You Don’t Have to Do a Thing
I still remember a conversation I had with a stranger nearly
two decades ago. I was working at a café in college, and a friendly customer
had struck up a conversation. When he learned that I was a religious studies
major, he immediately became concerned for my eternal salvation. I guess the
fear is that too much study might lead a person to question their faith. (My
experience has been the opposite, but that’s another story.) The man asked me,
“Do you believe in the trinity? Do you believe that Jesus was the son of God
and was God himself? Do you believe in the resurrection?” Suddenly my neck felt
hot, and I couldn’t think straight. I certainly wasn’t thinking about my own
firsthand experience of Christ. Instead I felt only the pressure to answer
“correctly,” so that this man would approve and we could be on the same team.
Two thousand years ago, the Galatians had a similar experience. The Galatians were a community of gentiles—that is, non-Jewish people—who had become followers of Christ. Apparently when they first became followers of Christ, it had transformed their lives. Paul says earlier in his letter that they had been filled with the Spirit and witnessed wonderful deeds of power (Gal 3:4-5). But later, other Christians began to interrogate their faith. “Have you been circumcised? Do you keep kosher? Do you abide by the purity laws?” In other words, these other Christians criticized the Galatians for not becoming Jewish. After all, Jesus was Jewish and had followed the law. If a person wanted to enjoy the full embrace of God, they said, they first needed to become a part of the Jewish people, with whom God had already established an everlasting covenant.
I imagine the Galatians felt uncomfortable—not unlike how I felt in the coffee shop years ago. I imagine they felt pressured to answer with the “correct” answers. They probably began to doubt their own experience of faith. This is why Paul writes them. Remember your original experience of Christ?—he asks earlier in his letter (cf. 3:2-5). You didn’t have to do a thing for that. Belonging to God is not a matter of what we do but a matter of what Christ has already done for us. In Christ, who loves us all, we already belong to God; it doesn’t matter if you’re Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female (3:28).
“For freedom Christ has set us free,” Paul says in our scripture today (5:1). Faith is not tied up with doing the right things or having the right beliefs. We don’t have to pass a test. In Christ, we already belong to God. We don’t have to do a thing. “Stand firm, therefore,” Paul concludes, “and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery” ( 5:1). If we become slaves to certain behaviors or beliefs, thinking those are what save us, then we have effectively unwrapped God’s arms from around us and left God’s unconditional embrace (cf. 5:4).
The Enslavement of the Flesh
Right after Paul celebrates our freedom in Christ, he does a curious thing. He warns us about our freedom in Christ. We are only one step away from disaster, he says. If we put the emphasis on freedom and forget to live in Christ, we may end up thinking we have license to do whatever we want. For this reason, Paul begs the Galatians, “Do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence” (5:13). He proceeds to explain the dangers of this self-indulgence, which he calls living in the “flesh.” The flesh is just Paul’s shorthand for our shortsighted, impulsive way of living. Living in the flesh is doing whatever promises instant gratification. It’s eating a slice of cake disregarding the fact you’ve just had a full meal and you’re not really that hungry. It’s winning an argument at the cost of a friendship.
The “flesh” is a good word for what Paul’s talking about, because our selfish desires generally originate in the body, such as desires for food, comfort, and especially the security of being in control. (Doesn’t it feel good to be in control?) Traditionally readers have assumed that the word “flesh” refers to sexual sins, but in today’s scripture, only two of “the works of the flesh” clearly refer to sexual immorality (5:19). Most of the words refer to competition and conflict: “jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy” (5:20-21). I would playfully suggest that the key to Paul’s list is actually the word that seems the least relevant to us today: “sorcery.” I used to think that sorcery was a biblical idea that we have outgrown in the modern world. We know better than the ancients, right? Spells, magic wands—those things don’t actually work. What I have learned, however, is that the fundamental biblical concern with sorcery is not some outdated belief that sorcerers could actually change reality. The problem with sorcery is not that a person might actually succeed in their magical incantations. The problem is what’s in their heart and how it influences their behavior. Engaging in sorcery is saying to God, “My will, not yours. My kingdom come. We’re doing things my way.” Sorcery is telling God what to do.
