More Than a Makeover

Before the coming of this faith, we were held in custody under the law, locked up until the faith that was to come would be revealed. So, the law was our guardian until Christ came that we might be justified by faith. Now that this faith has come, we are no longer under a guardian.

So, in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.

Galatians 3:23–29 (NIV)

Introduction

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

We live in a world full of change—technology changes, governments change, circumstances change. And yet, when it comes to people, many of us quietly wonder: Can anyone really change? Deep down? Over the long haul?

We might ask it about others. We might ask it about ourselves. It’s a real question—and today’s readings help us face it honestly.

Let’s pray:

Lord Jesus Christ, You are the One who brings light into darkness, peace into chaos, and new life where there was none. As we hear Your Word today, open our hearts to Your power to change, to restore, and to make all things new. Strengthen our faith, that we may trust in what You can do—even when we cannot see it. Amen.

1. We Don’t Really Believe People Change

Let’s be honest—most of us are sceptical when it comes to real, lasting change in people.

We see surface-level changes all the time: a new haircut, a new job, a new lifestyle. But when it comes to someone’s character—their habits, their attitudes, their deep-seated behaviours—we often doubt that real transformation is possible.

We might say things like:

• “That’s just the way he is.”

• “She’s always been like that.”

• “People don’t change.”

We apply that cynicism to others. And if we’re honest, we often apply it to ourselves.

• We carry guilt from sins we can’t seem to shake.

• We’ve tried to do better, only to fall back again.

• We’ve been stuck in the same arguments, the same weaknesses, the same fears.

And over time, we begin to make peace with the problem. We lower our expectations. We start thinking less about changingand more about managing.

This isn’t a new problem. In Isaiah 65, God is confronting a people who are stuck in old patterns. He says, “All day long I have held out my hands to an obstinate people” (v.2). They’re engaged in spiritual activity—burning incense, offering sacrifices—but it’s all hollow. They sit among graves and follow their own thoughts. And worst of all, they say, “Keep away; don’t come near me, for I am too sacred for you!” (v.5).

They are religious, but resistant. They maintain the outward signs of holiness but refuse to let God reshape their hearts. God is offering transformation, but they are clinging to their own ways.

And we do the same.

• We keep God at a safe distance—fearing that if we get too close, we might have to change.

• We wear the right labels—Christian, Lutheran, believer—but deep down we’re not convinced that Christ can really undo what sin has done.

• We see our own failings, and rather than bring them to the cross, we bury them beneath excuses: “That’s just who I am.”

But Scripture confronts that excuse. In Galatians 3:23, Paul describes life under the law as being “held in custody”—trapped, restrained, unable to break free. And Martin Luther, in The Bondage of the Will, makes the point clear: human nature, corrupted by sin, cannot will its way out of this condition. Without divine intervention, we remain stuck. As Luther writes, “Free will is by nature unable to do anything but sin and be damned” (De Servo Arbitrio, §18).

In other words, we don’t just need a second chance—we need a Saviour.

That’s the problem we have to face before we can hear the good news.

Until we’re honest about our helplessness, we’ll never look to Christ for hope. Until we confess that we are stuck, we won’t ask God to move us.

This is the uncomfortable truth we start with: We don’t really believe people change. And apart from Christ—we’re right.

But that’s not where the story ends.

2. We Try to Manage Change Ourselves

Once we recognise that something in our lives—or in the life of our church—isn’t as it should be, our instinct is to try to manage it. We want improvement, not transformation. We want control, not surrender.

As individuals, that can look like:

• Doubling down on self-discipline without addressing the heart.

• Relying on religious habits without asking if they’re connecting us to Christ.

• Measuring growth by how well we’re hiding our flaws, rather than being healed of them.

As a congregation, it can look like:

• Avoiding difficult conversations because it’s easier to keep the peace.

• Hoping that better rosters, programs, or music will solve spiritual dryness.

• Putting on a faithful appearance while quietly accepting that decline and stagnation are inevitable.

In Isaiah 65, God’s people are doing plenty of religious things—but they’re doing them on their own terms. They burn incense on mountain shrines. They offer sacrifices. They declare themselves too holy to mix with others. But God is not impressed. He sees the heart behind it: pride, resistance, self-dependence. They are trying to manage their relationship with God without actually submitting to Him.

Paul describes a similar condition in Galatians 3:24–25. The law, he says, was our guardian—a kind of supervisor or disciplinarian. It could guide and restrain, but not save. It could show the problem, but not fix it. That’s what it’s like when we try to manage change through effort alone: the rules might help keep things in check, but they can’t create new life.

And in Luke 8, the man possessed by demons is beyond all management. Society has tried everything: chains, guards, exile. Nothing worked. His condition was so overwhelming that people gave up. He became part of the landscape—something tragic but permanent.

Is that how we think about some of our own issues? Or our congregation’s?

• “That family’s always been like that.”

• “We’ve tried that ministry before—it didn’t work.”

• “Young people just don’t come anymore.”

• “It’s just how small churches are these days.”

We stop expecting renewal and start focusing on maintenance. We pray for change, but plan for decline. We tell ourselves we believe in a living, active God—but we act as if He’s only mildly involved, and we need to do the rest.

This is the tension we live with:

We know something’s not right, but we don’t trust God enough to hand it over. So we manage. We adjust. We avoid. And all the while, the deep need remains untouched.

But into this reality, Jesus steps ashore. And what happens next is not management—it’s a miracle.

3. Only the Gospel Transforms from the Inside Out

When Jesus steps onto the shore in Luke 8, everything changes.

The man who had been written off—naked, violent, tormented—is restored. Not improved, not stabilised, not managed—restored. He’s found “sitting at Jesus’ feet, dressed and in his right mind” (v.35). It’s a complete reversal.

No one else could reach this man. No system, no rule, no chain had worked. But with a word, Jesus frees him. And notice what happens next: the man begs to go with Jesus—but Jesus sends him home, saying “Tell how much God has done for you”(v.39).

In other words, Jesus not only saves him—He commissions him. He doesn’t just restore dignity—He gives purpose.

This is what real transformation looks like. And it’s exactly what Paul describes in Galatians 3:26–29:

• “You are all children of God through faith in Christ Jesus.”

• “All of you who were baptised into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.”

• “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

Paul isn’t just talking about inclusion—he’s describing a new identity.

To be baptised into Christ means your old self is buried and a new self is raised (cf. Romans 6:4). You are not just forgiven—you are re-created.

And this is not just a personal change—it’s a communal one. The gospel doesn’t just make individuals new—it makes a new people.

So as a congregation, this text calls us to ask:

• Do we still believe Christ can transform us, not just as individuals but as a body?

• Are we expecting God to renew our vision, our mission, our relationships—not by tweaking what we already do, but by giving us something altogether new?

• Do we treat each other according to past failings and fixed labels, or according to the new creation God is working in each one of us?

In Isaiah 65:8–9, God promises that even among a corrupt and stubborn people, He will preserve a remnant: “As when juice is still found in a cluster of grapes… so will I do on behalf of my servants.”

God is not finished. He will not throw away what He has chosen to redeem.

That is our hope: Not in our systems, our plans, or our efforts. But in a Saviour who steps ashore into our mess, speaks a word of power, and makes us new.

So yes—people really do change. But only when Jesus gets involved.

As people who have been baptised into Christ, Jesus is involved among us. So, I’m sorry to say it, but He’s going to change you and us. He’s already transforming you. He has already clothed you with Himself.

May the peace that surpasses all understanding guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.