Caught up in Christ: Romans, Sin, Baptism

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As you’ve probably heard, during the next few months, the clergy of this church will be preaching with a special focus on Paul’s Letter to the Romans. Our hope is that we’ll all get to the end of this season with a better understanding of the Apostle Paul, the first-century Church in Rome, and what this ancient letter has to say for us today.

You may recall that, over the last few chapters, Paul has been working out a theological position, which he describes as “justification by faith.” The church in Rome seems to be struggling to understand how to integrate Jews and Gentiles into shared life under a new identity which will come to be known as “Christianity,” At this time, following Jesus is simply called, “The Way.”

The congregation in Rome is asking: “What does it mean for a non-Jew to be brought into the promises of the God of Israel?” “How should these Gentiles behave?” “And which laws should they follow?”

Paul says that the only measure by which a Christ-follower is judged is “faith.” Rather than ethnically prescribed laws or rituals, this is the thing that will unify all people who follow in the Way of Jesus. So, to be “justified by faith” is to be brought into the promises of God – not by proving ourselves worthy – but by turning to God with the expectation that we will receive his grace – his “unearned favor.”

Today, we continue in Romans 6. At this point, Paul is offering a necessary point of clarification to “justification by faith.” Because, he realizes that, by telling people that they don’t have to follow God’s laws in order to receive his grace, he might have opened the door to a…well, moral free-for-all.

“Hold up!” he says. “Just because God doesn’t choose to save you based on how well you behave, it doesn’t mean that we should change the words of that folksy hymn to: ‘they will know we are Christians by our hedonism.’”

With that in mind, for the next couple of chapters, Paul decides to focus on the concept of sin.

But, what does Paul mean when he uses the word, sin? I think, for most of us, sin is thought of as a personal offense. Sin is about “me” making a mistake because of some shortcoming within myself – which means the entire responsibility is on me to fix it. (As a Type A, eldest daughter, Enneagram 1, I confess that I live a lot of my life as if this is true.)

But, for Paul, sin cannot be fully understood as a consequence of personal weakness. Scholar Brendan Byrne says that Paul understands sin as “a ‘power’ tyrannizing the human race” (Brendan Byrne, Sacra Pagina: Romans).

In other words, sin is, in some ways, external to “you” or “me.” It is like a parasite that can get ahold of you and make you act against your sincerely held values. It is temptation that takes innocent needs and desires, and twists them into something ugly, instead of life-giving. And it is systemic – in that, it can ensnare a community, a nation, and even the world in its distortions.

Sin can make people of goodwill act against the will of God. And Paul doesn’t think that it’s something any of us are meant to overcome on our own. Its power can only be diminished by a greater power. And for Paul, this is the power of Jesus.

Paul uses the example of Baptism to describe how Jesus em-powers us to overcome the forces of sin. Paul says that baptism is more than a symbol of good winning over evil. For him, baptism is the mechanism by which Jesus instills us with the power to resist sin, and follow in his Way.

It’s easier to understand this if you know that first-century baptism was “full-immersion” baptism. An attendant would have assisted you in stepping down into a baptismal pool, before dunking you in the water. Then you would have emerged, fully soaked, and walked up a different set of steps to leave the pool. In this movement down, and then up again, it was understood that you were spiritually entering your own grave, and then rising from the dead – following the same pattern as Jesus.

Even though we follow a different practice today, the meaning is still the same. In the act of baptism, we descend into our own – and Christ’s own – death, and ascend into the promise of resurrection life. We approach our baptism as wanderers and leave it as pilgrims in the Way of Jesus. And, from that point on, our lives are ordered by the sacrifice and glory of Jesus, enabling us to follow in his footsteps with the assurance that we already know the way.

The powerful mystery of all this is that Jesus is not just an example to us, but an eternal presence with us.

As Byrne puts it: “Christ does not lose his individual personal identity but, nonetheless, as risen Lord and “life-giving spirit,” he somehow “contains” within His person, in a communal sense, the messianic community destined for salvation.”

Caught up in Christ, we become not just a partner with him, but a part of him. We are knit into the tapestry, caught in the web, held in the arms, and adopted into the family of God. From this foundation of love, our lives are transformed. We are no longer pressed down by the power of sin and death, Because we have caught a glimpse of our own resurrection.

For Paul, we are justified, and we receive grace, through fragile, human faith. But the sign of that grace is our life transformed by power of Jesus, which helps us resist evil, choose good, and return to him in repentance.

Contrary to popular belief, Christianity is not about tracking who is right and who is wrong. It’s not about relentless guilt and punishment for our shortcomings and our sins. It is not a divine test that we are doomed to fail. Of course, we will still make mistakes. We will still get caught up in manipulation, half-truths, and self-serving tendencies. We will still let fear burden our decisions. We will still sin.

But, Christianity is about this: Sin doesn’t have power over us anymore. Sin is “dead to us.”

And we are alive! In the creative, abundant, beautiful life of Christ. As a part of his resurrected life, we counter the power of sin by trusting that joy, love, and forgiveness form the pattern of life in his kingdom.

Our daily task is to be present to Christ’s power that is already within us, so that we can follow in his Way more completely: trusting that his “grace is sufficient” to turn our lives around, to heal the things that are broken, and to restore us to his family.

