Romans 6:12-23
June 26, 2011
It doesn’t happen every day, but pretty regularly I am asked, by non-Christians, “Why are you Christian?” Maybe that has happened to you, or maybe you have simply asked yourself that question. When I’m asked this question, I generally feel a little anxiety because I’m not sure I have a good answer, or more precisely, I’m not sure I articulate it well. But I do have fairly good reasons, I think, and so I have at least attempted to give answers. I am Christian because of community, because I believe the way of Jesus is worthy of following, I trust there are things about the bible I can apply to my own life, being Christian can give me strength to endure things and give me comfort when I am hurting. So, while I feel a little anxiety, I can usually give an okay answer.
It’s the other question that I really worry about. Not why are you Christian, but what is it that Christians do?” When this is asked – or when I ask it myself – I feel anxiety, but I feel much more than that. I often feel the sting of guilt and shame that comes with knowing I live drenched in hypocrisy. As soon as I start to articulate how I believe a Christian should live, what I, as a Christian, should do, I begin to think about how my life differs from this picture.
Being Christian means loving my enemy, I might say to someone. Then, immediately inside I think of all the people I have difficultly loving. Being Christian means caring for creation, I would suggest. But inside I know the truth: I make choices all the time that hurt the environment, like driving when I don’t need to. Being Christian means, I think, seeking and working for peace. But I can’t think of anything I have done recently that is actively working toward peace. Being Christian means caring for the poor. But I just bought an expensive backpack while knowing that money could have been given to someone in need.
In short, when I think about – or am asked about – what a Christian should do in this world, I think about all the ways I wish I could change my behaviors so they better matched what I think I should do. But I know, from lots of frustrating experiences, how hard it can be to change my behaviors. There are many forces, fears, and doubts that work against me. Drive less – yes, but…it can be so inconvenient. Give more – yes, but can’t I have some of the things I want? Love more – yes, but I just can’t make myself feel it, no matter how hard I try.
Faith is about – at least in part – trying to make our lives, our behaviors, conform more and more to what we believe. And let’s face it…this is no easy trick…change is hard.
There is no shortage of people and professions that have, and continue, to seek answers to this fundamental human question: Why is it so hard to change? If we know we want to do something, if we know something is good for us and the world – eat right, exercise more, have more patience – why don’t we just do it? Social scientists, psychologists, psychiatrists, neuroscientists, theologians, biologists work to answer this question – and try to offer ways we might be able to change more easily.
We are, in fact, learning a lot from these professions about our brains, our consciousness, our behaviors, and more. More and more they can look at studies, experiments, brain images to help us understand how and why we change – or don’t. In many cases they are, I think, on to something. Their findings and insights have advanced our understanding of human nature and behavior significantly. Which kind of begs the question: Does it make any sense at all to look back to Paul –a quirky, slightly neurotic Christian who lived 2000 years ago, for help in answering this question?
I admit I have a love/hate relationship with Paul. Sin, wickedness, obey, righteousness, slaves, sanctification. These words he uses generally aren’t compelling to me. I think his language and metaphors can be so alienating at times that it seems like the only responsible course of action is to leave him firmly planted in the first century. But, then I read his letters again and I do feel a connection, a kinship, a sense that he is touching on things deep inside of me, and maybe he addressing things the experts today are not.
Paul deals with this same issue of change. He talks often about the task of conforming our behaviors to our values. And, without the benefit of MRIs or modern scientific experiments, he is well aware of the human limitations when it comes to change. He knows, first hand, that deciding you want to do something and actually doing it can be worlds apart. And so when he writes to these churches – to these people he cares so much about – he knows they struggle with these very questions. He knows they want help being faithful, just as we often do. And not just help knowing the right things to do, but what to do when we don’t feel able to choose the right no matter how hard we try.
