8. “Finding Through Losing” (Romans 11 & 12, Part 2)

Last week, we said that if you understand the gospel, if you understand Christianity, one response will increasingly make sense to you. One response to the gospel will increasingly describe the way you live your life. You will, more and more, give yourself to God. This, as we said, is what Romans 12 means when it speaks of offering your bodies as a sacrifice. It is a surrendering of control over our lives as we hand ourselves over to God. This giving ourselves to God is not something we do to pay a debt, or because God somehow needs something from us. We do this because this is what it looks like to have a meaningful and intimate relationship with God. We are meant for a relationship of mutual self-giving: the God of the universe gives himself to us for our joy. We in response give ourselves to him and he delights in us. This is communion with God.  

Now, this description of the gospel-shaped life, the Christian life, raises a whole host of questions. Maybe this is something that especially intense Christians, like the apostle Paul or Mother Theresa can do. But is this giving of self to God really something I can do? And given my sin and failures, can I be sure that God would even want me—that he would delight in me? And what does this even look like—how do I go about in practical terms giving myself to God? These are questions we will explore in the coming weeks.

But this morning, I want to ask a perhaps even more basic question. Before we ask, “Can I do this?” or “How do I do this?” we need to be honest and ask, “Is this even something I want to do? Do I really want to renounce my control and give myself to another?” 

It can feel like we’re being asked to do the ultimate of trustfalls. You know what I’m talking about—in corporate retreats, sometimes for team building they’d invite a person to stand on a table and fall backward with a whole bunch of people ready to catch them. Here it can feel like we’re on the edge of a cliff thousands of feet above ground level, and we’re being told to just fall backward and trust—renounce any sort of protection and just give yourself to God. Is that really what we want to do?

Making this question even more uncertain is the fact that some of us feel like we’ve tried something like this, and it hasn’t gone well. Some of us have in the past, or even presently found ourselves nearly swallowed up by the demands of living to satisfy the needs of others. There is a real sense in which we have given ourselves, we have, you might say, placed our bodies on the altar, and if we assess our lives honestly, this doesn’t feel very healthy. We find ourselves burnt out, maybe even weighed down by resentment, uncertain of who we even are, because we’ve been so focused on others. Some of us are trying to move out of that unhealthy dynamic. And so, all the more, when we hear these words, we naturally ask, “Is this something I want to do? Do I really want to surrender my claim upon myself and give myself to God? How can this be good?”   

Here’s what I’d like us to see this morning. When you give yourself completely to anything or anyone on earth you will lose yourself. Even the best relationship, a mother for her child, a husband for his wife; even the best goals, seeking to end poverty or heal cancer, whatever—if you give yourself completely to that, you will be lost. But with God it’s different. With God, and only with God, when you give yourself completely to him, rather than losing yourself, you actually find yourself. 

In the gospel of Matthew, Jesus tells his disciples, “Whoever tries to save his life will lose it. But whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” It’s a paradox.  If you seek to save yourself and your life—in other words, if you try to hold on to certain things, you will actually lose yourself. Because when you’re trying to save yourself, you’re holding tight onto certain things that you especially hold dear. And whether you realize it or not, those things you are gripping tightly actually have their hold on you.   

• If you say, “I will trust God with many things, but not my comfort and security,” then your desire for comfort and safety will own you. You will spend your energy on trying to protect yourself from harm and discomfort, even as deep down you will know that you can’t make yourself truly secure, and your life will be filled with anxiety. 
• If you say, “I will trust God with many things, but not my dreams—not my hopes of what I want to become,” then those dreams will take every ounce of you and leave you empty in the end. 
• If you say, “I will trust God with many things, but not my children,” then your children have an ultimate claim upon you. Your life will rise or fall on your children’s well-being, and the relationship will be strained to the point of breaking. 

When we try to save our lives, when we try to hold on to something, we are essentially giving ourselves to that, and we actually lose ourselves in the process. Whoever tries to save his life will lose it.

