Yoked

"For the one who was a slave when he was called to faith in the Lord is the Lord's freed person; similarly, the one who was free when called is Christ's slave." ~ 1 Corinthians 7:22

 

 

I have a confession. It’s really scandalous, so brace yourself. Are you ready? Okay, here it is: Sometimes, the bible confuses me. Reading it can be kind of like trying to put a puzzle together without all of the right pieces, or like trying to understand theoretical physics without even knowing how to add. And it’s not just the lofty Old Testament passages where so-and-so begat so-and-so, or the sweeping narratives of fiery wars, or the poignant parables laced with profound spiritual undertones. It can be as simple as one word, one word that stares up at me from the flimsy pages of my tattered bible and eats away at my soul.

            This is especially true in the letters of Paul, who time and time again refers to himself as a slave of Jesus Christ. A slave. Slave- there’s the word. The word that I wrestle with endlessly until I can manage to muster some kind of shoddy explanation for its use. My finite mind shoots out all kinds of objections, as if any of them were really worthy. But wait, I thought slavery was bad? But wait, I thought Jesus said He came to set me free? But wait, I don’t have time to be a slave; I am my own master, gosh dang it! The list goes on and on. Surely, Paul was just exaggerating. I don’t really have to be a slave to anyone. I can take all of the parts of Christianity that make me feel good, like a loving, caring God and the promise of eternal life without having to surrender anything in return. Right? Right!?!?

            So . . . what does it mean? To be a slave to Christ? And what’s the alternative? Because at the end of the day, isn’t everyone a slave to something? To fear? To pride? To despair? To physical pleasures that will only pass away with time? To feeble human volition? (I could  do this all day, mostly because I’ve been enslaved to all of these things, and many more, at some point or another.)

            But at first, the fact that everyone’s hypothetically enslaved to something doesn’t make being enslaved to Christ any more appealing. It raises all sorts of complicated theological questions about free will. “Great. So God just made me so that I can be His slave. And if I choose not to be His slave, then I’m going to be in bondage to something else anyway. Some God.” We begin to look at God as a tyrant who wants to make us His well-behaved robots- or else. He wants to shatter all of our hopes of happiness, forbid us from doing the things we love, and dictate even the most meticulous aspects of our lives with a caustic bolt of lightning. Do you want anything to do with this God? Because I sure don’t.

            This conception of God may be common, but is it realistic? Let’s take a look at the closest thing to God humanity has ever known- the divine living in flesh and walking among men. Jesus was not a tyrant. At least not when He said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these” (Matthew 19:14). He was meek. Let’s not forget the countless occasions in which He healed the hopelessly ill, and clothed the hopelessly poor. He was abundant in grace.  And what about the time he defended the destitute adulteress as the ravenous Pharisees longed to stone her? He reprimanded them, saying, “Let he among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone” (John 8:7). He was gentle; he was merciful. He let the woman go; he set her free. And as he hung in agony on the cross? He shattered the strongholds of sin and liberated humanity from the wages of sin- death. He took our death upon Himself, but three days later he triumphed over it like no one else ever could. As we look at this portrait, we start to see that being a slave to Christ isn’t so much about dreadful submission to an oppressive authority. It’s about being yoked to His character- to love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, faithfulness, and self-control. It’s about abandoning the trials and temptations that hinder us so that we might be made perfect in love. Yes, sometimes it requires difficult sacrifices. But compared to the alternatives, the yoke is easy, and the burden is light.

            And in our slavery lies the thing that awakens the hopes of the distressed soul: redemption. The bible uses several words to describe this precious entity, one being agorazo, which literally translated means “To purchase in the marketplace.” In biblical times, it frequently alluded to the purchase of a slave. In biblical context, however, it means that Christ purchased us through His precious blood. Purchased us from bondage of sin, for Himself. To Himself. To His character. Not because He is a ruthless authoritarian. But because we are His beloved children, and He wants to hold us in His embrace. He does not want to shatter our hopes of happiness; we wants to fill us with the hope of true happiness. He does not want to forbid us from doing the things we love; He wants to protect us from harm, and teach us to love the things that are best for us. He does not want to dictate the most meticulous aspects of our lives with a caustic bolt of lightning; He wants to permeate them with a raging fire of love.

            When I look at it this way, the pieces of the puzzle begin to come together. (I still have absolutely no understanding of theoretical physics.) The word slave no longer burns a hole in my heart. It gazes at me with eyes that are somehow compassionate and speaks into  me with a sense of peace.

                                                                  

           And so I let go. I stop making excuses; I am glad to let it happen. I flee from my temporary carnal liberty to complete bondage in Christ, and to Christ. I get on my knees and say, “Take me, all of me. I am yours. I am your slave, no matter the cost.” He reaches out and takes my wrist, and binds it to His, His which is pierced with scars that were meant for mine. I am no longer bound to my fear, my pride, or my despair. I am bound to the trust that He will purify me with His grace. I am yoked, for today, for tomorrow, and forevermore.

                                                                   

           
           It is in my slavery that I find freedom.