Commentary on John 8:31-36

Have you ever had a wound so painful that you could not let anyone near it? The mere thought of an antiseptic wash, or a tender hand, would have caused you to pull away, fiercely guarding what was already compromised. And because you could not allow anyone to clean, close, or cover it, the wound was subject to infection and worse. But still, you protected it at all costs. 

As we enter the scene in John 8, we find Jesus engaged in a conversation with a community of people who bear deep, open, invisible wounds. His desire to tend to and dress those injuries causes the very people he seeks to help to pull away and hide their wounds. But Jesus still speaks to them. Why? Because they are his followers. They are the ones who have chosen to hear him, believe him, and follow him.  

As he shares his word with them, he says something so simple that it should land with grace and not like a live grenade. “If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” That is all he says, but it is as if he has purposefully poured salt into their already tender and untended wounds. 

To these sons and daughters of Abraham, Jesus’s use of the word “freedom” implies captivity, and captivity is their invisible wound. These are the inheritors of the memories of enslavement.  These are carriers of the wounds from centuries of Egyptian bondage, decades of dislocation in Assyria, and an almost 1,000-mile forced march to the rivers of Babylon, where oppression denied them the life they knew. And Babylon was not the last city that exacted their tears. Now Rome rides their backs and taxes their pockets, defiantly, daily. Every time they walk past a Roman soldier, every time they hold a coin bearing the image of Caesar, every time they negotiate their lives inside an occupied land, the wound throbs and the pain intensifies.

So when Jesus’s words seem to suggest they are not free, something in them cannot bear it. They cannot hear it as an invitation. They hear it as a painful memory that catapults them back in time, and they cannot bear to make that trek, not one more time. Their reflexive response is immediate.  They pull back their wound. They defend themselves and rewrite their history. We are Abraham’s descendants. We have never been slaves of anyone. Friends, that is their wound talking.

And here is the heartbreak: If these followers of Jesus could have listened more deeply, if they had let him near their wounds, healing would have begun. They would no longer have to pull away to protect their wounds or revise their history to hide their wounds. They would have been able to come close and be healed by his words so that they might return to their place in the family and be set free (verse 32, 35–36). But they do not. If you read on to the end of John 8, you will find that the sons and daughters of Abraham continue to argue. Continue to defend their wounds. Continue to stand unhealed.

Remind you of anyone? Remind you of anything happening today? We live in a world where the wounds of our leaders and movements are evident and untended. We see the unintended consequences of unhealed people leading by rewriting history, spreading disinformation, and leading others to ignore their injuries as well. Like our ancient brothers and sisters, we watch as these people with hurting souls demand to be seen as the very thing they are not: honest, free, unimpeachable. 

They cannot let anyone near the wound because to acknowledge the wound is to acknowledge the need for confession and repentance, for antiseptics and bandages, for cleaning out what is still infected. In their economy, these actions suggest weakness; they will protect against looking weak at all costs.

But here is what Jesus knows and what the text makes plain: The wound that is never tended does not simply stay a wound. It threatens the whole body, just like sin. And sin, Jesus says, enslaves. This is not a metaphor. This is what happens when the wound is not addressed and sin is allowed to abound. Everyone who sins is a slave to sin (verse 34). The denial that sin enslaves becomes the cage. The revised history becomes the prison. The insistence on a freedom you do not actually possess is itself the evidence that you do not possess it.

So how does the preacher bring a word of good news out of this place of woundedness? It all begins with the conditional, subordinating conjunction: “if.” Jesus begins his conversation in this text with the word “if.” If the Jews who had believed in him will “hold” to his word, then they are his disciples. The good news of this text is that like them, we have a choice. As individuals, and as a nation, we have a choice. We can acknowledge our wounds, our enslavements, our sins, and offer them up to the balm of the gospel. Or we can stand in our woundedness, waiting for the worst to come. 

The ancient audience chose the latter path. The question is, What will we choose? As a nation, will we elect leaders who have the courage to acknowledge wounds and seek true healing? As individuals, will we dare to do the same? There is a choice, and that affords agency. We have a choice, and that is good news. Now, my preacher friend, invite your congregation to observe our ancient brothers and sisters. Invite your listeners to learn from them, and then ask them to consider whether they will hide their wounds or open them to the light of the gospel. It is a good and gracious gift that we, indeed, have a choice.