For the early churches, Paul is therapist, behaviorist, and social scientist all rolled into one. But, unlike many who seek to address this issue today, Paul is asking these questions as a follower of Jesus, as someone who tries to connect with the divine One. And this is how I want to ask these questions. I have no interest in throwing out modern science or ignoring all the valuable information we have gained from decades of study and experiments. I read a lot of books by these modern experts because they have a lot to offer. But Paul, I have come to believe, has a perspective I don’t want to lose. He was a man of great faith, and I can learn from him.
I know Paul is using language that is archaic, and even off-putting to us. But I think behind his language and metaphors, he’s speaking about something we know deep in our souls. For example, when Paul talks about “sin”, it isn’t about a moral list of dos and don’ts – as we sometimes think; he is talking about all those things that contribute to the brokenness of the world. All of those things we humans do that hurt ourselves and others. And we do know what those things are. We might not want to call it sin, but we know there are things in our lives and world that are not divine.
And when Paul says we are slaves to sin, while we might not like the image it conjures, it captures a feeling so many of us have: We can’t help ourselves…literally. There are things – culture, systems, power, insecurity, fear - that work their wily ways on us, and we can’t, no matter how hard we try, get out from under them. Paul’s saying we are doing the same hurtful things over and over again and at some level we can’t just change that by ourselves and our own efforts.
When Paul says sanctification – a word we don’t exactly bandy about these days – he is talking about the process of faith whereby we conform our lives more and more to fit our values and beliefs. But this word has an added meaning, which is that the process is not primarily driven by us. Sanctification is the process of God molding us more and more into the people we wish we could be.
Paul, using language we don’t always love, is describing the human condition we all know well, and then talking about how to be a Christian in light of that reality. Curiously though, Paul’s begins not with how to change or what to do, but with grace. Paul says that it’s because of God’s grace that you are no longer under the law, which basically means, there is something that can break through the cycle of destruction and brokenness – and it’s not just that we need to try harder…it’s grace: God’s gift of grace to us and in us. This isn’t usually the starting point of most of the experts today.
Right before our passage for this morning Paul has been addressing the major issue about what liberates people from slavery to sin – from our treadmill of behaviors we can’t seem to change. He believes it is the love shown to us in Christ; in other words: God’s goodness and generosity. He has just been arguing that when we accept God’s grace, we enter a new way of life. By this he does not mean we turn over a new leaf and try harder from now on. Rather he means we enter a new system, we become part of a new dynamic; we experience a new set of possibilities. By opening ourselves to God’s goodness we not only experience forgiveness and hope but also begin a journey where that love produces love in and through us.
We have to start by trusting God’s grace – by being released from our guilt and shame. We need to know that where we are is good enough. Perfection is both not attainable and not expected. But notice: at the heart of this notion of Paul’s is a great paradox: we can’t change, we can’t become a better Christian, or more faithful, until we stop thinking we have to change in order to be a better Christian.
We can only be free if we become slaves again, he says. We don’t like the word slave – we don’t think we should be a slave to anything. But the only way Paul can help the people in Rome understand the fundamental shift that is needed to change their lives, is to show them that they have to completely change what drives them, what influences them, what they expose themselves to day in and day out. If it’s not Grace, you might as well pick up your ball and go home. We can only live rightly if we stop trying to live perfectly.
Grace is required if we are to be faithful – if we are to do what Christians are “supposed” to do. If you haven’t yet been freed from your guilt and shame, back up. Accept God’s grace. By doing this, we are opened to this other reality that can influence our lives, our behaviors, our hopes and dreams. Now, I’m not naïve. I don’t assume what I’m saying is simplistic. One big hurdle for many of us, for example, is that we have to first believe and trust God’s grace is real and available to us. And for that to happen, we have to actually experience that grace at some point. And that’s not a given for everyone.
It’s not simple, but according to Paul, it’s required.
Paul leaves us hanging a bit at the end of chapter 6. We don’t know yet how we might accept or feel God’s grace, We don’t know yet how he sees change coming about. So, come back next week. Amen.
