Since I taught in the same local area for many years, I occasionally maintained friendships with former students after they graduated. That was especially true during the years I taught at a small Christian school, where I taught many of the same students year after year. I even followed a couple of classes from seventh grade all the way through graduation.
You get to know kids pretty well that way.
Years after she graduated, one of those students—I’ll call her Dawn—and I decided to meet for lunch and catch up. I had heard that she was struggling a bit with her Christian walk, so I wasn’t surprised when our conversation eventually headed in that direction.
The Christian school where Dawn was my student had clearly defined behavioral expectations. There were rules. There were demerits. And there were consequences.
Then she graduated. And suddenly, she was free.
Nobody was handing out demerits anymore. As we talked over lunch, much of what Dawn described about her new life seemed to revolve around that newfound lack of rules:
I can wear what I want.
I can talk how I want.
I can do what I want.
No one can stop me.
And she was right. She could.
But the question I asked her that day was a different one:
“Yes, you can. But should you?”
Freedom Conundrum
In the USA, we’re pretty attached to the idea of freedom.
I’m free. I can do what I want.
Well…sort of.
Living in a free society doesn’t mean our choices have no consequences, nor does our freedom give us license to harm other people. Freedom comes with responsibility. Christian freedom does too.
Paul writes in Galatians 5:13:
“For you were called to freedom, brothers. Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another.”
And in 1 Corinthians 6:12:
“‘All things are lawful for me,’ but not all things are helpful. ‘All things are lawful for me,’ but I will not be dominated by anything.”
Lawful isn’t the same thing as helpful or beneficial.
So maybe the mature question isn’t always “Can I?” Maybe it’s “Should I?”
That Little Word Should
Maybe it’s the English teacher in me, but let’s look at that little word for a minute.
Should is a helping verb. It cannot stand alone—it affects an action.
And when you change the helping verb, you change the meaning—and often the motivation—behind the action.
I must make my bed.
I might make my bed.
I should make my bed.
I will make my bed.
Must communicates a requirement. Might communicates a possibility. Should communicates a choice—but a choice influenced by something. Will communicates that the decision has been made.
That’s what interests me about should. Should doesn’t take away my freedom to choose. In fact, it assumes I have a choice. But it also suggests that something is influencing that choice.
I can do one thing, but wisdom might suggest I should do another. I can say what I’m thinking, but love for another person might suggest I shouldn’t. I can exercise my freedom, but my responsibility to someone else might affect how I should exercise it.
Should leaves room for freedom while asking me to consider what ought to influence my choice.
How Should We Then Live?
Paul begins Romans 12 with a therefore:
“Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship. Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”
—Romans 12:1–2
In view of God’s mercy. That’s important.
Paul doesn’t say, Live this way so that God will be merciful to you. He says that because of the mercy God has already shown us, there is a way we should respond.
So how should we then live?
Francis Schaeffer asked that question in 1976 in his book of the same name, How Should We Then Live? Schaeffer traced the development of Western thought and culture, examining how what people believe to be true ultimately shapes the way they live.
His question works on a much more personal level too.
If I believe that Christ died for me…
If I believe that I have been forgiven…
If I believe that God’s mercy has been freely extended to me…
How should I then live?
Not What do I have to do to make Jesus love me? And not How much can I get away with because Jesus will forgive me?
But:
Because He already loves me, how should I live?
Romans 12 doesn’t present obedience as the price of God’s mercy. It presents obedience as our response to it. God has shown me mercy. Therefore, there is a way I should live.
Don’t “Should” on Yourself?
Then I was reading Jeff Crosby’s The Language of the Soul, and he threw me a curveball.
Crosby recounts Brennan Manning speaking at a meeting and telling the participants:
“Don’t should on yourself.”
The participants laughed. I was confused.
Excuse me, what?
What does that even mean? And, honestly, why is it funny?
Manning went on to say that many of us “should” on ourselves—and that doing so is “damaging to the soul.”
That made me stop. Because I had always thought of should as a pretty useful word. It’s the word that asks me to consider not merely what I can do, but what I ought to do.
So how could should be damaging to my soul?
Maybe Manning and I weren’t talking about the same kind of should. And that made me consider that little word in an entirely new way.
Condemnation or Conviction?
Manning was talking about the relentless internal scorekeeping:
I should be better by now.
I should pray more.
I shouldn’t still struggle with this.
I should be doing more.
I should have handled that differently.
This kind of should doesn’t simply point me toward an action. It condemns me for failing to do what I already know I should do. And that’s an important distinction.
Paul writes in Romans 8:1–2:
“Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death.”
Condemnation takes our shoulds and turns them into accusations:
You should know better.
You should be better than this by now.
You should have more faith.
You should have handled that differently.
And sometimes the should itself is right. Maybe I really should have handled it differently.
But the condemnation that follows—You failed again. You’re a terrible Christian. God must be so disappointed in you—doesn’t come from the One who has already declared that there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.
That’s where conviction is different. Conviction doesn’t pretend that what I did was fine. Grace doesn’t mean that there is no longer anything I should or shouldn’t do.
Conviction reminds me of what is true, shows me where I have fallen short, and points me toward repentance and change. And the Holy Spirit doesn’t merely show me what I should do; He gives me the power to begin doing it.
Condemnation uses “should” to convince me that I am a failure. Conviction uses “should” to show me where I need to change—and grace reminds me that I don’t have to change on my own.
So…Should I?
Looking back on that lunch with Dawn, I still think I asked the right question. She really was free.
Nobody from the Christian school was going to give her a demerit. Nobody could tell her what she was allowed to do or which words she could use. And when she sinned, the grace of Christ was—and is—sufficient. She could make her own choices.
But freedom didn’t make the question of should disappear. In fact, perhaps freedom is what makes should so important.
When I am no longer simply following a rule because someone requires it, I have to decide what will influence my choices. Will it be what I want? What everyone else is doing? What I can get away with? Or will it be what I know to be true about Christ?
That’s the kind of should I don’t want to lose.
Not the should that keeps score. Not the should that tells me I have failed too many times for God to love me. Not the should that piles condemnation onto a person Christ has already set free.
But the should that looks at the mercy of God and asks:
Because of what Christ has done for me, how should I then live?
All those years ago, sitting across the table from Dawn, I put it much more simply:
Yes, you can. But should you?
It turns out that’s still a pretty good question for all of us.
