As we approach the 4th of July here in the good, old USofA, I’m thinking a lot about freedom. As Americans, we love our freedom. We value and cherish our freedom. Soldiers are willing to die to protect our freedom. We go to great lengths to make sure that the freedom we currently enjoy will be passed down to the next generation.

We love freedom, but do we really understand it?

The concepts of slavery and freedom are deeply woven into the Story of the Bible. Beginning with the 400 years in Egypt, God demonstrated his desire to see his people free. But there was a particular reason why he wanted them free: He wants them to be set free so that they can worship him (see Exodus 5:1; 7:16; 8:1; 9:1; 9:13; 10:3). In other words, the Hebrews were set free from one thing (Egyptian slavery), but they were also set free for something (to worship YHWH).

Like those Hebrew slaves, we find ourselves enslaved, as well. Without Jesus, we are enslaved to sin and self to such an extent that we cannot free ourselves (see John 8:34). Because of our bondage, we are unable to live the life God created us for.

In the Bible, freedom is always from something, but it is also for something. God wants to set us free from our bondage to anyone or anything that keeps us from living life in his kingdom. God wants to set us free for a lifestyle characterized by what he calls “the fruit of the Spirit,” that is, love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control (see Galatians 5:22-23).

Freedom from….

Freedom for….

The apostle Paul was adamant about this. All who place their faith in Christ have been set free from sin and are now free to live life in the Spirit (see Romans 8:1-11; Galatians 5). God has set you free from your sin, free from your past, free from religious convention, free from regret and guilt and shame and fear and anxiety. But you’re not just free from all that; you’re free for some things now. God has set you free for a life of worship, a life of service, a life of joy and peace and love and generosity.

The important thing to remember is that if you never engage in the thing you’ve been set free for, you’ll end up enslaved again to the thing you’ve been set free from. If you never move forward into worshiping God by living a life of freedom in the Spirit, you’ll end up enslaved to sin and self all over again.

Value your freedom. Cherish that freedom. Fight for your freedom. Protect it and guard it. But know that it’s not complete until you move into the life you’ve been set free for.

———-

This post is adapted from my book The 52 Greatest Stories of the Bible — which, as it turns out, is still selling pretty well thanks to people like you.

There are two major themes in John 9. The first is, of course, the idea of sight and blindness. The man born blind can now see; the Pharisees claim to see but are really blind. Jesus sums up his mission in v. 39 by saying, “For judgment I have come into this world, so that the blind will see and those who see will become blind.”

Two verses later he says, “If you were blind, you would not be guilty of sin; but now that you claim you can see, your guilt remains” (v. 41).

Those are hard words and worthy of our consideration (which we did a bit in yesterday’s post). But there is another theme, and it is the one I want to think about today. The theme is: “I don’t know.”

That phrase appears three times in John 9. In verse 12, the Pharisees want to know where the man who healed the blind man went. The blind man’s response: “I don’t know.”

Later, the Pharisees question the blind man’s parents and want to know how it is that he can suddenly see. Their response: “We don’t know” (v. 21).

Eventually, the Pharisees try to discredit Jesus to the man he has healed by saying, “We know this man is a sinner.” The blind man’s response again: “Whether he is a sinner or not, I don’t know. One thing I do know. I was blind but now I see!” (v. 25).

Sometimes it’s important for us to remember that we’re not called to be scholars and systematic theologians (not that there’s anything wrong with scholars and/or systematic theologians). We’re not called to have all the answers and know all the finer points of Christian Doctrine. We’re simply called to be witnesses — people who share with others what God has done and is doing in our lives.

I have a reputation for knowing lots of information about God. I can walk a person through the 11 major divisions of Systematic Theology. I can break down philosophical and theological arguments from Augustine to Freud. I’m conversant in Lewis and Luther and Schaeffer and McLaren.

But there’s so much I don’t know. Recently, I caught myself beginning every single prayer with that phrase, “Dear God, I don’t know….”

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next.

I don’t know how to parent three little girls.

I don’t know how to respond to people.

I don’t know what’s going on in the world, in the church, in my own heart sometimes.

