You’re Always Serving Something

Good morning, everyone. If we haven’t met, I’m Matt VanCleave, one of the pastors here at Blue Oaks.

I want you to think for a moment about what it means to be free.

We use that word all the time.

We want financial freedom.
We want freedom in our schedules.
We want freedom to choose where we live… what we do for a living… who we spend our lives with… what we believe… how we raise our kids.

And especially in our part of the world, freedom is closely connected to autonomy —

I get to decide. No one else gets to tell me who I should be or how I should live.

And there’s obviously something good about that. Most of us are incredibly grateful to live in a culture where we’re free to make choices about our lives.

But I wonder if we’re as free as we think we are.

Because you can be completely free to make your own choices and still discover that some of those choices aren’t nearly as free as you thought.

You choose to check your phone. Then one day you realize you have a difficult time NOT checking your phone.

You choose to pursue a successful career. Then one day you realize your career has the ability to determine whether you feel successful as a person.

You choose to care what someone thinks about you. Then you discover their approval can make your day and their disapproval can ruin it.

You choose to worry about something because it feels responsible. And then at two o’clock in the morning, you’d really like to stop worrying about it, but apparently worry didn’t get the memo.

That’s interesting, isn’t it?

Because somewhere along the way, the language changes.

“I choose this” becomes “I need this.”
“I enjoy this” becomes “I can’t imagine life without this.”
“I care about this” becomes “I have to have this in order to be okay.”

And something that began as a choice can gradually acquire power over us.

That’s the tension Paul explores in the second half of Romans 6.

Last week we looked at the first half of this chapter, where Paul talked about what has happened to us because we’ve been united with Jesus in his death and resurrection.

Now he’s going to ask a different question.

If grace has set us free, what exactly are we free from? And what are we free for?

Because Paul is about to challenge one of our deepest assumptions about freedom.

We tend to think there are two possibilities.

Either someone else controls my life… or I control my life.

Paul says there’s a third possibility we don’t like to consider.

Maybe we’re all serving something.

Maybe the question isn’t whether you have a master. Maybe the question is which master you’re serving.

And if that sounds a little uncomfortable to modern ears, imagine how it sounded to people living in Rome two thousand years ago.

Paul is about to use one of the strongest and most provocative images available to him.

Slavery.

And before we’re finished, he’s going to make an extraordinary claim — the things that promise us freedom can actually enslave us.

And surrendering ourselves to God can actually set us free.

Let’s see how he gets there.

Paul begins in verse 15.

What then? Shall we sin because we are not under the law but under grace? By no means! Don’t you know that when you offer yourselves to someone as obedient slaves, you are slaves of the one you obey—whether you are slaves to sin, which leads to death, or to obedience, which leads to righteousness? (Romans 6:15-16)

Does that first question sound familiar?

It should. Paul asked almost the same question at the beginning of the chapter.

In verse 1 he asked, “Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase?”

Now he asks, “Shall we sin because we are not under the law but under grace?”

And once again his answer is immediate — “By no means!” Absolutely not.

But this time Paul explains his answer with a completely different picture.

Slavery.

And I think we need to acknowledge that this is uncomfortable language.

When we hear the word “slavery” in America, we immediately think about one of the darkest chapters in our history — the kidnapping and trafficking of African people, black families being torn apart, people treated as property, and generations of brutality whose consequences are still with us.

Paul’s original audience would have heard the word through a different historical experience, but they wouldn’t have heard it as something harmless.

Slavery was woven into Roman society.

Enslaved people could be found working in households, businesses, agriculture, administration, and all kinds of other settings.

Their experiences varied enormously, and some eventually received or purchased their freedom.

But at its core, Roman slavery still meant something very simple and very disturbing — You belonged to someone else. A master had authority over your life.

And that’s precisely why Paul chooses such a provocative image.

He’s not endorsing slavery. He’s using one of the most powerful realities in their world to say: “Don’t you realize that whatever you continually hand yourself over to eventually begins exercising authority over you?”

Listen again to verse 16:

Don’t you know that when you offer yourselves to someone as obedient slaves, you are slaves of the one you obey? (Romans 6:16)

In other words, Paul says you can learn something about your master by looking at your obedience.

Not simply: “What do I say I believe?” But: “What consistently gets my yes?”

That’s a much more uncomfortable question.

