19.03 | The Direction of Freedom

1 Corinthians 8

‘Now concerning food offered to idols: we know that “all of us possess knowledge.” This “knowledge” puffs up, but love builds up.’

1 Corinthians 8:1

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As a parent, I have a love/hate relationship with party balloons.

They look so fun at the party. Balloons are light enough that they don’t break things, brighten up any room as decorations, and give you a great keepie-uppie game to get the kids to run off some energy towards the end of the event.

But then, they always want to take one home. And home it comes, the child’s new favourite thing. Proudly held in the car like a trophy, and taken to bed with them like a favourite toy. 

But it’s inevitable. Whether by it getting sat on, trod on, poked with something sharp, or getting bitten by the dog, 

the balloon pops.

And it’s always traumatic.

Every parent, at some point, asks themselves that searching question; Balloons: are they worth it?

We’re starting section three of the first letter to the Corinthians today. Quick recap:

Section one was about division caused by Christian celebrityism (chs. 1-4).

Section two focused on sex, including singleness and marriage (chs. 5-7).

Today we start out on this topic that feels alien to modern ears.

Food sacrificed to idols.

Alien to our ears, but actually it was a cultural manifestation then of something deeply relevant to us now.

Let’s start with then:

Corinth was a polytheistic and religious city. It housed temples to Apollo and Athena, Octavia (Caesar Augustus’ deified sister), a sanctuary to Askepios (the god of healing), and, atop the mountain overlooking Corinth, a temple to Aphrodite, goddess of love. Animal sacrifices were made to these various deities, and the leftover meat was sold in the marketplace. It was an ingrained part of the Corinthian way of life.

Christians, then, had to work out: can we eat this meat?

The Early Christians had a very simple answer.¹ When it came to what they could eat, Christians had unrivalled freedom. Because holiness was a matter of the heart (not the stomach), of course they could eat what they liked. This knowledge was their high ground. Their superior knowledge was exercised in their superior freedom.

However, Paul wants them to look at this differently. Because their knowledge was pointing them in the wrong direction. Their question had become one of personal entitlement and intellectual snobbery. They were pointing their freedom at themselves. Their rights. Their choices. Their entitlement. 

By your knowledge, Paul says, you know that you can eat the meat. But what about someone else? If they don’t yet have that same understanding of Christian freedom, will they not be led to understand that Jesus is just another option among the many gods of Corinth? Will they not corrupt their simple devotion by looking at your life and drawing the wrong conclusions?

Paul cuts straight to the point.

Knowledge puffs up.

Knowledge of freedom, by itself, fills you with nothing but hot air. It may look impressive on the outside, but it lacks substance. It points inwards, to the self, focusing on my rights and my freedom. It’s the stuff of airheads and narcissists. It’s party balloon spirituality. 

Instead, Paul points their freedom in a different direction. Not towards you, but towards others. Not towards what you are permitted to do, but what you can freely choose in order to build up others. 

And here’s the rub of the matter:

Building others invariably means restricting your own freedom.

Pauls words are like a nuclear blast into our culture, where the ethos is such a deeply engrained narrative of personal rights and personal freedom. Our every intention of personal wellbeing tends to revolve around my freedom to choose, to buy, to define, to express. 

Paul invites us to a change of direction. To inhabit the radical knowledge of I am allowed, but then to ask the deeper question of how greatly can I love?  It is a movement from the freedom of self to increasing freedom for others. From entitlement to love. From party balloon spirituality to a spirituality of substance. 

This is the higher way. This is the weighty challenge and exceptional beauty of the New Testament ethic. It is the Way of Jesus, who inhabited His cosmic authority and freedom by surrendering all freedom at the Cross. It is the only real place where love can be most purely love, because it becomes a willing choice of the empowered, rather than something enforced upon the religious.

Nothing is coerced. Everything is invited.

Because in the Way of Jesus, it is only when we start in radical freedom that we can mature to radical love.

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Reflect:

Where is a place right now where my heart is questioning ‘As a Christian, am I allowed to____?’

Assume you are allowed. This is freedom. 

But change the direction. What choice can you make unto the greatest service, honour, and love of those who will be impacted by the decision? What choice can you freely make to release the greatest goodness?

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Pray:

Lord Jesus,

This is not religion as I understand it.

Religion tells me what I am allowed to do,

Or what I am not allowed to do.

Religion gives me clear parameters, rights and wrongs, rules to abide by.

But this is different. 

It demands something far greater of me.

Not to keep a set of rules or principles,

But to become a new kind of person.

And so, Lord Jesus, today I ask of you two things.

Would you carve out of my soul every trace of legalism,

And would you grow in me oceans of sacrificial love.

Help me to abdicate my thrones of comfort and entitlement,

In favour of letting my life be for the building up of others.

In Your Name,

And the Way of your Cross,

Amen

Old Testament: 

For those also reading the Old Testament this year, your additional readings are here:

Deuteronomy 4:44-6:25 | Proverbs 10:23-30

1. Remember Jesus’ teaching, who had ‘declared all foods clean.’ (Mark 7:19)