Romans 14.13-23

On September 13, 1989, a ground-breaking event took place in my life: Tim Burton’s Batman was released in cinemas. I went to see it multiple times that fall, and when it was released on VHS a couple months later, I watched it constantly.

The following April was my ninth birthday. Mom and Dad asked what I wanted to do for my birthday and I didn’t even have to consider it: I wanted to invite my friends for a Batman movie night.

So that’s what we did: we had pizza, we watched Batman, it was fantastic.

But my dad was the youth pastor in our very conservative church, and he was young himself (only 32 at the time). A couple days after the party, he got called into the pastor’s office for a talk. Apparently some of my friends’ parents had complained to the pastor that it was inappropriate for my dad to show such a dark movie to their kids.

To be fair, they should have gone to speak to Dad directly. But that’s not what shocked me. What shocked me was when Dad told me that the pastor had been right to call him to task about it. Not because Batman was in itself inappropriate (he still didn’t think it was), but because he should have taken these other families into consideration.

It annoyed me to no end when I was young, but Dad always said the same thing during my adolescence when addressing this kind of situation (it’s almost as if he’d learned something that day). He always quoted Romans 14.16: Do not let what you regard as good be spoken of as evil. In other words, do your best to avoid even the appearance of sin, even if no actual sin is happening.

That verse has stuck in my brain my entire life, and it used to bother me. Why should someone else’s mistaken opinion of what is wrong or right determine how I decide to live? We talk so much about freedom—why should I give up my freedom to do as I please just because it happens to bother someone else?

That is the question Paul asks in this text, and it’s a difficult question, because it’s so incredibly real. It sits right at the point where our theology meets our everyday life, and for a lot of Christians, that’s where things fall apart.

If you remember, since chapter 12 Paul has been applying everything he said in the first eleven chapters: because of God’s mercies to us in Christ, we are called to present ourselves as living sacrifices as our spiritual worship to him, which means pursuing love for one another in the church, love for others in the world, and holiness in every sphere of life.

Last week, in chapter 14, verses 1-12, Paul reminded us of one way love can easily be lacking in the church: we have differing opinions on secondary matters—like what foods are okay to eat, what days we should celebrate—and because of these differing opinions, we can end up judging one another. As we saw last week, when the Bible says, “Do not judge,” it doesn’t mean to never judge an action or a situation, but to not judge the person: to “judge” someone, in a biblical sense, is to consider them less worthy or legitimate as a child of God because of something they do.

So Paul tells us not to that, for two main reasons: we all have the same Lord and Judge, and we all have the same motivation.

In short, in last week’s text, Paul told us what not to do in the midst of disagreements. In today’s text, v. 13-23, he tells us what to do: how to proactively love each other in the midst of disagreements.

Love Your Brother By Protecting His Conscience (v. 13-19)

The first thing he tells us to do is surprising: he calls us to love our brothers and sisters by doing whatever we can to protect their conscience.

V. 13:

13 Therefore—that is, because we have one Judge, to whom we will give an account—let us not pass judgment on one another any longer, but rather decide never to put a stumbling block or hindrance in the way of a brother.

So he reminds us: don’t judge—but instead, love your brother (or your sister) by helping them listen to their conscience.

Now, if you remember the context of this chapter, you’ll remember that he’s speaking practically here, not theologically: he’s referring to things we do, which come out of our theological convictions. He comes back to this example of what the Roman Christians eat or do not eat. In all likelihood, he’s talking about Jewish Christians who have been told all their lives not to eat certain kinds of meat (because these meats were forbidden by the law of Moses), and who would have had a very hard time in their conscience, sitting at a dinner table where these kinds of meat were being served.

That’s the situation, and Paul’s speaking directly to those (probably Gentile Christians) who would have had no problem eating meat. He’s telling them not to judge those brothers or sisters who don’t see things the same way, and to go even farther than not judging—he’s saying, “You see your Jewish brothers and sisters have a hard time with this. So help them out. Don’t do something you know is going to make listening to their conscience more difficult.” That’s what he’s getting at in v. 14:

14 I know and am persuaded in the Lord Jesus that nothing is unclean in itself, but it is unclean for anyone who thinks it unclean.