But, Jesus says, whoever loses their lives FOR MY SAKE. Notice, it’s not just about sacrifice—that’s not the point. No, it’s about giving ourselves over to JESUS. It’s about consecrating ourselves to God—the one who does that, Jesus says, will find himself. Jesus is saying that giving ourselves away to God in Jesus is the only way to gain ourselves. Serving God is the only way to become free.  

We see a similar logic in Romans 12. When Paul calls people to offer our bodies to God he then goes on to say, “This is your…” well, in our translation it says “spiritual” worship, but the idea isn’t really about spirit vs body. It’s a hard word to translate—its focus is on the quality that separates humans from animals. Animals only are driven by impulses; humans are capable of reflection; animals cannot pray, but humans have the capacity to know God. It’s that which distinguishes us from animals that is the idea here. 

Paul is saying that as you offer yourselves to God, you are engaging in a supremely human act of worship. Idolatry degrades you so that you lose yourself—we saw this in chapter 1: whether you worship love or money or progress, you always degrade yourself and lose your humanity. But when in worship you give yourselves to God, you again become truly yourself. If you want to be human. If you want to be whole, give yourself to God.  

If you completely give yourself to anything in this world or anyone in this world, you will lose yourself. But if you completely give yourself to God, you for the first time truly find yourself.

Why? Let me offer two reasons this morning: Because God is uniquely worthy. And because God is supremely kind. 

Uniquely Worthy

Paul’s “therefore” in the first verse of Romans 12 points backward, showing that this instruction is the logical outworking of all that Paul has said prior to this. I want us just briefly to consider the words Paul wrote right before the therefore. 

After speaking of God’s remarkable plan of redemption for 11 chapters, it’s like in 11:33, Paul can’t help break out in song, “Oh the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God.” God is deeply rich and deeply wise and deeply knowledgeable. How deep do these things go? Paul goes on: The decisions he makes and the actions he takes are unsearchable—no matter how deep you dig, you will never get to the bottom of what’s going on in God’s mind. They are inscrutable—no matter how much you try to understand, human concepts will not have the capacity to capture God’s wisdom and actions. God is the one who knows all—he never asks advice. God is the one who has all—he never needs to borrow from anyone else. 

I wonder how much we really get this. Honestly, I think I go through life basically assuming that most of the time what God does will make sense to me, with occasional strange moments where God does something beyond my grasp. Subconsciously, I believe that most of the time I can keep up with God, but occasionally he shows that he’s brighter than I am. But of course that’s completely wrong. God made our brains wonderfully and he gave us wisdom, but there really is no comparison between our small minds and God’s unsearchable, inscrutable wisdom.  Everything was made by God; everything continues to exist by the power of God; and everything is meant to move toward God and experience his glory. God is beyond everything, he is inexpressibly great. 

What that means is that as we enter into communion with God, as we give ourselves to God as he gives himself to us, we won’t become less. No, every day that relationship with him will make our lives bigger.

Some of you have seen the TV show “The Good Place,” an interesting sitcom that was an extended reflection on the nature of the afterlife: what’s heaven? What’s Hell? What connection is there between how we live on earth and what happens after?

The concluding episode has this moment where the two main characters, Chidi and Ellen, are in the afterlife, enjoying all the best of what it has to offer. For perhaps centuries, they’ve had the chance to enjoy all the most beautiful and interesting things that human life has to offer. There comes this moment when they’re touring through Paris, reliving a beautiful and important moment in history, the very things they love most. And yet despite all of this, there’s a feeling of emptiness—they’ve grown tired of it; they’ve exhausted all there is to enjoy. There’s no more pleasure to be found in living, and so now they realize that for them, it’s time to bring an end to their existence. And I suppose that if Paris and human beings are all there really is to give ourselves to, it makes sense that maybe, someday, things could get old.

