For Freedom Christ Has Set Us Free

Exodus 3:7-10, Galatians 5:1, 13-14 

"What does the Lord require of you but to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God?" — Micah 6:8b

"It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery." — Galatians 5:1

In his letter to the Galatians, the Apostle Paul proclaims the gift of freedom that comes through Jesus Christ—a freedom hard won and not to be taken lightly. And throughout history, freedom has been a powerful force. Two hundred and fifty years ago, it became a defining idea that shaped our nation and continues to shape us today.

Throughout the season of Lent, we explored how the concept of freedom took shape in the colonies 250 years ago.

But freedom is not just an American concern—it is a human longing, a central hope across every time and place. This morning, I’d like to explore how that longing for freedom took shape in the Latin American context in the late 20th century, especially in Brazil.

By understanding how freedom takes shape in different contexts, we gain a fuller vision of what God intends for all of humanity.

As some of you may know, I was born in Brazil, where my parents were serving as missionaries. So, this story is not just history to me—it is personal.

And perhaps one of the clearest cultural expressions of freedom in Brazil takes place each year during Carnaval. It is, in many ways, the equivalent of our Mardi Gras.

But with its month-long, nationwide celebration, it makes Mardi Gras look more like afternoon tea than a raucous festival.

The freedom of Carnaval is expressed in the beautiful, elaborate costumes—bright colors, intricate designs, and boundless creativity. It drew my father back to Brazil again and again. After he retired, each year he would go to Brazil for this month-long party, and he would always return filled with vitality and joy.

If you’ve never seen it, I encourage you to look it up and witness the life and joy that pour out of it. At its heart is dance—a free expression of the human soul reveling in the joy of life.

There is a deep and resilient joy in Brazilian culture—a love for celebrating life.

But that is not the whole story. Beneath that joy, there are deep struggles—especially the suffocating effects of poverty.

It was in response to this reality that a movement began to emerge in the 1950s and 60s, led by Catholic priests and theologians who saw the suffering of their people and asked what the Gospel demanded in the face of such injustice.

This movement came to be known as Liberation Theology.

And it resonated with Jesus’ own mission—to proclaim good news to the poor and freedom for the oppressed.

It drew deeply from God’s paradigmatic act of freedom in the Old Testament: the Exodus. God looked upon the oppression of the Israelites and promised not only freedom from slavery, but a life of abundance—a land flowing with milk and honey, a land of promise. God acted powerfully in history, as Exodus tells us, with a “mighty hand and an outstretched arm.”

These theologians believed that to be faithful to the Word of God, the Church must not ignore the suffering of the poor. They challenged a Church they believed had become too focused on spiritual freedom while overlooking the realities of poverty and oppression.

I began to hear this critique at a very young age. My parents shared with me stories of poverty, hunger, and injustice in Brazil. And my father fed me, in small but steady doses, not only the work of the Swiss theologian Karl Barth, but also the voices of liberation theologians such as José Miranda, Leonardo Boff, and Paulo Freire.

José Miranda argued that God’s choice of Abraham and Sarah was not an isolated act, but the beginning of a larger purpose—one that would culminate in the liberation of the Israelites from their bondage in Egypt.

But something surprising happened.

A powerful photograph taken at the airport in Managua captures the moment. Father Ernesto Cardenal knelt before Pope John Paul II to kiss the papal ring. But instead of a blessing, the Pope wagged his finger and said, “You must regularize your situation.” Later that year, Cardenal was suspended from the priesthood.

Here we see two different understandings of freedom.

The Pope, along with many theologians around the world, believed that liberation theology risked reducing the Gospel to an earthly vision of freedom alone.

But Paul, when he tells us not to be burdened again by a yoke of slavery, points us to something deeper—not just external chains, but the internal bondage of sin.

The Gospel’s power is at work no matter our circumstances. No earthly chains can bind a spirit rooted in the love of God in Jesus Christ.

Paul demonstrated this in prison. Though confined behind iron bars, his spirit remained free. His hymns echoed through the prison, and even a guard, hearing them, experienced a kind of liberation of his own and in turn helped bring an earthly liberation for Paul.

And even liberation theologians came to recognize that while poverty can oppress, it does not define the human person. One recalled a woman in deep poverty who, when told, “It must be so hard to be so poor,” replied, “I am not poor, for I have hope.”

Jesus died and was raised by the power of God’s mercy, forgiveness, and love. In that salvific act, we are set free—from every bondage and every fear.

It is a freedom that transcends time and space, culture and language, race and ethnicity. One need only look at the global Church—its growth in Africa and Asia—to see that freedom alive and at work.

So where does this leave us between earthly and spiritual liberation? My parents showed me the way.

They served as missionaries in Chapecó, a town deep in the jungles of Brazil. When they arrived it was like the Wild West, complete with gun fights on the town square. As a man you couldn’t wear a hat because that meant you were looking for a fight.

The main thrust of their ministry was to build a church, and what made this church unique in its setting was putting the Bible in the hands of the people so that they could see for themselves the free grace that God offers us in Jesus Christ. There is no need for any earthly mediator; you can go directly to God to find salvation. But at the same time they learned from the people the power of generosity.

"Faça a conta que a casa é sua," a saying the people taught my parents. As my mother told me, "’Make believe that the house is yours’" is often said when a visitor comes to stay overnight or longer at your home. It captures the essence of what it means to be a Brazilian. This meant in Chapecó, when the life expectancy was 50 years of age in the 1960s, and the poorest were eating out of garbage cans. No matter how humble the house, if there was one bed for 6 people, when you came to visit, the bed was yours. There was always a cafezinho offered, and even if you knew the water was full of parasites, you drank it anyway.

As a result they generously shared what they had. In fact, for the rest of their lives they devoted themselves to giving others in deepest need a hand up.

The people of Chapecó treated them with love and welcome—but not everyone. When the third child, the first daughter, Rachel, was born she was in immediate distress and she needed an incubator. The other local church had the only one and they said no—eventually a friend helped them procure it, but by then it was too late. So alas, being the fifth-born, I have never met my sister.

It is not anything either of them have said about that instance that has shaped my life but rather what they haven’t said.

I never heard my mother or my father voice a single moment of bitterness toward that church. I know that I would not have been so forgiving. In fact, I have only heard them speak about these brothers and sisters with affection, love, and respect, and I have learned that same appreciation for their spiritual strength.

The effusion of earthly and spiritual liberation is most powerfully articulated by Paul in Galatians.

“It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.” And at the end, he tells us how that freedom is to be lived: “The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.”

The Pope was right. There is more to freedom in Christ than earthly liberation.

But so, too, were the liberation theologians. They remind us that God’s heart is with the poor, and that faith must be lived with courage. Some lost their positions. Some even lost their lives. Yet they stood firm for those dearest to the heart of Jesus.

So let us stand firm in the freedom Christ has given us and embrace the joy, make it to Carnaval and dance, dance, dance with the power of hope and the power of love. Amen.