At its heart, sorcery is like every other item on Paul’s list. It’s about control and getting our way. Paul is adamant that, while living this way may promise satisfaction, it actually results in profound disappointment. Doing whatever we want looks like freedom, but it is actually enslavement. Addiction, or what the spiritual traditions call “attachment,” is a stark example of this truth. Our attachments are in fact heavy shackles on our souls. They keep us, Paul says, from living in the kingdom of God (5:21).
The Parable of the Successful CEO
What, then, does real freedom look like—if it’s not being in control, if it’s not the pursuit of happiness? Paul’s answer is actually quite simple. You could say it in a single word. But first I’d like to try to say it in a story. Let me share with you a parable about a man who was enslaved by the works of the flesh, who was attached to getting his way—but whom Christ visited in a very unassuming manner, offering him freedom.
Once upon a time, there lived a very successful CEO. At work, he was ruthless. And people respected him for it. He was a master of manipulation, a man who knew how to get what he wanted and prosper his business. He knew how to work the press. He knew how to advertise and shape the hearts of consumers. He knew how to outwit his competitors. He knew how to quietly remove employees who were more trouble than they were worth. Occasionally his selfish desires resulted in certain “indiscretions,” but he knew how to cover those up and maintain the look of innocence. As if by some sorcery, he always came out on top.
But being successful was exhausting work for our CEO. He was always competing, always grasping, always seeking more control. Only when he returned home late at night did he know peace. At home, he was almost a different person—and for one reason: his dog. His dog was his one joy. He could not resist his dog’s earnest eyes, his wagging tail, his faithful presence. Toward his dog, our successful CEO was patient, kind, generous, faithful, gentle—all the things he was not at work. He indulged his dog with treats. He readily forgave him his canine blunders. It is not an exaggeration to say he loved his dog.
Sometimes at night, after our CEO had turned off his lights but before he had fallen asleep, he found himself dreading the next day and wishing he could live a different life—a life more like the one he shared with his dog.
Freedom Is Like Fruit
Real freedom, Paul says, is love. We find it first when we discover God loves us unconditionally—sort of like a dog loves us. Christ reveals to us that we don’t have to do a thing to belong to God. We belong to God just as we are. That is liberating news.
But that’s not the full picture, Paul says. Being loved naturally flows into loving others. And this love is freedom because it does not need to be in control. The freedom of love, Paul says, is like fruit. Fruit, of course, is not something we can control. We can plough, we can sow, we can reap, but we do not grow the fruit itself. When Jesus compares the kingdom of God to a seed, he explains, “The seed sprouts and grows, the [farmer] knows not how” (Mark 4:28). Fruit is not about control, but about love and faithfulness.
Our successful CEO knew the freedom of love—when he was with his dog. He did not control his dog but rather delighted in him, giving him treats, forgiving him, just enjoying his company. The irony is that at nights he wished for a life he already had. The lesson is one we could all learn, I think. The love of Christ, which sets us free, has to start somewhere. It could be something as small as a pet, or birds at the birdfeeder, or family or a friend—whatever primes the pump. But to know the full freedom of Christ is to celebrate this love and to allow it to flow into the rest of our lives.
Who knows? Maybe one day our CEO will wake up and recognize the face of Christ not only in his dog. . .but in his employees, in his competitors, in his customers. Perhaps at nights he will stop dreading the next day. Perhaps he would not be as successful. . .but perhaps he would be at peace—and free indeed.
Prayer
God of tiny seeds,
Whose kingdom is growing in our hearts
And in our world—
Awaken us to where we are shackled
By selfish, short-sighted desires.
And awaken us to where we are alive and free
In the love of Christ.
. . .
May the fruit of your Spirit
Be the feast we most desire.
In Christ: Amen.
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