Because most of us would say, “No one owns me. I’m free.”

And Paul says, “Okay. Then let’s look at your life.”

What can you not say no to?
What has the power to determine whether you’re okay?
What do you continually organize your life around?
What gets your best energy?
What can ruin your day simply by being taken away?
What do you keep obeying even when you’ve decided you don’t want to obey it anymore?

Those questions may tell us more about what we’re serving than anything we’d put on a religious questionnaire.

And this is where Paul’s understanding of freedom is so different from ours.

We tend to think freedom means: “I can do whatever I want.”

Paul says that’s not necessarily freedom.

Because what happens when you can do whatever you want… but you can no longer stop wanting what you’re doing?

That’s not freedom. That’s mastery.

And it can happen much more subtly than we realize.

A number of years ago, I decided I was going to learn how to play golf.

And when I decide I’m going to learn something, I can get a little… committed.

I took lessons. I practiced as much as I could. I started playing once or twice a week. And over time, I made significant progress.

Then I set a goal.

I wanted to start shooting in the 70s.

At the time, I didn’t really understand what that goal was going to require from me.

I apparently thought you just kept playing golf and eventually the numbers got lower.

Golf had other plans.

I discovered that if I wanted to shoot in the 70s consistently, I was going to have to practice almost every day and play considerably more than I had been playing.

I wasn’t willing to take that time away from my family or my work, so I took it out of sleep.

I’d get up at the crack of dawn and go hit balls or play before coming into the office.

And eventually I got there.

I started shooting in the 70s consistently.

And then… I quit playing.

Which probably sounds ridiculous. I had finally accomplished what I’d been working toward, and then I walked away from it.

But I had realized something. Golf had started as something I chose. But eventually the goal began making choices for me.

If I wanted to keep shooting those scores, golf was going to tell me when to get up.

It was going to tell me how often to practice.
It was going to tell me how often to play.
It was going to determine how much of my time and attention it received.

And I finally decided: I’m not willing to give this what it’s asking from me anymore.

Now, there’s nothing wrong with golf. There’s nothing wrong with getting good at something.

But I learned something through golf that applies to much more important areas of life:

Something can begin as something you control and slowly become something that controls you.

That’s the thing about masters. Eventually they start making demands.

And golf is a relatively harmless example.

Paul is talking about something much deeper.

Because sin always presents itself as freedom.

“Do what you want.”
“Follow your desires.”
“No one gets to tell you how to live.”

And then, almost imperceptibly…

“I can do this” becomes “I need this.”
“I enjoy this” becomes “I can’t be okay without this.”
“I choose this” becomes “I don’t know how to stop this.”

That’s not freedom. Paul says that’s slavery.

And here’s where this gets uncomfortable, because sin isn’t the only thing that can begin functioning like a master.

Success can.
Money can.
Approval can.
Sex can.
Comfort can.
Your career can.
Your image can.
Your phone can.

Even something as good as your family can begin occupying a place in your life it was never meant to occupy.

The issue isn’t necessarily whether the thing itself is bad.

The question is: What happens when I tell it no?

Can I put the phone down?
Can I disappoint someone and still be okay?
Can I fail and still know who I am?
Can I give money away?
Can I rest when there’s still more work to do?
Can I celebrate someone else’s success when mine isn’t being noticed?

Those are the moments when we begin discovering whether we’re enjoying something… or serving it.

And Paul says there are ultimately two masters.

One promises freedom and leads to death. The other looks like surrender but leads to life.

And in the next two verses, Paul tells us that something remarkable has already happened to those who belong to Jesus.

But thanks be to God that, though you used to be slaves to sin, you have come to obey from your heart the pattern of teaching that has now claimed your allegiance. You have been set free from sin and have become slaves to righteousness. (Romans 6:17–18)

Now there’s a sentence you don’t hear very often — “You have been set free… and have become slaves…”

Which is it, Paul?

Are we free? Or are we slaves?

Paul’s answer seems to be… Yes.

Which sounds contradictory to us because of the way we normally think about freedom.

We tend to define freedom as the absence of restrictions.

I’m free when no one tells me what to do.
I’m free when I can follow whatever desires I have.
I’m free when I can construct the life I want.

But think about whether freedom actually works that way.

Imagine someone says, “I want the freedom to play the piano.”

