Before he ever wrote, “Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God,” Paul was known by another name: Saul. And back then? He wasn’t writing letters to build up the Church. He was traveling city to city trying to tear it down.
When I read Ephesians 1:1, I can’t help but pause. This short greeting is one we might be tempted to skim over. But there’s a whole story behind that single verse. It’s not just any story. It’s a resurrection story, a radical reversal, and a story only the gospel could write.
Paul wrote the letter to the Ephesians while under house arrest in Rome. He was no longer traveling freely and no longer visiting the churches he loved face-to-face. He was confined, guarded by Roman soldiers, living in rented quarters. But here’s the beautiful irony: the man who once put Christians in prison is now in chains himself for proclaiming the very Jesus he once tried to silence.
He once hunted believers. Now he calls them brothers and sisters.
He once tried to kill the message. Now he lives to spread it.
He once thought righteousness came from rule-keeping. Now he knows it comes by grace.
The gospel didn’t just clean up Paul’s life; it completely turned it around.
He went from breathing threats and murder to breathing grace and peace.
From dragging people into prisons to being dragged, blind, and broken in Damascus.
From trying to destroy the Church to devoting his life to building it.
From trusting his resume to falling completely on mercy.
From being self-righteous to becoming grace-dependent.
From being spiritually blind but confident to being physically blind but surrendered.
From rejecting Jesus as a fraud to proclaiming Him as Savior and King.
From viewing Christians as enemies to embracing them as family.
From defining himself by religious performance to finding his identity “in Christ.”
From darkness to light—both figuratively and literally.
So when Paul introduces himself as an apostle “by the will of God,” it means something. It’s not a title he earned. It’s a calling he received when he least expected it, on a dusty road, in a blinding light, with a heart full of hate, and a reputation soaked in violence.
That’s where Jesus met him.
And that’s why Paul never got over grace. Can you imagine how those words felt as he wrote them? “Grace and peace to you…” Grace—the very thing that shattered his pride and pieced him back together. Peace—the gift that came after the storm.
This greeting wasn’t a formality. It was his whole story in three words. If not for the grace and peace of Jesus, Paul would still be Saul.
That’s also what makes him the perfect person to speak to the Ephesians, and to us, about identity. When Paul tells them they are “faithful in Christ Jesus,” it’s not wishful thinking.
He’s not calling them to perform or impress. He’s reminding them of who they already are. Saints. Beloved. Chosen. Redeemed. In Christ.
And he knows how hard it is to believe that because he had to learn it, too.
Paul spent years trying to earn righteousness through effort. But on the Damascus road, he was stopped in his tracks by the One who had already done the work. He was knocked off his path, blinded by light, and brought low. And then, just as dramatically, he was lifted up. He was healed. He was called. He was given new eyes to see and a new heart to follow Jesus.
That’s the power of the gospel.
It doesn’t ask us to clean ourselves up. It finds us where we are, whether blind, angry, stubborn, or afraid, and leads us into the light.
Maybe today you need to remember this truth. Your past does not define you. Your worst days are not too much for God’s grace. Your identity is not in your performance, failures, or reputation but in Christ.
And maybe like Paul, you’re in a waiting season, holding pattern, or a kind of house arrest of your own where your dreams feel stalled and your prayers feel unanswered. Can I remind you? Paul wrote some of his most powerful letters in that place.
The gospel doesn’t stop working just because we’re stuck. Grace can find us anywhere and transform everything.
So let’s take Paul’s words to heart.
Let’s not rush past the greeting. Let’s remember that grace and peace are not just words on a page. They’re gifts bought by blood. They’re promises from a Savior who still meets us on dusty roads and dark days.
May we walk this week in that grace. May we live like people redeemed. And may we never get over the power of the gospel.
