Abba, Father, Tomayto, Tomahto

Romans 8:12-17

So then, brothers and sisters, we are debtors, not to the flesh, to live according to the flesh— for if you live according to the flesh, you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live. For all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God. For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received a spirit of adoption. When we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’ it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ—if, in fact, we suffer with him so that we may also be glorified with him.

Today we find ourselves with Paul. We find ourselves on Trinity Sunday, in which we are meant to focus on the mystery and beauty of the three-in-one that defines our theology and our faith—but I ended up picking a passage for Trinity Sunday that mostly focuses on the Spirit, but oh well. Since I spent Pentecost Sunday doing “Ask the Pastor,” I figure I’m sort of killing two birds with one stone today.

Anyway, we find ourselves with Paul doing what he seems to do best—quelling conflicts, arguments, and misunderstandings within groups of new believers in this budding Jesus movement, and he’s really got his work cut out for him—there are Gentile Christians who believe that Jewish Christians are putting too much stock in the law; there are Jewish Christians who believe the Gentiles aren’t legitimate since they’re not from the line of Abraham; and to add to this, there are many formerly exiled Jews who have been recently allowed back into Rome after the change in leadership from Claudius to Nero—so lots of moving parts, lots of tension, lots of misunderstandings and confusion.

Now remember over the past few weeks, we’d been talking a lot in our sermons about Jesus preparing his followers were when he would be gone—preparing them to accept the guidance of the Holy Spirit and to make sure they remain a united front against the evils of the world; two weeks ago, Jesus, in his petitionary prayer to God, made it known that his disciples, like him, were not “of this world,” in that they weren’t bowing to the unjust priorities and expectations of the sinful world around them. Today we have Paul doing exactly what Jesus was asking—using the Holy Spirit to quell divisions and to make sure these new Christians can bridge gaps and remain together, as one.

In Bible Study last week, Maggie’s and Mill’s Bible translations differed a bit from what Glenda just read for you. At the very beginning of the passage where it says, “…brothers and sisters, we are debtors, not to the flesh…” theirs’ read “…brothers and sisters, we have an obligation not to the flesh…”. All of his at Bible Study liked “obligation” so much better than debtors. When we think of being debtors, being in debt, we think of being under water, trying to claw our way to being on dry land, to being safe and secure; but obligation feels so much more positive, doesn’t it? There’s more of an air of possibility to it, and it’s also exactly what Jesus was commanding of his disciples before his ascension: You have an obligation, not to this world, but to the better world that is possible. You have an obligation to remain united and unconditionally supportive of one another.

This part of Paul’s letter to the Romans is something of a pep-talk. While this letter is to all Roman Christians, it’s mostly targeted to the Gentile Romans who are being told that they can’t be legitimate followers of the Jesus or of the scriptures because they’re not ritually circumcised, and because they’re not descendants of Abraham. Paul is letting them know something beautiful here—that God’s love is universal and unconditional; your family of origin doesn’t matter, your status doesn’t matter; you are loved, and you are gifted the grace and guidance of the Holy Spirit just as any other follower of Jesus is.

But it might seem a little strange to think of a pep-talk beginning by telling someone they’re obligated to do something—but the Bible, and the commands of Jesus are full of all types of divine contradictions and conundrums. “For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the spirit of adoption,” Paul says. As it turns out, in ancient Roman society, those adopted into families (and this was another new piece of knowledge from Bible study thanks to one of Mill’s Bible’s annotation, Bible study really killed it this week) legally and ethically had the same amount of rights as those who were blood-related—they were heirs the same as any other family member. And so when Paul uses this seemingly strange phrase “spirit of adoption,” he’s saying that you may not be a descendant of Abraham, but you have adopted this faith and you have been adopted into it turn, and you are no less a believer—but with this belief, you have an obligation to continue the work of Jesus, to bring about an earth as it is in heaven. And here we have one of the many divine contradictions of our faith: we have a very heavy obligation to go against the unjust priorities of the powerful, an obligation not to this world (that’s what Paul means when he refers to “the flesh,” it’s not necessarily anything about the physical body), but to the one that is possible; and yet, there is such a freedom to this new faith that has nothing to do with our familial background, or our economic or social status—there is such a freedom in giving into this incredible obligation.

