Tender, eager young hands thrust high into the air as the fourth grade chorus closed their selection of songs with a rousing finale. The audience leapt up in unison, clapping, stomping, whistling and giving them a standing ovation. The songs that brought the house down were songs of freedom—patriotic and moving—stirring up pride and gratitude for this great land in which we live, the land of the free. Especially poignant for my husband and I was that one of those children was our ten-year-old granddaughter, a first generation American. We, like millions of others, came as immigrants to raise our family in this land of opportunity and to see our progeny partake of its bounty.

Although I am always grateful for personal and national liberty, from that end-of-school concert through Memorial Day to the Glorious Fourth, freedom assumes a higher profile than normal on my list of things for which to be thankful. Most of these students know little of the price paid for their freedom; they only know how to celebrate it. Presently, this land—this great bastion of global freedom—is at war to protect the continuation of our coveted way of life and, in the process, extend freedom to nations that are oppressed. Pearl Buck, the American missionary who spent much of her life in China said, “None who have always been free can understand the terrible fascinating power of the hope of freedom to those who are not free.” The tangible, terrible fascination of the power of this hope gripped me as I stood at Checkpoint Charlie before the Berlin Wall came down. My heart ached for those who had made such brave bids for freedom from an oppressive communist regime. Some made it across the wall others did not.

Paradoxically, the acquisition, maintenance and defense of freedom require restraints on personal liberty. In other words, freedom comes with a price tag. That concept is much harder to assimilate and put into effect in the present climate of entitlement than it was in times past. What would we think today of a government regulation that required men’s suits to be made without pockets and turn-ups in order to save cloth? How would we respond to legislation that decreed there be only twenty flavors of ice cream from which to choose? These are both examples of restrictions that were introduced in this country during World War II. The American writer Edith Hamilton wrote of ancient Greece, “When the freedom they wished for was freedom from responsibility, then Athens ceased to be free and was never free again.”

We have been made eternally free in Christ who, at enormous personal cost, emancipated us for the express purpose of perpetuating liberty. In the community of the church, where we rightly celebrate the highest expression of freedom, liberty is never without its counterpoint, responsibility. While we have been set free from the Law, we are now beholden to a higher and more demanding law—impossible to obey without the indwelling life of Christ—the law of love. In The Message, we read the well-known words of Paul in everyday language. “It is absolutely clear that God has called you to a free life. Just make sure that you don’t use this freedom as an excuse to do whatever you want to do and destroy your freedom. Rather, use your freedom to serve one another in love; that’s how freedom grows” (Gal. 5:13).

Contrary to the popular interpretation that freedom means doing as we please, in the Body of Christ it ought not to be so. Celebrating freedom will mean considering others before ourselves. For example, those of us with sturdy consciences may permit ourselves certain liberties that could cause others to stumble. The classic scenario that comes to mind is the one where Paul writes about refraining from the eating of meat offered to idols for fear that in so doing the Christians would offend their weaker fellow believers whose conscience would not permit them to partake without condemnation (1 Cor. 8:6-13). It may be hard for us today to relate to that situation, so my present day example is the drinking of alcoholic beverages. Into this imbroglio, many have ventured without achieving agreement. The way we, in our house, have solved this is very simple. If we can have a beer or a glass of wine without the temptation to abuse it—can imbibe without a guilty conscience—then fine. However, if we have a friend to dinner who has either an overt or a covert problem with alcohol, then we refrain from either offering a drink or partaking of it at the table. Our freedom is not about pleasing our palates, but serving our friend.

In order to serve freedom, it may mean foregoing the need to justify ourselves, even when wronged. I am dismayed at the alacrity with which believers take one another to court instead of taking it to the church as Paul exhorts. He upbraids the congregation in Corinth as he reminds them that they will one day judge angels, so why take their grievances to the world’s judiciary (1 Cor. 6:1-8). We may be free to avenge ourselves, but at what cost? Jesus warns that we are in danger of our adversary extracting the last farthing if we end up in court. True freedom means relinquishment. It means trusting the ultimate Judge. There is a tale told of one of the Wesley brothers that illustrates this so beautifully. After he became famous, he was hauled into court by a cobbler who claimed that the preacher had not paid for a pair of shoes that he had mended for him. The judge ruled in favor of the plaintiff and with a stroke of the gavel declared the case closed. Quietly and firmly, Wesley said, “No, this case will be re-opened at the judgment seat of Christ.”

So, is my personal freedom always expendable? No. When Jesus said that whatever we do unto the least we do unto him, we must consider that assaults on, and erosions of, our own boundaries constitute a breach of the life of Christ—even if we consider ourselves one of “the least.” When we succumb to abuse, we act as though we are unaware of the dignity of the Christ who is in us and ungrateful for the priceless freedom in which he intends us to walk. In addition, such an attitude demonstrates lack of love for the perpetrator. If we want the offending party to be free, then we must not permit them to rob us of our freedom. We will have to speak and act in truth, which is always risky and sometimes costly in relationships. The toxic liaisons that we insist on maintaining due to fear or obligation are symptoms of the law at work in our lives, not grace. When we continue to permit a mother to manipulate us, a father to demean us, a spouse to abuse us verbally or physically, or to give in to a grown child’s umpteenth attempt to con us into yet another handout, we are in the tyrannical grip of the merciless law. Hear Paul’s appeal in Galatians 5:1. “Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.”

There are life situations that, without our volition, imprison us without any seeming hope of reprieve. We have no say, for example, over the challenged child we have been given, or over the loss of physical or mental acumen due to disease, in our own or a dear one’s life. Yet, in all these circumstances, we remain free. That inviolate place and space of our union with Christ Jesus allows us to fly and soar like eagles because we are unfettered in the center of our being. If we look at outside circumstances to determine our enjoyment of freedom, we have not yet grasped that our real lives are hid with Christ in God (Col. 3:3).

No matter where we live, regardless of our situation, we can revel in our unassailable freedom every day—no need to wait for special events, festivals or holidays—for Christ is our constant, our life, our love and our Liberator. Yes, it is true that freedom exacts a price on every front. However, coming to terms with the cost, only adds a deeper dimension of appreciation for emancipation that allows us to truly celebrate. Like the fourth grade chorus, we too can raise our hearts and voices in an exultation of praise, lifting hands, whether young and smooth or old and gnarled, while the great crowd of witnesses cheers us on from freedom’s final destination, the Father’s house.