Ephesians 5:1-2

The Aroma of a Different Kingdom Text: Ephesians 5:1-2

Introduction: The Scent of Rebellion

We live in an age that has lost its sense of smell. I am not speaking of a physical ailment, but a spiritual one. Our culture is so saturated with the stench of rebellion, with the foul odor of self-worship, that it no longer recognizes the sweet fragrance of holiness. It has trained its nose to call evil good and good evil. The world celebrates what God condemns, and it despises the aroma of a life given over to God. And because we live and move and have our being in this world, we are constantly in danger of having our own spiritual senses dulled. We begin to tolerate the smells we should hate and become indifferent to the fragrance we should love.

The apostle Paul, in the preceding chapter, has just finished a long list of ethical commands. He has told the Ephesian Christians to put off the old man, with his lies, his bitterness, his theft, and his corrupting speech. He has commanded them to put on the new man, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness. And now, he begins this chapter with the word "Therefore." This is a crucial hinge. Everything he is about to say is grounded in everything he has just said. Because you have been raised with Christ, because you are new creatures, therefore, live this way. And the way he summarizes this new life is breathtakingly simple and profound. Be imitators of God.

This is not a suggestion for advanced discipleship. This is the baseline of the Christian life. The world imitates. Everyone imitates someone or something. Our entire culture is a massive engine of imitation, urging you to copy the desires of celebrities, the outrage of talking heads, the appetites of the masses. The question is not whether you will be an imitator, but who you will imitate. Paul lays down the fundamental choice. You will either imitate the spirit of the age, which is the spirit of disobedience, or you will imitate your heavenly Father. You will either smell like the world, or you will smell like Christ.

In these two verses, Paul gives us the central command of Christian ethics, the family relationship that makes it possible, the pattern we are to follow, and the ultimate theological reality that it represents. This is the very heart of what it means to be a Christian. It is to be a child who loves his Father so much that he begins to act like Him, to walk like Him, and to love like Him.


The Text

Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, and walk in love, just as Christ also loved us and gave Himself up for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God as a fragrant aroma.
(Ephesians 5:1-2 LSB)

The Family Resemblance (v. 1)

We begin with the central command and its foundation.

"Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children..." (Ephesians 5:1)

The command is direct: "be imitators of God." The Greek word is mimetes, from which we get our word "mimic." This is not a call to imitate God in His incommunicable attributes. We are not called to be omniscient or omnipotent. That is the lie of the serpent in the garden, "you will be like God" in the sense of usurping His throne. No, we are to imitate God in His communicable attributes, those character qualities that He has revealed to us and commands us to reflect: His love, His mercy, His forgiveness, His holiness.

But how is such a staggering command even possible? How can a finite, fallen creature imitate the infinitely holy Creator? Paul immediately gives us the ground of the command: "as beloved children." This is not a command given to the world at large. It is a family command, given to those who have been adopted. You cannot imitate the Father if He is not your Father. The world is in rebellion precisely because it hates the Father. But we, through faith in Christ, have been brought into His family. God is not just our Creator and Judge; He is our Abba, our Father.

And we are not just children; we are beloved children. This is crucial. Our imitation is not a grim duty we perform in order to earn His love. It is the joyful, natural response of a child who is secure in his Father's love. A young boy who adores his father will naturally walk like him, talk like him, and want to do what he does. He doesn't do this to earn the status of "son." He does it because he is a son, and a beloved one at that. Our obedience flows from our identity. Because we are beloved, we imitate the One who loves us. This is the death of all legalism. The legalist tries to obey in order to be accepted. The Christian obeys because he has been accepted.

This relationship changes everything. The Christian life is not a set of abstract rules. It is a personal, covenantal relationship with a Father. And because it is, our ethics are mimetic. We look at what our Father is like, as revealed in His Word and supremely in His Son, and we seek to grow up into that family resemblance.


The Manner of the Walk (v. 2a)

Paul then defines what this imitation looks like in practice.