I decided to consult the seminal commentary on Paul’s latter to the Romans, which is that of Karl Barth. At one point he writes, “…led by the Spirit, under the assault and blessing of the Truth and powerfully controlled by it, we know that we are [children] of God.” The words that really got me there were “assault and blessing.” Talk about a contradiction! But isn’t it an apt one? Of course receiving the grace of God thanks to the Spirit is a blessing—but isn’t it also an assault to everything this world of the flesh tries to push on us? The Spirit pushes us to push boundaries, it shocks us with unconditional Love that is unheard of in a sinful world full of conditions—and so in a world like this, it can feel strange and alien; it can feel scary and risky. So there such a freedom and knowing how universally loving and accessible the Spirit is; but there’s a heaviness and a shock to the obligation that comes with our accepting it.

“…you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear,” Paul says—because while the reception of the Spirit is indeed shocking, and can feel like both an assault and a blessing, it is not something to be truly scared of, and it is not something that would send us backwards into a place of anxiety or would make us a slave to any kind of unproductive or dangerous fears. It is when we go by the rules of this current world that we become slaves to our fears—fears of uncertainty, fears of the unknown, fears of those different than us.

Memorial Day always gets me thinking about my Grandpa King, my mom’s dad, and his sacrifices for this country. He was a POW in a German camp towards the end of World War II, and by all accounts, it’s a miracle he survived. I think about those in his regimen who didn’t, those who sacrificed their lives to stop the very real threat of fascism from overtaking the world. And I think about what those men and woman sacrificed, and I think about our country now—we have a presidential candidate using the phrase “unified reich” in a campaign speech; and we have a president too cowardly to make actual moves to stop a genocide in the Middle East— these are both examples of being slaves to fears—fears of those different than us, those who may not agree with us; and fears of really changing the status-quo, of the fact that doing the right thing for once may truly change politics and ethics and morals of this country. And I think… how did we end up back here after the sacrifices made? I think part of our obligation as Christians, and as Americans today, is to make sure those sacrifices weren’t all for nothing.

And this language of a “spirit of slavery to fall back into fear” is even more apt when we think of the origins of Memorial Day. I discussed these (sometimes disputed) origins last year; it seems to have begun as “Decoration Day,” with citizens decorating the graves of fallen Union soldiers, who died to keep this country united, and to make sure no person would live in bondage ever again; they were essentially doing what Jesus commanded of his disciples and what Paul is encouraging his readers to do—don’t be slaves to your fears, and fall prey to the tactics of those in power who remain in power by keeping us divided. A divided United States, holding onto the status quo, would have resulted in the continuation of the grave sin of slavery. A divided, broken, and conquered Europe would have resulted in more mass deaths, more slavery, more unthinkable horrors.

In these days of wildly irrational fears of change, fear of the other, fear of the unknown, we find ourselves suspicious of anyone who doesn’t agree with us, a deeply dangerous place to be; it’s a place that keeps us divided and conquered by the powerful who keep their power by keeping us apart. But when we can stop being slaves to these fears, and when we begin to really listen to each other and to find common ground, we may realize that many of us ultimately have the same goal.

“When we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’ it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are [all] children of God…” Paul exclaims. ‘Abba’ is just the Gentile-Aramaic word for father, as said by the Jews. This is Paul saying ‘tomato, tomahto.’ But in seriousness, this is Paul saying that when we, whoever we are, call to God in whatever language, we’re calling upon the same being, we’re calling upon the same Love. And is the Holy Spirit that maintains our relationship with Christ and continues the work; and it is in Christ that we are connected to God. But regardless of our connection, or what another’s connection is, it’s all the same God. It’s sounds a little kum bai ya, but it’s what makes us one people, what binds us as one body who ultimately all want the same thing, no matter how much the powerful try to keep us divided.

Paul ends his passage saying “if, in fact, we suffer with [Christ] so that we may be glorified with him,” and that “if” would be actually be better translated as “since.” “Since” we will suffer with Jesus. So suffering, in this world, when we do the work of Christ, is inevitable. But isn’t Memorial Day the perfect time to think about what those have sacrificed in past wars to save this country from slavery; then to stop the holocaust, and the creeping threat of fascism—isn’t Memorial Day the perfect time to really contemplate what those sacrifices were for and isn’t this the perfect time to reassess what this country is currently doing and make sure those sacrifices weren’t for nothing?

Though we may suffer and struggle as we do the work of justice that Jesus calls us to do, there is a freedom in that struggling— a freedom in knowing that in this bond we have, thanks to the guidance of the Spirit, we are forever beloved in our struggle. So let’s lean into that divine shock of the assault and blessing of the Holy Spirit. Amen.