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Your freedom does not depend on how well you live it. It rests entirely in him.
“Where there is forgiveness of sins, there is also life and salvation” (Martin Luther, Small Catechism).
Our friend Jake Smith has a motto at his church: “Enjoy your forgiveness.” Not wanting to copy him, but very much wanting to copy him, we’ve changed one word: “Enjoy your freedom.”
Freedom is easy for Lutherans to talk about. We preach it, defend it, and can quote Luther on the subject without looking at our notes. Yet even though we are lovers of freedom in principle, in actual practice we often treat freedom like a voyage between Scylla and Charybdis. On one side lies the Scylla of legalism. Talk about Christian growth, and we worry we are trying to earn God’s favor. On the other side is the Charybdis of antinomianism. Say too little about the Christian life, and we worry grace will give us permission to do whatever we please. Both dangers are real, but we become so concerned about avoiding danger that we never leave the harbor.
To change the metaphor, imagine a prisoner has spent his entire life behind bars. One day, someone enters his cell, removes his shackles, and opens the door. He is told he has been pardoned. There is nothing left to pay. He can walk out into the sunshine and begin living. But something strange happens. The prisoner stays in his cell. The prisoner has grown so accustomed to prison life that freedom makes him uncomfortable. He knows the rules. He knows what is expected of him. Outside are decisions to make, risks to take, and a whole world to enjoy. So even though the shackles are off, the prisoner remains in the cell as the old Adam hates the light (John 3:19).
The trouble is that we are not so different from the prisoner. We know how to proclaim that Christ has broken our chains, freeing us from bondage to sin, death, and the devil. We can preach the old Adam into the grave. But what about the new person whom Christ raised to life? Are we good at proclaiming Christ’s forgiveness but lousy at announcing what Christ has freed us for?
What does it actually mean to live as people who are already free? Or to say it another way, how do we enjoy our freedom?
The New Person Gets to Live
In his death, Jesus bore our sin. In baptism, he joins us to himself. Paul writes that we were buried with Christ so that, as Christ was raised, “we too might walk in newness of life” (Rom. 6:4). The risen Christ is already giving us his life. He will raise our bodies on the last day, but even now we belong to him. Luther makes this clear in the Small Catechism. Baptism means that the old Adam must daily be drowned through repentance so that a new person might daily emerge and rise to live before God in righteousness and purity. In other words, through baptism, the new person rises and lives.
Christian growth is descriptive rather than prescriptive.
Of course, new life in Christ does not always look like steady improvement. Sometimes it includes falling down, confessing our sins, and discovering once again that Christ never lets go of us. Christian growth, then, is descriptive rather than prescriptive. We are describing what life in Christ can look like, not prescribing a standard by which Christians must measure progress. Growth is never the proof that we belong to Christ.
Later in the Small Catechism, while explaining the benefits of the Lord’s Supper, Luther makes another remarkable statement: “Where there is forgiveness of sins, there is also life and salvation.” Notice what Luther does. He refuses to leave forgiveness standing alone. Forgiveness is not merely the cancellation of a debt. Forgiveness always brings life and salvation.
The theology of the cross rightly teaches us to seek God in the crucified Christ rather than in our own spiritual works. But there is a difference between the “theology of the cross” and a “theology of Eeyore.” The cross tells the truth about sin and suffering, but it is not meant to make gloom a Christian virtue. We do not need to become so suspicious of triumphalism that we distrust joy. Christ did not die and rise again so that we could spend the rest of our lives staring at the walls of our prison cell. The crucified Jesus is also the risen Lord. He has given us a life to live and a world to enjoy. Just this morning at preschool chapel, I (Russ) held a banana to my ear and pretended to answer a phone call. The children erupted in giggles. Laughing with your children is not a rival to the cross. Such moments are not distractions from the life Christ has given us; they are gifts of his grace, meant to be received with thanksgiving and enjoyed in freedom.
The Shepherd Leads Us Out
Sometimes we mistake the prison cell for the sheepfold. We reassure ourselves that the flock is safe while the sheep are left circling the same worn patch of grass. We know how to warn people against legalism, how to correct the slightest hint of self-righteousness, and how to guard against antinomianism. But if that is all we have to say about the Christian life, we have forgotten something important. The Good Shepherd calls his sheep by name and leads them out of the confines of the sheepfold into the wide pastures of the life he gives.
Jesus gives us a fuller picture. He goes ahead of his sheep, and they follow his voice (John 10:3-4). He is also the gate through whom they “go in and out and find pasture” (John 10:9). Their safety rests in him as he leads them. We can venture into the life Christ gives, knowing we won’t live it perfectly. The Good Shepherd does not wait for perfect sheep before leading them into the pasture. But there are gifts to discover and neighbors to love beyond the familiar walls. The Shepherd knows our names and calls us to follow. We are not alone.