So here Paul speaks clearly: for you Christians who believe it’s fine to eat any kind of meat, you’re right. Ever since the apostle Peter’s vision in Acts 10, in which God actually tells him it’s okay to eat all kinds of meat, that has been the official position of the Christian church: Christ fulfilled the Old Covenant, so now you can eat what you like.

Paul agrees: no food is inherently unclean.

Bu then he says something strange, in the second half of v. 14: but it is unclean for anyone who thinks it unclean.

Why would that be the case? Let’s take a different example. In the churches in which I grew up, they believed that it was sinful to drink any alcohol, of any kind. I always understood why they would speak out against excess, against drunkenness; but why they would say that it was wrong to have a glass of wine with dinner baffled me. (I understand a little better now, but it’s still pretty funny to hear a teetotaling preacher try to explain why Jesus’s first miracle of turning water into wine “isn’t what it looks like”.)

Here’s the thing, though. Let’s say one of these Christians came to France, and came to dinner at our homes. Most of us would likely serve wine with dinner. This person might feel like he has to drink some wine (it would be rude not to, after all), so despite the fact that he believes it’s a sin, he does it anyway. He has a glass of wine. And when he does, his conscience is screaming at him: This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong.

But the next night, it gets a little easier to have a glass of wine with dinner. Then a little easier. Then a little easier. Keep in mind, he’s not accepting the wine because he’s convinced it’s okay: he’s drinking wine because everyone else is, even though he still believes it’s wrong.

What is he doing when he does this? He’s essentially desensitizing himself to his own conscience. He’s teaching himself not to listen to his conscience.

Now, in this case I would say his conviction that alcohol is inherently sinful is wrong (after all, as Paul says, no food or drink is inherently unclean). We’re still growing; sometimes we’re not as sensitive to the Holy Spirit as we should be, or our conscience gets bothered not because of what the Bible says, but because of preconceived ideas we’ve inherited. So we won’t get it right every time.

The problem is that if this brother learns to ignore his conscience in this matter, what will happen on the day his conscience tells him something he really needs to listen to? If he desensitizes himself to his conscience, he runs the risk of not listening to it, for fear of being too strict—even though it’s telling him exactly what he should do.

If you’ve been a Christian for twenty years, maybe you have the maturity to take a step back and see what’s going on; maybe you have the maturity to listen to your conscience no matter what. But if you’re “weak” in the faith, as Paul says—if you’re a new believer, or if you simply haven’t exercised those particular muscles yet—it won’t be so easy.

So you, strong brother or sister, you need to help your weaker brother, and make it easier for him. V. 15:

15 For if your brother is grieved by what you eat, you are no longer walking in love. By what you eat, do not destroy the one for whom Christ died. 16 So do not let what you regard as good be spoken of as evil.

These Gentile Christians knew enough about Judaism to know that eating meat would probably be hard for many of their Jewish brothers and sisters, even if their conviction was mistaken. So Paul says to take that into account when you sit down to eat together, when you host a meal.

Why? Because if your brother is grieved by what you eat, you are no longer walking in love.

This might seem unfair, because Paul is (at least in a limited way) making our brothers’ and sisters’ feelings about something our own responsibility: he says, you are no longer walking in love, if your brother is grieved by what you eat. Of course you can’t help it if you didn’t know—but most of the time we can guess, and if we can’t guess, we can always ask: “Do you have wine with dinner? Is there anything you don’t eat?”

I hope you see what he’s doing here (and it’s going to be difficult for some of us): in this text, he’s not calling us to think theologically. He’s rather calling us to think relationally, for theological reasons. There’s a difference.

For example, if you’re thinking purely theologically, your defense will probably be, “Well, it’s not a sin to eat meat.” You’ll say “it’s not a sin” to do whatever it is you’re doing. And you might well be right.

But that’s a really low bar—plenty of things aren’t sinful, but that doesn’t mean they’re helpful. Just saying “It’s not a sin” doesn’t take into account the Christian sitting across from you—what they’ve understood, what their convictions are, what their maturity is like. "Is this a sin?” should not be our only question—we should also be asking: “How will this serve the brother or sister with me? How can I love them in this situation? How can I build them up? How can I help them grow?”

