Lorenzo Palon

What Paul Was Fighting in Colossians

Colossae was not Jerusalem. It was a small city in the Lycus Valley of Asia Minor, surrounded by bigger neighbors (Laodicea, Hierapolis) and bathed in the everyday religious “noise” of the Greco-Roman world—local cults, civic festivals, household piety, protective rituals, and a steady assumption that unseen powers mattered for ordinary life. Into that atmosphere the gospel arrived with a startlingly uncomplicated confession: Jesus the Messiah is Lord. And precisely because it was so singular, it faced a predictable pressure: the temptation to treat Christ as necessary but not sufficient—to keep Jesus but to supplement him with a spirituality of additions.¹

The crisis isn’t unbelief—it’s a rival definition of “maturity.”

Paul doesn’t write Colossians because the church has stopped believing. He writes because some teachers are offering an “upgrade”: a fuller spirituality, a safer spirituality, and a more impressive spirituality. The language of Colossians 2 gives you the contours. Paul warns about captivity through “philosophy and empty deceit,” grounded in “human tradition,” and tied to the stoicheia—the “elemental powers/principles” associated with the old world (2:8, 20). He mentions judgment over food and drink, festivals, new moons, Sabbaths (2:16), a program of ascetic restriction (“Do not handle, do not taste, do not touch,” 2:21), and a kind of visionary religion involving “humility,” angels, and “visions” (2:18). Taken together, it’s not one neat heresy label; it’s a whole ecosystem that implies the plain gospel is good but not enough for fullness.²

Why “syncretism” fits better than tidy labels

It’s common to hear that Paul is fighting “Gnosticism.” But that label can mislead if it makes us imagine a later, fully formed second-century system. What Colossians suggests more plausibly is syncretism—a blending of Christian confession with local folk beliefs and anxieties and with some Jewish-shaped practices, producing a new program that relocates confidence away from Christ. In other words: Christ is not denied; he is repositioned—reduced from center to supplement.¹

That matters because the driving force is not only intellectual (“wrong ideas”) but also pastoral and social: people fear being spiritually exposed, spiritually incomplete, or spiritually “second tier.” In a world where the heavens were imagined as crowded and dangerous, “add-ons” can feel like insurance.

Calendar and cuisine as spirituality badges

One strand of the pressure is clearly Jewish-textured: food rules and sacred times. Paul’s instruction is blunt: “Let no one pass judgment on you” regarding food and drink or festivals/new moons/Sabbaths (2:16). These were not merely preferences; they functioned as identity markers and as visible badges of “serious religion.”

Paul’s counter is not anti-Torah sneering. His logic is Christological: these things were a shadow, but the substance belongs to Christ (2:17). When shadows become the measure of “real” spirituality, Christ is quietly demoted. And once Christ is demoted, the church becomes vulnerable to gatekeepers who rank believers by practices that were never meant to carry that weight.³

Angels, visions, and the piety of spiritual elitism

Another strand is stranger to modern ears but entirely at home in the ancient world: a fascination with heavenly intermediaries and visionary status. Paul warns against those who parade “humility,” speak as insiders about visions, and promote some form of angel religion (2:18). The posture can sound reverent—“We are too lowly to approach God directly”—but Paul treats it as spiritually lethal because it reroutes devotion around Christ.

His diagnosis is devastatingly simple: they are “not holding fast to the Head” (2:19). The moment your “maturity” depends on intermediaries, techniques, and credentials that supplement Christ, you have stopped living from Christ as the living center and started using Christ as a religious label attached to another system.⁴

The stoicheia problem: fear managed by regulations

Paul’s repeated mention of the stoicheia (2:8, 20) helps us see the emotional engine underneath the program. Whether we translate it as “elemental principles” or “elemental powers,” Paul treats it as a form of enslavement—an old-world mode of life that pressures people to manage reality through regulations and ritual.

That explains the appeal of the strict commands in 2:21. If you fear contamination, you build fences. If you fear hostile powers, you reach for techniques. If you fear being judged as “less spiritual,” you adopt visible markers that signal seriousness. Paul’s point is that all of this is a return to captivity—only now it wears religious clothing.⁵

Paul’s counter-move: not “try harder,” but “see Christ truly.”

That is why Colossians opens with a soaring vision of Christ (1:15–20). It’s not decorative poetry; it’s pastoral warfare. If the anxiety is about cosmic powers, Paul says all things—visible and invisible, thrones and dominions—were created in Christ, through Christ, and for Christ (1:16). If the lure is “fullness” elsewhere, he insists: “In him the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily” (2:9). If the teachers imply believers lack what they need, Paul replies: “you have been filled in him” (2:10).²

Then Paul nails the issue to the cross and resurrection: in baptism you have died and been raised with Christ (2:12); the record of debt is cancelled (2:14); the rulers and authorities are disarmed (2:15). The message is not “manage the powers better.” It’s “you are no longer under their jurisdiction because Christ has already triumphed.”⁶

What Paul is protecting: the gospel as new-creation identity

Underneath the surface, Colossians is an identity battle. The rival teachers are offering a path to “completion” through additions—calendar rigor, ascetic severity, visionary access, and angelic mediation. Paul refuses because the church’s identity is not built by climbing ladders. It is given in union with the Messiah.

That’s why the letter’s ethic is not “earn your status,” but “live out what is now true.” If you have been raised with Christ, seek the things above (3:1). Put off the old humanity and put on the new (3:5–17). Holiness is not produced by spiritual showmanship; it is the fruit of belonging to the Head.

So the Colossian problem can be stated in one sentence:

They were being tempted to treat Jesus as necessary—but not sufficient.
Paul writes to insist: Christ is not part of your spiritual system; Christ is the system.

The Colossian problem was never “too much spirituality.” It was a spirituality that treated Jesus as the beginning—rather than the fullness.

Suggested Citation

Palon, Lorenzo F., Jr. https://lorenzopalon.org/2026/02/25/colossians-problem/

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Footnotes

1. Clinton E. Arnold, The Colossian Syncretism: The Interface between Christianity and Folk Belief at Colossae (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books, 1996).  
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2. Douglas J. Moo, The Letters to the Colossians and to Philemon, 2nd ed., Pillar New Testament Commentary (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2024).
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3. James D. G. Dunn, The Epistles to the Colossians and to Philemon, New International Greek Testament Commentary (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1996).
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4. N. T. Wright, Colossians and Philemon, Tyndale New Testament Commentaries (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2008).
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5. Clinton E. Arnold, Powers of Darkness: Principalities & Powers in Paul’s Letters (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1992).
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6. F. F. Bruce, The Epistles to the Colossians, to Philemon, and to the Ephesians, New International Commentary on the New Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1984). 
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