The Beauty of Dependence

When God Speaks, Chaos Becomes Creation

Before there was light, there was God — and only God. Genesis opens not with man searching for meaning but with God moving toward chaos: “The earth was formless and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep.” Into that darkness, He speaks. And from that first word, reality itself learns rhythm.

Day after day, form replaces formlessness. Seas submit to boundaries. Stars find their paths. Living things multiply “according to their kinds.” By the time God rests, the universe hums with perfect proportion.

If you could have stood in that first garden, you would have seen that divine order is not rigidity but flourishing. Eden was not a system; it was a sanctuary. Everything lived in joyful submission to the wisdom of its Maker.

So before we ever meet a commandment, we meet a Creator who delights in harmony. Order, then, is not the invention of religion — it is the personality of God written into the world.

Order Reveals Character

Paul tells the Corinthians that “God is not a God of confusion but of peace.” (1 Cor 14:33)

Notice the contrast: the opposite of confusion is not control but peace. Wherever divine order is embraced, peace follows. Wherever God’s design is resisted, chaos grows.

Let’s pause here and ask:

• If God’s order brings peace, what kind of chaos takes root when we redefine that order?

• Is it possible that much of our exhaustion — in families, churches, or culture — is the echo of Genesis 3 all over again, humans attempting to reorder what God has already called “good”?

  
  

The serpent’s first temptation wasn’t to reject God outright but to reorder creation: to make humanity the measure and God the questioned one. “Did God really say?” was the beginning of disorder, and the fruit that followed tasted like freedom but digested into fear.

Disorder always disguises itself as liberty; only later do we realize it was slavery in costume.

The Lie of Independence

From the beginning, humanity has been tempted by independence.The serpent’s promise in Eden — “you will be like God” — was not merely about power; it was about autonomy. It was the suggestion that life would finally begin once we no longer needed anyone, not even our Maker.

That lie still haunts us. We build lives, careers, even churches around the illusion of self-sufficiency. We equate strength with isolation, maturity with self-management, success with never needing help. Yet Scripture tells a different story: the story of a God who delights to be needed and a people who flourish when they depend on Him completely.

Dependence, then, is not the weakness of the Christian — it is his worship. The gospel’s invitation is not to become stronger but to become closer. The world says, “Stand on your own.” Jesus says, “Abide in Me.”

The Vine and the Branches

In John 15, on the night before His death, Jesus turns from comforting His disciples to preparing them for life without His visible presence. He gives them an image, not an instruction:

“I am the true vine, and My Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit He takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit. Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in Me.” (John 15 : 1–4)

A branch has no life apart from the vine; its only task is to remain connected. In the same way, our role is not to perform but to participate — to remain where the life is.

Question: If our spiritual life flows entirely from Christ, why do we so often treat prayer, Scripture, and fellowship as optional?Could it be that we’ve mistaken independence for maturity?

Christ calls us to continual dependence because that’s where fruit grows. The Father’s pruning may sting, but it proves relationship. Only living branches are trimmed. The dead ones are left alone.

Dependence Modeled by Christ

Philippians 2:5–8 invites us to look directly at Jesus’ own pattern:

“Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though He was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.”

Christ’s dependence wasn’t due to limitation; it was the chosen expression of His love. The eternal Son — the One who spoke galaxies into being — submitted Himself to the Father’s will and to the Spirit’s power. In His humanity, He prayed, He waited, He obeyed.

He lived what Adam refused to live: a life of joyful dependence.

Ask yourself: If the Son of God did nothing apart from the Father’s will, how can His sons and daughters expect to thrive without the same reliance?

Dependence is not childishness; it is Christlikeness.

The Strength of Weakness

Paul learned this paradox through pain. In 2 Corinthians 12, after pleading three times for the removal of his “thorn in the flesh,” he heard God answer, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.”

Paul’s conclusion was revolutionary:

“Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” (2 Cor 12 : 9–10)

Here lies the beauty of dependence — it reveals a power that self-reliance can never access. God’s strength does not supplement our own; it replaces it. Grace does not improve the proud; it indwells the humble.

The confessions echo this truth. The 1689 Baptist Confession (Chapter 13) describes sanctification as being “strengthened by His Word and Spirit.” Notice the emphasis: we are not strengthened beside Him but by Him.