During our years working at Grand View University, we both encountered young adults who had become remarkably adept at deconstructing everything. Sometimes for good reasons. But these same students had little idea how to build a life. They could identify what was wrong with the world, but they struggled to imagine what a good life might look like. The absolution that frees these young people from their past also opens them up to a future. Christ gives them a life to live, and the church has the wonderful opportunity to help them discover what that life looks like. God is with them, and he is also with you.
The church can proclaim Christ’s absolution and offer practical wisdom for life beyond the prison cell. Preachers announce, “Your sins are forgiven.” But the church can also help people learn how to live within that promise, navigate conflict, earn a living, have a family, and care for someone who depends on them. Older Christians can share what they have learned, including what their own failures have taught them. Wanting to grow doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten grace. It may simply mean we’re beginning to enjoy it.
We do our young people no kindness if our language about the death of the old Adam leaves them afraid to trust, commit, or grow. The risen Lord has given them abundant life (John 10:10). His church can walk with them into this life, speaking forgiveness when they fail and encouraging them to begin again. This is part of the conversation and consolation of believers (Smalcald Articles, Part III, Article IV).
Perhaps you have heard his voice and have tried to grow in freedom. You have prayed, made promises, and worked hard. And perhaps this has left you exhausted. At times the invitation to enjoy your freedom can even sound like one more demand. But that is not a burden the Lord placed on you. Christ has not set you free only to hand you another assignment. He is not standing outside the prison cell demanding you come out. Your freedom does not depend on how well you live it. It rests entirely in him. He comes to you, even there, with forgiveness and mercy. You do not have to become good at freedom to be free.
What Does Freedom Look Like?
What might this freedom look like on an ordinary Tuesday? Perhaps there is a neighbor who could use dinner. You can simply take it over with no strings attached. Paul makes this connection in Galatians. Having announced our freedom in Christ, he writes, “through love serve one another” (Gal. 5:13). Freedom makes room for love. Luther puts it this way in The Freedom of a Christian: “A Christian is a perfectly free lord of all, subject to none. A Christian is a perfectly dutiful servant of all, subject to all” (LW 31:344). Faith receives everything from Christ, and love turns toward the neighbor. Your neighbor needs you outside the prison cell. God has set you loose into the wonderful world he has given, where you have something to offer and much to receive.
Freedom also gives us room to work on ourselves. You can get help with the anger, learn to listen, take better care of your body, or develop skills. This is not a theology of glory. Your standing before God is secure in Christ, leaving you free to pursue change for the joy of it. There is joy in a calmer home and in doing something you once found difficult. Progress may be slow, but God’s love is never in doubt.
Even prayer and devotion belong to freedom. We do not pray and read the Scriptures to muscle our way toward Christian perfection. We pray because Christ has promised to hear us, and in reading the Scriptures we are brought again to the promises of our baptism.
Freedom makes room to delight in the world around us. Plant a garden because you enjoy watching things grow. Sit down with your family over a good meal. Make music, take a walk, make love, or laugh at something. God’s creation is full of gifts to be enjoyed, so enjoy them.
You are also free to be loved. You can let someone else help if they offer. Grief, illness, and exhaustion can make delight difficult. “Enjoy your freedom” must never become a demand to pretend cheerfulness. Christ holds you on the days when all you can do is let someone sit beside you. His faithfulness does not rise and fall with your feelings.
The Father Comes Out, Too
Perhaps that is why the father in that parable of the prodigal son is such a welcoming picture (Luke 15). The son returns home with his confession prepared. But before he can negotiate his return, the father embraces him, clothes him, and orders a celebration. The father does not merely release his son from condemnation. He throws a party.
But the older brother stays outside. He worked hard and kept score, and the celebration seemed terribly unfair. We can recognize something of ourselves in him, too. Sometimes grace is easier to explain than to enjoy. The door is open yet he cannot bring himself to walk through it.
Then comes a detail we should linger over: the father comes out to the son as well. He goes to the one who cannot bring himself to join the celebration and pleads with him: “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours” (Luke 15:31). The father wants both his children at the feast.
If you are standing outside wondering whether grace can really be this generous, hear the father’s welcome. There is a place for you at the table, even with your fear of getting things wrong. The Father has not come out to give you another assignment. He has come to bring you home.
Will we get things wrong? Will we need correction and daily repentance? Yes. Yet we can bring our failures to the same Christ who has already given himself for us. In this we will learn that his mercy is sufficient not only for the sins behind us but also for the life ahead of us.
So take the meal to your neighbor. Receive the kindness someone offers you. There is a world your Father has made and a life with others he gives you to share. You have nothing to prove by enjoying it. The shackles are off. Christ has made you his own. Your Father is glad to have you home. He has given you a world to discover and people to love.
Enjoy your freedom.
