In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

You've surely noticed, my brothers and sisters, that in this time of the year, immediately following the Acts of the Apostles, which is read all through the Paschal season, the Church simply continues reading the next book, which is the epistle to the Romans. So during June, usually June, we spend a lot of time on the epistle to the Romans.

Today we've reached chapter six of Romans, about halfway through. This is a section in which Paul is concerned with freedom. This morning I want to address with you three questions. What is the freedom spoken of here? How do we attain to that freedom? And especially how do we preserve that freedom and make it better, improve it?

First, what is this freedom spoken of here? Back when I was still an Episcopalian, it was customary during the holy communion service, after the gifts had been brought forward for the offertory, to have a little ritual that I always referred to as the adoration of the flag. The flags of the country and the flag of the Episcopal Church were brought out before the altar, and the whole congregation sang—stood up and sang—"Our fathers' God, to thee, author of liberty, to thee we sing." Of course, it's standard; everybody knows that melody. [Hums] To the tune of "God save the King," which I've always thought very ironical, since the king's the one we got rid of. [Laughter] We didn't save him…

I was always bothered by that ritual, always terribly bothered by that ritual. I do not like flags in church, period. I don't want any kind of confusion between what we owe to God and what we owe to Caesar. So any time I've had a chance to do so—and I've had a chance twice—I take the flags out of church. Back in the Episcopal Church, I took out the American flag and the flag of the Episcopal Church. Since becoming an Orthodox, I have removed the flag of Syria from one parish. I don't see any reason why any parish in the United States should have the flag of Syria—or Greece, or Serbia, or anyplace else—inside the church. It simply does not belong there.

But I noticed in that ritual that we had, there was a great confusion about the meaning of liberty, of freedom, because clearly what we were celebrating there in that ritual was the freedom given by God, the freedom conferred by God. There was a confusion between political freedom, which is a very complex question simply by itself, and the freedom of which the Scriptures speak. The Scriptures simply don't speak of political freedom in the senses that we use it.

The freedom spoken of here in the epistle to the Romans is not what we normally think of as political freedom, neither in the sense understood by Thomas Jefferson, nor misunderstood by John Stuart Mill. It is certainly not freedom in the popular and debased sense, as an instrument of self-expression; that's what it tends to mean in contemporary American society. And we say that our men and women are over in Afghanistan and Iraq, paying the price of our freedom, which of course is true, but let's not debase the value of their lives by identifying that freedom as simply the instrument of self-expression. It means something vastly more than that. It certainly did for Jefferson, who believed that this freedom was rooted in God-given and inalienable rights. It's certainly not the freedom spoken of by John Stuart Mill who does not believe in inalienable rights. John Stuart Mill does not receive any rights from God; the righteous simply— the form of our self-assertion. We have an intrinsic right because we claim the right to be from coercion, unreasonable coercion, by government or by society.

If one wants to know more about that, I could not do any better than recommend to you the sundry works of the great political philosopher Isaiah Berlin. I especially recommend his book, Freedom, which is a series of maybe a dozen or so essays on the theme, freedom. And especially I am very fond of his book, Freedom and Its Betrayal, which is a study of six philosophers of freedom, all of whom ultimately cut the ground from underneath freedom.

The freedom Paul speaks about today is the Christian life itself, which is based on God's free, undeserved gift of his Son and his Holy Spirit. This gift is free only in the sense that it cannot be earned. It is not free in the sense that it excuses Christians from stern moral and ascetical effort.

I was riding in a taxi cab about ten days ago, I suppose, down in Guatemala, and when he stopped at red lights—which happened occasionally [Laughter]—my driver pulled up his copy of the daily newspaper, and would sort of read through it. I noticed in Spanish the Spanish title of the newspaper was Prensa Libre, "free press," and I refrained myself from leaning over and asking him, "You don't have to pay for your newspapers here? Free press?" [Laughter] See, even a free press, you have to pay for it!

The freedom that God has given us has been paid for. We can't earn it, but we're not going to have it, and certainly we're not going to keep it, without stern moral and ascetical effort. Strenuous activity and a robust sense of obligation, that is to say, pertain to the Gospel every bit as much as they pertain to the law. Man under grace has no fewer responsibilities than man under the law. In fact, according to the Sermon on the Mount, he has more responsibilities because he's free. Obviously, this freedom described in the New Testament is not what we normally think about as freedom, not even in a philosophical sense.