So, the question becomes personal: Where do I still insist on handling life myself — and what might happen if I stopped resisting His sufficiency?

Dependence in the Church

Dependence isn’t just vertical; it’s horizontal. The Church is designed as an ecosystem of grace where each part supplies what the other lacks. Paul’s vision in 1 Corinthians 12 of the body with many members teaches that interdependence is God’s genius, not His concession.

No one receives every gift because God intends us to need each other. That need is not shameful; it is sacred. When believers confess weakness, share burdens, and serve one another, the Spirit knits the body together in love.

But independence isolates. It keeps us impressive and untouched. Have you noticed that churches fracture most when everyone tries to be self-sufficient? Unity dies where dependence disappears.

Maybe that’s why Scripture insists that even elders are “under-shepherds” and that every believer — no matter how mature — must still pray, “Give us this day our daily bread.”

Dependence is discipleship lived in community.

The Discipline of Dependence

To remain dependent requires deliberate practice. It’s not a feeling; it’s a rhythm learned over time. Here are four disciplines that foster it:

1. Continual Prayer — not only petition but posture. Prayer keeps the heart low before the throne.

2. Frequent Thanksgiving — gratitude reminds us that every good thing was received, not achieved.

3. Confession — regular confession dismantles the illusion of control and invites grace.

4. Sabbath Rest — setting aside productivity to honor God’s sufficiency trains the soul to trust.

Each of these is a small rebellion against autonomy. They remind us that the Father runs the universe just fine without our constant management.

Dependence and Dignity

Modern culture sees dependence as degradation — as if needing help means losing worth. But Scripture reveals the opposite. Our dependence proves our design. We were created in the image of a Triune God who Himself exists in eternal relationship: Father, Son, and Spirit, each delighting in the other. Independence is foreign to divine nature.

So, when you depend on God, you’re not less human; you’re more. You’re functioning as you were created — reflecting the relational heartbeat of heaven.

Have you ever noticed that the proud are restless but the humble are at peace? That’s because independence must sustain itself, while dependence is sustained by grace. The proud must keep performing; the dependent simply abide.

Dependence as Witness

A church that lives dependent on God becomes a light to the world precisely because it looks so different. The self-made culture around us worships control. When people see a community content to be weak so that Christ can be strong, they’re confronted with something supernatural.

When we pray before we plan, forgive before we retaliate, and serve before we are asked, we are declaring that our source is elsewhere. We are saying to a weary world, “There is another way to live — not as gods but as children.”

The Church’s credibility doesn’t come from her efficiency but from her humility.

The Danger of Forgetting

When dependence fades, faith becomes mechanical. We start living as functional atheists — affirming God’s sovereignty with our lips while relying on our own strategies with our hearts.

That’s why Scripture repeatedly calls us to remember. Israel’s downfall always began with forgetfulness: “You shall remember the Lord your God, for it is He who gives you power to get wealth.” (Deut 8:18)Forget dependence, and gratitude dies. When gratitude dies, worship follows.

Perhaps that’s why God allows seasons of weakness. They are invitations to rediscover joy in His sufficiency. Paul called his trials “a thorn,” but they were really a tether — keeping him close to the source.

Harmony, Not Hierarchy

When God designed the world, He filled it with pairs that belonged together — light and darkness, land and sea, male and female. Each existed in distinction, but together they formed harmony. That word harmony is important because the Bible’s vision of community — in marriage, in church, and in the wider body of Christ — is not about competition but complement.

Our culture is suspicious of difference. It assumes that wherever two people have distinct callings, one must be superior. But divine order works differently. In the Kingdom, worth is equal and roles are unique. God’s glory shines not through sameness but through the symphony of many parts working as one.

This truth reaches its clearest expression in the relationships that most shape our lives: marriage, ministry, and the Church. These relationships are meant to display, not distort, the fellowship of roles found within God Himself.

Mutual Submission in Love

Paul begins his discussion of household order in Ephesians 5 with a single phrase that sets the tone: “Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ.” (v.21)

Submission is not subjugation. It’s the voluntary alignment of one will beneath another for the sake of love and order. Every Christian — husband, wife, elder, member — submits in some way because every believer reveres Christ.

That’s the framework we often miss. Authority in the kingdom of God is never about domination; it’s about imitation — reflecting the servant leadership of Jesus.

