The Truth That Makes Us Free

Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” They answered him, “We are descendants of Abraham and have never been slaves to anyone. What do you mean by saying, ‘You will be made free’?” Jesus answered them, “Very truly, I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin. The slave does not have a permanent place in the household; the son has a place there forever. So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed. (John 8:31-36)

I got an interesting comment after my sermon this morning. Sitting at the Easter breakfast, one of the people at my table said to me, "I loved your sermon this morning. Except that bit about about we're all sinners. Couldn't you have just left it as 'we all mess up'? Even when you baptize a baby, you throw in that bit that we're all sinners. And I like to think that mostly I'm okay."

I think most of us like to think that mostly we're okay. Sure, we mess up sometimes, but mostly we're okay. The problem is, deep down, in our guts, "in that place we don't like to talk about at parties," we KNOW that we're NOT okay. We have indeed sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. We have sinned in thought, word and deed, by what we have done and what we have undone. We have not loved God with our whole heart, or our neighbors as ourselves. We have grieved the heart of God, and deep in our hearts, we know it.

Pretending otherwise only aggravates the problem. Not talking about sin only gives sin more power over us. Talking about "brokenness" is all well and good, but if we don't admit that our brokenness includes our broken relationship with God, we're simply whitewashing over a problem that won't go away. A doctor who treated a patient for indigestion when he or she knew the patient had stomach cancer would be guilty of malpractice; a pastor who talks about "brokenness" without ever talking about sin is guilty of the same.

There are some who feel that sin shouldn't be talked about, especially on Easter. If we don't name the problem, however, then the solution makes no sense. No sin, no cross. No cross, no Easter. There can be no resurrection without a crucifixion. Soft-pedalling the gospel, turning into some kind of mealy-mouthed, "I'm okay, you're okay" feel-good pop psychology, is not only unfaithful to Christ, it is unfaithful to God's people. Not talking about sin makes the cross a cruel joke, and robs Easter of all meaning whatsoever.

Admitting our sin, however, has just the opposite effect. Speaking the truth, about God's righteousness, about our sinfulness, and about Christ's grace, sets us free. Admitting that we can't bridge the gap between us and God caused by our sin leads us to the truth that we don't have to, because Christ already has. The truth of our human problem is that we are sinners. The truth of God's solution to that problem is Christ. That is the truth of Good Friday, and the truth of Easter. It is the truth that makes us free.

It's ALWAYS Personal

Okay, so I haven't posted in almost two months. Mostly that's because I've been insanely busy, but it's also partly because I haven't been inspired to write until today. Well, no more.

Here's the thing. In seminary, we're taught boundaries. Keep your distance. Don't let it become personal. In fact, the whole CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education) process is designed to help you know "where your buttons are" so you know how to "shield them", so that your "ministry with people in crisis" isn't "negatively affected" by having those buttons pushed.

But here's the thing. It IS personal. It's always personal. When you are sitting with a person whose spouse is dying, it's personal. Even if it's not personal for you, it's damn sure personal for them. When you're talking to someone who is camped out in the valley of the shadow of death, it's personal. When you walk into an ICU, or an funeral home, or a living room, it's personal. Whether you knew the person or not, whether they were eight or eighty, whether they were Mother Theresa or the Marquis de Sade, it's personal. It's personal to them, it's personal to the people who love them (even if you can't figure out why), and it's personal to Jesus. If you're wearing the collar, daring to be called pastor, it damned sure better be personal to you, too.

If it's ever NOT personal, you need to ask yourself why, and you need to think about that.