There is a sentence that ends arguments. Not conversations – arguments. It does not ask permission. It does not invite dialogue. It does not wait for you to feel ready. It simply states a fact:

“You are not your own.”

Not spiritually. Not morally. Not physically. Not privately. 

And everything in our age rises up against that sentence.

We live in a world that treats self-ownership as sacred. We are taught – constantly – that freedom means control, that dignity means authorship, that fulfillment means deciding for ourselves who we are, what we do, and how far anyone – including God – may go. And we have not left that worldview at the church door.

We have baptized it. We have spiritualized it. We have learned how to speak it in Catholic language. And so today, the most dangerous lie is not shouted from the streets. It is whispered in the heart of the believer.

The lie is simple: I belong to myself.

We rarely say it outright, but we live it constantly. My life. My body. My truth. My journey. My discernment. 

We speak as though discipleship were a collaboration rather than a surrender, as though God makes suggestions and we reserve the right of refusal. But there is no such thing as a self-authored discipleship. No one in Scripture encounters God and remains in control. When God enters a life, authorship ends. 

Abraham does not negotiate where obedience stops. Peter does not set limits on how far following will go. Mary does not ask for revisions. They do not say, “Let me see how this fits in with my plans.” They say yes – or they walk away. 

And that is what makes the Gospel dangerous. Because it does not coexist with autonomy. It replaces it. 

Now, autonomy is often treated as something harmless – just independence, just adulthood, just personal responsibility. But autonomy is not neutral. Autonomy is a theological claim.

To say, “I belong to myself,” is to say something about God. It is to say that His authority is conditional, His commands negotiable, His will subject to review. 

That was the first temptation. 

You will be like gods.

Not immoral. Independent. Self-owning. And every generation finds a new way to dress that lie up so it looks reasonable. 

Our version sounds enlightened. It sounds compassionate. It sounds psychologically informed.

But it is the same lie.

The modern Catholic rarely rejects Christ outright. Instead, he quietly reserves the right to overrule Him. He will follow – until obedience costs comfort. Until it costs reputation. Until it costs control. Until it touches the body. And then suddenly conscience is invoked. Discernment is cited. Complexity is emphasized. But listen carefully.

The moment obedience becomes conditional, Christ is no longer Lord. At that point, He is advisor.

If you want to know what someone truly believes about God, don’t start with what they say. Start with what they do with their body. Because the body is where theology stops being abstract. The body is where autonomy and the Gospel collide.

This is why the world is obsessed with the body and enraged by Christian moral teaching. Not because the Church is cruel, but because the Church refuses to concede ownership. 

The body is not a possession. It is not raw material. It is not private property. It is claimed.

Every moral argument about the body ends at the same question: Who do you belong to?

If your body belongs to you, sacrifice is optional. If your body belongs to Christ, obedience is unavoidable. That is why the Cross is offensive. Not because it is violent, but because it asserts a claim. 

We have learned how to resist God politely. We do not rage against Him. We do not deny Him. We simply delay obedience indefinitely. We say things like, “I’m not there yet,” or “That’s not where I feel called,” or “I need to pray more about that.” And prayer becomes a stalling tactic. We call it discernment, but it is really preservation.

We want a Christianity that saves us without claiming us, that forgives us without commanding us, that comforts us without crucifying us. But that Christianity does not exist. There is no such thing as faith on my terms. Because terms imply leverage. And disciples have none.

Now, autonomy feels safer than obedience because it promises control. It promises that suffering will be limited, that loss will be manageable, that God will not ask for too much. But that promise is false. Autonomy does not eliminate suffering. It only makes suffering meaningless. When you belong to yourself, pain has no purpose. It is only interruption, only theft, only injustice.

But when you belong to Christ, even suffering is claimed. Even wounds have direction. 

This is why we resist being owned – not because God is cruel, but because we are afraid of what He might do with us. We fear obscurity. We fear loss. We fear being spent instead of preserved. And so we cling to ourselves. But the irony is this: the most exhausting burden in the world is pretending you belong to yourself.

We speak of the Cross as though it were only a symbol of compassion. It is that – but it is more. The Cross is a transaction. A purchase. Scripture does not say you were inspired by a price. It says you were bought with a price. BOUGHT!

That language offends modern ears because it contradicts autonomy. But it is the language of the Gospel. Jesus Christ did not die to give you your life back. He died to take it into His hands. 