When Paul calls wives to submit to their husbands “as to the Lord,” he’s not diminishing them; he’s dignifying their faith. When he commands husbands to love their wives “as Christ loved the church and gave Himself up for her,” he’s setting a standard that crowns authority with sacrifice. The higher the role, the deeper the responsibility to serve.

So let me ask:

• When you think of leadership, do you picture power or service?

• If submission reflects Christ’s humility, can it ever be demeaning to mirror Him?

  
  

Paul’s point is startlingly simple: marriage isn’t a battlefield of egos; it’s a living parable of the gospel. Two different roles, one shared mission — the display of Christ’s love and the Church’s trust.

The Strength of Gentleness

Peter echoes the same balance in his letter:

“Likewise, wives, be subject to your own husbands… let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit… Likewise, husbands, live with your wives in an understanding way, showing honor to the woman as the weaker vessel, since they are heirs with you of the grace of life.” (1 Peter 3 : 1–7)

The phrase “weaker vessel” has been abused when taken out of context, but Peter’s image is tender, not condescending. The idea is of a vessel of great worth, handled with care. A husband’s strength is not license for harshness but a summons to gentleness.

And for wives, submission does not signal inferiority but spiritual strength — the courage to trust God even when circumstances tempt fear. Sarah’s example, Peter says, was that she “did not fear anything that is frightening.” She obeyed because she believed God, not because she idolized man.

In this fellowship of roles, both husband and wife reflect aspects of Christ’s nature: His authority and His submission, His power and His humility. Together they paint the gospel in flesh and blood.

So I’ll ask:

• What if gentleness is strength restrained by love?

• What if understanding your spouse or fellow believer is the truest measure of maturity?

  
  

The world’s power dynamics crumble under those questions. Only the Spirit of Christ can create a relationship where strength and submission become two sides of the same coin — both minted in love.

The Body’s Many Members

Paul widens the lens in 1 Corinthians 12:

“For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ… The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I have no need of you,’ nor again the head to the feet, ‘I have no need of you.’” (vv.12, 21)

Here we see that God’s design for complementarity doesn’t stop at marriage; it extends to the whole Church. The Spirit gives different gifts not to divide but to complete. Diversity is by design.

The body of Christ is the visible proof that equality of worth and distinction of function can coexist. Every gift matters, every member is essential, and the whole suffers when even one part withholds its contribution.

Let’s consider:

• Where might envy or pride be disguising itself as “calling”?

• Do we value the quiet servants of the church as much as those in visible roles?

• What would happen if every member stopped comparing and started cooperating?

This is the fellowship of roles: not hierarchy, but harmony. When the Spirit conducts, the church becomes a symphony of grace.

Christ, the Head of the Body

The beauty of God’s design is that it always leads us back to Christ. In every structure, He is both model and motive.

As head of the Church, Jesus exercises authority not as a tyrant but as a Savior. He leads by dying, sanctifies by washing, and rules by serving. His headship is not oppressive; it’s protective. And the Church’s submission is not servile; it’s sacred trust.

In the same way, every role in the Christian life finds its dignity in how it mirrors Christ.

• Shepherds reflect His care.

• Deacons reflect His service.

• Parents reflect His nurture.

• Children reflect His trust.

When each role is lived in humility, the world sees a preview of heaven’s order — distinct persons united in love.

The Trinity itself models this fellowship. The Father sends the Son; the Son obeys; the Spirit proceeds — each Person equal in essence, unique in function, perfectly one. There is no rivalry in the Godhead, only joy in mutual glorification.

If that’s what divine order looks like, shouldn’t our human relationships strive for the same?

Why Roles Matter

In our era, the word “roles” sounds restrictive, but biblically, roles release us into purpose. They teach us that God’s glory is too vast to be displayed through one kind of person or one kind of gift. His image requires community.

When roles blur, confusion enters. When they compete, resentment grows. But when they cooperate, peace flourishes. The Reformed tradition has long recognized that every vocation — every station in life — can glorify God when embraced with faith. Whether husband or wife, teacher or student, leader or servant, all stand equal at the cross and distinct in calling.

The 1689 Baptist Confession (Chapter 16) says,

“Good works, done in obedience to God’s commandments, are the fruits and evidences of a true and lively faith.”Roles are not restrictions; they are the context where those good works bloom.

