Freedom.
What do you think of when you hear that word?
Is it being able to do what you want, go where your impulses carry you?
Maybe not, in your head. Probably, whether you realize it or not, in your actions.
Is it being the person you want to be, the control over your own destiny?
Maybe not, in your head. Probably, whether you realize it or not, in your actions.
"Freedom is the ability to choose your own prison."
I read that saying once and, upon reflection, was thrilled with the witiness of it. We all choose our prisons, whether we realize it or not. The thing that we turn to, the thing that we use as a tool in our hands, ends up controlling us sooner or later, just as the ring that Frodo carried to Mordor ended up controlling him and being a burden on him. In the end, he could not get rid of it on his own.
There is only one prison, however, that provides freedom. Ironically, it is also the prison that we consistently fail to choose. It feels too much like a prison to our small minds.
It is the prison of Jesus Christ, and His love.
Why does this feel so much like prison? Because to believe in Jesus is to cease believing in ourselves. To believe in Jesus is to admit that we are not worth believing in. To believe in Jesus is to give up control over our own lives. To believe in Jesus is to rest, broken, in the palm of His hand. To believe in Jesus is to cease feeling strong on our own. To believe in Jesus to to rely on Him alone. To believe in Jesus is to give up your own wants and desires and to rest in His wants and desires for you. To believe in Jesus is to give up your own dreams and start fulfilling His. To believe in Jesus is to give up all that you hold dear over to Him, and to begin holding Him dear.
To believe in Jesus is to be imprisoned by His love.
"They answered Him, "We are Abraham's descendants, and have never been in bondage to anyone. How can you say, ' You will be made free'?" Jesus answered and said to them, "Most assuredly I say to you, whoever commits sin is a slave of sin. And a slave does not abide in the house forever, but a son abides forever. Therefore if the Son makes you free, you shall be free indeed.'" -- John 8:33-36
A son.
Abides forever.
Free indeed.
Hosea is such a condemning, comforting book. What a reminder of the sin that we have, commit, and are. What a reminder of the utter hopeless harlotry that we live in every day. Yet, what a reminder of the tender love of the bridegroom we have.
"When Israel was a child,
I loved him,
And out of Egypt (the place of bondage) I have called My son. . .
I taught Ephaim to walk,
Taking them by their arms;
But they did not know that I healed them.
I drew them with gentle cords,
With bands of love,
And I was to them as those who take the yoke from their neck.
I stooped and fed them . . .
My people are bent on backsliding from Me.
Though they call to the Most High,
None at all exalt Him.
How can I give you up, Ephraim?
How can I hand you over, Israel? . . .
My heart churns within Me;
My sympathy is stirred.
I will not execute the fierceness of My anger;
I will not again destroy Ephraim.
For I am God, and not man,
The Holy One in your midst;
And I will not come with terror.
They shall walk after the LORD . . ."
Hosea 11 (various verses)
If the Son has made you a son, you are free indeed!
I have always imagined it like this:
You are a little baby, playing in a mud puddle at the bottom of the hill. You are crawling through the mud, wallowing in it, getting stuck in it, and yet you think that you are making great headway on your journey up the hill towards home. In reality, you are slipping backwards constantly in a mud puddle not much bigger than you. You think that the mud puddle is all there is to the journey. You think that because to believe that it is much bigger than what you see is to cease having control over it. So you keep on crawling, getting dirtier and dirtier, choking on the mud that you begin to create.
But your daddy won't let you stay that way. He wants you home. He wants to gather you in His arms. He wants to make you clean. He loves you. So, he reaches down and holds out His hands. You ignore them, push them away, determined to crawl on. He persists. He is taking your hands now, and you are resisting, maybe even screaming your defiance at Him, but he continues to hold your hands. He is down in the mud with you, absorbing the mud onto His clean robes, His tears washing you and making you clean. He is lifting you, holding tightly to your hands, setting on your feet on dry ground. Yet you continue to struggle. You are kicking your feet and twisting your body, trying to get back to the safe mud puddle. Your Daddy lets you struggle. He wants you to learn to walk. He lets your feet slip in some mud again - but he never stops holding on to your hands. Slowly and surely, again and again, he pulls you up the hill towards home. There are rocks along the way. Somehow, baby loves to stub her little toes against them - repeatedly. Your flailing produces more mud a times. There are times when you are tired, tired enough to realize just a little of the strength holding you up. There are times when you dare to try to raise your eyes to catch glimpses of your Daddy's face. There are times when you begin to cry out to your Daddy, and these times become more and more frequent. You are learning to walk.
You are learning that to walk is to be held up by the arms of everlasting love.
In that is freedom.