Okay. You own a piano. No one is stopping you. Sit down and play something from Mozart or Beethoven.

Most of us would discover fairly quickly that owning a piano doesn’t make you free to play one.

If you really want that freedom, you have to surrender yourself to something.

Scales.
Lessons.
Practice.
Repetition.

You’re going to have to tell yourself “no” thousands of times.

“I don’t feel like practicing today.” — Practice anyway.

“I’d rather play something fun.” — Scales. Again. And again. And again.

Strangely enough, all of those restrictions eventually create a freedom you didn’t have before.

Now you can sit down at a piano and make music.

Or think about an athlete.

The athlete who says, “I refuse to let anyone tell me what to eat, when to sleep, when to train, or how hard to work because I want to be free” isn’t becoming more free as an athlete.

They’re becoming less capable.

Discipline doesn’t always oppose freedom. Sometimes discipline creates freedom.

That’s much closer to the way Paul thinks.

He’s not asking, “How do I get to the place where nothing has authority over me?”

He’s asking, “What kind of authority will produce the person I was created to become?”

And that’s why the phrase “slaves of righteousness” is so important.

Paul isn’t saying God rescued you from one abusive master so he could become another abusive master.

He’s saying sin and God exercise completely different kinds of mastery.

Sin promises freedom and slowly takes it away. God asks for your surrender and slowly gives freedom back to you.

One master makes you less human. The other restores your humanity.

One master takes your desires and distorts them. The other begins putting your desires back in order.

One master eventually makes it harder and harder to say no. The other begins making you increasingly free to say yes to what’s good.

That’s the paradox at the heart of the Christian life —

Real freedom isn’t the ability to do whatever you want. Real freedom is becoming free to want what leads to life.

And I think we actually understand this intuitively.

No one looks at an alcoholic who desperately wants another drink and says, “Look how free he is… no one is telling him what to do.”

No one looks at someone consumed by anxiety who can’t stop rehearsing every possible catastrophe and says, “That’s freedom.”

No one looks at someone who needs everyone’s approval and says, “She’s so wonderfully independent.”

We know there’s a kind of desire that can become bondage.

So maybe freedom isn’t simply getting what I want. Maybe part of freedom is being liberated from desires that are destroying me.

And notice something else Paul says in verse 17.

You have come to obey from your heart the pattern of teaching that has now claimed your allegiance. (Romans 6:17)

“From your heart.” That’s important.

Paul isn’t describing people reluctantly following a new set of religious rules. He’s describing something happening inside them.

Their desires are beginning to change. Their allegiance is changing.

The Christian life isn’t simply God standing over you saying, “Stop doing that. Start doing this.”

It’s God slowly transforming you into the kind of person who begins to love what is good.

Which means obedience isn’t opposed to freedom. Obedience to the right Master is what teaches us how to become free.

I think this is where Jesus’ words make so much sense.

Jesus once said: “Everyone who sins is a slave to sin.”

But then he said: “If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.”

Jesus and Paul are saying the same thing.

Jesus doesn’t set us free so that nothing can shape our lives. He sets us free from the master that is destroying us so we can give ourselves to the one who gives us life.

And that raises an important question. How can you tell which kind of master you’re serving?

Paul says one way is to look at where it’s taking you.

Because every master eventually produces something in the life of the person who serves it.

And that’s exactly where Paul goes next.

I am using an example from everyday life because of your human limitations.

Just as you used to offer yourselves as slaves to impurity and to ever-increasing wickedness, so now offer yourselves as slaves to righteousness leading to holiness.

When you were slaves to sin, you were free from the control of righteousness. What benefit did you reap at that time from the things you are now ashamed of?

Those things result in death! But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves of God, the benefit you reap leads to holiness, and the result is eternal life. (Romans 6:19–22)

Paul starts verse 19 by saying, “I’m using an example from everyday life because of your human limitations.”

In other words, Paul knows the slavery metaphor isn’t perfect.

He’s using something they understood from everyday life to help them understand something that’s difficult to see.

Then notice where he takes the argument.

He says there was a time when they offered themselves to impurity and wickedness, and it led to “ever-increasing wickedness.”

That’s an interesting phrase. Because Paul describes sin as something that grows.

It doesn’t usually stay where it started. It makes increasing demands.

Which is exactly what we’ve been talking about.