The Church as a Living Parable

When outsiders look at a marriage rooted in mutual submission, a church governed by servant-leaders, or a congregation functioning as one body, they glimpse something divine. The harmony of roles becomes evangelistic. It whispers of a Kingdom where every tearful submission and every humble act of leadership reflect the Lamb who was slain.

We often talk about preaching the gospel; Scripture also calls us to embody it. The fellowship of roles is one way God preaches His wisdom to the watching world. Paul calls it “the manifold wisdom of God… made known through the church” (Eph 3:10).

Reflection

• If equality of worth doesn’t require sameness of role, what does that reveal about God’s design?

• How can mutual submission, when done in love, become a witness to the gospel?

• In what area of my life am I resisting God’s role for me out of pride or fear?

• How might my obedience help restore harmony in the body?

Roles are not ladders to climb; they are places to serve. Every calling, when embraced with humility, becomes a thread in the tapestry of God’s glory. When husbands lead with sacrifice, wives trust with faith, elders shepherd with care, and members serve with joy, the church becomes a living doxology — a harmony the world cannot replicate.

The fellowship of roles is the melody of heaven echoing on earth.

The Prayer That Still Shapes the Church

On the eve of His crucifixion, Jesus prayed a prayer the Church is still learning to answer:

“I do not ask for these only, but also for those who will believe in Me through their word, that they may all be one, just as You, Father, are in Me, and I in You, that they also may be in Us, so that the world may believe that You have sent Me.” (John 17:20–21)

Think about that. In His final hours, Jesus prayed for us — not for our success, not for our safety, but for our unity.

He could have asked the Father to preserve the Church’s power or reputation, but instead He asked for something deeper: that the life He shared with the Father might be mirrored in His people.“That they may be one, as We are one.”

It’s a staggering request. The unity Jesus desired is not organizational or superficial; it’s spiritual and relational — a oneness that flows from abiding in Him. This is not a call to uniformity but to participation in the very fellowship of the Trinity.

So let’s pause and ask:

• If Jesus made this His final prayer, why is unity often the Church’s last priority?

• Why do believers so easily settle for agreement on doctrine while neglecting affection of heart?

The Nature of True Unity

Paul echoes Christ’s vision in Ephesians 4:

“I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling… with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.” (vv.1–3)

Notice that unity is not something we create; it’s something we maintain. The Spirit has already woven the bond; our role is to guard it.Paul’s language—“eager to maintain”—suggests effort, attentiveness, even warfare against the forces that threaten fellowship.

The unity of the Spirit is not fragile; it’s divine. But it can be obscured by pride, fear, and sin.That’s why Paul lists the virtues that protect it: humility, gentleness, patience, and love.Unity is not maintained by force of policy but by the fruit of the Spirit.

So let me ask:

• How would your relationships change if you approached disagreement as an opportunity for patience rather than proof of superiority?

• What might happen in our churches if gentleness became our first reflex instead of our last resort?

One Body, One Spirit

Paul continues:

“There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call—one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.” (Eph 4:4–6)

Here is the theological backbone of Christian unity: we are many members but one body, animated by one Spirit. Our unity does not rest on shared temperament or background but on shared regeneration.

We are one not because we agree on everything but because we belong to the same Christ. Our diversity of gifts and experiences is not a problem to solve; it’s a design to celebrate.

In Reformed theology, this unity arises from our union with Christ. Every believer, justified by faith alone, indwelt by the same Spirit, and adopted into the same family, participates in a communion that stretches across time and space.That’s what the Westminster Confession calls “the communion of saints” (WCF 26):

“All saints… being united to Jesus Christ their Head, have fellowship with Him in His graces, sufferings, death, resurrection, and glory: and, being united to one another in love, they have communion in each other’s gifts and graces.”

Our unity begins in heaven, not in human effort. We don’t achieve it; we awaken to it.

The Character of Unity

In Colossians 3:12–14, Paul describes the wardrobe of those who know they belong to Christ:

“Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another… and above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.”

Do you notice how relational unity is built from spiritual posture? Before God tells us to be one, He tells us to be humble. Before He commands harmony, He clothes us with compassion.

