John 8:31-41 · The Children of Abraham
Liberating Truth
John 8:31-41
Sermon
by William G. Carter
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During the 1960s, Sherwood Schwartz wrote and produced a number of hit television shows. One of the most popular shows was Gilligan's Island, a comedy about a handful of pleasure cruise passengers who found themselves shipwrecked on a desert island. Every episode featured the castaways of the S.S. Minnow facing a wacky new adventure. The show was an immediate hit of the 1964 season. Each week, a lot of otherwise thoughtful, intelligent television viewers tuned in to hear the Skipper say, "Gilligan, drop those coconuts!"

Schwartz says only six episodes had gone on the air when a commander of the United States Coast Guard marched into his office. The commander handed over a stack of about two dozen telegrams he had received. Each telegram basically said the same thing: "For several weeks now, we have seen American citizens stranded on some Pacific island. Why doesn't the Coast Guard do something about it? Can't you send a U.S. destroyer to rescue those shipwrecked people before they starve to death?" Believe it or not, absolutely none of the telegrams were jokes. They came from viewers who were deeply concerned about the people they saw on that imaginary television show.1

A lot of us can laugh at a story like that. We believe we know the difference between fact and fiction. Most of the time we can distinguish between the fantasy of a Thursday night sitcom and the reality of daily life. A thirty-minute show may look better, or sound funnier, but sooner or later somebody turns off the television and we take life for what it is. Each new day dawns with its own distance and perspective. In the words of Jesus, "You will know the truth and the truth will make you free."

It's no wonder this famous one-liner from the Gospel of John has been inscribed in the cornerstones of schools and the entryways of public libraries. For us, the pursuit of truth has often been the business of education. We go to school, not simply to have our heads filled with facts both useless and useful, but to have an encounter with truth. A good education can open our minds and purge us of a lot of illusions. A college freshman said, "I was number two in my high school class. After I unpacked my bags at college, I discovered that everybody in my dormitory had been number one in their high school classes. Then I went to a freshman English class with a hundred other students, and I learned I wasn't half as smart as everybody always told me I was. "Now, there's a teachable soul -- even if the truth was hard to swallow. You will know the truth." That's the promise Jesus gave his disciples in today's text. It seems like an appropriate word as we remember the Protestant Reformation. Much of the Reformation began as an educational movement. The early sixteenth century was the high water mark of the Renaissance. People began thinking for themselves. The printing press made the Bible available to people on a wide scale and gave them something to think about. No longer were the clergy the sole keepers of knowledge. As lay people began to study and ponder the Bible, they discovered their place in the priesthood of Christ. As one of my seminary professors once said, "Once people wise up, they never wise down." After all, the truth sets people free.

At least we would hope so. The fact is, the word "truth" is a loaded term for the Gospel of John. John says the very essence of the good news of Jesus Christ is "grace and truth" (John 1:14). According to this writer, the single watershed event in the history of the world is the coming of Jesus Christ into the world. On the one hand, it is a disclosure of sheer grace. The incarnation announces that God is recklessly, relentlessly inclined in our favor, that "God so loved the world that he sent his only Son." Yet on the other hand, the coming of Christ is also a disclosure about ourselves. Jesus reveals the truth about who we are and who we are not. In Jesus, truth comes down to a world of falsehood, just as light breaks into a world of darkness. Either way you look at it, truth and light both mean exposure, and honesty, and stripping away every pretense. Sometimes people wise up, and somebody else will wish they hadn't. It can be very painful.

A priest in the inner city wanted to help some neighborhood kids. He wanted them to see something more than their own situations. So he put them on a bus and took them to see some things of great beauty. They went to the art museum and saw paintings by the masters. They went to a symphony matinee and heard beautiful music. They went for a walk through a row of homes that were done over by a creative team of architects. That young priest showed those kids the best and brightest things he knew. Then they climbed back on the bus and went home. That night one of those kids set his apartment house on fire. Nobody was harmed, but the place burned down. The priest was in tears when he visited the boy in jail. "Why did you do it?" he asked.

The boy said, "Today I saw all those beautiful things. I was caught up in their glory. Then I came home and saw how ugly my world was, and I hated it, and I wanted to burn it down." He saw the truth, and it provoked violence and destruction.

When Jesus spoke in today's gospel lesson, he was standing in the thick of a nasty debate with leaders of the Jerusalem temple. They were calling him names. They challenged his sanity. They disputed his family background. In the face of meanness, Jesus said, "If you knew the truth, it would make you free."

His opponents roared, "We are children of Abraham. We have never been slaves to anyone. How can you talk about freedom?"

Jesus stared them down and said, "You don't see it, but you're slaves, all right. You think you are already free, but you're not. You believe your religious affiliation will save you, but it won't. You think if you keep working hard and doing what you think is right, it will glorify God and make your life better. Yet even now you try to kill me, a man who has told you the God-given truth. That's not freedom; that's a kind of slavery and you're stuck in it. The pitiful thing is you don't know any better, even though you think you know better."