"...and walk in love, just as Christ also loved us and gave Himself up for us..." (Ephesians 5:2a)

If we are to imitate God, what is the primary characteristic we are to imitate? Paul says we are to "walk in love." The word "walk" here refers to your entire manner of life, your daily conduct. It's not a feeling, but a settled, continuous action. And this love is not the sentimental, squishy thing our culture calls love. The world's love is a selfish, grasping thing. It "loves" what is lovely to it, what serves its interests. But the love we are to walk in is defined for us with absolute precision: "just as Christ also loved us."

How did Christ love us? Paul tells us: He "gave Himself up for us." This is the definition of biblical love. It is not an inward emotion but an outward, self-giving, sacrificial action. It is love that moves toward the unlovely. It is love that serves when it is not convenient. It is love that gives when it receives nothing in return. Christ did not die for us because we were good, or attractive, or worthy. He died for us while we were still sinners, enemies, and rebels (Romans 5:8). His love was not a response to our value; it created our value.

This is the pattern for our walk. To walk in love is to give yourself up for others. In marriage, it is the husband laying down his agenda for the good of his wife. In the church, it is bearing with one another's faults and forgiving one another. In the world, it is doing good to our neighbors, even our enemies. This kind of love is utterly alien to the world because it is supernatural. It is the very love of God, and we can only walk in it as we are filled with His Spirit. And notice, the pattern is Christ. We are to imitate God by imitating Christ. Jesus is the perfect image of the Father, the exact imprint of His nature. If you want to know what God's love looks like with skin on, you look at Jesus.


The Aroma of the Sacrifice (v. 2b)

Finally, Paul explains the ultimate meaning of Christ's self-giving love. It was a theological transaction, a sacrifice directed toward God.

"...an offering and a sacrifice to God as a fragrant aroma." (Ephesians 5:2b)

This language is pulled straight from the Old Testament sacrificial system, particularly from the book of Leviticus. When an Israelite brought a burnt offering, and it was offered according to God's command, the smoke was said to ascend to God as a "pleasing" or "fragrant" aroma (Lev. 1:9). This signified God's acceptance of the sacrifice. It was a propitiatory act; it satisfied God's righteous requirements.

Paul is telling us that the cross was the ultimate sacrifice, the fulfillment of all the Old Testament shadows. Christ's death was not simply a moral example or a tragic martyrdom. It was a substitutionary atonement directed God-ward. He gave Himself up for us, but He was an offering to God. He bore our sins in His body on the tree, taking upon Himself the curse of the law that we deserved. He absorbed the full, righteous wrath of God against our sin.

And because Christ was the perfect, sinless Lamb of God, His sacrifice was not a stench in God's nostrils, as our sinful offerings would be. It was a fragrant aroma. It perfectly satisfied the demands of divine justice. God's holiness was vindicated, and His love was displayed. On the cross, mercy and justice kissed. Because of this fragrant offering, God can be both "just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus" (Romans 3:26).


Conclusion: Becoming the Aroma

This, then, is the logic of the Christian life. We are first the recipients of this great love. We are the ones for whom Christ gave Himself up. His sacrifice was for us. We were the problem, and His death was the solution. God the Father, satisfied by the fragrant aroma of the Son's sacrifice, adopts us as beloved children.

And now, as beloved children, secure in His love, we are called to become the aroma. We are to walk in this same kind of self-giving love. And when we do, our lives also become a kind of spiritual sacrifice. Paul says in another place that we are the "aroma of Christ to God" (2 Cor. 2:15). When a husband loves his wife as Christ loved the church, it is a fragrant aroma to God. When a Christian forgives a deep hurt, it is a fragrant aroma to God. When we sacrifice our time, our money, and our comfort for the good of others, we are walking in love, and that walk has a sweet smell in heaven.

The world may not recognize the scent. In fact, to those who are perishing, the smell of a sacrificial life is the stench of death. It smells like weakness, foolishness, and loss. But to God, and to those who are being saved, it is the fragrance of life itself. It is the smell of the kingdom. It is the aroma of Christ.

So, the charge to us is simple. Stop acclimating to the stench of the world. Stop plugging your nose to holiness. Ask God to restore your spiritual sense of smell. Look to Christ, the great sacrifice. Breathe in the fragrant aroma of His love for you. And then, as a beloved child imitating your Father, walk. Walk in love. And as you walk, you will carry that fragrance with you, into your homes, into your church, and into a world that has forgotten what life is supposed to smell like.