UNION WITH CHRIST - RANKIN WILBOURNE

 

Rankin Wilbourne’s Union with Christ: The Way to Know and Enjoy God is structured into four parts across fifteen chapters. Part 1 lays the foundation by highlighting the personal and spiritual “gap” many believers experience—and introduces union with Christ as the solution. Part 2 explores why this vital doctrine has faded from prominence in modern Christianity. Part III addresses existential crises like identity confusion, aimlessness, purposelessness, and despair by showing how union with Christ provides transformative solutions. And Part IV shifts to practical living, this part equips believers to experience union daily through abiding— disciplines like prayer and Scripture, suffering as a deepening path, and awareness of Christ's cosmic lordship.

In Chapter 2, Rankin beautifully summarizes what it means to be in Christ. He writes, “To be found in Christ means you don’t have to prove yourself anymore. Your frantic attempts to find or craft an acceptable identity, or your tireless work to manage your own reputation—these are over and done.” This deeply touches me. Even though I know theology, I often live like my identity depends on what I achieve, how others see me, or how morally perfect I appear—and that leaves me spiritually and emotionally drained. This chapter reminds me that union with Christ is not about trying harder; it’s about trusting deeper. I feel the need to pray more intentionally through scriptural passages like Ephesians 1:3–14, which speaks of all spiritual blessings in Christ. Meditating on such truths helps me remember the deeper meaning of being in Christ. It’s not just theological—it’s deeply personal. Through prayer and Scripture, I believe God will help me know and feel the presence of Jesus within me.

I come from a very academic seminary background, where the phrase “Union with Christ” was something, I heard almost daily. I studied Christology from an academic point of view and treated it as such. That academic foundation was good—I received robust training and was well equipped. Praise God for that. However, while I was focused on head knowledge, I did not truly grasp how rich and deep this little phrase—“Union with Christ”—really is. Rankin Wilbourne brings out its depth beautifully when he says, “Union with Christ is not an idea to be understood, but a new reality to be lived, through faith.” That statement struck me. Yes, I have lived with the awareness of Christ’s presence in my life, but I had not deeply considered the richness of what it means to be united with Him. Union with Christ is a reality to grow into—it is not meant to remain stagnant. Rankin’s words affirm this truth (p.50): “Christ has wed himself to you. This is not just a declaration to agree with. It is an objective reality to live into. He has fully atoned for you, and he is now with you, assuring you that with him, you have the resources to overcome anything that threatens to overwhelm you.” This challenges me to move beyond intellectual understanding and into a deeper, lived experience of Christ’s union with me—one that shapes my identity, strengthens my faith, and anchors me in His presence.

In Chapter 4, Rankin Wilbourne offers a powerful analogy about our inseparable connection to Christ. He writes, “You can get away from your parents or spouse; you can lose your limbs and still live (as some martyrs have experienced). You can even become disconnected from your head at the end of your life (as other martyrs have tragically demonstrated). But as our life in Christ is eternal, we can never be separated from him, our head. Nothing ‘in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ’” (Rom. 8:39).

This truth resonates deeply with me, especially as I reflect on my time serving in Bible translation ministry. From 2020 to 2022, I faced intense anxiety while holding a leadership role in our organization’s Northeast India region. The government threatened to shut down our FCRA account, and the COVID-19 crisis severely damaged our financial stability. As leaders, we bore the responsibility of caring for local translators across the region. Though we believed in God, those initial days felt like our hope had collapsed. By God’s grace, we eventually turned back to Scripture and prayed fervently through the storm. The FCRA account was renewed, and the COVID situation gradually improved. Looking back, I realize that even though we knew the doctrine of union with Christ, we failed to live out its reality in those early moments of fear and uncertainty. Rankin’s words have reminded me that our relationship with Christ is closer, more central, more defining, and more important than any other. Union with Christ is not just a theological concept—it is the anchor of our identity and the source of our strength. In Him, we are never truly shaken, never truly alone, and never truly without hope.

On page 108, Rankin Wilbourne cuts right to the heart. He writes, “Perhaps, then, another reason it’s difficult, if not impossible, for us to embrace union with Christ is because it displaces us from the center of our own lives, where we naturally love to be.” That line hit me hard. I can see how tough it is to keep living out the reality of being united with Christ—because it knocks me off my favorite spot: being the boss of my own life. Union with Christ says, “Hey, your real worth and identity come from Jesus—not you.” That’s a hard shift to make. It means surrendering control, letting go of self-made identity, and embracing the center. Rankin reminds me to take a softer stance: to lean on Christ, open up, wait patiently, and trust fully. In a world that constantly shouts, “Promote yourself!” this kind of surrender feels strange, even awkward—almost like it’s attacking our independence. But that’s the paradox of grace: true freedom comes not from self-rule, but from being rooted in Christ.

