All Chained Up With No Place To Go
OR Freedom From The Inside, Out
by Brett Westervelt
Stenhouse and I were sitting out on the patio at Peet’s the other day, taking in a little foretaste of fall weather divine, talking about the gospel and the resulting freedom that we’re supposed to feel from living under grace. It was for freedom that Christ has set us free.
We were talking about how hard it can be to actually feel set free from our depravity. It turns out that shouting “I’m free” at the top of your lungs doesn’t tend to get you much further than a few furrowed brows and some curious glances.
I told Jason that I found it interesting that we tend to measure the quality of our spiritual life by checklists of activities: church attendance, quiet times, minutes in prayer – easily quantifiable things, the rules and norms of Christendom. There’s not a whole lot that’s overtly relational in that list, not a whole lot that sounds like freedom. In fact we often feel utterly enslaved to these things, and to the expectations to be a good person, a certain Christian typecast. Instead of enjoying and figuring out how to be free, we have rushed to make up some new rules to follow. I think this might be because actual freedom is a bit unsettling. I’m free, so now what am I to do exactly? It’s nice to have a way to measure performance, to feel on top of things.
Stenhouse compared it to when Lincoln abolished slavery. All of these slaves, formerly with little hope and with no ability to make their own decisions were suddenly set free. They had opportunities, they could go anywhere, travel freely; and yet a fair number of these remained where they were as indentured servants. They had lived lives of slavery for so long that they had no concept of freedom.
A story in Mark’s gospel account came up, about when Jesus healed a demon-possessed man. According to Mark the man “lived among the tombs; and no one could restrain him anymore, even with a chain; for he had often been retrained with shackles and chains, but the chains were wrenched apart, and the shackles he broke in pieces; and no one had the strength to subdue him. Night and day among the tombs and on the mountains he was always howling and bruising himself with stones.”
This guy was a danger to himself and to the people living around him. Bruising himself with stones. Howling. The best the townspeople could think to do (to protect themselves, but also him) was to chain him up, to physically restrain him from tearing himself apart. His unchained freedom was wrecking havoc, and the best solution was outward force. Even if these chains had held (they hadn’t), this would have been a sad existence for this man: alone, on the outskirts of the city, living among the dead.
Jesus of course had different designs. He knew that the man’s troubles were internal – demons controlling his ravings – and he cast this Legion out. Jesus provided a lasting freedom for this man, an internal healing that allowed him to again be a part of the society around him. Jesus actually sent him back to the towns, to proclaim all that the Messiah had done for him – the mercy and freedom that Jesus had provided.
We live in America, “where at least I know I’m free.” The problem with the freedom that we experience is that it’s not so much freedom as a delicate balance between license and law – external forces that allow us to do what we want, selfishness and depravity in tow, as long as our actions don’t hurt others too badly. Those lines of permissibility are being continually redrawn, much like the hemlines of actresses in movies and on television. Cultural acceptability is continually being reformed.
Jesus was always valuing the internal over the external. Complaining of white-washed tombs and cups only washed on the outside, speaking to the heart of the law (love God and other people) more than the guises of it. He healed outcasts so that they could again be a part of their community; He forgave our sins so that we could again have a relationship with God, and so that we might experience relationships with others founded on the kind of enabling grace that fallen creatures such as ourselves need.
Instead of inner transformation we often run to external devices, our moral measuring tapes, unsure of what freedom entails. I wonder what we miss in our continued pursuit of slavery. Are the actions that we would label “Christian” a reflection of the internal freedom only Christ can provide, or are they simply a new set of chains and shackles, ones that won’t hold for long?
by Brett Westervelt
Stenhouse and I were sitting out on the patio at Peet’s the other day, taking in a little foretaste of fall weather divine, talking about the gospel and the resulting freedom that we’re supposed to feel from living under grace. It was for freedom that Christ has set us free.
