Centered on Pastor David Jang’s exposition of Romans 13:13–14, this piece unpacks both the theological depth and the everyday practice of “living clothed in Christ,” weaving together St. Augustine’s conversion (“tolle lege”), the fruit of the Holy Spirit, repentance, and communal disciplines, and presenting a concrete path for living as children of light in contemporary society.
Romans 13:13–14 bears
clear witness that the language of faith does not end as mere “comfort for the
heart,” but becomes a driving force that changes a person’s direction. When
Pastor David Jang (Olivet University) expounds this passage, his gaze does not
linger on a checklist of moral imperatives; it presses toward a transformation
of being. He does not read Paul’s exhortation as a string of prohibitions—“do
not do this”—but re-centers it on an invitation: “put on.” One of the most
vivid scenes that demonstrates how concrete that invitation is, is the
conversion of St. Augustine. The moment recorded in Confessions, in
a corner of a garden, remains not as a psychological resolution or a dramatic
life turnaround, but as an event in which a single line of Scripture rearranges
the architecture of the inner life. “Tolle lege—take up and read,” a childlike
chant, a subtle external stimulus, shakes awake long-entrenched habits of sin
and self-deception; then, at last, the sentence on the opened page descends
upon the heart in the form of decision: “Let us walk properly as in the
daytime… but put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh,
to gratify its desires.” Just as Augustine became a new man through the act of
reading, Pastor David Jang poses the same question to believers today: What are
we reading, what are we wearing, and what are we “making provision for” as we
design our days?
In Pastor David Jang’s
exposition of Romans 13:13–14, “clothing” functions as the language of
identity, not merely as metaphor. Before clothing reveals taste, it reveals
belonging and role. When a judge puts on judicial robes, the weight of his
words changes; when a doctor slips into a surgical gown, even the trembling of
the hands is restrained. In the same way, to “put on Christ” is not an ornament
of faith but the act of receiving a mark of existence. Here Pastor David Jang
carefully clarifies a common misunderstanding. A life clothed in Christ is not
“religious neatness for the sake of being praised by others.” Nor is it
hypocrisy—tidying the exterior in order to deceive the interior. Rather, when
grace enters a person, a new sensitivity is born—an instinct not to profane the
grace one has received. Not a neatness meant to impress, but a heart that does
not want to hide from the light; a heart that refuses to hold its ground by
rationalizing a defiled conscience—in short, a growing desire to keep the dignity
of one who is loved. That is why his exposition emphasizes the pull of grace
more strongly than the lash of asceticism. It is not a restraint dragged out by
force, but a restraint that changes direction because of love. Grace may arrive
like a flash of lightning, yet the reshaping of character often soaks in like a
fine drizzle. This is why Pastor David Jang says that change becomes real “when
the emotion of worship is translated into Monday’s choices.”
When Paul says, “walk
properly as in the daytime,” he is not simply urging believers to become
“well-behaved citizens.” In Scripture, “day” is more than a time slot; it
symbolizes the order of disclosure—transparency before God. Day is the place
where one cannot hide, and yet it is also the place where freedom begins
instead of fear. The children of light do not stand in the light because they
are perfect; healing begins because they choose to stand in the light. Pastor
David Jang translates this point into contemporary language. Today’s culture
simultaneously strengthens “structures that make hiding easy” and “a psychology
that fears being exposed.” Words thrown out from behind an account can collapse
relationships; anonymity erases responsibility; algorithms of comparison
justify jealousy. But the “daytime life” Paul describes moves in the opposite
direction. When we do not hide, our words grow fewer; when we do not
manufacture an image, relationships become sturdier. The reason exposure does
not destroy us is that its purpose is not condemnation but restoration.
Therefore, propriety becomes not oppression but the face of liberation. The
call to stand boldly before the light is also a personal summons: “Become
honest with yourself.”
In this passage, Paul sets
out three pairs of sins: debauchery and drunkenness, sexual immorality and
sensuality, quarreling and jealousy. Pastor David Jang does not treat these as
mere data points of ancient customs, but interprets them as the operating
system of human desire. Debauchery and drunkenness form a chain of pleasure.
