Alicia Johnson, Seminarian
Scriptures: Romans 6:1b-11
In today’s reading from Romans we hear in verse 6, “We know that our old self was crucified with him so that the body of sin might be destroyed, and we might no longer be enslaved to sin. I know that Rev. Sara preached about sin a couple weeks ago and shared our Book of Common Prayer’s definition of sin – seeking our own will instead of God’s which distorts our relationships with God, each other, and creation.
Many of you may have grown up with a very different definition of sin, focused on bad behavior and punishment. My own understanding of sin has shifted over the years from a narrow focus on whether my behavior is good or bad toward this idea of seeking God’s will or not – in my life and in our communal life as a church. It’s within this framework – of trying to understand where we as a church have sought our own will rather than God’s – that I want to walk through how this verse has been used throughout history, how it has impacted the world we live in today, and where we can go from here.
You see, growing up, I heard this verse many times. I always understood it to be about how sin – that “bad behavior” – can take over your life, enslaving you, and that Christ came to free us from that enslavement. If you’ve ever lashed out when frustrated or did something you aren’t proud of in a ‘moment of weakness’ you probably understand the feeling of being controlled by bad behavior, not living up to how you want to act.
However, last year in seminary, I took a course with the very academic title of the History of Racialist Religious Discourses, and it gave me a whole new perspective on this verse. In the class, we learned about how Christian leaders and theologians contributed to the way people think about race throughout history. It opened my eyes to how this passage and others like it have been used to shape our society. This past Friday we observed Juneteenth, celebrating when emancipation finally reached Texas 2.5 years after the Emancipation Proclamation went into effect. In light of Juneteenth and what I’ve been learning in school, this passage struck me differently than it had before.
In the class, I learned that early Christian theologians like Augustine really latched onto this concept of slavery to sin. For example, he argued that it was better to be a slave to a person than a slave to lust. In the early centuries of the church, the focus was primarily on how you as an individual shouldn’t be a slave to sin – a personal focus – but it starts setting up the idea that physical slavery is not so bad in comparison to sinning.
In the Age of Exploration, this idea really took off. As Europeans explored Africa and the Americas, the world was suddenly much larger than they could have imagined and full of people they had never encountered. European Christians used this framing of slavery and sin as they made sense of this ‘New World.’ Gomes Eanes de Zurara, a Christian intellectual and Portuguese historian, recorded a scene in 1444 where enslaved people from Africa were auctioned off. Although he vividly described the misery of families being separated and sold, he justified it. He noted that as soon as they learned the language, the slaves converted to Christianity. He concluded that their agony was not in vain because they became Christians. Rather than focusing on their own sin or the sins of the Church, Christian leaders like Zurara used verses like Romans 6:6 as a justification to enslave and control other people saying that it was for their own good. It was better to be converted to Christianity and be rid of sin no matter the cost.
These theological arguments were entrenched in the United States from its founding. This is the system we have inherited, a system the church has helped set up and perpetuate. In 1855, the Episcopal Bishop of Georgia, Stephen Elliott, noted that very few people living in Africa had been converted to Christianity by missionaries, calling it a quote “small number in comparison with the thousands, nay, I may say millions, who have learned the way to Heaven and who have been made to know their Savior through the means of African slavery!” Here was an Episcopal priest justifying slavery because it imposed Christianity on the enslaved people. Now, there were Episcopalians who fought against slavery as well. But these voices, these Christians, preaching that controlling the lives and bodies of other people was for their own good, set in motion the system of racism that we still face today.
While Juneteenth marked the end of slavery in the United States, it did not stop people in power from wanting to control the lives of others. There are still deep inequities in the criminal justice system, the financial sector, healthcare, and many more facets of life. The system, rooted in the control of those on the margins, permeates every corner of our society.
I want to emphasize that I’m not saying all of this to make us feel shame or guilt. I’m saying it to help us understand how deep this goes, in our history and our society. This makes it really, really hard to change – even when we know it is wrong and we want to treat every human being with respect, dignity, and love. As awful as it is, it is the system that surrounds us, and the only way we can repent – to turn back to seeking God’s will instead of our own – is by knowing where we fall short.
Let me share an example from my own experience. I volunteer with an organization called the Trauma Intervention Program (TIP). We get called out by first responders to provide emotional support after something traumatic has happened – an accident, a death, things like that. For this story, I’ve changed some of the details to protect the privacy of the family, but the spirit of the story is the same. One morning, I was called out to a home where a baby had died. When I arrived, I saw several police officers standing outside the house. I checked in with them, and they told me to wait outside. They were trying to get the father to leave the house so they could do their investigation. Now, this is standard – any time a child dies, the police do an investigation – it doesn’t mean that they suspect any harm or neglect, it’s their protocol. I could see the father – a Black man – through the front window, and through the open front door I could hear his anguished cry over and over again, “I AM NOT LEAVING MY SON.” As I stood outside in the cold rain with the police, I heard family members and police officers try to convince him to leave, with increasing levels of exasperation. “It’s okay, it’s okay” they told him. “You need to leave, but you can come back inside later.” No one addressed his pain. No one acknowledged that what they were asking him to do – to leave the side of his child – was a terrible thing. Yes, it’s protocol, but it goes against every instinct a parent has.
I felt a strong sense that I needed to speak with the father. To be present with his suffering, to acknowledge his pain, to affirm that yes, this is – to paraphrase his words – messed up. But I was afraid – what if the police officers told me no? What if they told my volunteer supervisor that I overstepped? What if the man got angry with me? What if I was trying to be some white savior, going in and thinking I can make everything better?
But I know that feeling, that nudge, that encouragement of the Spirit. And despite that push toward action, I did not act. I stayed outside in the rain. The police ultimately took the father out of the house in handcuffs – not under arrest, just under control. When I remember this story, I don’t feel shame or guilt – at least not now, a few years out. I do feel regret – I wish I had listened to that prompting from the Spirit and at least asked to speak to the man. Maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything, but maybe he could have at least felt like someone could see his suffering. I feel a deep sadness. I feel compassion – both for the man and for myself and for all of us caught up in this system that sees a Black father’s pain as a problem that needs to be controlled. Most of all I feel a sense of resolve. The next time I find myself in a situation like this where I feel compelled to act that I will listen to that voice, that when I encounter a system that prioritizes order, protocol, and control over love and compassion, that I will seek God’s will.
Because I believe in the holy, life-generating, creativity of God. I believe that God can look at our systems that are so entrenched and see a path toward justice, wholeness, and true freedom. In the Episcopal church, we are guided by our baptismal covenant, the words we reaffirm at every baptism. We are asked, among other things, “Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?” “Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?” “Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?” And to each of these, we answer, “We will, with God’s help.”
What does it look like for us to resist evil in the face of systemic injustice? How do we, as a church, turn the focus back to our own communal sin – the places where we have not sought God’s will – and repent for our role in setting up this system? What would our world look like if we were truly able to seek and serve Christ in all persons? These are questions that we can spend our entire lives grappling with, and there are no easy answers. But this is our work to do. To envision a world where we focus on God’s abundant love more than the power of sin. To call for repentance and justice rather than control. To listen for the still small voice of the Spirit and have the faith to act. To embrace holy imagination and creativity, trusting that God’s love is bigger than our deep-rooted systems. I pray that we can do it – “with God’s help.”
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