Examples from Christian history prove—and Christian pastors today are well aware—that a misunderstanding of Paul's teaching about justification through faith has sometimes led, by a strange sort of logic, to very pernicious views about moral freedom. Such a process, however, leads the believer back to the reign of death. Now, we reflected on this last evening when reading the epistle to Jude. We read the entire epistle to Jude last evening, since yesterday was the feast of St. Jude. St. Jude has a long description of these people who have misunderstood Paul, and pretty much do what they want to do because Paul said they were free.

This freedom from the Gospel liberates us chiefly from those forces that threaten to enslave us. That is to say, this freedom is chiefly liberation from sin, because sin is a form of slavery. I'll read you the text you've already heard this morning from the subdeacon. "For just as you presented your members as slaves of uncleanness and of lawlessness leading to more lawlessness, so now present your members as slaves of righteousness or holiness." Why? He says, "Because the one you obey is the one to whom you are a slave."

The freedom of the Gospel is the liberation from the bondage—bondage to the world, the flesh, and the devil. Paul says this morning, "And having been set free from sin, you became slaves of righteousness. But now, having been set free from sin and having become slaves of God, you have your fruit to holiness, and the end life everlasting." Notice there it's freedom for holiness.

It's freedom for something: hagiasmos, holiness, which brings us to the second question: How do we attain that freedom? The simple answer is: through faith. Understood in this sense used of Abraham, who followed God in faith and obeyed him. Faith always— In the Bible, faith always has the connotation not just of acceptance, but it's an active thing. Paul speaks about the hypakoe tis pistes, the obedience of faith. The free person does something.

Now, faith in the New Testament, my brothers and sisters, faith includes baptism. Baptism is the sacrament of faith. If one has faith, the first thing he must do is be baptized. That's what you do when you have faith.

I, several years ago, agreed to teach a class here for non-members, one night a week. I think it was Thursday nights. And it was a favor to someone in the parish. I taught this class to a bunch of kids who were just out of high school and college, or they were just out of high school, and they had spent about ten years in a group called Young Life. It did not work out well at all. I think that the thing lasted about a year and a half, and it became more frustrating for them than it was for me. What I would consider the most elementary presuppositions of the New Testament, they were ignorant of, and not just ignorant of, but pretty much confirmed in their ignorance. I don't believe a single one of those children had been baptized, and they all gave the same reason: "Because baptism is a work. I'm justified by faith. If I get baptized, then I'm not justified any more, because that's a work!" I tried to indicate there were some points in the New Testament that might suggest that you're supposed to be baptized: "Go forth and baptize in the name of the Father…" and things like that. And they would give me this blank stare.

But faith in the New Testament—faith in the Old Testament—always means you do something. Abraham did something. Israel followed the Lord in faith, but they passed through the Red Sea and they went out into the desert where it was put to the test: Will it be obedient? That theme runs all through holy Scripture. So this faith includes the sacrament of faith, baptism.

In baptism, our sinful members, as Paul says this morning, are plunged into the death of Christ. Let me read you a text from an African Christian about the year 200, a man by the name of Tertullian. This is Tertullian's Treatise on the Resurrection of the Dead.

Throughout this series of meanings, withdrawing our members from unrighteousness and sin, and applying them to righteousness and sanctification—

Obviously he's taking Romans 6, isn't he? "Applying our members to righteousness and sanctification."

—and moving them from the wages of death—

A text from this morning's epistle.

—and the free gift of life, Paul without a doubt promises to the flesh the recompense of salvation. Now it would not have been consistent with any rule of holiness and righteousness that it should be explained as enjoined upon the flesh unless the flesh were capable of receiving the reward of that discipline.

Faith is something that happens to our bodies. This is very traditional, at least in the earlier centuries of Christian theology. Faith is something that happens to our bodies. Tertullian goes on.

Nor could baptism be properly ordered for the flesh if by means of regeneration—

A regeneration of the body! To be reborn means to be reborn also in the body, because the body in baptism becomes the temple of the Holy Spirit.

If by means of its regeneration of course were not begun unto its restoration.