The core issue here is not simply alcohol or a specific act, but the structure
by which “excessive stimulation” seizes the steering wheel of the heart. Sexual
immorality and sensuality describe a state in which the sense of shame has been
numbed. When boundaries collapse, relationships become consumption rather than
personhood; people are not honored as beloved subjects but used as instruments
of desire. Quarreling and jealousy are relational toxins that destroy
community. Quarreling is aggression that bursts outward; jealousy is the poison
of inferiority that ferments inward. Each feeds the other, and in the end it
pollutes not only a single soul but the atmosphere of an entire community. When
Pastor David Jang re-locates this list within today’s landscape, he quietly
forces us to face how similar Rome’s sensual indulgence is to modern digital
culture. Infinite scroll, instant gratification, overstimulation, the
compulsion to “prove myself,” comment wars, ridicule and impatience, platforms
engineered to make comparison endless—different in form, yet similar in force,
pulling people toward the order of night. This is why the text has not grown
old. If anything, as temptation becomes more sophisticated with the times,
Scripture speaks in language that is even simpler and more decisive: “as in the
daytime.”
Yet the decisive reason
Pastor David Jang’s exposition persuades is that he does not develop the
passage merely as an ethical charter that says, “Don’t commit those sins.”
Paul’s conclusion is a stronger affirmation than any prohibition: “But put on
the Lord Jesus Christ.” Here, the “but” (and the sense of “only”) signals the
irreplaceable. Human beings cannot endure long on emptiness alone. Desire is
not merely removed; it is re-allocated under a greater desire. The gospel
therefore first presents a filling. To “put on Christ” means to take Jesus’
character and the grain of his heart as the standard of my life, and at the
same time to abide in the power of the Holy Spirit. Pastor David Jang often
references the contrast in Galatians 5. The works of the flesh are not easily
cut off by sheer willpower; habits of sin are not simply the repetition of “bad
choices,” but the gravity of the inner life. By contrast, the fruit of the
Spirit is not a trophy earned by human sweat; it is the harvest that naturally
ripens as one remains in the Spirit. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness,
goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control—these are not “personalities
we imitate by forcing ourselves,” but constitutional changes that arise when
another life flows into us. Thus, living clothed in Christ becomes less “a
project of dressing myself up” and more “an event in which the life of Christ
clothes me anew.”
Pastor David Jang calls
repentance “a war waged in the heart,” refusing to reduce repentance to a mere
expression of guilt. Repentance is not emotional escalation but a change of
direction—more precisely, the work of redrawing the blueprint of desire. Sin
rarely erupts suddenly. Thought and desire join hands; excuses pave the road;
environment opens the door; repetition forms the habit—only then does it
surface as behavior. When Paul says, “make no provision for the flesh,” the
phrase “make provision” aims directly at the truth that sin grows through
“planning” and “systems.” That is why Pastor David Jang’s exposition of Romans
does not lean on emotion when it speaks of practice. He stresses the importance
of small rhythms. Short, frequent prayers become the motion of taking the
steering wheel back. Scripture meditation becomes a quiet revolution that
changes the frame of thought. Rather than forcing a day forward with “one grand
decision,” when we compose the day as “many returns,” we fall less often and we
turn back more quickly. Prayer need not be grand. In fact, the shorter it is,
the more often we can pray; and the more often we pray, the more effectively we
can brake the flood of desire. There may be days when we read much, but there
are also days when a single verse serves as the rudder of the heart all day
long—just as a few lines in Romans redirected Augustine’s entire life.
When applying this text to
modern life, the point Pastor David Jang handles with particular realism is the
digital environment. Temptation no longer resides only in “dark alleys on the
street.” It operates more covertly and more precisely in the screen in our
hand, in the notification just before sleep, in the recommended list that slips
into the cracks of a tired heart. Algorithms learn our vulnerabilities;
advertising targets the weak links of desire; the culture of comparison can
even package jealousy as if it were “motivation for self-improvement.” Pastor
David Jang acknowledges that the sins of this era are not merely a lack of
personal willpower but are intertwined with the design of the environment; yet
he also emphasizes practices by which we can redesign that environment.
