[Week 22] Why Paul Told the Colossians to Get Dressed (Colossians 3:14)

This week, we are memorizing Colossians 3:14.

• Check out my latest Scripture Memorization song here: Colossians 3:14
• If you're new here, see my introduction to this series here.

"Above all, put on love, which is the perfect bond of unity."
— Colossians 3:14 (CSB)

The City of Cloth

Colossae in the 1st Century was a city whose best days were behind it.

Tucked into the Lycus Valley in the Roman province of Asia, about a hundred miles east of Ephesus, it had once been the most important of three cities in the region. But by the time Paul writes, the main trade road had been rerouted west through neighboring Laodicea, and Colossae had quietly faded into the background. Laodicea and Hierapolis had surpassed it.¹

But Colossae was known for one thing: its textiles. The city was famous for producing a high-quality dark-red wool, and the Roman writer Pliny the Elder even gave the color a name, colossinus, after the city itself.² These people made fabric for a living and they did it well. Garments weren't a metaphor to them. They were what they woke up and did in their 9-5.

Despite their expertise in clothing, Colossae may still be the least significant city to ever receive a letter from Paul. And here's what makes this letter unusual: Paul never visited Colossae. He says so himself, writing to "all who have not seen me in person" (Colossians 2:1). The church was founded instead by a man named Epaphras, a native of Colossae who was likely converted during Paul's earlier ministry in Ephesus. Epaphras brought the gospel home and planted the church, along with churches in Laodicea and Hierapolis.³ This is the same church that met in Philemon's house (Philemon 1:2).

But not all was well in Colossae. Epaphras traveled to Rome where Paul was imprisoned, and he brought a report: false teachers were pulling at the church from multiple directions. Some were pushing a stricter observance of Jewish law. Others were promoting a kind of mystical philosophy, secret knowledge for the spiritually elite, along with angel veneration.⁴ So, from that prison cell, Paul writes a response.

Picture it. A small, diverse, pressured community of textile "trade" workers. Their teacher is away. The apostle they've never met is in chains. And from that prison, Paul writes to these cloth-makers and tells them to put on love. Like a garment. Like the belt that holds the whole outfit together.

Why the Belt?

Look at what Paul builds in the verses just before our passage:

"Therefore, as God's chosen ones, holy and dearly loved, put on compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience, bearing with one another and forgiving one another if anyone has a grievance against another. Just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you are also to forgive."
— Colossians 3:12-13 (CSB)

Compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, patience, forgiveness. These are the inner garments that they are to "put on". Then Paul adds one more piece, worn over everything else: "Above all, put on love, which is the perfect bond of unity."

The Greek word Paul uses for "bond" is syndesmos (σύνδεσμος), meaning "that which binds together." In the garment metaphor he's building here, it's the belt, the piece that holds everything in place.⁵ And to people who made fabric for a living, in a city literally named after the color of its wool, "put on" wasn't poetry. It was the most concrete thing Paul could have said.⁶

And the belt wasn't a beauty accessory. It carried weight in every culture that would have heard this letter. For a Roman soldier, the belt, the cingulum, was his identity. To be stripped of your belt was to be dishonorably discharged. Without it, you weren't a soldier anymore. In the Jewish priestly tradition, the belt, the avnet of Exodus 28, held all the holy garments together before the priest could serve. No belt, no service. You could have every garment on, but without the belt binding them, you weren't fit to stand before God. And in everyday first-century life, an unbelted tunic meant you weren't ready to work. "Girding your loins," tucking the tunic into the belt, was the act of getting ready for action.⁷

Paul is telling this church: love is your identity, your fitness for service, and your readiness to act. Without it, you're exposed.

So what does a community look like when this belt is actually doing its job? What's the outcome? Paul names it in the verse: unity. And that word has been following us for the past three weeks.

The Word That's Been Hiding for Three Weeks

For three weeks now, we've been memorizing verses that all contain the same Hebrew concept, and I haven't said a word about it.

Two weeks ago, Ephesians 5:31: "the two will become one flesh." That week we focused on dabaq, the fierce clinging, and we saw that love is an action, not a feeling. But we didn't stop on the word one.