Something begins as a choice. Then it becomes a pattern. The pattern becomes a habit. The habit begins shaping your desires. And eventually you can become the kind of person you never intended to become.

That’s one of the deceptive things about sin.

It rarely shows you where it’s taking you. It only shows you the next step.

No one wakes up one morning and says, “I’d like to destroy my marriage.”
No one says, “My goal is to become bitter.”
No one thinks, “I’d really like money to become so important to me that I spend my entire life anxious about it.”
No one says, “I hope my need for approval eventually makes me incapable of disappointing anyone.”

We just keep taking the next step.

And eventually we look around and wonder, “How did I get here?”

Paul says: Look at the direction. Because whatever you’re repeatedly giving yourself to is doing something to you.

I think that’s an incredibly important question to ask about our lives.

Not simply: “Is this allowed?”

But: “What is this producing in me?”

What is constantly checking my phone producing in me?

Maybe the issue isn’t that there’s something morally wrong with checking your phone. Maybe the better question is: “Is it making me more present… or less present?”

What is my career producing in me?

Is my work making me more generous… and more grateful… and more able to contribute something meaningful to the world?

Or am I becoming more anxious… and more competitive… and more incapable of resting?

What is social media producing in me?

Am I becoming more connected… or more envious? Am I becoming more informed… or more angry?

What is my relationship with money producing in me?

Greater generosity… or greater fear?

And here’s one that hits pretty close to home for a lot of us around here:

What is success producing in me?

Because success can do some wonderful things.

It can give you influence… and resources… and opportunities… and the ability to help people.

But success can also quietly make you less patient with people who aren’t successful. It can make you terrified of losing what you’ve built. It can convince you that your value is connected to your accomplishments.

The question isn’t simply whether something is good or bad.

The question is — “What is it turning me into?”

I think that’s one of the most important questions we can ask about anything we repeatedly give ourselves to.

And Paul says the same thing is true in the other direction.

He says:

Just as you used to offer yourselves as slaves to impurity and to ever-increasing wickedness, so now offer yourselves as slaves to righteousness leading to holiness. (Romans 6:19)

There’s another word we sometimes misunderstand — holiness.

When we hear “holy,” some of us picture someone who’s extremely religious.

They know more Bible verses than you do.
They pray longer than you do.
They probably don’t watch anything good on Netflix.

But that’s not what Paul means.

Holiness is about becoming increasingly set apart for God’s purposes. Becoming the person God intended you to be.

More loving.
More patient.
More courageous.
More generous.
More truthful.
More capable of forgiving.
More present to the people around you.
More like Jesus.

Paul says that’s where this Master is taking you.

And then in verse 21 he asks a devastatingly simple question:

What benefit did you reap at that time from the things you are now ashamed of? (Romans 6:21)

In other words: “How did that work out for you?”

That’s a question worth sitting with.

Think about some of the things you once believed would make you happy.

Some of the things you chased. Some of the things you thought you couldn’t live without.

How did they work out?

Did they deliver what they promised?
Did getting more approval finally make you secure?
Did earning more money finally make you stop worrying about money?
Did winning the argument finally give you peace?
Did getting even heal the wound?
Did the thing you thought you absolutely had to have finally make you content?

Paul says, “Look at the fruit.”

Don’t just listen to what the master promises. Look at what the master produces.

And then he gives us the contrast.

But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves of God, the benefit you reap leads to holiness, and the result is eternal life. (Romans 6:22)

Do you see the two trajectories?

One way of life keeps narrowing you — it makes you increasingly enslaved… and increasingly ashamed… and increasingly less alive.

The other begins opening you up — you become increasingly free to love… and free to give… and free to forgive… and free to tell the truth… and free to rest…. and free to stop proving yourself… and free to become the person God created you to be.

And this kind of transformation usually doesn’t happen all at once. It happens through thousands of small acts of offering ourselves to God.

Every time I tell the truth when lying would be easier… I’m becoming someone.
Every time I forgive instead of keeping score… I’m becoming someone.
Every time I give when I’d rather hold tightly… I’m becoming someone.
Every time I put the phone down and become present to the person sitting across from me… I’m becoming someone.
Every time I obey God when another voice is promising me something easier… I’m becoming someone.

Our choices aren’t simply things we do. Our choices are shaping the people we’re becoming.