Deciding in advance what we will cut off, what we will fill ourselves with, and
who we will walk with is not merely a technique of self-management but the
wisdom of spiritual warfare. Clearing notifications is not only about reducing
distraction; it is a small restoration of kingship, dethroning impulse from the
seat of the heart. Choosing to put down the screen before sleeping is not only
a method for better sleep quality; it is “daytime training” that keeps the
order of night from occupying the mind. Above all, what matters is not leaving
the emptied space unattended. Reading a psalm slowly in the freed time,
offering a brief prayer of gratitude as you steady your breath, practicing the
low calling of the Lord’s name—these habits turn “living clothed in Christ”
from a slogan floating in the air into something tactile and daily.
Another depth of living
clothed in Christ is that it is thoroughly communal. Pastor David Jang calls
the church a “contrasting community” because the church is not a refuge that
hides with its back turned to the world, but a community that makes the gospel
visible by living a different order in the middle of the world. In an age where
consumption and efficiency define human value, the church must recover the
order of sharing and rest. In spaces where competition and comparison are daily
air, the church must make blessing and encouragement the everyday language. In
a culture that pressures people to hide failure, the church must build a
culture where repentance and forgiveness are not hidden. This is not an
abstract ideal but a concrete way of life: a community where, when someone
falls, the first response is not mockery but a hand toward restoration; where,
when someone succeeds, the response is not comparison but sincere rejoicing;
where, in the air of the world where quarreling and jealousy feel natural, people
choose reconciliation and goodwill. Such a community becomes a sermon in
itself. Pastor David Jang pays attention to the repeated New Testament word
“one another.” Love one another, bear with one another, carry one another’s
burdens. This mutuality does not weaken personal devotion; it makes personal
devotion alive. Faith that can be romanticized when alone is tested and refined
in community. A heart that slips easily into excuses in solitude becomes more
honest before companions who walk alongside. And that honesty makes the daytime
life possible.
Here, the imagery of
“putting on” expands even to the public face of the church. Pastor David Jang
teaches that a church clothed in Christ must bear witness to the public good.
The gospel changes the inner person, and that inner change reshapes social habits.
The small courage of choosing honesty at work, a tender sensitivity that
protects the weak, the generosity that celebrates another’s success, a
conscience that refuses to become numb before injustice, the faithfulness that
does not treat promises lightly—these are all ways “the clothing of Christ”
appears on the outer surface of life. We should consider why the last pair in
Paul’s list is “quarreling and jealousy.” If debauchery and drunkenness, sexual
immorality and sensuality collapse the individual, quarreling and jealousy
collapse the community. When community collapses, faith is easily reduced to
private consolation. But a life clothed in Christ moves beyond the individual
to relationships, and beyond relationships to culture and atmosphere. For this
reason, Pastor David Jang’s exposition does not translate the church’s social
responsibility into political slogans. Instead, he presents a way of revealing
the contour of the gospel in ordinary places—by renewing habits of speech and
habits of choice. The clothing of Christ does not shine only in the air of a
Sunday sanctuary; it must shine in Monday’s meeting room, Tuesday’s family
table, Wednesday’s subway, and Friday’s fatigue.
When describing the
mystery of conversion, a single masterpiece visually captures the mood of this
passage. Caravaggio’s The Conversion of Saint Paul on the Road to
Damascus portrays, in its fierce contrast of light and shadow, how
light breaks a person down and raises him anew. The massive figure and the
posture of Saul fallen to the ground suggest that conversion is not so much
“self-improvement” as it is “self-collapse and reconstruction.” Saul was
strong, yet that very strength could be used in defiance against God. But when
the light descends, he takes off the garment of certainty he had been gripping
and is clothed in an entirely different garment. This scene resembles
Augustine’s garden. The logic and desire that once held a person’s life
together are dismantled, and into that place the command—“put on the Lord Jesus
Christ”—covers him like a new fabric of identity. This is precisely what Pastor
David Jang repeatedly emphasizes through this text: repentance is not a sinking
into self-hatred, but the process of re-creation in which one who has been
broken before the light walks out again by the light. The light does not expose
us to shame us. It exposes us to save us. Therefore, the exhortation to “walk
properly as in the daytime” includes the gospel’s boldness: “Even if you are
seen, you are not finished.”