The struggles and temptations of this life are not ours to manage alone. The power of Christ is in us. And, in Jesus, even death leads to new life.

Amen.

Reconciled, Forgiven, Freed | Christ the King Sermon

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Today is “Christ the King” Sunday. And that means it is the last Sunday of the church year. Next week, we will start our three-year scripture cycle over again, with Year A, and we will enter into the season of Advent.

The tone will shift, and we will look forward, with renewed urgency, to the coming of Christ: both the Christ-child that we celebrate at Christmas, and the risen Christ, who promises to bring about the “restoration” of the world.

On this last Sunday of the Christian year, as we prepare for the chaos, longing, and joy that Christmas brings, it is good to remember that Christ is king, which means that “perfection” is his job – not ours. Jesus holds everything together, when our best laid plans seem to be falling apart. He calls us to let go of what burdens us, so we can join with him at the banquet he prepares for us.

Over the past 40 or so years, it has become increasingly unpopular to use kingly metaphors when referring to God or Jesus. Though our scriptures are full of references to the triune God as Counselor, King, and Almighty One – and though God’s relationship with his people hinges so often on his authority – some of our newest liturgies remove these references.

In some of the liturgies of our church, words like “Lord” have been changed to “Savior” or, simply, “God.” Kingdom has been changed to “reign.” Some of the most faithful people I know refer to the Kingdom of God as the “kin-dom of God,” deemphasizing the hierarchy between God and humankind and emphasizing humanity as equal members of the family of God.

None of this is necessarily a bad thing…

For one, these edits are pretty subtle – they don’t necessarily change very much in the context of a single prayer or turn of phrase. In some cases, they bring renewed meaning to well-worn statements of faith by signaling that God’s domain is more generous and expansive than those of worldly rulers. And, in a world run by tyrants and would-be tyrants, it is reasonable to be wary of using hierarchical language associated more with violence than benevolence.

In a recent article written for The Living Church, the Reverend Barbara White speaks to this point:

In a world of developed democracies, which is nevertheless beset by dictators, oligarchs, and those who want to be, it makes sense to wonder if kingship is the most relevant metaphor for Christ’s relationship to the world and to humanity. There is also the uncomfortable fact that the term “Christ Is King” has been recently highjacked by alt-right antisemites on social media—which should be…condemned by all who bear the name of Christ…

In this day and age, it is good to be careful with our language. And it is reasonable for us to worry about what it signals to declare Christ as King when there are people out there suggesting that Christ’s kingship is some kind of political maneuver that means that people that look and think “like them” should be in charge.

But, anyone who calls Christ King while encouraging more division, more judgment, and more self-righteousness is missing the point entirely. Because, by naming Christ as our King, we should be seeking, not to uphold, but to destroy the hierarchies and boundaries that divide people. We are all made equal under the banner of Christ our King.

In today’s Gospel reading, we encounter the final moments before Jesus’ death on the cross. Smug bystanders mock and ridicule Jesus for claiming that he is the Son of God and the Messiah, the “anointed” one. They have placed a sign over his head that reads: “King of the Jews.” It is intended as a clear denial of his kingship – after all, this so-called Savior is dying.

Meanwhile, from his lofty height on the cross, Jesus looks down and asks for their forgiveness: “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.”

In that moment, one of the criminals on the cross next to Jesus receives a spark of understanding: Jesus is not only innocent, he really is the Savior spoken of in the prophecies.

So, he asks for all he thinks he can ask for, as a guilty man: “remember me.” And Jesus gives him all that he can give: eternity: “Today you will be with me in paradise.”


Jesus is a king who turns everything on its head: his throne is a cross and his law is forgiveness.

Here on the cross, there is a profound reversal of expectations. The bottom falls out of earthly power structures held up by self-interest, self-righteousness, and control. And now, the full sweep of humanity falls into the arms of Christ: reconciled, forgiven, and freed.

This moment on the cross reveals the true character of Christ’s kingdom: No one is too far gone. No one is beyond forgiveness. And the scorned and abandoned are the first to enter paradise.

When the criminal recognizes Christ as king, he can finally let go of his own will to power. He releases his protective pride and accepts the compassion Jesus shows him. He dares to reveal his deepest hope – that he will not be forgotten. And when he asks, he receives more than he could imagine.

His story can be a lesson for all of us. When we accept Christ as king, we no longer have to hold onto our own wills to power – motivated by shame, longing, regret, and fear – because we know we are held by a savior who loves us more than his own life.

In a time when association with kings and kingdoms is perhaps more fraught than it has been since the American Revolution, we must reclaim the concept of Christ as King. We do this by placing it within the broad message of the Gospel, which reveals that Christ is fundamentally different from the rulers of this world.

He does not rule through control or fear, but by endlessly expanding freedom and joy, in a single-minded path to reconciliation. He is Love, embodied, calling us by name, finding us when we’re lost, and forgiving us even when we don’t ask for it. He makes it possible for us to be a “kin-dom,” a family made up of people who aren’t related and might have hardly anything in common, besides being so deeply loved by Jesus. By reconciling us to himself, we can find peace with one another.

Christ is King, which means we can lay down their weapons, our burdens, and our pride and let Christ do what he does best: make a way to paradise, for everyone. Amen.