But I want to compare this with a different story, this one actually true. Thomas Aquinas is undoubtedly one of the most important theological figures in Church History. His massive, 3000 page work, the Summa Theologiae has had an enormous influence on how the church understands who God is and how we relate to him. There are more than 1000 commentaries on the Summa. Perhaps nobody has thought more extensively or written more deeply about God than Thomas. 

But when he was 49, my age, something happened to him. It seems he had a mystical experience, some sort of intense encounter with the very God who had been the constant subject of his work. And from that point on, he stopped writing, leaving his Summa unfinished. When his scribe, Reginald, asked him why, he told him, “‘Reginald, I cannot, because all I have written seems like straw to me.’” As profound as the things were that Thomas had written, they could not compare to the true glory of the eternal God. 

See, God is far more than a trip to Paris or romantic fulfillment. God is endlessly interesting. He is inexhaustibly glorious. Every day that we come to know God, we will discover even more how little we know of him. Every year of experiencing a relationship with the eternal Creator, our delight will only become deeper. Our understanding will grow, our hearts will expand—as we give ourselves to the eternal, infinite God, we will not shrink or dry up. We will become bigger and more alive. 

God is uniquely worthy of us giving ourselves to him in worship.

Supremely Kind

And, what’s more, God is supremely kind.

In the middle of Jesus’ ministry, he at one point speaks about the way we can come to know and have communion with God. In Matthew 10:27, he says “No one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.” If you want to know God and have communion with him,” Jesus says, “you need to come to me.” And so he says, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Do you follow the logic? When you come to me, I, and I alone can bring you into relationship with God. And as I bring you into communion with him, you will find rest.” The way to rest is in having the relationship with God that I can give you.

And he goes on to say, “Here’s how to experience this rest-bringing communion with God. Take my yoke upon you.” 

In that day a yoke was a simple pole, often a stick, with buckets tied by ropes on either side—it was a way of distributing the weight when you’re carrying something. And the yoke was such a familiar part of life that it also became a figure of speech, a metaphor for coming under the authority of someone or something. A nation could be under the yoke of another king. People of Israel spoke of being under the yoke of the law. People know that a yoke was to be under someone. When Jesus here calls us to take his yoke, he’s inviting us to relinquish control of our lives and to bring our life under his rule and to learn from him. 

Here then is the very same kind of idea as Romans 12. Romans 12 says, “Offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, your truly human act of worship.” As we lose ourselves, giving ourselves to God, we find ourselves.” Jesus says, “Take my yoke upon you, and you will find rest.” As you let go of what feels like freedom by allowing yourself to be ruled by Jesus, you will gain true freedom. They’re talking about the same thing.

And here Jesus tells us why it works this way. Why his yoke, his rule over our lives, bring rest: “My yoke is easy, or, perhaps a better translation, my yoke is kind. The instructions I give you as I lead you are kind. The life I call you to will not crush you or destroy you or empty you. It will restore you. Giving yourself to me will be different from giving yourself to anything else.”

My yoke is kind, Jesus says, because I am kind: “I am gentle and lowly in heart.” Jesus is gentle: he understands our weakness and knows how not to crush us. He is not harsh when we fail, tearing us down. He builds us up, growing us in confidence as we learn from him. And what’s more he’s humble in heart. Unlike the boss who treats people as below him—which Jesus, being God, certainly could do, yet that isn’t how he treats us. He joins with us, as one of us. He calls us friends. He rejoices in our small victories and he grieves with us in our sadness. Jesus is kind.

When Jesus calls out to those who are weary and burdened, he’s making a comparison. We are all already carrying a weight, no matter who you are, you have a burden. And eventually, Jesus is saying, it will overwhelm. Because whatever weight we have chosen to carry, it is not kind. Some of the crowd, like the tax collectors, had given themselves to the task of financial security, but in this moment as Jesus speaks to them, they feel like many today: emptied by that pursuit—it cost them too much. Others had given themselves to trying to do everything right; like the older brother in Jesus’ parable of the prodigal son, they, like many today, sought to ensure a good future by doing everything that was expected of them. But now they are tired, because the weight is too heavy, it is overcoming them, because the master they have chosen is not kind. Perhaps you know how that feels.