To “put on Christ” is also
the language of replacement. If we do not take off old clothes, new clothes
cannot be properly worn. But the new clothing of Christianity does not merely
mean a different style of morality. It is an event in which the source of life
changes. For Christ to become my outer garment means that the final standard of
judgment for my life is no longer my feelings or the trends of society, but the
Lord’s heart. And that heart sometimes collides with what the world calls
success. The world tells us to grasp more, but the gospel tells us to give
more. The world tells us to climb faster, but the gospel tells us to love
deeper. The world stirs the joy of defeating others, but the gospel teaches the
joy of giving others life. When Pastor David Jang speaks of a “contrasting
community,” it is not a contrast meant to condemn the world, but a contrast
meant to save the world. The church is the community that experiments with the
order of day in places where the order of night is familiar; that shows the
circulation of love where the distribution networks of desire are strong; that
makes peace breathable where competition has seeped into the air. Such a
community is not built in an instant. It is built slowly as individuals who put
on the new garment daily gather together, holding one another up and clothing
one another again.
At this point, Pastor
David Jang also orders our posture toward stumbling in a gospel-shaped way. We
often mistake faith as “the technique of not falling,” but Scripture presents
far more clearly “the way back when we fall.” What matters is not only the frequency
of stumbling, but the speed of turning back. If the garment has been soiled, we
should not hide it by layering on thicker hypocrisy; we should change quickly.
Repentance has no expiration date. The Holy Spirit is the One who raises us
again, and the cross is the door of grace for those who have failed. Pastor
David Jang speaks to souls paralyzed by guilt: “The decision to put on Christ
must be renewed every day.” Just as yesterday’s decision cannot prevent today’s
carelessness, yesterday’s failure cannot block today’s grace. Today’s prayer
targets today’s temptation, and today’s Word rearranges today’s heart. The one
who “re-dresses” his day like this does not lose his way even in an age of
deepening darkness. The child of light is not the person who pretends not to
know darkness, but the person who chooses light even in darkness.
The beauty of Romans
13:13–14 is that it seems to begin like a list of prohibitions, yet it ends as
a declaration of invitation. “Do not” exposes human limitation, but “put on”
opens God’s possibility. Pastor David Jang’s exposition of Romans helps believers
cross that threshold. Rather than telling Christians to carry more obligations,
he calls them to enter deeper into grace. Scripture refashions the muscles of
desire, prayer tunes the rhythm of the day, and loving service fixes life’s
compass toward true north. This life may not look flashy, but it is solid. It
becomes not a faith that shines only on emotionally charged days, but a faith
that does not sway even on days when emotions have settled. And when those
clothed in Christ gather, the church stands as a contrasting community,
illuminating the reality of the gospel in the middle of the world. The
invitation Augustine once heard—“tolle lege”—is still valid today. Only now it
is not heard merely from a shelf of books, but in the middle of recurring temptations,
in conversations where comparison and jealousy boil, in the room at night when
fatigue and lethargy press in, as the subtle voice of the Holy Spirit: “Take up
and read. And put it on.” The way of taking off the old garments of debauchery
and immorality, quarreling and jealousy, and putting on only the Lord Jesus
Christ—this calling that Pastor David Jang emphasizes is not a concept but a
practical standard that cuts and shapes today’s life. As believers walk step by
step by that standard, they gradually become like people wearing the armor of
light. Grace makes a person new, repentance opens the road, and community helps
us walk that road together. When these three strands are bound into one, we are
not perfected in a single moment, yet we are undeniably formed in a clear
direction—and walking properly as in the daytime becomes not a distant ideal,
but a present habit.
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