Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann
Romans 6:1-11
January 8, 2017
This morning I’d like you to use your imagination. Imagine that someone decided to make a movie about your life. For me, this exercise requires a great deal of imagination—because there is precious little in my life that might be considered worthy of a movie, and it’s not easy to imagine why anyone would ever be inclined to produce a movie based on my life. Well, except for that one part where the awkward, uncool, boy falls in love with the very cool princess of the school and miraculously manages to win her affection and her hand in marriage. But, on the whole, the rest is typical enough. Maybe you feel the same way about your own life: nothing too exciting, pretty normal, highly typical. But, let’s press on. Give it some thought, think about a movie based on your life. What sort of movie would it be? Would it be an action adventure? Would it be a travelogue recounting a long journey? Would it be an emotional drama full of pathos and angst? Would it be a romantic comedy? A suspense thriller? Or, would it be a documentary filled with facts and homey anecdotes and not much else? Regardless what you might think about the life you’ve lived so far and the kind of movie that might best portray that life—or even whether or not there’s anything movie-worthy about your life, this morning, I’ve got news for you. Your life, ordinary and uninteresting as it may seem, is actually an extraordinary story, one worthy of a movie—and it’s got a plot that could make it the ultimate feel-good movie. Let me tell you about your movie.
You already know the lead actor—that would be you, of course—and you’re playing yourself. The plot is simple. There’s no need to get bogged down in details. Frankly, they aren’t that important! What matters is the basic plot development of your story. This movie, your movie, is a story about redemption. It’s the classic tale of great sorrow turned to joy, a movie about terrifying peril that gives way to celebration. You know the story. It’s your own. It begins with the lead character (remember, that’s you) in a desperate situation. You were cursed with an unfortunate birth—coming into the world already in trouble, burdened by the weight of the sin of all your ancestors, and so culpable and flawed from the outset. It didn’t take long before your life was riddled with sins of your own. Between the crushing weight of original and actual sins, you were doomed—lost in the dark despair of your sinful life and fated to spend an eternity enduring holy and just wrath as the righteous punishment for your sinful failure. When put so bluntly it sounds particularly horrible, but this is the reality of the story, your story—and it’s this reality that makes the redemption all the more remarkable.
Our movie is off and running—the protagonist is in trouble and in need of some mighty and dramatic intervention. It comes. With the birth of a baby, the amazing life of a savior sent from God, and then his tragic yet perfect death as your willing and eager substitute, the price for your sin is paid. The salvation is accomplished. And when at the baptismal font, God makes his claim on you, and your sin, all of your condemning, damning sin, is washed away; the story of redemption is complete. The protagonist of our movie is saved. You are saved. Where there was despair, now there is hope. Where there was fear, now there is peace. Where there was sorrow, now there is joy. Where there was death, now there is life. Where there was Hell, now there is Heaven. The conflict is resolved. The movie can wrap up on a grand high note, the lead character can walk off into the sunset ready to live happily ever after. Perfect.
But then, just as the credits are ready to scroll across the silver screen, something terrible happens. Without explanation or justification, the protagonist turns back, looks straight into the camera, and willfully and flagrantly sins. The exact nature of the sin doesn’t matter. Again, such details are unimportant. The fact of the sin is what matters. And there it is. In spite of all that was done for the hero of the film to accomplish redemption and to free the hero from condemnation, the protagonist dives back into old ways and sins. This is, of course, the story of the Christian life—your life. Suddenly, the short and sweet, feel-good, movie has turned into something quite different. The heart-warming story of redemption has become an unsettling and terrifying horror film.
The reality of the Christian life, of course, is that sin remains. We all wish that it wasn’t so, and some Christians even insist that it’s not so, but both Scripture and experience make it clear that even after we are redeemed and made right with God, sin still hangs on, sticking to us like a permanent stain. The sin comes in an endless variety of kinds and sizes. Some is obvious and appalling, some is so common and ordinary that it’s hardly noticed. But, it’s all a violation of God’s will for his creation, and it is most definitely there. Adultery, theft, hatred, gossip, fornication, vain-glory, slander, selfishness, envy, lust, prejudice, apathy, pride: all of it is sin. God hates it all. And it all ruins the story of our lives. It makes your story a horror movie.
People sometimes talk as if it is shocking or unexpected when a Christian sins. And, mistakenly, people who are not part of the church will often label such sin as hypocrisy—a disconnect between what a Christian professes and what he practices. But, it’s not necessarily hypocrisy when a Christian sins. Christians make no claim to moral perfection. Sin is just sin and failure. And when a Christian sins, it’s not astonishing or shocking—profoundly disappointing, yes, and a cause for great sadness indeed, but not a surprise. We know, deep in our understanding of the Christian faith, that these things, these sins, should not be. They don’t belong in the lives of God’s people. We know this. But, we also know that they are there—always.
All of this brings us to wonder, “Why?” Why is it that Christians who know better, who have God’s grace, who have God’s strength for living, keep on sinning? Why? Why do they keep repeating the same old sins? Why are they even capable of committing huge, whopping sins with devastating consequences? No explanation or rationalization ever suffices. Actually, there is no good or satisfying explanation for why Christians sin. Having been claimed by God and made new, you shouldn’t sin anymore. But you do…again, and again, and again. You sin.