Last week, Deuteronomy 6:4: "the LORD our God, the LORD is one." That week we focused on levav and what God is really asking for, and we saw that ahavah is action-love. But we didn't stop on the word one there either.

And then this week, Colossians 3:14: "the perfect bond of unity."

Did you see it? Three weeks. Three verses. This same word keeps flowing through God's word.

Dabaq showed us love is fierce clinging. Ahavah showed us love is obedient action. Now Paul shows us what that clinging, acting love produces: echad (אֶחָד). Unity. Wholeness. Many becoming one.

So what does echad actually mean? Because it's deeper and more concrete than most of us think.

To Strongly Fence the Door

The Hebrew word echad (אֶחָד) is made up of three letters: Alef (א), meaning strong or first. Chet (ח), meaning fence. Dalet (ד), meaning door.⁸

Put them together and you get two complementary word pictures. The first: "to strongly fence in the door." To lock the door. When trouble starts, you will not leave. You will fix problems instead of run from them. You stay in the relationship instead of coming and going. This decision, this fencing of the door, is what unites people, families, and communities.

The second picture is even richer. Alef-Chet (אח) is the Hebrew word ach, meaning brother. So the second reading of echad is "the brother's door." A brother or sister's⁹ deep relationship is the door to unity. When we love like a brother, and are the protector, not the one you need protection from, unity happens.

Now think about what this looks like in practice. If a fire breaks out in a room and the door is wide open, common sense says run, and you would be right to do so. But if you've fenced the door shut with a brick wall, you would be wise to deal with the fire while it's still small and put it out before it spreads. Open doors in relationships mean small fires become reasons to leave. But a fenced door means you fight the fire together and it's your first instinct. That's echad.

Now go back to the Shema from last week: "the LORD our God, the LORD is one (echad)." This isn't just a counting exercise, saying there's one God and not two. It's a statement about the nature of God's own wholeness, a unified, relational completeness.

Jesus Interprets Echad

In John 17, on the night before his crucifixion, Jesus prays for his disciples:

"May they all be one, as you, Father, are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us, so that the world may believe you sent me. I have given them the glory you have given me, so that they may be one as we are one." — John 17:21-22 (CSB)

Jesus is interpreting echad for his followers. The oneness of God isn't isolation. It's perfect relational unity. And Jesus is praying that we, as his followers, would enter that same kind of oneness. Not identical. Not uniform. Echad, many held together as one.

And that brings us right back to Colossians 3:14. Paul tells us how echad happens: love is the belt that creates this unity. Without the belt, you have a pile of nice qualities lying on a chair. Compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, patience, they're real garments. But without love binding them together, they scatter. With the belt, you have a dressed, ready, unified community. Love is the belt that turns individuals into the echad body of Christ, his Church.

Have You Fenced the Door?

So here's the question. And I'm asking myself just as much as I'm asking you.

When conflict shows up in your marriage, have you fenced the door with a brick wall? Do you stay in it and work toward a gentle, humble resolution? Or do you push the conflict down and call it peace? Artificial harmony isn't echad. It's just a quieter way of leaving the room and leaving the problems to build up for later.

When a brother or sister in your church frustrates you, is your instinct to deal with the fire while it's small with grace and forgiveness, or to quietly find the exit? Remember: ach, brother, is built right into the word echad. In God's kingdom, your brother is the fence that surrounds and protects, not the reason you leave, and the same for you to them.

Is your relationship with God the fenced-door kind, where you stay through the dry seasons, the hard questions, and when it feels like there is no hope? Or do you come and go depending on how you feel? Dabaq told us love clings. Ahavah told us love acts. Echad tells us what happens when you cling and act: you become one with Him. Not in a mystical, lose-yourself way. In a covenant, fenced-door, I-am-not-leaving kind of way.

Are you wearing the belt? When life pulls at the garments, when someone offends you, when the season is dry, when the fire breaks out, is love holding everything together? Or have the virtues scattered because there's nothing binding them in place?

Fence the door. Deal with the fire. Put on love.

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References

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