with surrender.
It begins with death—death to ego, pride, fear, and control.
I once heard someone describe surrender like flipping a light switch—just flip it and it’s done. But that’s not how Paul talks about it.
It’s more like handing over the keys to your house. Every room. Not just the clean and presentable ones.
Paul didn’t just change habits—he gave Christ full access. That’s why he can say, “I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.”
And maybe for us, surrender means finally unlocking that room we’ve kept closed—the room marked control, or fear, or pain—and saying, “Jesus, this one too.”
That’s where real transformation begins.
Death to the voice that says, “You have to earn it.”
And when we die to that old life, something new is born.
“The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.”
That’s the center of it all: Jesus loved me and gave Himself for me.
That’s not theory. That’s personal.
That’s what fuels a grace-filled life—not fear of punishment, but response to love.
This is where we begin to understand what holiness really looks like.
In our Nazarene tradition, we’ve never believed holiness is about perfectionism.
It’s not about acting better than others or hiding our flaws.
It’s about being fully surrendered to Jesus—so completely that His life begins to shine through ours.
Not “How can I live for Jesus?”
But “How can Jesus live in me?”
That’s sanctification—not a pressure, but a promise.
Not a performance, but a partnership.
Paul’s not saying he’s arrived. He’s saying he’s surrendered.
And now, the life he lives—day by day—is a life of faith in Jesus.
So let’s ask ourselves:
What parts of me are still trying to stay in control?
What needs to die in me… so that Christ can live more fully through me?
This is the gospel:
We don’t just believe in Jesus—we are invited to become His dwelling place.
“I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.”
Point V: Don’t Nullify the Grace of God (Galatians 2:21)
After everything Paul has said—his personal story, his confrontation with Peter, his declaration of faith—he ends with one final line that brings it all home:
“I do not nullify the grace of God, for if righteousness could be gained through the law, then Christ died for nothing.”
That’s a hard truth. But Paul doesn’t soften it.
If we try to earn our way to God…
If we add conditions to who belongs…
If we say it’s Jesus plus anything else—
Then we’re not just confused.
We’re treating the cross as if it wasn’t enough.
And Paul won’t let that happen.
Because if we could save ourselves, then Christ died for nothing.
But we couldn’t.
And He did.
That’s the heart of the gospel.
We are not saved by our behavior.
We are not loved because of our record.
We are not accepted because we’ve performed well enough.
We are saved by grace.
We are made right by faith.
And we are held secure by Christ’s love.
Paul’s warning is clear: Don’t nullify grace.
Don’t go back to performing, pretending, or comparing.
Don’t add fine print to what Jesus finished.
Because when we add to grace, we lose it.
But when we receive it—freely—we gain life.
Conclusion: Grace Is the Beginning of a New Life
Paul’s words to the Galatians aren’t just theology. They’re a rescue story.
A man once convinced he could earn God’s approval by rule-keeping and zeal is now saying, “It’s not me who lives anymore. Christ lives in me.”
A church once free in grace is now being pulled back into pressure and performance—and Paul is pleading with them: Don’t go back. Don’t add to grace. Don’t live like Jesus wasn’t enough.
And this isn’t just their story. It’s ours too.
Because we all know what it feels like to wonder if we’re enough.
To carry the weight of shame or comparison.
To try to be good enough, spiritual enough, strong enough.
To walk into church smiling—while silently wondering if we really belong.
And here comes the gospel again, as strong and tender as ever:
You do belong—not because of what you’ve done, but because of what Christ has done.
And not just to forgive—but to live in you.
That’s the invitation.
Call to Prayer (Altar Call)
So let me ask you gently, quietly:
Where are you still trying to earn what God has already given?
Where are you holding on to shame that grace already covered?
Where are you still performing, comparing, or hiding?
These altars are open.
Not for perfect people—but for people who are ready to stop trying to be.
Maybe you need to lay something down.
Maybe you need to receive grace again—not just in your head, but in your soul.
Maybe you need to stop asking, “Am I enough?” and start trusting, “Christ is.”
If that’s you, come.
Come and surrender the pressure.
Come and stop striving.
Come and let the Spirit whisper over you again:
You are mine. You are loved. And grace is enough.
Let grace do what grace does.
Let Christ live in you.
PRAYER;
Gracious God,
We come to You not as those who have it all together,
but as those who are tired of trying to be enough.
Some of us have spent years striving—
trying to earn what can only be received.
Some of us have carried shame too heavy to name.
Others have felt like outsiders at the table, wondering if grace is really for us.
But here in Your presence,
You remind us again:
We are loved.
We are called.
We are held by grace.
Not because of what we’ve done,
but because of what Christ has done.
Not because we’re strong,
but because You are gentle and kind.
So for every soul at this altar,
and every heart still quietly kneeling in the pew,
would You meet us, Jesus?
Would You take the burdens we’ve brought—
the need to perform, the fear of not belonging, the pain we’ve tried to hide—
and gently replace them with peace?
Crucify in us what no longer needs to live.
And raise up in us a new life—shaped by faith, filled with love,
anchored in the truth that Christ now lives in us.
Make this moment holy.
Not because we got it right,
but because You came close.
Thank You for grace that goes before us.
Thank You for love that doesn’t let go.
Thank You for a gospel that truly is good news.
In the name of Jesus—who gave Himself for us,
we pray.
Amen.
Thank you so much for being with us today.
As we go, I encourage you—don’t rush past what God may still be saying. Keep praying. Keep reflecting. Ask yourself this week:
Where am I still trying to earn what God has already given?
What would it mean to truly let Christ live in me?
God’s grace is not finished working in you.
Let it continue to shape your week, your words, and your walk.
And now, together we pray:
We go with hope, because God goes before us.
We go with grace, because God is in us.
We go with certainty, because God is real.
And we go expecting great things, because our God accomplishes the impossible.
Here we are, God—send us, we pray. Amen.
Go in peace and walk in grace
