Christian Freedom

Atheism can sound very appealing. You get to define your own goals in life, how you will achieve them, and what standards you will judge your own life by. From a perspective outside of the Kingdom looking in, it seems that atheism means freedom, in contrast to a life “by the rules” within the Kingdom. Christ seems to call Christians to give up a lot – including their own wills. If that doesn’t seem a little frightening, maybe you haven’t thought about it enough.

Have we given up our freedom? Yes.

Have we gained our freedom? Also yes.

As a Christian, there are things that I perhaps would like to do, that I choose not to do in obedience to Christ; and there are things that I really do not want to do at all, that I try to do, in obedience to Christ. Before I accepted Christ, this would have seemed like a strange sort of freedom indeed.  What do I get in return for giving up my freedom?

There are two parts to that question, and two parts to the answer.

The first answer is that “What do I get?” is the wrong question. I give myself to Christ because He is my Lord and I owe my allegiance to Him – because of who He is. Everything else is secondary.

The second answer is that if I’m concerned about “giving up my freedom,” I should ask what kind of freedom I mean. You see, there’s one subtle difference: it is the difference between freedom from and freedom to.

Atheism is all about freedom from restraint: freedom from God, from natural law, from obedience to a higher and rightful authority. One might ask, though, where that freedom leads. Does it lead to joy? Does it lead to goodness? My experience of it – thirty years of experience before I became a Christian – is that it does not. “Freedom from” ends up in a circling down into the self. Without boundaries, without structure, we cannot grow. Without growth, we turn in on ourselves, destructively.

In contrast, Christian freedom is freedom to live rightly. Freedom to become who we were made to be. Freedom to love, to give, to experience joy.

“Freedom from” is cheap. Anyone can kick over the traces, reject all discipline and authority. “Freedom to” is always costly.

Great artists are free to use paint, clay, wood, canvas, or writing to bring their inner visions to life. They are free to create beauty and meaning – because they spent many hours and years learning the craft, developing their skills, studying the field, deepening their knowledge and insight. Without that background of discipline, the amateur artist is not free. He or she may have a vision in mind, but will not be able to bring it to life.

Great athletes are free to physically do more things, and do them better, than any “weekend  warrior” ever could. But athletes have that freedom because of many hours of training, discipline in diet and exercise, obedience to trainers and coaches and teachers, willingness to do the day-in and day-out labor to develop skills at the level of pure reflex. Without that background – which includes boredom, frustration, and physical pain – the athlete is not free. He or she may think “I could do that,” but the “could” will never become a “can” without discipline.

The key here is that the discipline is willing. You don’t have to like something to choose freely to do it. Do writers always like revising their work? No. Do athletes always like doing drills and conditioning? Again, no. We choose to do these things for the sake of the greater end. Doing the unpleasant or boring stuff is what enables me – frees me – to do the exciting work, have the fulfilling experiences.

So, too, with Christian freedom.

I don’t like confession. I don’t like having to face my sins and repent of them. I’d much prefer not to think about them at all – not to own up to my own faults, and not to have to work on doing better. But I know that life trying to be free from God is, ultimately, a life lived in shadow. Life lived in His light is often very difficult, but it is the difficulty of the artist and the athlete – of learning new habits to be equipped for greater joy.

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