Why does Paul begin with the belt?
It's an odd choice if you think about it. When we imagine armor, we picture the dramatic pieces first—the gleaming breastplate, the sturdy shield, the sharp sword. The belt seems almost mundane by comparison. Utilitarian. Forgettable. Yet Paul lists it first: "Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist."
The belt of truth. First. Always first.
I can only relate to this as a former military member myself, and the moment I thought about it through that lens, everything shifted. I remembered putting on my web belt as I readied for action in conflict. The weight of it. The deliberateness required to buckle it properly. This wasn't the belt I use in my pants day-to-day—though, to be honest, that one's essential too, at least for me. No, this was something entirely different.
The military belt is heavy. Substantial. And here's what I often forget: it's actually the central point to which everything else is attached.
The Roman soldier's belt held everything together. Without it, there would be no place to sheath his sword. No way to anchor the breastplate. The belt wasn't decorative or supplementary—it was foundational. Remove the belt, and the soldier couldn't function. The armor wouldn't hold. The weapons couldn't be carried. Everything depended on that first, heavy piece being secured properly.
Truth works the same way in the spiritual life.
For me, the belt of truth is the assurance of knowing—without any doubt—that God's truth is unwavering, unchanging. It's the foundation that holds everything else in place. When I buckle on this belt each morning, I'm anchoring myself to something that cannot shift, cannot bend, cannot be redefined by the cultural winds around me.
And those winds blow strong.
Human nature and society as a whole constantly try to outthink God, to make up what they consider truth. This isn't new. It occurred in biblical times with the cults and many gods to worship in cities like Ephesus. The worship of Artemis wasn't just a religious preference—it was backed by economic power, social pressure, and cultural authority. People weren't just believing lies; they were building entire systems around them.
Today looks remarkably similar. Loud proclamations of opinions as truth echo through our social media feeds, our news cycles, our conversations. Everyone has their own truth, we're told. Your truth. My truth. As if truth were a matter of personal preference, like choosing a favorite color or a coffee order.
But there is only one truth—God's truth.
This is the belt I must put on daily. Not occasionally. Not when I remember. Not when I'm facing a particularly difficult day. Daily. Because without it, nothing else holds.
I've learned this the hard way. There have been seasons when I tried to operate without first securing this foundation. I'd rush into prayer without grounding myself in God's unchanging character. I'd try to love others without first anchoring myself in His truth about their worth and mine. I'd attempt to fight spiritual battles with my breastplate loose, my sword dangling, everything rattling and unstable because I'd skipped the first step.
The belt seemed too basic. Too simple. Surely I could skip ahead to the more impressive pieces of armor?
But that's not how armor works. And it's not how truth works either.
When Paul says to stand firm with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, he's saying something profound about the order of spiritual preparation. You cannot stand firm on shifting ground. You cannot fight effectively if your foundation is uncertain. You cannot carry the other pieces of armor if you have nothing to attach them to.
The belt of truth is foundational to my life as a disciple. It's the first piece I put on because it's the piece that makes all the others possible. It's the assurance that when everything around me is chaos and confusion, when voices are shouting competing claims about what's real and right and true, I am anchored to something—to Someone—who does not change.
This is why the belt comes first. Not because it's the most glamorous or the most visible, but because it's the most essential.
Without truth, there is no armor. Without God's truth secured firmly around me, I am just a person in costume, playing at spiritual warfare with nothing to hold me together when the real battle comes.
So each morning, I buckle on the belt. Heavy. Substantial. Unwavering. And everything else—every other piece of armor, every other aspect of discipleship—finds its place from there.
