(This is a piece I wrote after a sermon I heard on the freedom of Christ; how he is able to break our bondage from even the fiercest sins. We often forget we’ve been made saints through Jesus’ sacrifice; he is able to release us even while we fight this mortal fight. I wanted this to be an allegory that spoke to such a truth.)
I am too chained, my old master says. This hoax of Freedom isn’t enough for the link upon link that drag behind me.
Hoax? The Man of brilliant light and scars, did he lie with that brutal death—with the words “it is finished”—promising an emancipation paid for me an eternity times over?
Yes, says my old master.
But my old master is also the one who put me to the forge, made me hammer my chains day in and day out. He mocked me for each link added, and beat me for their creation even as he urged me to make more. I sting with welts he won’t let heal. Could there ever be such promise of release?
The Man has no right to set me Free from this work, my old master sneers.
Yet this Man commands waves, tells bodies they must mend, wakes the dead as though they were only sleeping. His power is a prompt to holy fear, casting out even the clawed messengers of my old master who have dragged us into back-breaking manufacture. This Man whose omnipotence provides salvation? Surely no one can have more right than He.
I don’t know much else besides the brutal laughter and hot breath of the old master, no relief from fire that scorches yet never refines. Do I believe him, the one who loves the pain my blistering fetters give me? Or do I believe the Man, metal clippers in hand, beckoning: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest…”? [Matthew 11:28]
If His Freedom breaks the binding of Death itself, what can measly iron rings do? I know the real hoax: The old master thinks I am still his.