Introduction

If you’ve ever started your morning with grand intentions and then tripped over your own shoelaces by lunch, you’re in good company. We set the coffee, open the calendar, whisper a prayer, and head out the door with a heart set on Jesus. Then the rush hits. Emails multiply. Expectations pile high. The inner critic clears its throat. Before long, we trade grace for grit and quiet peace for clenched teeth. We say, “I’ve got this,” and somewhere between the grocery aisle and the office chair we lose sight of the cross that once filled our windshield.

Paul wrote to a beloved church that had done just that. He used a word that feels like it was pulled from a fairy tale: bewitched. He saw a haze over their hearts, a spell that made clear things look cloudy. A spell that hid Christ crucified. A spell that tugged them away from the Spirit’s strength and toward self-powered progress. Can you feel that tug? The tug to turn prayer into performance. The tug to measure your worth by checklists. The tug to polish the outside while the inside limps along.

Grace begins our walk, and grace continues our walk. The same cross that saved you on your first day sustains you on your worst day and your best day. When Paul asks his startling questions, he isn’t scolding strangers; he’s shepherding sons and daughters. His voice may be firm, but his heart is tender. He wants the fog to lift. He wants Jesus to come back into focus—bright, beautiful, sufficient. He wants us to breathe again.

Have you ever felt the whisper, “Try harder,” growing louder than the whisper, “Trust deeper”? Have you sensed a slow drift from dependence to drivenness? The Galatians felt it too. The shoulders slump. The smile strains. The soul gets tired. We become spiritual sprinters on a treadmill that never stops. No wonder Paul points our eyes to a hill outside Jerusalem and to a Savior who held nothing back. He calls us to remember what we have seen with the eyes of our hearts: Christ, publicly portrayed, crucified. That picture changes everything. The cross doesn’t just clean the slate; it fills the slate. The Spirit doesn’t just begin the work; He brings strength for every step.

So today, with gentleness and honesty, let’s let the Word lift the veil. Let’s ask the Lord to expose any spell that has blurred our view of Jesus. Let’s face the pull of the flesh—self-trust, self-boast, self-fix—and place it in nail-scarred hands. And let’s welcome the wind of the Spirit again. Fresh mercy for weary souls. Fresh power for ordinary days. Fresh love for faltering hearts.

Listen now to the Scripture, and hear the questions that heal:

Galatians 3:1-3 (KJV) 1 O foolish Galatians, who hath bewitched you, that ye should not obey the truth, before whose eyes Jesus Christ hath been evidently set forth, crucified among you? 2 This only would I learn of you, Received ye the Spirit by the works of the law, or by the hearing of faith? 3 Are ye so foolish? having begun in the Spirit, are ye now made perfect by the flesh?

Wayne Grudem once wrote, “The work of the Holy Spirit is to manifest the active presence of God in the world, and especially in the church.” If that is true—and it is—then our hope today is close at hand. The Spirit is here to make Jesus clear, to make grace tangible, to make holiness possible, to make weary hearts strong. When the Spirit magnifies Christ, the spell breaks. When the Spirit fills the sails, the striving quiets. When the Spirit speaks through the Word, the fog thins and the cross shines.

Friend, this is good news for lunch breaks and late nights, for car lines and hospital rooms, for honest saints who feel like they’re running on fumes. You are not forgotten. You are not stuck. The Savior who was set before your eyes is present through His Spirit right now. He steadies trembling hands. He calms racing thoughts. He turns effort into adoration and anxiety into assurance. He teaches us to walk, step by steady step, from start to finish, by the same grace that found us at first light.

Let’s ask for His help.

Opening Prayer: Father, thank You for Your Word and for the Spirit who brings it to life in us. Clear the haze from our hearts. Where Christ has faded in our focus, lift Him high again. Expose any spell of self-reliance and any pull of the flesh. Give us soft hearts, listening ears, and willing hands. Let the cross be vivid, and let Your Spirit’s presence be sweet and strong. We confess our striving and receive Your grace. Teach us to begin, continue, and conclude our walk in the Spirit. Encourage the discouraged, steady the fearful, and warm the weary with the love of Jesus. In His blessed name we pray, Amen.

