Madeleine-LEngle

In typical fashion, the Holy Spirit pointed me toward another thought on freedom, following right on the heels of what I read yesterday in L’Engle’s Bright Evening Star. The meditation for today in Lent and Easter Wisdom is titled “Freed by the Truth of Christ.” John Paul takes John 8:32 as his starting point: “You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” The Pope says,

These words contain both a fundamental requirement and a warning: the requirement of an honest relationship with regard to truth as a condition for authentic freedom, and the warning to avoid every kind of illusory freedom, every superficial unilateral freedom, every freedom that fails to enter into the whole truth about man and the world.

I never heard this verse much as a child, but once I entered into charismatic circles, I heard it all the time—but usually without a reminder that the truth is often challenging. People would raise their hand and declare “I’m free! I’m free!” without giving much thought to what the truth is. I like what Joyce Meyer says about John 8:32: “It’s not the truth about someone else that will set you free; it’s the truth about you.” Our tendency too often is to think, “If only so-and-so had heard this message; this is exactly what they need.”

Both the Pope and Joyce remind us that for the truth to be effective—for Jesus’ beautiful promise of freedom to be manifest in our lives—we have to take a hard look at ourselves. I must consider what I believe and how it lines up with scripture. Not so much in the doctrinal sense but in terms of what the Bible says about me and my situation. Paul tells us that we “have not been given a spirit of fear, but of power, of love, and of self-discipline” (2 Timothy 1:7). This is truth, and in it I will find freedom. But do I believe it? Do I know it as truth in my heart, or is it merely something I know in my head and can recite from memory? If I continually overeat because I tell myself I have no control when I see something sweet, then this truth of self-discipline is theoretical at best.

My experience has been that finding freedom often means giving up excuses: “I know I overate but…” or “I’m sorry I was unkind but you…” Instead, I must say, “I ate too much because I wanted to.” “I was unkind because I chose to be unkind”—or even more to the point, “I was unkind because I wanted to be unkind.” Ouch! Such a statement conflicts with my view of myself as a really nice guy; really nice guys don’t want to be unkind—no, it just happens!

I will know the truth, and the truth will set me free. The question of the moment for me is not “do I know the truth?” but rather, “do I want to know the truth”? And related to that, “Do I really want to be free?”

Madeleine L’Engle continues the story of her childhood in the second chapter of Bright Evening Star, writing about the differences between punishment and abuse and about painful experiences in “Beyond the Silver Hairbrush.” Born during WWI, in which her father had been injured in a gas attack, war was a constant presence in her growing up. One of the things I love about her upbringing is that she was free to ask questions, both of her parents and of God. Her parents were wise enough to know that children deserve real answers to difficult questions. When she asked why Jesus, whom she knew as loving and kind, didn’t stop war, her parents told her, “‘We are creatures with free will; God refuses to interfere with our misuse of it.’” She continues,

Thus began the continuing question of God’s omnipotence and human free will. God gave away power when he made creatures with free will. That was a strange thought. God, who is all power, gave away power! And yet the ability to give power away, lavishly, lovingly, is greater than hanging onto power as human beings try to do. With us power is control. With God it is freedom.

As I ponder this, many situations come to mind: struggles with my wife over who gets to have their way; conflict at work between administrators and faculty over–again–who gets their way; three children, one TV, and who gets to have their way. With our first child, Zachary, I was amazed that even at two there was such a strong desire to have his way, to hold on to power. Babies and toddlers seem so loving and sweet, and they are, but right there from the beginning is also that desire to have, to control, to be in power. Watching Isaac and Anna has only confirmed this: the conflict starts early.

And another situation comes to mind: Jesus washing the disciples’ feet. I’ve loved these verses from John 13 for many years, though I don’t think I have fully grasped their import:

Before the Passover celebration, Jesus knew that his hour had come to leave this world and return to his Father. He now showed the disciples the full extent of his love. It was time for supper, and the Devil had already enticed Judas, son of Simon Iscariot, to carry out his plan to betray Jesus. Jesus knew that the Father had given him authority over everything and that he had come from God and would return to God. So he got up from the table, took off his robe, wrapped a towel around his waist, and poured water into a basin. Then he began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel he had around him. (John 13:1–5, NLT)

There’s much that could be said here, but I want to focus on Jesus’ motivation to wash the disciples’ feet. He “knew” (the Amplified adds, “was fully aware of”) two things: “that the Father had given Him authority (or power) over everything” and that “He had come from God and would return to God.” John makes clear that this knowledge or awareness leads Jesus’ action: “So He got up…”

Jesus had a sure sense of Himself and that allowed Him to give away power. He also, as other passages make plain, had a sure sense of His Father’s care and plan. On a number of occasions, Jesus put Himself in dangerous situations because He knew that His time had not yet come (see, for example, John 7:30).

In yesterday’s sermon, Chris talked about a man who came to him saying he knew he needed to give his life to God but just couldn’t do it. He was afraid of what he would give up. This is a struggle for many, both saved and unsaved, and I’ve come to believe that the giving up is a continual process of growth. What I knew I was giving up at 22 is much different than what I know I must give up to God at 42. For this man, for myself, the key seems to be knowing who I am and knowing where I come from. It’s also knowing, as L’Engle says, that power is not control but freedom.

Because I know my value to God and know that I’m in His hands, I am free to give up my power to force my way at home. Because I’m secure in Christ, I have the freedom to overlook the offensive words of a coworker. It is freedom–giving away power–that allows us to turn the other cheek. It is trust in God’s love that allows me to say, “I don’t know how this is going to work out, but I’m going to give over control of this situation to God and let Him work it out; I will not carry this burden anymore.”

Chris pointed out that we often believe the lie that choosing God–giving away power–is going to leave us with less, that God won’t come through, that we’ll be the worse for the decision. For several years, I have submitted myself to God in my prayer time. As I prayed yesterday, I found it helpful to address this lie. So after I submitted myself to God, I added, “I declare that I lose nothing in giving myself over to God. Jesus promised that whoever loses anything in this life for the sake of the gospel will gain much more in return, and I believe that promise. I willingly give up my power knowing that I am and will be blessed.”

“A Sky Full of Children”

March 27, 2006

For my birthday, I bought Madeleine L’Engle’s Bright Evening Star, a series of essays on the “Mystery of the Incarnation.” The first of these is “A Sky Full of Children”; the title refers to the stars, each one created and named by God. L’Engle offers some things to think about:…

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