Face to Face: Galatians 2:11-21

When Cephas came to Antioch, I opposed him to his face, because he stood condemned.

The confrontation happened in public. In Antioch. The city where believers were first called Christians. The city where Jew and Gentile had learned to eat together, worship together, live as one body.

Peter came to visit. And at first, everything was fine.

For before certain men came from James, he used to eat with the Gentiles.

Peter ate with Gentiles. Shared their table. Broke bread in their homes. The vision at Joppa had taught him: God shows no favoritism. What God has made clean, do not call impure. Peter had learned the lesson. He ate with Gentiles.

But when they arrived, he began to draw back and separate himself from the Gentiles because he was afraid of those who belonged to the circumcision group.

They arrived. Men from James—from Jerusalem, from the mother church, from the headquarters. And Peter changed.

He drew back. The Greek word means to shrink, to contract, to retreat. Slowly at first, perhaps. A declined invitation here. An excuse there. Until the separation was complete.

He was afraid. Peter—the rock, the one who had walked on water, who had confessed Christ, who had preached at Pentecost—was afraid. Afraid of the circumcision group. Afraid of what Jerusalem would think. Afraid of criticism.

The other Jews joined him in his hypocrisy, so that by their hypocrisy even Barnabas was led astray.

It spread like disease. Peter withdrew; other Jewish Christians followed. Hypocrisy—the word means play-acting, wearing a mask. They didn't believe Gentiles were unclean. They knew the gospel better than that. But they acted as if they did.

Even Barnabas. The encourager. The one who had vouched for Paul when no one else trusted him. The one who had partnered with Paul on the first missionary journey. Even Barnabas was swept along.

When I saw that they were not acting in line with the truth of the gospel, I said to Cephas in front of them all...

Paul saw it clearly. This wasn't a minor social faux pas. This was deviation from the truth of the gospel. If Jewish and Gentile Christians couldn't eat together, the gospel was a lie. If circumcision still divided the body, Christ died for nothing.

So Paul spoke. In front of them all. Publicly. To Peter's face.

"You are a Jew, yet you live like a Gentile and not like a Jew. How is it, then, that you force Gentiles to live like Jews?"

The rebuke was sharp. Peter himself lived like a Gentile—he had abandoned kosher restrictions. He knew the freedom of the gospel. But now his withdrawal was forcing Gentiles to choose: either live like Jews or be treated as outsiders.

"We who are Jews by birth and not sinful Gentiles know that a person is not justified by the works of the law, but by faith in Jesus Christ."

Paul shifted from rebuke to gospel proclamation. We know this, Peter. We—Jews, the privileged people, the ones with the law—we know that law-keeping doesn't justify. Only faith in Christ justifies.

"So we, too, have put our faith in Christ Jesus that we may be justified by faith in Christ and not by the works of the law, because by the works of the law no one will be justified."

We put our faith in Christ. Not in circumcision. Not in kosher laws. Not in Jewish identity. Faith in Christ alone. Because—and Paul hammered this—by works of the law no one will be justified. No one. Not even Peter.

"But if, in seeking to be justified in Christ, we Jews find ourselves also among the sinners, doesn't that make Christ a promoter of sin? Absolutely not!"

The opponents' argument: If Jews abandon the law and live like Gentiles, they become sinners. Therefore Christ promotes sin.

Paul's answer: Absolutely not. Me genoito. The strongest denial possible.

"If I rebuild what I destroyed, then I really would be a lawbreaker."

If Peter goes back to law-keeping as necessary for acceptance—rebuilding what he tore down—then he admits he was wrong to tear it down. He becomes a transgressor either way. The only consistent position is to stay with grace.

"For through the law I died to the law so that I might live for God."

The law killed Paul. It condemned him. It showed him his sin. And in that death, he died to the law's claim on him. Dead men don't owe the law anything. And this death was so that he might live—for God.

"I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me."

The most famous verse in Galatians. Crucified with Christ. Paul's old self—the Pharisee, the persecutor, the law-keeper—nailed to the cross with Jesus. Dead.

I no longer live. The old Paul is gone. The self that sought righteousness through law, that found identity in achievement, that trusted in credentials—crucified.

But Christ lives in me. New life. Christ's life. The resurrection power that raised Jesus now animating Paul. No longer Paul living for Christ but Christ living in Paul.

"The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me."

Faith in the Son of God. Daily dependence. Moment-by-moment trust. Not law-keeping but faith-living.

Who loved me. Personal. Individual. The Son of God loved Paul—the persecutor, the murderer, the enemy. Loved him.

And gave himself for me. Personal again. Not just for the world in general but for Paul specifically. Christ's death was for Paul. For you. For each one who believes.

"I do not set aside the grace of God, for if righteousness could be gained through the law, Christ died for nothing!"

The final blow. If Peter's withdrawal was right—if the law still mattered for acceptance—then grace is set aside. Then Christ died for nothing. Pointlessly. Unnecessarily.

But grace is not set aside. And Christ's death was not pointless. Therefore the law does not justify. Therefore Jew and Gentile eat together. Therefore Peter was wrong.

The confrontation ended. Church history doesn't record Peter's response that day in Antioch. But the gospel was preserved. The truth was spoken. And centuries later, we still eat together—Jew and Gentile, slave and free, male and female—at the table of the Lord.

Because Christ died for something.