Millions of people across the United States of America celebrate the notion of freedom each Independence Day. But what is true freedom? In this Fourth of July weekend sermon, Alistair Begg continues his miniseries on Matthew 11:28–30.
After recently considering Jesus’ remarkable invitation—“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest”—Alistair reminds us, “The same one who gave the invitation is the one who presents the obligation” of taking Christ’s yoke upon us.
With freedom fresh on your mind, take a moment to meditate on the great truths of biblical freedom.
Jesus gave up His freedom not because He needed it but in order to set us free—to set us free from the great enslavement, that we might be free from the just judgment of God for our sins. Because we will face God. How can you be free from that? You understand why people say, “Well, of course, there is no God.” It’s much better to believe there is no God than to figure out that you’ve got a God that you’re going to face.
Free from guilt. Free from a guilty conscience. Free from meaninglessness. Free from the prison of self-centeredness. Freed from the shifting sands of subjectivity and being contemporary. Because biblical freedom, under the yoke of Jesus, is paradoxical. To be myself, I have to deny myself. To be free, I have to give up my freedom. To live, I have to die to myself. To find myself, I have to lose myself.
George Matheson, who was a Presbyterian minister and also blind, wrote a number of hymns. One was “O Love That Will Not Let Me Go,” and another one he wrote that we’re not going to sing, but I have it on the screen, and I’d like us to say it. I think we might remember it better if we just say it. And so, while you’re seated there, here is the paradox wonderfully done. We’ll say it together:
Make me a captive, Lord,
And then I shall be free.
Force me to render up my sword,
And I shall conqueror be.
I sink in life’s alarms
When by myself I stand;
Imprison me within Thine arms,
And strong shall be my hand.
My heart is weak and poor
Until it master find;
It has no spring of action sure;
It varies with the wind.
It cannot freely move
Till Thou hast wrought its chain;
Enslave it with Thy matchless love,
And deathless it shall reign.
My will is not my own
Till Thou hast made it Thine;
If it would reach a monarch’s throne,
It must its crown resign.
It only stands unbent
Amid the clashing strife
Till on Thy bosom it has leant
And found in Thee its life.
