It started with a toast.
Just one. A golden flute lifted beneath flickering lights—clinking glasses and laughter soft as the music in the background. Mark hadn’t meant for it to go beyond that. Just being polite at his company’s Christmas party. But one pour turned into two. Then three. Eventually, the warmth that swirled in his chest dulled what the week had bruised. If grace came in glasses, he thought, then surely this must be its modern form.
But the morning after? That was different. Awakening with a pounding head and a shattered sense of peace, Mark sat on the edge of his bed, cradling his face in his hands. His heart was heavy—not just from the hangover, but from the aching feeling that he’d wandered a step too far from who he wanted to be.
Maybe you’ve felt that too.
And maybe that’s why the words of Ephesians 5:18 feel less like a commandment and more like a lifeline: “Do not get drunk on wine, which leads to debauchery. Instead, be filled with the Spirit.”
There’s something gentle but firm in that instruction. It isn’t a cold rebuke; it’s redirection. An invitation away from numbness and toward something better.
Let’s get something clear: Scripture doesn’t say all alcohol is sinful. Jesus turned water into wine, after all (John 2:1-11). In 1 Timothy 5:23, Paul tells Timothy, “No longer drink only water, but use a little wine for the sake of your stomach and your frequent ailments.” This isn’t a list of rules; it’s an invitation to wisdom. The Bible doesn't prohibit alcohol—it cautions against its misuse.
Proverbs 20:1 puts it starkly: “Wine is a mocker, strong drink a brawler, and whoever is led astray by it is not wise.”
When wine leads, it mocks. When drink controls, it fights. But when you remain under the Spirit’s leading, peace follows.
The point was never the glass. It’s what holds your heart. Is it a sip for celebration—or a crutch for escape? Does it accompany gratitude—or try to silence grief?
I once met an older man named Neil who told me, with eyes like river stones, “I stopped drinking the day I realized I never prayed before pouring.” That line stays with me. Not because alcohol is evil, but because anything that doesn’t invite God in can quietly push Him out.
Throughout Scripture, we see a God who cares deeply about what leads us. He doesn’t share the driver’s seat. Being “filled with the Spirit” means there's not much room left for thirsty idols—be it comfort, control, or even cabernet.
For some, a glass of wine with dinner is innocent. For others, especially the wounded or the recovering, it's a warzone. Wisdom looks different for each of us—but the Spirit always shines a clear, steady light. If a thing begins to own you, it’s time to place it on the altar.
Because Jesus didn’t just turn water into wine—He invites us to trade striving for surrender, to find freedom not in the bottle, but in the breath of His presence.
And let’s not forget: the first miracle Jesus performed was at a wedding celebration. Wine was part of the joy. But the greater miracle wasn’t the drink—it was the transformation. Empty vessels filled with something new. Ordinary water stirred into holy abundance.
Isn’t that what He still does?
When the house goes quiet… when the weight of the world pushes you toward the kitchen cabinet instead of your knees… when Friday night feels lonelier than Monday morning… He’s right there. Offering better. Offering Himself.
So, can Christians drink alcohol? Yes. But the better question is: who—or what—is filling you?
Because drunkenness dulls more than your senses—it dims your soul.
But the Spirit? He revives. He restores. He calls you to rise again.
And that’s the invitation every time you stand at a crossroads: pour another glass... or pour out your heart.
One will leave you empty.
The other never will.
So tonight, maybe the best toast is the quiet kind. You and the Savior. No clinking glasses, just a whispered prayer:
"Fill me. Lead me. Be enough for me."
And He will.
He always will.
It started with a toast.
Just one. A golden flute lifted beneath flickering lights—clinking glasses and laughter soft as the music in the background. Mark hadn’t meant for it to go beyond that. Just being polite at his company’s Christmas party. But one pour turned into two. Then three. Eventually, the warmth that swirled in his chest dulled what the week had bruised. If grace came in glasses, he thought, then surely this must be its modern form.
But the morning after? That was different. Awakening with a pounding head and a shattered sense of peace, Mark sat on the edge of his bed, cradling his face in his hands. His heart was heavy—not just from the hangover, but from the aching feeling that he’d wandered a step too far from who he wanted to be.
Maybe you’ve felt that too.
And maybe that’s why the words of Ephesians 5:18 feel less like a commandment and more like a lifeline: “Do not get drunk on wine, which leads to debauchery. Instead, be filled with the Spirit.”
There’s something gentle but firm in that instruction. It isn’t a cold rebuke; it’s redirection. An invitation away from numbness and toward something better.
Let’s get something clear: Scripture doesn’t say all alcohol is sinful. Jesus turned water into wine, after all (John 2:1-11). In 1 Timothy 5:23, Paul tells Timothy, “No longer drink only water, but use a little wine for the sake of your stomach and your frequent ailments.” This isn’t a list of rules; it’s an invitation to wisdom. The Bible doesn't prohibit alcohol—it cautions against its misuse.
Proverbs 20:1 puts it starkly: “Wine is a mocker, strong drink a brawler, and whoever is led astray by it is not wise.”
When wine leads, it mocks. When drink controls, it fights. But when you remain under the Spirit’s leading, peace follows.
The point was never the glass. It’s what holds your heart. Is it a sip for celebration—or a crutch for escape? Does it accompany gratitude—or try to silence grief?
I once met an older man named Neil who told me, with eyes like river stones, “I stopped drinking the day I realized I never prayed before pouring.” That line stays with me. Not because alcohol is evil, but because anything that doesn’t invite God in can quietly push Him out.
Throughout Scripture, we see a God who cares deeply about what leads us. He doesn’t share the driver’s seat. Being “filled with the Spirit” means there's not much room left for thirsty idols—be it comfort, control, or even cabernet.
For some, a glass of wine with dinner is innocent. For others, especially the wounded or the recovering, it's a warzone. Wisdom looks different for each of us—but the Spirit always shines a clear, steady light. If a thing begins to own you, it’s time to place it on the altar.
Because Jesus didn’t just turn water into wine—He invites us to trade striving for surrender, to find freedom not in the bottle, but in the breath of His presence.
And let’s not forget: the first miracle Jesus performed was at a wedding celebration. Wine was part of the joy. But the greater miracle wasn’t the drink—it was the transformation. Empty vessels filled with something new. Ordinary water stirred into holy abundance.
Isn’t that what He still does?
When the house goes quiet… when the weight of the world pushes you toward the kitchen cabinet instead of your knees… when Friday night feels lonelier than Monday morning… He’s right there. Offering better. Offering Himself.
So, can Christians drink alcohol? Yes. But the better question is: who—or what—is filling you?
Because drunkenness dulls more than your senses—it dims your soul.
But the Spirit? He revives. He restores. He calls you to rise again.
And that’s the invitation every time you stand at a crossroads: pour another glass... or pour out your heart.
One will leave you empty.
The other never will.
So tonight, maybe the best toast is the quiet kind. You and the Savior. No clinking glasses, just a whispered prayer:
"Fill me. Lead me. Be enough for me."
And He will.
He always will.
