already is to freedom as not yet is to relief

hey guys,

some of you know that i am a part of a teaching team at my church, awake. (here's some context.)  i preached this past sunday and wanted to share what i wrote with you. see below for the transcript.

being relatively new to this whole homiletics thing (this was my sixth sermon), i would be honored by any thoughts you have in response.

i'm thankful as ever to belong to a community who values my voice - i, unordained and female.

xo

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As we’ve seen over the last number of weeks, Paul and the Corinthians exchanged a number of letters, only a few of which we’ve eavesdropped on, and they’re attempting to answer a deceptively simple question: How then shall we live? In many ways, the book of 1 Corinthians is about ethics. Should I sue my brother or sister in Christ if he or she has wronged me? How do we respond to division as a church? How do we think about sexual immorality? Last week, we walked through the beginning of 1 Corinthians chapter 10, where we addressed the Corinthian’s question, should I eat this meat or not?

Today we will be sorting through a text that is a continuation of last week’s material, which warned against haughtiness, against living side by side without really knowing each other, and against over-indulging the freedoms we have attained through knowledge at great cost to those who are struggling in our midst.

I hope you’ll consider what I am bringing to you today as an “and”. 1 Corinthians 10 is explored by theologians and commentators as one passage, and yet those same thinkers have had some difficulty reconciling the fact that Paul seems to change his tone half way through the chapter.

Picking up at verse 23, Paul writes:

“I have the right to do anything,” you say—but not everything is beneficial. “I have the right to do anything”—but not everything is constructive. No one should seek their own good, but the good of others.

Eat anything sold in the meat market without raising questions of conscience, for, “The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it.”

If an unbeliever invites you to a meal and you want to go, eat whatever is put before you without raising questions of conscience. But if someone says to you, “This has been offered in sacrifice,” then do not eat it, both for the sake of the one who told you and for the sake of conscience. I am referring to the other person’s conscience, not yours. For why is my freedom being judged by another’s conscience? If I take part in the meal with thankfulness, why am I denounced because of something I thank God for?

So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God. Do not cause anyone to stumble, whether Jews, Greeks or the church of God— even as I try to please everyone in every way. For I am not seeking my own good but the good of many, so that they may be saved. Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ.

In this, I hear two ways that the Corinthians are attempting to relieve the anxiety that has accompanied their desire to live well. In an attempt to escape worry, they are either saying, “Screw it, there are no rules, only grace, I just want to be free” or they’re saying, “Well, if I just knew the rules, then I could follow those and free myself up to enjoy life”. There’s a sense in what Paul’s responding to that the Corinthians believed freedom could only come in two ways: having the answer or not caring at all.

Today, we’re going to talk about freedom.

So, some of you know that I attend The Seattle School of Theology & Psychology. I’m in my third year of studying to be a therapist, which means that I am currently an intern, working as a bona fide therapist with real live patients. My internship is at an eating disorder clinic so the individuals I interact with are struggling with issues of how to eat, not unlike the Corinthians. I have patients who struggle with anorexia, bulimia, and compulsive over-eating. Through food, they are working something out, both with the deepest parts of themselves and with the world as they experience it. Some are depriving themselves of nourishment and enjoying the lightheaded feeling of hunger and pride. Others are engaged in a delicate accounting process, indulging yet with the knowledge that they will expel much of what they have taken in. Still others are feasting on deliciousness until they are engorged and in physical pain but numb at last to the emotional pain they cannot bear. At the root of every eating disorder is a basic impulse for relief. They are in pain and they believe the only way they will find relief they find in the control they feel when restricting. Or the control they feel when purging. Or the dissociation they feel when stuffed. My patients are seeking freedom and they’re settling for relief.

When I began writing this sermon, I was thinking about freedom and trying to put on paper a picture of what real freedom looks like. At one point, I stopped in my tracks and realized that I don't really know what freedom looks like. I don’t feel very free at all. I certainly don’t live like I’m free. The bits of freedom I enjoy are poor substitutes for freedom, but they seem to do in a pinch. For instance, I enjoy the freedom of luxury. Relatively speaking, I am wealthy and I often feel entitled to my “standard of living”. I enjoy the freedom found in an occasional cigarette. I feel entitled to my tiny act of rebellion, this behavioral shrine to my adolescence. Occasionally, I take my freedom in the form of a day off from everything: I don’t do my homework or go to class, I watch TV movies and lay around – no reason, I’m just not in the mood to participate in the world. I find freedom through my thinking as a therapist, believing sincerely that most of my struggles can be understood and therefore alleviated through emotional processing and intellectual analysis. I am free, too, from a troubled relationship with my mother. Following many painful years, I have decided to keep my distance and I (mostly) enjoy the freedom I experience in that distance.

What I do not stop to notice is that these are not my freedoms at all - these are merely reliefs and I am bound by them. How disappointing it is to admit that these things bind me. Some of these things make me feel safe, some of them make me feel carefree. They create for me an illusion of freedom. The thing is, I’m preaching a sermon that I need to hear.

We all enjoy poor substitutes for freedom. When we begin to feel trapped, despairing, overwhelmed or bored, we don’t crave a deeper understanding of our freedom, we seek relief. And relief takes many forms. Guidelines are a relief. When we have rules, we no longer have to be engaged to know what to do next. Catharsis is a relief. We want to be rid of our burdens, to unload them and be through with them. Autonomy is a relief. We don’t want to be responsible for one another. Anarchy would be a relief. A life of no concerns, no authorities, no consequences – that would feel a lot like freedom. Can you pause and consider the moments, the habits, the experiences that bring you relief? What do you mistake for freedom?

