Commentary on Ephesians 6:10-20

Sally A. Brown

In our present cultural moment in the United States, many a preacher might hesitate before taking today’s text to the pulpit. An aggressive, militarized version of Christianity, brewing at the margins of social and political life for decades, has moved into the spotlight in the US. The militarization of religion is not confined to Christianity; militarized interpretations of Islam, Hinduism, and Judaism are also on the rise. Might a sermon focusing on Ephesians 6:10–20 only stoke the flames? Perhaps not.

Early Christianity was largely pacifist. Some early fathers of the church refused to baptize members of the military unless they renounced their profession.¹ Such realities suggest that Paul (or Ephesians’ letter’s Pauline author) was not advising a militarization of the faith as he penned today’s text. In fact, appropriating the trope of putting on armor, but emphasizing its defensive components, may be a deliberately subversive rhetorical strategy.

Paul is a prisoner, with ample opportunity to contemplate the various pieces of armor on the Roman soldiers around him. He is also familiar with the type of speech (called a peroratio) that a Roman general would deliver to stir up the troops. Here, he adopts in a subversive manner both the armor metaphor and the peroratio format to encourage courageous but non-aggressive faith. All but one of the pieces described here is for protection, not attack. The one exception—the “sword” of the Spirit—is (in the Greek) “spoken word, proclamation.” And the content of that proclamation? “The gospel of peace” (verse 15)!

Today’s reading has three main sections. The first, verses 10–12, describes the “struggle” in which Paul’s readers find themselves. In verses 13–17, Paul speaks of protective armor. The closing verses (verses 18–20) focus on prayer, a fitting capstone for the paraenetic material (chapters 4–6) and for the letter as a whole.

Although most translations don’t reflect it, Paul’s opening admonishment (verse 10) is stated in the passive voice: “Be made strong in the Lord” and with the “power” of the Lord. This clearly signals a departure from the norms of a pre-battle speech, where a general would call for guts and promise glory. Paul makes clear that his readers need a strength only God can give them.

The threats Paul’s readers face are not, for the most part, physical ones, yet are no less real (verses 11–12). Paul names them using apocalyptic terminology they will recognize. They must confront “the wiles of the devil” (verse 11), the machinations of “rulers and authorities,” the schemes of “cosmic powers,” and “spiritual forces of evil in heavenly places” (verse 12). Paul characterizes the social, political, economic, and religious “struggle” (verse 12) in which his readers find themselves as manifestations of the last, desperate stand of cosmic powers already defeated in Christ’s death and resurrection (3:8–10).

Yet, the same apocalyptic vocabulary that connects with Paul’s readers can be dangerous, deployed in our current time and place. Doing so will have the effect of demonizing anyone who disagrees with us. While the Ephesians writer’s specific terminology will not serve us well, we can most certainly address our 21st-century congregations’ experiences of struggling with powers beyond their control.

Theologians like Walter Wink and Charles L. Campbell have proposed that some of the most formidable forms of power we face today are indeed “supra”-human or “meta”-human. A few decades ago, we thought in terms of faceless, transnational conglomerates whose policies advantaged powerful nations over others, reinforced racial inequities, and threatened life—both human and nonhuman. Such forces still impact our lives, but they have been joined by other webs of power and influence that most of us have no leverage to expose, much less rein in.

Today we conduct our lives through websites and social media platforms. These algorithmically regulated universes (see comments for second reading, August 18, 2024—the 12th Sunday after Pentecost) are set up in such a way that we find ourselves inhabiting seamless silos of information that may or may not reflect measurable facts on the ground. Moreover, artificial intelligence can mimic legitimate newscasters or powerful global leaders and, in seconds, stoke widespread fear or outrage. At this point, typical web-users aren’t equipped to detect the fakery. Clearly, we, no less than Paul’s readers, grapple with forces that are difficult to track or unmask. And like our ancestors in faith, we seek faithful ways to avoid being duped and manipulated by these systems.

In verses 13–17, Paul subversively appropriates pieces of Roman armor to speak of the defenses God already provides; they need only be taken up. Truth is the belt on which everything else depends. Righteousness—not self-righteousness, but a sense of just and right relations—is a Christian’s life-saving breastplate. All-terrain shoes enable us to be on the move, proclaiming the “gospel of peace.” (Clearly, this is no ordinary battle!) The shield of faith quenches the flaming arrows of adversaries. (Roman shields were covered in water-soaked leather for this purpose.) Salvation—in Pauline perspective, already obtained in Christ’s resurrection and ascension—defends the head, center of thought and emotion; it protects from fear.

Our only weapon: the “sword” of proclaiming the gospel of peace.

Our text’s final section, focused on prayer, provides (as mentioned above) a fitting capstone for the paraenetic section of Ephesians and the book as a whole. Prayer is the breathing apparatus of the body of Christ. Paul counsels us to pray “at all times” and “in the Spirit.” The meaning of this latter phrase is much debated. At the least, it suggests prayer that seeks to be more and more aligned with the will and ways of God. It involves a humble willingness to have our understanding about God and others challenged and reshaped.

Prisoner Paul asks his readers to pray that he will proclaim boldly. We get it: it’s hard work to preach in daunting times. We fear, on one hand, sowing division or misunderstanding. On the other, we fear failing our people through overcautious silence. One might close a sermon on these verses by sharing these very challenges with our listeners—and by asking them to pray for us, as we do for them.