But Jesus says, “I am different. I am kind. If you take my yoke, you will actually find rest for your souls.” 

Now, when we see Jesus, we see God. Which means this is who Jesus is, this is also who God is. If this is what happens when we give ourselves to Jesus, this is what happens with God. When we give ourselves to God, we discover that God is wonderfully, overflowingly kind.

We don’t always recognize this, do we? Sometimes I think we almost imagine God as a black hole. You know what a black hole is, right? Something so dense, whose gravity is so strong that it pulls everything near it and gives nothing back; not even light can escape it. I wonder, do you ever think of God in this way? Do you feel like he demands everything from us and it’s never enough? That perhaps the only thing we can do that would even kind of make God happy with us is if we sacrifice everything: not just pray, but pray until we are exhausted from a lack of sleep. Not just try to care for others, but care for others until we have nothing left to give. Not only serve the church but burn ourselves out in the process. I think sometimes some of us believe that to please God, we got to be radical and leave everything out there—and even then, it’s not enough. The black hole keeps taking.

And there are two huge problems with this. One is that we forget that God is the one who made us with limitations, and when he did, he said, “This is good.” When God made you finite; when God made you needing sleep, that wasn’t accidental. That wasn’t something God wants us to overcome. He made you with limits. And he loves you and your limits.

But even more significantly, God is nothing like a black hole. He needs nothing from us. He takes nothing from us, because he already has everything. In fact he is so abundantly full that he delights to give and give and give. God is not a black hole. He is an overflowing stream that is never exhausted. He receives you, only so that he can give you more. He calls you to give yourself to him only so that he can give you yourself back to you more complete, more joyful, more full, because you are in communion with him. 

Now, are there situations in this life when we will have to suffer, experience exhaustion, feel overwhelmed? Yes, Scripture clearly tells us that we live in a disordered world that has rejected Jesus and his love. And that means those who belong to Jesus can expect to suffer with him. But even here we find God’s kindness. Jesus in his love gave his life to make sure that our life will not end in sadness, but in eternal joy. And as we walk through the challenges of this world, he prays for us, he grieves with us, he promises to be with us, by his Spirit strengthening us, so that somehow even in the very worst moments we will experience God’s love and goodness. In Jesus we see something precious: God knows you and delights to give to you. God is supremely kind.

Whenever we give ourselves to anything in this world, we lose ourselves. But when we give ourselves to God we find ourselves. This sacrifice we are called to make in Romans 12 is no loss—it is unimaginable gain.

Jesus once told the simple story of a man walking through a field who noticed something barely buried beneath the surface. He pulled away the dirt and discovered a box filled with riches unlike anything he’d ever seen. Immediately, he knew what to do. He buried the treasure back up and he went to the marketplace and he sold his land, his home, his camel; it was like a going out of business sale—people thought he was crazy. He sold it all. And then with the money he gained, he bought that field and in that moment came into rightful possession of that treasure. 

When he sold those other things, perhaps he felt some of the sacrifice, some of the difficulty of letting go. But he also knew this was not truly a loss for him. Jesus says as he sells it all, he does so with joy. Why? Because he knows that what might look like loss is actually unbelievable gain. 

You can try to hold on to control, if you want. That’s your choice. You can try to hold on to comfort. We can try to hold on to whatever is most important to you. But in the end, if you do, you will lose yourself. Or, you can give yourself to the God who made you. You can give yourself to the God who is uniquely worthy of your worship and who is supremely kind; you can give yourself to the one who alone can truly give you yourself. If you do, you will see that what might feel like sacrifice is actually unbelievable gain.  

“Therefore, in view of God’s mercies, offer your bodies as a living sacrifice to God.”