The thing is, relief feels a lot like freedom in a broken world. And what a broken world we live in. That brokenness must be addressed, it must be known, and it must be grieved. However. We also live in a world in which the Messiah has come, in which God himself entered and walked and ate and invited us all to follow him. We live in a world in which God, encased in flesh, offered over his body to be broken for our brokenness. Christ died and he rose again. It is finished. Freedom is ours for the taking.

But herein lies the tension between the already and the not yet. Already and not yet is a theological term that attempts to capture the ambiguity, the “both/and” of the resurrection. Here we are, humanity groaning and striving, unknown to each other, unknown to ourselves. Freedom feels very far away indeed. And yet. It’s ours. We have been invited to enjoy a freedom that shatters all our expectations, overcomes our small-mindedness, and ultimately overshadows every ounce of pain we carry in our bodies. We are beloved of God, fully known and glorious.

The thing is, I don’t think we live well into the “already” and we do not live well into the “not yet”. We do not like to face the “not yet,” which is known in our brokenness. We minimize and ignore our brokenness, hurting each other as we pass one another by, assuming and projecting that “everything is fine.” Nor do we like to face the “already,” which is known in our glory. We wallow, fret, and grasp for control, seemingly unaware of the gospel altogether. Last week, we were invited to love each other in our brokenness, to know one another’s struggles, to be sensitive to how painful our lives can be, and to help carry each other’s burdens. In every way, that call needed to be heard. Another call needs to be put into the air as well: the Earth is the Lord’s and everything in it, do everything heartily and freely to God’s glory.

I want to read Eugene Peterson’s paraphrasing of 1 Corinthians 10:29-33 from The Message:

I'm not going to walk around on eggshells worrying about what small-minded people might say; I'm going to stride free and easy, knowing what our large-minded Master has already said. If I eat what is served to me, grateful to God for what is on the table, how can I worry about what someone will say? I thanked God for it and he blessed it!

So eat your meals heartily, not worrying about what others say about you—you're eating to God's glory, after all, not to please them. As a matter of fact, do everything that way, heartily and freely to God's glory.

Have you ever considered such a thing? “Live heartily and freely?” This seems directly contradictory to Paul’s very recent appeal to let go of your rights and wield your freedom with great caution. And yet. Here these words are, right next to each other. Wisdom for the “not yet” and a call to remember the “already” of the cross.

In the “not yet” world, we need all manner of coping mechanisms. We should absolutely be careful of one another, we should be concerned with how or if we are hurting each other. But what of the “already”? Are we willing at all to acknowledge that reality?

Here is what I dare to suggest: we want freedom, and we don’t actually want freedom. We are terrified of the reality that we are invited to by the cross. Living freely and heartily asks us to participate in what God is doing. Living freely and heartily requires an attunement to the Spirit’s movement. Living freely and heartily means that we will be seen and known, that our faces will be exposed, beheld, and beloved. Instead of living freely and heartily, we prefer to be bound. Bound to whatever brings us relief. We are bound to materialism, to the fruits of our futile efforts, to escapism, to isolation, to productivity. Mere relief, however, is not for the glory of God, nor is it for real delight, nor is it for the good of others. It’s not living.

In Dostoevsky's classic novel The Brother’s Karamazov, one character orates a parable to another character, focused on human nature and freedom. This parable is called, "The Grand Inquisitor." In it, this man known as the Inquisitor is asked a question about the church. “Why has a free act of love been transformed into a practice of submission?” The Inquisitor responds that people do not want freedom and truth, which only cause deprivation and suffering; they want miracle, mystery, and authority. The pain that accompanies compliance is preferable to the pain that attends to freedom."

We don’t really want freedom. The Corinthians are paralyzed because they are asking Paul to tell them what freedom looks like, which is exactly the antithesis of freedom. They’re asking Paul, “Can I do this?” “Can I do that?” “Does it even matter what I do?” They’re looking for relief. In asking for relief, the Corinthians are asking for permission to cease living, permission not to participate. They want permission to avoid the pain associated with true freedom and a vivid, hearty existence.

Although 1 Corinthians seems to be a text about how to live, I wonder if it is also an appeasement of the Corinthian’s essential human tendency to crave relief. Paul goes through the Corinthian’s questions and says, “Okay, sure, in this case, do this, unless of course this, then that.” But ultimately he comes back to, “So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.” Essentially, “Do everything heartily and freely to God’s glory.” Paul seems to pre-echo St. Irenaeus’ claim that “The glory of God is man fully alive.”
What in the world does “fully alive” look like? Perhaps being fully alive involves the earnest strain to locate the tiny sliver of faith within us that actually believes we are free, that actually believes in the gospel. Perhaps being fully alive is getting to be here in this room with others who share in our ambivalence about freedom. Perhaps being fully alive is the consistent reminder of the freedom we are offered and the freedom we forfeit, found in the face of the neighbor who is struggling with addiction, in the face of a friend in the depths of grief, in the face of a mother who is trying her best, in the face of a child who is learning how to laugh. Perhaps being fully alive is the privilege of gathering together around a table and giving thanks.

So as I return this week to my patients, who can’t yet taste freedom, who remain bound to temporary relief, will I dare to imagine a fuller freedom for them? How will I reimagine freedom for myself, beyond my measly reliefs? And as for you, what binds you? Will you notice the moments in which you feel relieved and wonder if below your desire for that feeling is a desire for something much, much heartier?

1 Corinthians 10:16 reads: Is not the cup of thanksgiving for which we give thanks a participation in the blood of Christ? And is not the bread that we break a participation in the body of Christ?

So, as we take in the broken body and outpoured blood of Christ, will we dare, just for a moment, to believe we are already free? Will we imagine what living heartily looks like for us as Awake? Will we throw off our binding, come together for brief spell, and participate in the free and hearty gift of the Eucharist?