There is no satisfying explanation for why this is so, but there is a reason. It has to do with that sinful nature you have had with you from the very beginning of your story. St. Paul calls him your Old Adam, or if you prefer, your Old Eve. Your Old Adam cares about nothing but self. God’s will does not matter. Other people do not matter. The Old Adam wants only what the Old Adam wants. When you were baptized, your Old Adam was drowned. But, he doesn’t stay dead. That’s the trouble. You try to hold him down, but he keeps fighting back. You try to kill him, but he keeps coming back to life and reappearing at the worst times. He’s like the antagonist in those cheap horror movies. The hero throws him over a bannister, and we see the villain lying twisted and motionless on the pavement—obviously dead. But, then in the next frame, he’s not there and in fact he’s creeping through the dark after the hero once again. He won’t stay dead. It’s the same with your Old Adam. You can kill him, but he’ll come back again. Be sure of it. He’s got more lives than a cat. And the great oddity of the Christian life, the great mystery at the heart of your personal movie, is that you are both the hero and the villain at once. Your Old Adam is very real, very destructive, and very wicked. And he’s in you. He is you.
God wants you to face squarely two great realities. You are to embrace the reality of your justification: in Christ you have been forgiven, declared holy and made new. And you must face a second reality: you are not yet perfect; your Old Adam or Old Eve is still living and tempting you to reject God and God’s ways—tempting you to sin. Both realities are truth. To claim that you no longer sin or are tempted or are vulnerable is to deny the reality of the Old Adam. But, to say that sin doesn’t matter because God will always forgive you anyway is to deny the reality of who you are as a new person in Christ who loves what God loves and hates what God hates. A justified Christian can’t make peace with sin or with the sinful nature. So, you live in the middle of an incredible tension, a war, as your Old Adam and your new man in Christ fight with each other to the death. It’s not a pleasant battle. To call a truce is defeat. There can be no peace treaty or compromise with sin and the Old Adam. Neither is there some secret strategy or method that you can learn from a book or a seminar or conference that will allow you to conquer sin once and for all in your life. It’s not going to happen. As long as you live in this world, your Old Adam will live with you and harass you. So, the battle of the Christian life rages on. Your ever-expanding movie is now a war movie. The Christian life is a war with sin, with Satan, and with self.
Almost 500 years ago, in the Wartburg castle in Germany, Martin Luther spent a lonely winter translating the Bible into German. It is said that during that time, while working at his desk, he fended off a direct attack from Satan by hurling his ink bottle straight at the face of the demon. According to the story, Luther’s defensive strategy left a large ink splatter on the plaster. Luther himself never reported such an incident, and today in Luther’s old study there is only a hole where the stain is said to have been. But, for centuries before, tourists to the Wartburg were shown the stain and told the story. That Luther battled Satan with his inkwell is a nice tale for tourists, but not of much value for us. Far more important is what the reformer actually did do as he daily fought with both Satan and the Old Adam. He writes often about this battle. When feeling oppressed, tempted, or hounded by the devil or his own sinful flesh, his Old Adam, Luther would get out his favorite weapon and swing the mighty sword of Baptism. Baptism changes everything. It makes you God’s child forever. In the midst of a temptation—even better, at the very outset of a temptation—he would cry out: “But, I am baptized!” And so are you.
Baptism is the great weapon that God has given you for your battle against Satan and your Old Adam. It’s not magic. It’s not a secret pathway for success. It’s not a formulaic way to live a perfect life. But, it is real, and it is powerful. In the sacrament of Baptism, God did his work for you. In Baptism, you were bound to Christ. Your Old Adam was killed—drowned in the waters of the font. Your sins forgiven. Your future assured. Through Baptism, you belong to God. You are his forever. That knowledge, that reality, is what makes you who you are, and what equips and prepares you for your continuing battle. You never fight alone. You couldn’t. You fight with Christ. You fight in Christ. Daily you make the choice to die to sin in your life. Daily, hourly, you make the choice to claim baptismal truth: you belong to God; you live accordingly. Remember it and live it. Your Baptism is a powerful weapon in your battle with your Old Adam. And one day, the power of Baptism will finally destroy your Old Adam.
So, what kind of movie are you making with your life? As you follow Christ, you can be certain that it is no fluffy, feel-good, date movie. Neither is it simply a horror movie, or even a war movie. No, your story is a life-long epic filled with drama, plot twists, great joy, great challenge, and much pain. But, when it is complete, it is going to have a crazy-happy ending. Your story concludes in the presence of God and surrounded by his re-created world. It ends when what he says now about you through Baptism—that you are his own perfect, sinless child—will be fully realized. Your story ends when your Old Adam is finished, killed for good, never to rise again. Then, at the end, your Old Man will be left in the grave forever; and then, at the end, new and completely holy in Christ, you will live forever. I doubt that anyone is ever going to make a movie of my life, or of yours. That’s ok. Your life is still a story worth telling—better yet, it’s a story worth living; and living it certainly beats watching it at the movies. Amen.
Lord God, you made us your very own in Baptism. Now work in us with your grace so that we live as your people, dead to sin and alive in Christ. Amen.