What is God up to? How is God going to deliver this time? When will things become clear again?

I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.

That’s disconcerting sometimes. I’m the kind of guy who likes to know. Not knowing keeps me awake at nights. Not knowing kills my appetite and gives me the heebie-jeebies.

I’m trying to learn how to rest in not knowing — to take comfort in the fact that the One I pursue and am pursued by knows. And when everything around me seems confusing or unclear, I can at least say this: “One thing I do know. I was blind but now I see!”

“As Jesus went along, he saw a man blind from birth” (John 9:1).

This is the beginning of one of my favorite stories in the Bible. We read about a grown man. Later in the story, his parents say he is “of age”. He’s been blind his whole life. He’s spent countless hours begging in the same place day after day. People walked past him all the time without even noticing him. They must have. They don’t even know for certain what he looks like.

It’s easy to do that — to walk past the same people in the same places day after day and never really see them. Most of us do it all the time.

We do it with more than people. We read over the same Bible verses again and again and miss the message that is only glaringly obvious after it’s pointed out to us by someone else. We drive through rolling hills or awe-inspiring sunsets, trees and grass and rock formations and blue skies, cloud formations and moving water. We have a way of becoming immune to the beauty of creation, the truth of God, the goodness of life.

We have a way of seeing without seeing. We look past life in all its fullness — all the joy and sorrow — all the mystery and comedy and tragedy that is so close we could reach out and touch it. If we would only open our eyes and see!

Life was not that way for Jesus. He saw. He noticed. He was frequently busy, of course. And he must have been burdened at times with the weight of his assignment. We would understand if Jesus was too pre-occupied with other things to notice one blind beggar.

And yet…over and over in the Gospels, it seems like noticing people was the primary thing with which Jesus was pre-occupied.

Part of honoring God is doing what he says.

Perhaps it mostly comes down to seeing people like Jesus does.

I have a sneaking suspicion that if I could see as he sees, I would be more likely to do as he says.

Our summer series at Shannon Oaks is called “Collide”. If you want to listen to the first two parts, you can go to our website here, or you can subscribe to our podcast (“Shannon Oaks Church Podcast).

The whole premise of the series is that there are truths we all know but have forgotten. And there are truths we know but don’t want to know so we pretend we don’t know them. We ignore our instincts and push aside the evidence as long as we possibly can.

But every once in a while — and it’s usually unplanned — you collide with truth in such a way that you can no longer deny it or pretend you don’t know it.

In those moments, you have a decision to make. Will you embrace that truth with all of its implications and ramifications? Or will you retreat from that truth and go on living in your own fantasy world?

This kind of thing can happen in lots of different areas of your life. Maybe your marriage is in trouble. You see all the warning signs, but you’ve chosen to ignore them — pretending that if you just bury your head in the sand, eventually the truth will go away and your fantasy world will become reality. But you know it never works out like that. Eventually, something happens — life hits you square in the face, and you have to choose what to do.

Maybe you suspect your child is involved in something bad, but you don’t really want to know. But you’re on a collision course with the truth, and, at the point of impact, you’ll have to make a decision about what to do with this truth you can no longer avoid.

Maybe it’s finances or work or your health. You know, but you don’t want it to be true so you push it aside until you almost forget about it. Then life crashes into you, and you can’t fake it anymore. The money’s gone. Your boss knows what you did. The test results come back positive. Now what?

There is no single area of life where this is more important than in your relationship with God. We all have ideas about what God should be like. Sometimes those ideas match up with reality. Often they don’t.

The question is: When you collide with a truth about God that you’ve been avoiding, what will you do? Will you retreat back to the safety of your false ideas? Or will you embrace the truth — as uncomfortable as it may be — and live in the light of reality?

This is what we’re talking about this summer at Shannon Oaks, and it’s what I want to talk about here on the blog. So, let’s get some ideas flowing by asking a simple question: What’s the most uncomfortable truth about God you’ve collided with lately?

Nicodemus was a member of the upper echelon of Jewish society. He was wealthy, educated and well-respected. He was part of a group that was responsible for making sure the Jewish people were happy with the Romans and the Romans were happy with the Jewish people. As long as they did their job, the Romans made life very comfortable for them. So, the name of the game was “Don’t Rock the Boat.”