Rankin Wilbourne’s words on page 152 struck me deeply: “When being conformed to Christ is your horizon, every accomplishment, every promotion, every trophy becomes a potential hurdle, something that might lead you away from that which is better—knowing Christ and being conformed to his image.” In a culture that equates success with accolades and upward mobility, this is a hard truth to swallow. His words expose the subtle idolatry beneath our achievements—how easily they become distractions from the deeper pursuit of Christ. These markers of success promise fulfillment, but often deliver only fleeting highs, leaving us hollow when the next goal looms. I have felt this tension personally. In my translation ministry, being certified by SIL as a consultant is considered the highest recognition. It demands skill—listening to translators, resolving complex issues, and demonstrating academic competence. When I received that certification, I was genuinely proud and joyful. But soon, that joy morphed into a desire for more—aspiring to become an international consultant. Rankin’s words have convicted me in an uncomfortable yet necessary way. They remind me that even good things can become spiritual detours if they eclipse the ultimate goal: knowing Christ and being shaped into His likeness.

Rankin’s words on page 165 are deeply freeing: “When we fail, or when we are afraid, we have an anchor—we are in Christ. When we are tired, or when the road looks too long, we have an engine—Christ is in us.” As I reflect, I find these words to be a balm for my own seasons of testing and weariness. They invite me into a deeper trust in Christ’s unchanging presence—both as my anchor in moments of fear and failure, and as my engine when I feel exhausted or overwhelmed. In the recent past, sin often played a significant role in fueling my anxiety. But lately, I have realized that some of my anxiety stems not from sin, but from struggling to adjust my personality in theological discussions. I speak with passion—because I am a passionate man—and I have often feared being misunderstood. When others remain unmoved or indifferent, I have felt exposed, as if my intensity reveals a weakness they can exploit. But over time, I have come to see that this tension is largely about personality. Each person has their own style and nature. I asked myself, Why should I force myself to be someone I am not? That question marked a turning point. I decided I would no longer submit to others’ expectations or let their opinions define my identity. Rankin’s reminder—that Christ is in me and I am in Him—has helped me reclaim peace. I do not need to perform or conform to be accepted. Christ is my anchor when I feel shaken, and He is my engine when I feel worn down. That truth steadies me and empowers me to walk in freedom, even when misunderstood.

Rankin’s illustration, on page 198-199, comparing faith and repentance to breathing has deepened my seriousness on this topic. He writes, “Faith and repentance must also become like breathing to you. You breathe in the promises of God (God is good; God loves me; God is with me). You breathe out the lies of trying to abide in those other vines—anything other than God.” That image has stayed with me. Breathing is constant—every moment, every second. Yet many believers fail to grasp the vital importance of both faith and repentance. In my own journey, I studied at a fundamental college where the emphasis on faith was strong, sometimes even radical. I am grateful for what I learned there and for the passion for the gospel that was imparted to me. Faith was a central theme, and rightly so. I, too, was drawn to it. It is good and necessary to talk about faith and to cultivate it intentionally. However, when it came to repentance, I noticed a striking silence. The topic was rarely discussed—not just in my college, but in many churches today. It is as if we have learned to breathe in, but forgotten how to breathe out. We inhale the promises of God, but we do not exhale the lies we have believed or the idols we have clung to. Rankin’s words remind me that just as I breathe in faith, I must also breathe out repentance. Only then does the rhythm of spiritual life become complete. When we inhale His promises and exhale our false dependencies, the union with Christ becomes visible and effective.

One of the most striking lines that made me pause and think deeply comes from page 228 of Union with Christ: “If we are united to Christ, we are united to ‘a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief’ (Isa. 53:3). We are united to a suffering servant. How could we expect not to suffer if we are united to one who suffered so much?” In a world—and even within many Christian circles—where the dominant message revolves around pleasure, enjoyment, success, and winning, this quote offers a sobering and necessary reminder: suffering is not an interruption to the Christian life; it is part of it. If we are truly united to Christ, we are united not only to His resurrection power but also to His suffering path. This truth reminds me of an old hymnal I grew up singing: “It is not an easy road.” That hymn speaks honestly about the difficulties of the Christian journey, yet it also points us to the hope we have in Christ, who walks with us every step of the way.

I want to recommend this book, Union with Christ, to my cousin brothers who are currently in college and university. In a season of life filled with ambition, pressure, and competing voices, this book offers a grounding vision of what it truly means to be “in Christ” and to have Christ in us. It helps us live out the reality of our union with Christ, not only in moments of joy and victory but also in seasons of grief and struggle.