SERMON Free to Be . . .

 

Pentecost 4 C (Lectionary 13): 1 Kings 19:15-16, 19-21; Psalm 16; Galatians 5:1, 13-25; Luke 9:51-63

 

Thirty-one years ago this week, this country celebrated its bicentennial. It is Fourth of July that I will never forget. The four of us spent the afternoon with friends picnicking in a field outside a music shed (really a barn) in Roxbury, Connecticut -- a very small town in northwest Connecticut that, one suspects, has changed little in two hundred years. Very, very New England. That evening our children climbed into the tent that opened up on the top of our VW bug (a tent usually reserved for the parents) while we sat on the grass with our friends. And on a perfect New England evening we listened to the Paul Winter consort play the frequently dissonant works of the composer Charles Ives -- works like Ives' "America." A strange but perfect combination that evoked real feelings of patriotism at a time when few of us were feeling patriotic.

One really had a sense that evening that the American revolution was about a call to real freedom and a real call to throw off what the founders frequently called the yoke of tyranny of British rule.

Which makes what we hear Paul say to the Galatians this morning eerily appropriate on this the week of our independence celebration. As we just heard, Paul tells the Galatians that they, too, have been called to freedom. And he directs them: "Stand firm, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery." Not surprisingly, preachers like Ezra Stiles and revolutionaries like Tomas Paine frequently quote and paraphrase these passages prior to the American Revolu­tion. And persuade colonists to take up the cause of freedom in the process.

And the end of it all was "freedom."

Now had you asked me in 1976 to define "freedom," I might have been tempted to quote the line from Janis Joplin song, Me & Bobby McGee: "Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose." Lee had just finished graduate school, and I had just graduated from law school. Neither of us had a job for the fall. I was waiting to look for jobs until we knew where we would be. The academic job market was a disaster. Lee had turned down one offer. By July 4, we hadn't exactly panicked, but I had started to study for the Connecticut bar. So the Janis Joplin line had appeal. I might have been tempted. Trouble is, I didn't believe it. And we didn't feel free.

So, if I had been asked to define "freedom" in 1976, my first thought would have been Marlo Thomas' LP record Free to be . . . you and me -- the album on today's bulletin cover.  I had discovered this record a few years earlier. As a committed feminist and the mother of daughters, I loved it. Amie and Caroline loved, too. We knew all the words by heart. Not too long ago, I gave our granddaughter a little book with the lyrics and stories in it. Listen to the lyrics of the title song:

                        There's a land that I see

                        Where the children are free.

                        And I say it ain't far

                        To this land from where we are.

                        Take my hand. Come with me,

                        Where the children are free.

                        Come with me take my hand,

                        And we will live . . . .

                        In a land

                        Where the river runs free --

                        (In a land)

                        Through the green country --

                        (In a land)

                        To a shining sea.

                        And you and me

                        Are free to be

                        You and me.

                   . . . [the last verse] . . .

                        Every boy in this land

                        Grows to be his own man.

                        In this land, every girl

                        Grows to be her own woman.

                        Take my hand. Come with me,

                        Where the children are free.

                        Come with me take my hand,

                        And we will run . . . .

                        To a land

                        Where the river runs free --

                        (To a land)

                        Through the green country --

                        (To a land)

                        To a shining sea --

                        (To a land)    

                        Where the horses run free --

                        To a land where the children are free.

                        And you and me

                        Are free to be

                        You and me.

In 1976, I would have said (and would still say) that social freedom is true equality --  not only gender equality which Free to be . . . you and me is about, but racial and economic equality as well.


Which is not at all the kind of freedom that founders of this country had in mind. For Ezra Stiles, the preacher, freedom was freedom from a British threat of renewed religious oppression. For other revolutionaries, the yoke of bondage to be cast off was the British monarchy and its economic stranglehold on the colonies. Freedom did not encompass gender, racial, or social equality. Thomas Jefferson was not alone in owning slaves. And it certainly did not mean that there was nothing more to lose.

Which brings us to Paul. "For freedom," Paul writes, "Christ has set us free." What then is this freedom about?

Well, there are a number of things that it is not about. It is not about Janis Joplin personal freedom because it is not about isolated individuals. It is not about societal freedoms because it is not about society at large. It is not about political freedoms because it is not about government.

Paul's freedom is Christian freedom. And that freedom is breathtaking.

And to understand just how breathtaking you have to realize what Paul means by "flesh" and what he means by "Spirit."

By flesh he does not mean skin and bones and blood and hair and eyes and ears. Rather, he means our human nature which opposes itself to God through self-seeking. The Spirit for Paul  is not just any spirit. It is not, for example, Oprah's "human spirit." Rather, the Spirit is God's Spirit.

In a part of Paul's letter that we did not hear this morning, Paul assures the gentile Galatian Christians that, through Christ, they are free from observing the law of circumcision and from following the Mosaic Law. This morning, Paul goes on to say that even though these gentile Christians are not obliged to follow the Law, they should, through love, through agape -- through love like God's love for us -- become slaves to one another. And in so doing we in fact fulfill the law that is the one true abiding law: the law that we love our neighbor as ourselves.


It is only then that Paul goes on to speak of the works of the flesh -- narcissistic, volitional acts that oppose God as well as undermine the Christian community:  fornication, impurity, licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy, drunken­ness, carousing. Not unfamiliar, are they? Paul contrasts these narcissistic, volitional works of the flesh with the fruit of God's Spirit -- fruit that is realized in acts of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, and self-control -- all acts that strengthen the community, all acts that illustrate how, in freedom, we become slaves to and for one another.

This then is a breathtaking freedom! It is Spirit induced and Spirit led and Spirit guided. It is communal. We are not in this alone. And it is happening in this community of faith now. There are those in this community who are ill or facing major changes. There are young families, not unlike our family thirty-one years ago, who are dealing with irrational market forces and unanticipated unemployment. None of this is easy. But it is made bearable because this is a community that cares. A community that loves. That takes seriously its call to be the Body of Christ. We are bearing one another's burdens, helping where and when we can.

And we are praying. As Karl Barth the theologian has written, "To clasp the hands in prayer is the beginning of an uprising against the disorder of the world."

And what an uprising that is! Successful as it was in terms of its political objectives, the American uprising that we celebrate this week pales in com­pari­son. And for that we thank our God and the Spirit that guides us.

Amen

July 1, 2007

Ruth VanDemark, pastor

Wicker Park Lutheran Church

Chicago