That means disunity is rarely a doctrinal problem first; it’s usually a discipleship problem. Pride is the wedge that fractures peace. Humility is the glue that restores it.

Consider this:

• If we all claim to serve the same Lord, why does pride so easily divide us?

• Could it be that our theology outpaces our humility?

  
  

Paul’s next instruction drives it home: “Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body.” (Col 3:15)That word “rule” means to act as an umpire. Peace becomes the referee of our reactions. If something disturbs peace, we check our hearts before we point fingers.

Unity Requires Truth

Now, lest we swing too far toward sentimentality, Scripture never calls for unity at the expense of truth.Jesus prayed that we would be sanctified in the truth (John 17:17) right before praying that we would be one. The two are inseparable.

Truth without love becomes harsh; love without truth becomes hollow.Unity requires both. The Spirit binds us together not by ignoring doctrine but by aligning us around Christ Himself — the living Truth.

So here’s the balance:We guard unity by humility and patience, but we ground it by doctrine and holiness. Unity that sacrifices righteousness is not Christian unity; it’s compromise.

At the same time, orthodoxy that forgets charity is not Christian faithfulness; it’s arrogance.

Ask yourself:

• Am I more concerned with being right than being reconciled?

• How can I speak truth in love without softening conviction or hardening my heart?

The Enemy of Unity

Disunity doesn’t begin with division; it begins with distrust.Eve didn’t argue with Adam; she doubted God. The moment distrust entered the human heart, fellowship fractured. Satan has used the same strategy ever since.

The enemy cannot undo redemption, but he can obscure its fruit by sowing suspicion among the redeemed. That’s why gossip, bitterness, and unforgiveness are not small sins — they are anti-gospel. They deny the blood that purchased reconciliation.

When believers hold grudges, they preach a false gospel: that some debts cannot be forgiven. But unity requires cruciform memory — remembering that the cross canceled all offenses, ours and others’.

So let’s ask:

• Where has distrust replaced love in my relationships within the church?

• Whose forgiveness have I received easily but withheld from another?

  
  

Unity begins again at the foot of the cross.

The Practice of Unity

Paul’s vision in Ephesians 4:15–16 shows us how unity grows in practice:

“Speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into Him who is the Head, into Christ, from whom the whole body… when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love.”

Unity is dynamic, not static. It matures as each member does their part. The church grows into Christ by truth spoken in love and love expressed in truth.

That’s why spiritual gifts exist — not for self-expression but for mutual edification. Unity thrives where gifts serve the body instead of spotlighting the self.

The church is not a crowd of individuals but a community of grace, every member dependent on the others and all dependent on Christ.

The Witness of Unity

Jesus prayed, “that the world may believe that You have sent Me.” (John 17:21)Our unity is missional. When the world sees genuine love among believers — diverse people sharing one life in Christ — it sees the gospel embodied.

Evangelism begins with reconciliation inside the church. A divided church cannot credibly preach a reconciling Christ. But a unified church becomes a living invitation: “Come and see what grace can do.”

Reformed theology insists that doctrine leads to doxology — truth leads to worship. In the same way, true unity leads to witness. It’s not optional; it’s evangelistic. When the Church walks in the unity of the Spirit, her beauty becomes her apologetic.

The Cost of Unity

Unity always costs something — pride, preference, vindication. But Christ’s unity with the Father cost Him His life, and He invites us into the same sacrificial love.

Philippians 2:3–5 tells us how:

“Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves… Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus.”

Unity is expensive because it requires continual self-denial. But every time we lay down our right to be first, the Church takes one step closer to resembling her Savior.

Reflection

• What does the unity Jesus prayed for tell us about the heart of God?

• How can we maintain unity without sacrificing truth?

• Where have I contributed to disunity through silence, pride, or un-forgiveness?

• What does it mean to let the peace of Christ “rule” in my relationships this week?

• If our congregation embodied this unity, how might the watching world respond?

Unity is the music of heaven echoing through redeemed hearts. It is the Spirit’s masterpiece — one faith, one baptism, one Father of all.When humility tempers our strength and love governs our truth, the Church becomes the dwelling place of peace on earth.

May our fellowship mirror the Trinity’s harmony: distinct persons, one will, shared glory. And may every congregation, every home, every believer live as part of the answer to Jesus’ last request.

Justin Reed

Brushwoodpress.com