We were talking about how hard it can be to actually feel set free from our depravity. It turns out that shouting “I’m free” at the top of your lungs doesn’t tend to get you much further than a few furrowed brows and some curious glances.
I told Jason that I found it interesting that we tend to measure the quality of our spiritual life by checklists of activities: church attendance, quiet times, minutes in prayer – easily quantifiable things, the rules and norms of Christendom. There’s not a whole lot that’s overtly relational in that list, not a whole lot that sounds like freedom. In fact we often feel utterly enslaved to these things, and to the expectations to be a good person, a certain Christian typecast. Instead of enjoying and figuring out how to be free, we have rushed to make up some new rules to follow. I think this might be because actual freedom is a bit unsettling. I’m free, so now what am I to do exactly? It’s nice to have a way to measure performance, to feel on top of things.
Stenhouse compared it to when Lincoln abolished slavery. All of these slaves, formerly with little hope and with no ability to make their own decisions were suddenly set free. They had opportunities, they could go anywhere, travel freely; and yet a fair number of these remained where they were as indentured servants. They had lived lives of slavery for so long that they had no concept of freedom.
A story in Mark’s gospel account came up, about when Jesus healed a demon-possessed man. According to Mark the man “lived among the tombs; and no one could restrain him anymore, even with a chain; for he had often been retrained with shackles and chains, but the chains were wrenched apart, and the shackles he broke in pieces; and no one had the strength to subdue him. Night and day among the tombs and on the mountains he was always howling and bruising himself with stones.”
This guy was a danger to himself and to the people living around him. Bruising himself with stones. Howling. The best the townspeople could think to do (to protect themselves, but also him) was to chain him up, to physically restrain him from tearing himself apart. His unchained freedom was wrecking havoc, and the best solution was outward force. Even if these chains had held (they hadn’t), this would have been a sad existence for this man: alone, on the outskirts of the city, living among the dead.
Jesus of course had different designs. He knew that the man’s troubles were internal – demons controlling his ravings – and he cast this Legion out. Jesus provided a lasting freedom for this man, an internal healing that allowed him to again be a part of the society around him. Jesus actually sent him back to the towns, to proclaim all that the Messiah had done for him – the mercy and freedom that Jesus had provided.
We live in America, “where at least I know I’m free.” The problem with the freedom that we experience is that it’s not so much freedom as a delicate balance between license and law – external forces that allow us to do what we want, selfishness and depravity in tow, as long as our actions don’t hurt others too badly. Those lines of permissibility are being continually redrawn, much like the hemlines of actresses in movies and on television. Cultural acceptability is continually being reformed.
Jesus was always valuing the internal over the external. Complaining of white-washed tombs and cups only washed on the outside, speaking to the heart of the law (love God and other people) more than the guises of it. He healed outcasts so that they could again be a part of their community; He forgave our sins so that we could again have a relationship with God, and so that we might experience relationships with others founded on the kind of enabling grace that fallen creatures such as ourselves need.
Instead of inner transformation we often run to external devices, our moral measuring tapes, unsure of what freedom entails. I wonder what we miss in our continued pursuit of slavery. Are the actions that we would label “Christian” a reflection of the internal freedom only Christ can provide, or are they simply a new set of chains and shackles, ones that won’t hold for long?
posted at 10:55 PM
2 Comments:
freedom is scary. we live in a world where there are rules for everything: etiquette on what to say, on when to say it, and in what tone. fear grips me when i think of doing something that may not have been done before. what if i messup? what if i fail? what if we left the what if's behind and took the chance? maybe we would see freedom in a new light.
if i accept freedom, i must accept grace. sometimes..most of the time, i would rather hold up my checklist to the Father showing Him that i'm doing it right. i want to think i play a role in the reason He likes me so darn much. living like the pharisees gives me a sense of security, i can bargain with the God of the universe. the idea of freedom tells me it's not so much me but b/c of His unfailing love, His goodness, His compassion that i was invited to be his bride. i don't know why that's so hard to accept.
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