The holiness Paul is speaking about this morning in Romans 6 is a holiness of the body. It's hard for Christians, American Christians especially, who are dreadfully dualistic—it's hard for them to believe that holiness starts in our flesh. Holiness starts in our flesh! God sanctifies us, first of all, through the body. When the body itself is plunged, grace comes through the instrumentality of the sacrament, and grace permeates our souls through our bodies. You're going to be doing that again this morning, aren't you? You're going to receive the body and blood of the Lord into your own bodies. The grace will flow through the body and soul together. That's how we receive this liberty of the sons of God.

Now, thirdly, how do we preserve the freedom that's given us in the Gospel? Let me suggest that we do it in the same way that we preserve every other kind of freedom: tireless vigilance. "Be watchful" is the constant exhortation of the New Testament.

You know, the Olympian gods, when they got together for their celebrations, got together in great conviviality, when the Olympian gods got together, they took off their armor. No more helmet, no more breastplates, no more swords, no more spears. They took off their armor, and they sat down, and they had a good time, these Olympian gods. Only one did not remove her armor! And that was the goddess of wisdom. If you want to be free, be careful about removing your armor! It was the Greek way of expressing how delicate and questionable a thing freedom is. The wise goddess would not remove her armor.

Now, what is true of nations should be true also of the soul. Do not remove your armor. Do not remove the armor that Paul describes in Galatians and in Ephesians. Do not remove this armor. Be constantly vigilant against the enemies of freedom—I'm talking about the spiritual freedom—the enemies of freedom which are the world, the flesh, and the devil.

I must tell you, my brothers and sisters, after 45 years of hearing confessions, I must tell you it's a point of sociology, religious sociology, I'm more than ever aware of the dominance of addictive sin. Half the sins I hear now were not physically possible when I first started hearing confessions. That's how much modern technology has improved the capacity for sin. A full half of the sins I hear now were not possible when I was first hearing confessions, because certain things have been invented now which facilitate sin, and people become— There's far more addiction now than when I remember hearing confessions in the late '60s and early '70s when there was so much addiction to drugs and I was teaching on a college campus and hearing lots of stories about addiction. Drugs are by no means the most sinful addiction today, by no means, not even close. Beware of addictive sin: sin that starts to become compulsive, and one loses control with it. This is the reign of death.

In contrast to the reign of death, the Christian's goal is eternal life. Men earn death. Paul says it's their wages. The wages of sin have never been altered. It's death. But eternal life cannot be earned. It is what Paul calls this morning the charisma, the free gift of God, given us in Christ Jesus our Lord.

If we want to understand freedom, I think we should understand it the same way we understand salvation. And let me develop this thought just slightly. One of the major points of separation of the Eastern Orthodox Church with respect to Western Christianity of the last thousand years—and you know I don't like to insist on that, but this one needs to be insisted upon— One of the major points of separation is this. Toward the end of the 11th century—and I would trace it right back to St. Anselm of Canterbury—there's been a great disposition to start the study of anthropology with fallen man, man as a fallen being; we start anthropology there. In fact, Anselm actually uses that expression: remoto christo. He says if you want to find out what sin is, he says, do it remoto christo: take Christ out of the picture. That's most interesting. I would say the only way you can understand sin is to put Christ in the picture! If you take Christ out of the picture, you have fallen man.

Now, let's understand what fallen man is. For the first thousand years in the West, and up till now in the East, we don't begin anthropology by man in his lowest state but by man in his highest state. We begin with man in his full potential, man transformed by divine grace, what Paul calls the aner teleios, the perfect man, the pleroma tou christou, the fullness of Christ.

Now, if that's where we should start with the study of anthropology and theology, let me suggest that that's where we should start with the study of freedom. If we want to understand freedom, we should go to freedom in its highest expression. And what is freedom in its highest expression? It's man incapable of sin, to be free for something. In the modern world, we would not even consider that freedom. "You mean I can't sin any more? Oh, darn! I'm not free. I have to love God." [Laughter] But it seems to me that is the only place to start. It's to start with eschatology, to start with man in his perfect state, to start with aner teleios, the perfect man, the fullness of Christ, to start there, and to strive for that.

As we become freer, we become more holy; as we become holier, we're given more freedom. And the fullness of freedom is the summation of holiness where, standing before the throne of God and praising him forever and ever, we're no longer capable of sin; we're no longer drawn to sin. Sin has been completely conquered, and we've reached our full potential, which is the fullness of Christ.