Only one person was allowed to rock the boat as far as the Jewish ruling council was concerned: The Messiah. He could rock as hard as he wanted, because they knew he would drive the Romans out and return Israel to its rightful place of international prominence. When the Messiah showed up they knew he would set things right (with all his might) and they would benefit from his kingdom even more than they had from the Romans.

When Nicodemus shows up to talk to Jesus, he wants to know if Jesus has any inside information on when God might actually show up and initiate his kingdom. But he doesn’t actually get around to asking about that. He simply says, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God. For no one could perform the signs you are doing if God were not with him” (John 3:2).

Jesus kind of interrupts him and says, “I know you’re here to ask about when the kingdom is going to come. I tell you the truth, no one can even see the kingdom unless they’ve been born again.”

“I tell you the truth.”

In other words, “Nick, if you’ve got a pair of sunglasses handy, you might want to put them on right now. It’s about to get really bright in here.”

Nicodemus must have thought Jesus was joking. Born again? Nicodemus (like most other Jewish men) thought he was born right the first time. He didn’t need to be born again. He was already a Jewish man. It didn’t get any better than that, did it?

What Jesus was saying to Nicodemus was so different from what Nick and his friends believed — it must have really taken him off guard. Jesus was saying that God is not a racist — that being related to the right people doesn’t get you into God’s kingdom.

The Pharisees (of Jesus’ day and our day as well) believe that entrance into God’s kingdom was based on being born the right way and living the right way. Be Jewish and obey the law. That’s how you get in, and that’s how you stay in. There’s a good God who only lets good people into his good kingdom.

Jesus says that’s wrong. Good people don’t get into the kingdom; forgiven people do.

That’s really bright. It’s confusing to some, offensive and frightening. But if you’ll stay there in the light for a while, your eyes will adjust and you’ll be able to see how great this arrangement really is.

John sums up this story by saying that the Light (capital “L) came into the world, but many people in the world actually preferred darkness to the Light. It hurt their eyes. It was confusing, offensive, frightening, uncomfortable. So, they withdrew from the Light and want back to the darkness where they were comfortable.

Nicodemus, however, refused to go back inside. It was difficult and didn’t make much sense (“How can this be?” he asks Jesus), but he stayed there — mostly on the fringes — taking it in. Eventually, his eyes were opened to see both the kingdom and the King as they really are.

People love to quote John 8:32, “Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” Never mind the fact that few people can tell you who said it or where it can be found. They especially don’t know the context in which it was spoken. They just know it’s in the Bible somewhere, and it makes them sound smart or godly or whatever, so they love to quote it.

But do you notice the first word? “Then” — as in “Then you will know the truth.”

Kind of begs the question: “When?” — as in “When will I know the truth?”

See, this popular verse is the back end of what is called an “if/then statement” (anyone remember those from Geometry class?). If a particular condition is met, then the corresponding conclusion will follow. If a, then b. Also: If not a, then not b.

The first part — the “if” part — is pretty important, but it’s the part no one seems to remember.

For the answer to that question, we have to go to the verse before where Jesus says, “If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples” (John 8:31).

We usually want to make “hold to my teaching” equate with obedience, but that’s not really what it means. The New King James version probably has it best: “If you abide in My word”.

When Jesus came to earth he did more than live a sinless life, heal people and die for the sins of the world. He taught us how to live as citizens of God’s Kingdom. He showed us what the Father was really like, and he did so in very surprising ways. He touched lepers. He hung out with hookers. He violated traditions. He welcomed sinners and cursed religious types. He was constantly shocking people and claiming that his shocking behavior was a more accurate reflection of God’s character than any of the religious rituals ever were.

When Jesus revealed truth like that, people were taken aback. Like walking out of a dark room into the screamingly bright sunlight, it made people wince and want to draw back. Truth is like that. It hurts your eyes if you’re not used to it.

But the promise of God is this: If we’ll refuse to withdraw, if we’ll remain in the light of his truth, our eyes will gradually open to see colors we had never known before.

Then (and only then) you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.