When All You Have is Christ

There are times—more than we care to admit—when we are called into places where all we have is Christ.

Not our cleverness. Not our competence. Not our confidence. Just Christ.

I was praying through St. Patrick’s Breastplate recently, that ancient Celtic prayer of protection and presence. It’s not a gentle whisper of faith—it’s a full-throated invocation of God’s strength against the forces of chaos and evil. And it’s honest. It doesn’t pretend life is easy or ministry is safe. It simply declares that Christ is enough.

“Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me…”

Sometimes that’s all we’ve got. Sometimes it’s all we need.

But then, there’s the other voice. The darker one. The one that slithers in right after we’ve dared to hope or reach out or forgive. The one that says, “Who do you think you are?” “You’re beyond repair.” “God might love people—but not you.”

That voice lies.

Its power isn’t in its volume. It’s in its familiarity. Shame knows our native tongue.

And yet the Gospel speaks louder still.

In Christ, we are not beyond redemption. Not beyond forgiveness. Not beyond love.

If we believe that God raised Jesus from the dead, then we must also believe that He can raise us—even from the wreckage of our worst decisions, our most aching regrets, or our quiet self-hatred.

Forgiveness is not denial. It is resurrection.

So if you find yourself walking into places where you feel exposed, exhausted, or accused—go anyway.

Go with Christ in front of you. Behind you. Within you.

Because even if all you have is Christ… that is more than enough.

I may offer a little something to pray or carry today—it’s this,:

Christ above the lies. Christ within the wound. Christ in the silence where shame once spoke. Christ in the place that looks like exile but is secretly resurrection.