What Jesus was getting at, I think, is just how pervasive are the illusions we live under. When we think we have a corner on the truth, our words and deeds may be opposed to God. If we dare to tell one another, "I know what I'm doing," there's always evidence that we don't do everything God wants us to do. We think we are free, yet we really aren't free. As someone once quipped, "Those who believe they are liberated may merely be unzipped."

We live under a lot of illusions. One illusion in our time is that a good education will make us better people. In some ways, it might. But an education provides no assurance we will be more obedient or truthful. Neither can we expect schooling to guarantee peace of mind or unity among enemies.

The southern novelist Walker Percy was trained as a physician. His medical training gave him the ability to diagnose a variety of diseases which reflect a deeper malaise in our culture. In one of his articles, he noted:

The deeper we get into the century, the more sense people make, but they are making different kinds of senses which don't compute with each other. Carl Sagan explains everything without God, from the most distant galaxies to our own individual nastiness, which is caused by our reptilian brains. Radio and TV preachers explain everything by God, (our) happiness with God, (our) unhappiness without God. Humanists explain everything by coming out for the freedom and dignity of the individual. One hundred million books have been written by psychotherapists on how to be creative and self-fulfilling. And here's this nice ordinary American who works hard all day and is watching his six hours of TV and his wife is reading The National Enquirer and is more likely to set store by astrology and psychics than by science or God. The slaughter and the terror of the century continues. And people are, by and large, nicer than ever ... It is a peculiar time, indeed, when a writer doesn't know who the enemy is, or, even worse, when he can't stand his friends.2

Is there a way out? Is there some truth that will make us free? These questions haunted an Augustinian monk named Martin Luther. After a close call with a lightning bolt in the year 1505, he entered a monastery and took the vows. For a dozen years or so, he tried to work out his salvation with fear and trembling. He did whatever he could to be a righteous person.

The problem was that, no matter how hard he tried, Luther was never good enough. He was never free from himself. One biographer tells us that Luther confessed his sins almost daily, sometimes for as long as six hours in a single sitting. He believed every sin to be forgiven must be confessed, and every sin to be confessed must first be remembered. So he spent hours trying to remember the truth about his life, recalling every wayward thought and dirty deed, both real and anticipated. As a memory device, he repeated the list of seven deadly sins, one at a time, and tried to recall every occasion when he had felt an inclination to commit each sin. He recited the Ten Commandments, line by line, and then probed his own heart to remember every time he broke, or thought about breaking, God's Law. Those assigned to listen to Brother Luther's sins often grew weary. "Look here," someone once said to him, "if you expect Christ to forgive you, come in here with something to forgive -- murder, blasphemy, adultery -- instead of all these peccadilloes."3

Luther knew better. He was a prisoner of sin. To think otherwise was, and is, an illusion. His whole life was saturated with sin, even in the relative protection of the monastery. On every page of his Bible, he found something that judged his life and condemned his soul.

Yet, as you know, something happened. Martin Luther discovered there were other things in his Bible. In 1515, he began to lecture some students on the book of Romans. Like every good teacher, he learned something when he taught. When he flipped to the third chapter of Romans, he knew it said, "All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." He knew it was there; that was his burden. But then he stumbled over the next verse, where it says, "All are now justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus" (Romans 3:23-24).

The next year, Luther began to lecture on the book of Galatians. When he got to the second chapter, he knew what it was going to say. He read, "A person is not justified by the works of the law," and he groaned, because that was the burden of truth. For years, Martin Luther tried to keep God's Law and it was killing him. Then he read, "And we have come to believe in Christ Jesus, so that we might be justified by faith in Christ" (Galatians 2:16). That was it! That was the way out of every illusion, falsehood, and sin: through faith in the Christ who sets us free.

You see, it's one thing to go looking for the truth. Sometimes we think if we keep seeking long enough, we will find the truth. Or if we go to enough schools we will find the one idea that unlocks the door to freedom. Or if we keep practicing our religious habits, we will glimpse the one insight we have been missing. Yet the central truth of the gospel is neither a proposition nor an idea. It is not a perspective, an overarching scheme, or the hidden structure behind all reality. The truth is a person named Jesus. He himself says, "I am the truth" (John 14:6). He is not only the way and the life; he is the truth. We do not have to go looking for him, because he has already found us. He gave his life for us, thus bridging any gap between what God expects of us and what we can achieve. In his death, Christ has justified us in God's sight. In the power of his resurrection, he invites us to abide in his freedom.

"You will know the truth and the truth will make you free." We know this liberating truth when we affirm what God has done in Jesus Christ. When we were prisoners of sin and captives to the powers of death, God sent Jesus to save us and set us free. This is the truth about the One who is the truth, and it makes all the difference in the world. Jesus himself said so: "If the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed" (John 8:36).


1. As reported by William F. Fore, Television and Religion: The Shaping of Faith, Values, and Culture (Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing House, 1987), p. 55.

2. Walker Percy, Signposts in a Strange Land (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1991), pp. 159-160.

3. Roland H. Bainton, Here I Stand: A Life of Martin Luther (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1950), p. 41.

CSS Publishing Company, NO BOX SEATS IN THE KINGDOM, by William G. Carter