Which means this: Your time is not your own. Your body is not your own. Your plans are not your own. Your future is not your own. Your suffering is not your own.

Nothing is neutral anymore. Everything is claimed. Following Christ is not a process of self-actualization. It is a process of dispossession. Not because God despises you, but because He loves you too much to leave you sovereign over yourself. The question is not whether Christ has the right to ask everything. He does! The only question is whether we will stop pretending otherwise.

Because the Gospel does not ask, “How much are you willing to give?” It asks, “Will you surrender?” And surrender does not come in pieces.

Now, “You are not your own” sounds like a threat to a world obsessed with freedom. But it is the only sentence that actually liberates. Because if I am not my own, then I do not have to save myself. I do not have to justify myself. I do not have to control outcomes. I do not have to carry the unbearable weight of self-authorship. If I am not my own, then my life is not a project. 

It is an offering.

And offerings are not managed. They are placed on the altar.

So the question is not whether you believe in Christ. The question is simpler – and harder. Who owns you? Because whatever you refuse to surrender is what still owns you. And Christ will not compete for space in a life that insists on remaining sovereign.

He waits. Not because He lacks authority, but because love never forces. Still, the claim stands. 

And so if you are wondering what this means in the concrete – if you are wondering what it means for your life, for your body, for the things you did not plan or choose – then you do not have to actually wonder.

If you are wondering about an unplanned pregnancy, you do not have to wonder. That life is not yours to discard or redefine. It is not an interruption. It is not a mistake. It belongs to God before it ever belonged to you. Give it to Him!

If you are wondering about confusion, about identity, about the pressure to redefine your body so that it matches your feelings, you do not have to wonder. Your body is not raw material for self-invention. It is not a problem to be solved. It is a gift already claimed. Give it to God.

And if you are wondering about your marriage – if you are wondering whether you are allowed to walk away, whether you are justified in leaving, whether your unhappiness gives you permission to break what you once vowed – you do not have to wonder. Your marriage is not a contract of convenience. It is not sustained by feelings. It is not dissolved by disappointment. It does not belong to you alone.

What was joined before God cannot be undone simply because it became heavy or painful or lonely. Difficulty does not erase a vow. Suffering does not automatically invalidate fidelity. Give it to God.

If what you are ending is abuse – real abuse, violence, coercion, degradation, the destruction of your dignity – then that is not what I am speaking about. God never commands you to submit to evil. He never sanctifies harm. He never asks you to remain where your life, your safety, or your soul is being violated.

Abuse is not a cross to be endured. It is a sin to be stopped. Seeking safety is not a failure of faith. Naming abuse is not betrayal. Leaving danger is not disobedience. That, too, belongs to God.

But hardship is not abuse. Unhappiness is not the same as injustice. And discomfort alone is not permission to undo what was vowed before God. So we must tell the truth clearly, without confusion and without fear. 

Give what is wounded to God. Give what is broken to God. And never confuse love with silence in the face of evil.

And if you are wondering about a call that keeps returning – a restlessness that will not leave you alone, a sense that God is asking something of you that you did not plan for and cannot control – you do not have to wonder.

God does not call because it is easy. He calls because it is necessary.

You are not required to feel ready. You are not promised comfort. You are not guaranteed clarity before obedience. You are asked to surrender. Give it to God.

And if you are wondering whether you are allowed to say no – to a vocation, to a sacrifice, to a mission that feels too costly, too hidden, too public, too demanding – you do not have to wonder.

Discipleship is not built around preference. It is built around obedience. What God asks of you is not arbitrary. It is precise. Give it to God. 

And if you are wondering whether holding on is safer than letting go, whether control is wiser than trust, whether keeping something back will protect you – you do not have to wonder. Nothing you cling to will save you. Nothing you surrender is lost. GIVE IT TO GOD.

Because in the end, this is not about loss. It is about truth. You were never meant to carry yourself. You were never meant to author your own salvation. You were never meant to belong to yourself.

You were bought. You were claimed. You were loved at a price you did not set and could not pay. And the freedom you are searching for will never be found in holding tighter. It will only be found in letting go.

So stop negotiating. Stop delaying. Stop pretending you own what has already been given.

Place your life on the altar – your body, your future, your wounds, your fears, your yes, your cross.

You are not your own!

And that is not a sentence of defeat.

It is the beginning of everything!

Bishop Joseph E. Strickland