Slave to Christ

I recall not long ago after a meeting someone hailing me and saying, “Would you mind taking Mary home? I’d take her myself but it’s a little out of my way.” “Of course, no problem,” I replied, and I did. Only later did I realise that it was quite a bit further out of my way than his. Not that I minded, but it did occur to me to marvel at how some people can be quite careful at rationing out their kindness.

Let me read the verse before the verse our reading from Romans began with today: “You must regard yourselves as dead to sin and alive to God, in union with Christ Jesus.” After that, Paul goes on to write about what “dying to sin” means: something he understood very well as true for himself, for elsewhere he writes “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.”

He mentions slavery quite a lot. His Roman readers would have understood him well: slavery was a fact of life in Rome, without any great stigma. Slaves could actually rise to do important work and hold significant status in society, but such slaves of course would have no civil rights of their own: whatever their status, education or skills, until they bought or secured their freedom, slaves belonged completely to their master.

How did you become a slave? Well, you might have been captured and brought from some distant province far from Rome, perhaps after a battle. But you might also have elected to become a slave. Paul writes about someone “binding himself to his master”. Slavery could be a profession not dissimilar to serving below stairs in an English country house: you might well have a better life and a higher status as a slave than as a free person.

Bind yourself to Christ, Paul says. Become his slave, allow him to own and control you; fix your mind on his. And don’t imagine that before you joined yourselves to Christ you were free: for if you were not a slave to Christ, you were a slave to sin. And, says Paul in a phrase everyone knows, he wages of sin are death.

Now the important thing about that verse is the contrast between sin paying a wage, and God giving freely: between law and grace. Remember that Paul had been brought up as a Pharisee. Until that day on the Damascus road when he encountered Jesus he’d been a zealous keeper of the Law, like any Pharisee. The Law controlled his life. The ultra-orthodox Jews of today are the present-day descendents of the Pharisees, and, like them, they ensure the Law of Moses is distilled and interpreted in the greatest detail so they can be sure at every moment of every day, and in everything they do, they don’t transgress.

But Paul came to see that, as he says elsewhere, “sin gains its power from the Law”. Those who elect to live by the Law must keep every last little bit of it; the smallest transgression cancels out all the times when you got it right. Paul the Pharisee had thought he was doing that; but how could he, really? Only God is perfect; we make mistakes, we make omissions, we get things wrong. As a slavemaster, the Law (and therefore sin, as empowered by the law), measures how we’ve done and pays a wage accordingly. And as we fall short of perfection, that wage is death.

In Christ, Paul has found a new way that turns the old way on its head. No longer need he try desperately to keep all the rules; instead, his motive for seeking to live a caring and loving life is thanksgiving for a gift freely bestowed, just given. By our own merits we can’t deserve eternal life, we’ve no entry door into heaven. But in union with Christ we’re freely given a share in what only he could achieve. In the triumph of the cross.

Knowing this, we’re free to live in a new way. There’s a hymn which begins “Love is his word, love is his way.” Paul had come to realise that what was lacking in his old life as a Pharisee was love. He’d kept the rules, hoping to gain the reward, the due wage, for his obedience, but somehow love hadn’t been part of that. Now he is released to live a life of love that responds to the free love showered upon him by Christ Jesus.

Our very short Gospel reading this morning is the very end of the chapter in which we hear how Jesus first sent his disciples out. And there’s a clue in these verses to the difference it makes to live under grace rather than under the law. Or I think there is, anyway. Jesus talks first about receiving, recognising, making space for: a prophet, a good man. He’s talking about how we respond to one another, and I’m reminded that to live under grace enriches our fellowship. It’s no longer just me and God, it’s all of us together and God. Law limits and excludes, grace opens up and includes.

And it even includes prophets. Prophets aren’t always gladly received, because they can be uncomfortable people, who tell it like it is. But theirs is a voice we need among us, a voice of reproof and correction. Sometimes we need someone to say, “Take a look at things, sort yourself out. You’re going a bit astray.” I think that to receive prophets gladly requires a measure of humility, and a recognition of our dependence on God. And I’m reminded that in the new way of living we don’t have to pretend to be perfect; we can even welcome those who tell us off - if they’re helping us be clearer about our faith, and to grow.

Then Jesus talks about giving: about impulse giving, giving that’s a simple, immediate and charitable response to our neighbour’s need. Whoever gives so much as a cup of cold water. I’m reminded that faith is revealed in small acts of kindness. The kingdom is proclaimed when our lives bear practical witness to the love of our Lord. When it’s not too much trouble.

This is what arises from our binding ourselves as slaves to Christ, from lives that reflect his life, in love that reflects his love. Mission is best achieved, our faith is best shared, in little acts of caring. Under the Law we may carefully measure our every action; but when we speak of grace we’re talking about God’s limitless love and God’s abundant blessing: and our thank you for that is to share what we’ve received.