As a volunteer in a local prison Bible study a few nights each week, I often hear men say to me, “I’ve learned my lesson! When I get out of here, I’m never coming back!”
You might be surprised to know just how many of those men serve their time and get out, only to end up right back in my evening Bible study not even a year later. Of course I’m delighted that shame doesn’t keep them away from studying God’s Word with me. But it deeply saddens me to see so many of them choose imprisonment over freedom.
And here in Galatians 4:8-11, Paul’s words remind me of just how hard it can be sometimes for people to truly change and embrace the real freedom that comes from knowing Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior.
“Formerly, when you did not know God, you were slaves to those who by nature are not gods. But now that you know God—or rather are known by God —how is it that you are turning back to those weak and miserable forces? Do you wish to be enslaved by them all over again? You are observing special days and months and seasons and years! I fear for you, that somehow I have wasted my efforts on you.“
Reading that, we can literally hear the heart of a pastor who is deeply concerned for his people. Paul’s not writing this as some sort of detached theologian debating unbelievers… he’s addressing Christians, writing as a shepherd who fears that the flock he loves is drifting into danger.
He basically says, “Now that you know God – or rather are known by God – how is it that you are turning back to weak and miserable forces?” His tone is not one of anger, but heartbreak.
Just a few verses earlier, Paul reminded them that they’re no longer slaves but sons and daughters! Through Christ, they have been adopted, they belong to God. They cry out, “Abba, Father.” They are heirs, not servants trying to earn wages.
And yet, after receiving all of that, they are beginning to move backward. What were they doing that was so wrong?
They were submitting to observing special days, months, seasons, and years according to the Jewish religious calendar. These observances included Sabbaths, festivals, and sacred cycles that had once been part of life under the Mosaic Law. Now… there is nothing inherently sinful about marking a day as special. Nor is there anything wrong with establishing a rhythm or structure in spiritual life. The problem was not that they were practicing devotion; it was that they were beginning to depend on those practices for their standing with God.
They were subtly shifting from trusting in Christ alone to trusting in Christ plus their religious performance.
And once we add something to grace, grace is no longer grace.
This is not just a first-century issue. We may not feel pressure to observe Old Testament feast days, but we often create our own systems of spiritual measurement. We may begin to believe that if we have developed a consistent pattern of quiet time with the Lord, attended every church service, volunteered faithfully, and kept our moral record clean… then God must surely be more pleased with us. On the other hand, when we fail in those areas, we can begin to feel distant, ashamed, or uncertain about where we stand with Him.
In those moments, we are no longer living as sons and daughters who are secure in the love of their Father.
We are living as servants who believe they must earn their place in the house.
Paul calls this return to law-based righteousness a return to “weak and miserable forces.” Why would he use such strong language? Because rules, by themselves, cannot give life. They can restrain behavior and create structure, but they cannot transform the heart or produce true righteousness. Only Christ can do that. To go back to rule-keeping as the basis of our acceptance before God is like stepping back into a prison cell after someone has already unlocked the door and invited us into freedom.
For some reason, it feels safer to measure ourselves by rules because rules are visible and quantifiable. Grace, however, requires humility. Grace reminds us that we bring nothing to the table except our need, and that everything we receive comes from Christ.
Paul then says something that reveals just how personal this is to him: “I fear for you, that somehow I have wasted my efforts on you.” That is the voice of a spiritual father who longs to see his children walking in freedom. He knows that when faith becomes driven by performance, believers will either live in constant anxiety because they never feel they have done enough, or they will drift into pride because they believe they are doing better than others. In either case, the joy of sonship is lost.
Elsewhere, in Romans 14, Paul makes it clear that believers may differ in how they regard certain days, and in Colossians 2, he warns against letting anyone judge them regarding festivals or Sabbaths. The consistent message is that such practices are not the foundation of our righteousness. Christ is.
So let’s “land the plane” here gently and honestly. Are there places in our lives where we have begun to measure God’s love by our recent spiritual performance? Do we feel closer to Him when we believe we have done well and more distant when we believe we have failed? Have we quietly started to think that our obedience secures our acceptance rather than flows from it?
The gospel tells us that we are not working toward acceptance; we are living from acceptance. We do not obey in order to become children of God; we obey because, through Christ, we already are His children.
The question Paul leaves ringing in our ears is simple and searching:
If Christ has set us free, why would we ever go back?
Former Blackout Artist 