Exposing the spell that hides Christ crucified

Paul’s questions come fast. They land with care. They are meant to wake us up. They are meant to clear our eyes.

We know how vision can blur. Pressures stack up. Old habits creep in. We start to move on autopilot. Our minds drift. Our hands keep busy. And Jesus grows faint in our view.

Paul starts with a strong word about wisdom. He calls out a kind of unthinking faith. It is when we stop asking, “What did God say?” and start asking, “What do I feel?” It is when memory of grace gets thin. It is when noise grows loud. This kind of wake-up call is love in work clothes. It is the voice of a shepherd, not a stranger. He does not flatter. He does not pat us on the head. He speaks to shake us from sleepy trust in ourselves. This is how the Spirit often works. He takes the Word and presses it. He puts a finger on the sore spot. He opens our eyes to patterns we miss. He makes us honest about the gap between what we know and what we live.

We need that kind of honesty. We need it on Monday mornings. We need it when we sit at the red light. We need it when we cannot focus in prayer.

Then Paul asks, “Who got to you?” He points to influence. He knows people tell us stories. We hear voices from friends, feeds, teachers, and our own thoughts. Some of those voices sound kind. Some sound wise. Some sound holy. But they twist the aim of the heart. They lean us toward fear of people. They lean us toward the praise that comes from doing more. They lean us toward shame that never lifts. That is how our sight goes dim. We still say Jesus is Lord. We still sing. We still show up. But inside we start to clutch our scoreboard. We count hours. We count wins. We hide losses. And the cross fades to the edge of the frame. The Spirit shines a light on these hidden stories. He names the lies. He shows how they push Jesus to the side. He breaks the charm of comparison. He quiets the need to prove ourselves. He brings us back to simple trust.

It helps to ask plain questions. What story am I believing right now? Who gets the loudest say in my heart? What am I trying to earn?

Paul reminds them what they had seen. Christ was set before them in clear words. The message was plain. Jesus crucified. Not a hint. Not a code. It was like a great sign on the main road. It was like a picture you cannot miss. His wounds told the truth about our sin. His death told the truth about God’s love. His cross told the truth about real hope. That picture does more than stir us once. It feeds faith day by day. It quiets our fear. It melts our pride. It gives strength for small tasks and hard calls. The Spirit paints that picture again and again. He does it when the Bible is read out loud. He does it at the Table. He does it through the stories of changed lives. He presses Christ before the eyes of the heart so we can see. When other images crowd in—images of success, control, or failure—the Spirit brings this one back to center.

A simple prayer helps. “Lord, make Jesus clear to me again.”

Paul asks another question about how they started. How did you receive the Spirit? Was it by doing, or by hearing and trusting? They knew the answer. The Spirit came as gift. He did not come as a wage. He came when the message of Jesus was heard and embraced. That is the way God works. He speaks. We hear. We trust. He gives. Paul presses further. How will you go on, then? By more rule-keeping, or by the same trust that received Him at first? This is the logic of grace written into real life. Your first breath in Christ came from the Spirit. Your next breath comes the same way. So bring your day into that pattern. Start the meeting with a quiet ask. Start the chore with a quiet ask. Open the email with a quiet ask. “Help me, Holy Spirit.” When effort takes over, our shoulders feel heavy. Our tone gets sharp. Our peace thins. That is a signal on the dashboard. Return to the word you heard at first. Jesus crucified for you. Forgiveness given to you. Power given to you. The Spirit does not only begin. He carries. He corrects. He comforts. He produces love, joy, and steady obedience that grows over time. He keeps the cross in front so your feet can move in step with Him.

Recognizing the pull back to the flesh

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