And eventually every way of life produces a destination.

Paul has shown us the two roads.

Now, in one sentence, he’s going to show us where each one ends.

For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 6:23)

Most of us have heard that verse before. But notice the two words Paul chooses.

“Wages,” and “Gift.”

Those are completely different ways of receiving something.

Wages are what you earn — you work… you get paid.

Your employer doesn’t hand you your paycheck on Friday and say, “I just wanted to bless you with this.”

No… you earned that.

In fact, if your employer tried that, you’d probably say, “Thank you for your generosity… but I’m pretty sure that’s my money.”

Wages are something you’re owed.

A gift is exactly the opposite — you don’t earn a gift… you receive it.

Paul says sin pays wages.

That’s a fascinating way to say it. Because sin makes all kinds of promises.

It promises freedom.
It promises pleasure.
It promises control.
It promises, “If you serve me, I’ll give you the life you want.”

And Paul says: Eventually payday comes — “The wages of sin is death.”

And I don’t think Paul is talking only about what happens when we physically die. We’ve already seen throughout Romans that death begins invading life long before the cemetery.

Something dies every time sin has its way.

Trust dies.
Intimacy dies.
Integrity dies.
Sometimes a marriage dies.
Sometimes a friendship dies.
Sometimes our ability to experience joy begins to die.

Sin always takes more than it tells you it’s going to take.

That’s the master Paul says we’ve been set free from.

But then look at the other side of the sentence.

Paul does NOT say: “The wages of righteousness are eternal life.”

That’s what I would expect him to say. If he’s building a comparison, that would make sense — sin pays death… righteousness pays life.

But Paul deliberately breaks the pattern — “The wages of sin is death, but the GIFT of God is eternal life.”

Why?

Because you can’t earn this life. You can’t perform your way into it. You can’t obey enough to make God owe it to you.

God gives it.

And notice where the gift is found — “In Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Which brings us right back to where we’ve been throughout Romans.

Jesus doesn’t merely show us a better way to live. He gives us his life.

And I think this is where Christianity is so different from the way we often imagine religion.

We imagine God standing at the top of a ladder saying, “Climb.”

Try harder.
Be better.
Clean yourself up.
Get your act together.

And if you make it high enough, maybe God will accept you.

The gospel says God came down the ladder.

Jesus came to us.
He entered our world.
He took our sin.
He died our death.
He rose again.

And now he offers us something we could never earn.

Life.

That’s why surrendering to Jesus is so different from surrendering to every other master we’ve talked about today.

Every other master eventually says, “Give me more.”

More time.
More money.
More attention.
More achievement.
More of yourself.

And if you give enough, maybe it will finally give you what you’ve been looking for.

Jesus is the only Master who begins by saying, “I’ve already given myself for you.”

That’s why we can trust him.

That’s why surrender to Jesus isn’t the loss of freedom. It’s where freedom begins.

So maybe the question to leave with today isn’t, “Am I serving something?”

Paul assumes you are.

Maybe the question is, “What am I serving… and where is it taking me?”

Look at the fruit.
Look at what it’s producing in you.
Look at the person you’re becoming.

And maybe ask one more question — “What is it costing me to keep serving it?”

Because some of us already know the answer.

There’s something in your life that started as something you chose. But somewhere along the way, it started choosing for you.

Maybe it’s approval.
Maybe it’s success.
Maybe it’s money.
Maybe it’s pornography.
Maybe it’s alcohol.
Maybe it’s anger.
Maybe it’s control.
Maybe it’s your phone.
Maybe it’s simply the relentless need to have life go the way you want it to go.

And you’ve been telling yourself…

“I can stop whenever I want.”
“I can let this go whenever I want.”
“I don’t really need this.”

Paul says, “Then find out. Say no. Put it down. Give it away. Tell someone. Ask for help.

“Stop offering yourself to the thing that’s taking life from you. And offer yourself again to the one who gave his life for you.”

Because that’s the invitation of Romans 6.

Not: “Try harder so God will love you.”

Not: “Become religious enough to earn eternal life.”

The invitation is: “Stop serving masters that promise life and pay death.”

Give yourself to the one whose gift is life.

Because you’re always serving something. The only question is whether what you’re serving is giving you life… or taking it from you.

Pray with me as the worship team comes to lead us in a closing song.