Graced for Good Works
Ephesians 2:5-10
At the center of every religion, philosophy, or worldview is the same basic question: how can I be made right? Right with God, right with others, right within myself. And nearly every system offers the same answer: do more. Try harder. Clean yourself up. Earn your way back. Whether it is religious ritual or secular self-improvement, the message is always some form of self-salvation. Perform well enough, live sincerely enough, and maybe you will find peace.
But the Christian gospel starts with a far more honest diagnosis of our problem and a far more radical solution. Ephesians 2 gives us one of the clearest, most life-altering pictures of what it actually means to be a Christian. At the heart of it all is one breathtaking reality: union with Christ.
Raised with Christ (Ephesians 2:5-7)
Paul says in verse 5, “even when we were dead in our trespasses, [God] made us alive together with Christ.” We were not spiritually weak, but spiritually dead. No amount of effort or moral reform could rescue us. Dead people need resurrection, not advice.
That is exactly what God does. He raises us to life by uniting us to Christ. In verse 6, Paul writes that God “raised us up with Him and seated us with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus.” This is not metaphor. This is the believer’s spiritual reality. The moment we trust in Christ, we are united to Him. His record becomes ours. His victory becomes our victory. His Father becomes our Father. His righteousness covers us. His resurrection secures ours.
In verse 7, Paul shows us why: “so that in the coming ages He might show the immeasurable riches of His grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus.” Our very existence becomes a display of God’s grace for all eternity.
Rescued by Grace (Ephesians 2:8-9)
Paul then pulls back the curtain even further. Verse 8 says, “For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God.” Our salvation, from start to finish, is entirely God’s doing. Even the faith we exercise is itself a gift from God.
This is what makes Christianity utterly unique. Every other system says, “Here’s what you must do for God.” Christianity says, “Here’s what God has done for you.” Religion hands you a list of tasks. The gospel gives you Christ’s finished work. In verse 9, Paul makes it clear: “not a result of works, so that no one may boast.” No one earns salvation. No one can stand before God and claim credit. The ground is level at the foot of the cross.
And that is our security. If salvation does not rest on our works, it cannot be undone by our failures. There is hope for anyone—no matter your past, your regrets, or your shame.
Recreated for Good (Ephesians 2:10)
Paul finishes by showing us what grace produces. Verse 10 says, “For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” We are not saved by good works, but we are absolutely saved for good works.
The word “workmanship” carries the sense of something handcrafted by God, like a work of art. You are not random. You are God’s new creation, remade by grace and created in Christ for a life of good works. And these good works are not random acts you stumble into. God prepared them beforehand. Your obedience is not an attempt to earn God’s favor—it is the evidence that you already belong to Him.
Grace doesn’t make us passive. It produces lives eager to serve, to love, to give, and to walk in the good works God has already prepared.
Reflection Questions:
How does the reality of being spiritually dead apart from Christ challenge the way we often think about salvation?
What does it mean for your identity to be fully rooted in union with Christ rather than your own performance?
Why is it so hard for us to receive grace without trying to contribute something?
How does knowing that God prepared good works beforehand change your view of daily obedience?
In what areas of your life are you tempted to turn the Christian life into performance rather than a response to grace?
1. Recognizing that life apart from Christ is spiritual death reframes salvation from a self-improvement project to a divine rescue. For those who discover this truth after following another belief system—or after years of relying on personal effort—it can feel unsettling, even discouraging. The gospel, however, is neither an indictment of our worth nor a demand to earn acceptance; it is an invitation to receive new life that cannot be achieved by discipline alone. Having once experienced that awakening myself, I now echo Peter’s words: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” Knowing this, I’m responsible for how I respond—but I am no longer under the illusion that I can manufacture salvation on my own.
2. As someone who grew up wrestling with identity—especially in the absence of a consistent father figure—I often felt compelled to prove my value through achievement. Union with Christ dismantles that formula. Instead of striving to earn approval, I’m invited to live from a place of security: loved, adopted, and equipped in Him. My growth now flows from relationship, not résumé. On days when I drift back toward performance-based thinking, I remind myself that Christ’s presence is constant, and His affirmation precedes my effort.
3. Grace confronts our instinct to keep score. When we glimpse the gap between God’s holiness and our brokenness, “unearned favor” feels almost inappropriate—so we reach for ways to balance the ledger. Practically speaking, I’ve found it helpful to rehearse grace in everyday scenarios: acknowledging it when I receive it, naming it when I extend it, and resisting the urge to pay it back. Those actions don’t add to grace; they simply display what’s already been given.
4. If God has already prepared meaningful work for me, obedience becomes a posture of attentiveness rather than a frantic quest for significance. My first question each day shifts from “What impressive thing can I do for God?” to “Where is God already at work, and how can I join Him?” Sometimes the answer is a public task; other times it’s a quiet act of service or personal growth. Either way, the emphasis is on alignment—learning, listening, and responding faithfully when the opportunity appears.
5. Whenever my understanding of grace feels abstract, I slip back into performance: measuring the quality of my prayers, the quantity of my service, or the depth of my Bible knowledge. To counter that tendency, I ask God for a fuller revelation of grace—one robust enough to explain and embody to others. My aim isn’t to simplify grace for a “two-year-old” audience while remaining confused myself; it’s to grasp it deeply so I can share it authentically. That pursuit requires both humility and disciplined reflection, but it keeps the focus on what Christ has done rather than on what I can display.