Love Your Brother By Sacrificing Your Freedom (v. 17-22)

This is hard for us to accept: loving your brother, protecting his conscience, might sometimes mean sacrificing your own freedom. That is something none of us want to do. We place a high price on our freedom, and we’re not wrong to do so. But what if our desire to preserve our own freedom ends up putting our brother or sister in chains? Is it okay to preserve our own freedom at the expense of someone else’s?

If our goal really is to be like Christ, to love one another and to build one another up, then our own appetites will go way down in our list of priorities.

V. 17:

17 For the kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking but of righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit. 18 Whoever thus serves Christ is acceptable to God and approved by men. 19 So then let us pursue what makes for peace and for mutual upbuilding.

Think of how much time we spend trying to earn simple pleasures. A good meal with friends and family. A good time on vacation. Comfortable homes. Enjoyable pastimes.

None of these things are wrong in and of themselves. But they are not the essence of the kingdom of God. The kingdom of God isn’t about pleasures—at least not earthly pleasures to be gained right away. The kingdom of God is about deeper things, things which will dig roots and continue to bear fruit for all eternity, things that will bring us infinitely more pleasure than a good meal or a good vacation every will: righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit. That is, growing to be like God, having peace with him, and knowing the joy of being his children.

So these are the things we should be pursuing above all others. And if we do, that will have necessary consequences on our decisions. We will not just be thinking about what we want at any given moment, but about how to serve God in whatever situation he puts us in. And if that situation brings with it a brother or a sister who needs help to grow, then that brother or sister’s needs will come before whatever we happen to want at the time. If our focus really is the kingdom of God, our own appetites will take second place.

This might all sound abstract, but remember the context: it’s harder to get more down-to-earth than a meal. You, Gentile Christians in Rome, want meat, and that’s fine—it’s okay to eat meat. But if your Jewish brothers and sisters are eating with you, then eating meat meat might compromise their integrity. Who cares if they’re wrong? What’s more important? Eating what you want, or helping other members of the body of Christ learn to listen to their conscience?

This is what’s at stake in these really practical matters of what we eat, what we drink, what we watch, what we listen to, what we laugh at, what we discuss. V. 20:

20 Do not, for the sake of food, destroy the work of God. Everything is indeed clean, but it is wrong for anyone to make another stumble by what he eats. 21 It is good not to eat meat or drink wine or do anything that causes your brother to stumble. 22 The faith that you have, keep between yourself and God. Blessed is the one who has no reason to pass judgment on himself for what he approves.

Notice what Paul is doing here. Like before, he is placing the conscience of our brothers and sisters at our feet—and here, he goes even further. He doesn’t just say that if we eat although our brother is grieved by what we eat, we’re not walking in love (as he said in v. 15). He says that it is wrong for anyone to make another stumble by what he eats.

We will have two big objections to this. Firstly: “How can I make someone else ‘stumble’? I’m not forcing them to sin.” Maybe not. But if you’re doing something you know is troubling them in their conscience, you’re putting them into a position in which they feel pressured to do something they think is sinful. And remember—they’re weak in their faith.

I have two younger brothers. When we were kids, I could talk my little brothers into anything. Firstly, because they looked up to me, and secondly, because I was the strong one. I don’t have to force anyone to sin to make them stumble; I just need to put them in a position in which they doubt themselves, in which they worry what their “more mature” brother or sister in Christ will think of them if they don’t do this thing. In such a situation, many people will stumble—and if they don’t, then at the very least they’ll be miserable trying to fight the temptation.

The second objection is even more complex: how can someone “stumble” if what they’re doing is not a sin? Paul has already said that in the Lord Jesus no food is unclean in itself; it’s not a sin to eat meat. So how can something that is not sinful make someone “stumble”?

We’ve already talked about this: it’s a question of conscience. There are a lot of things that the Bible clearly calls sin. Those things, we should all avoid—it is objectively, clearly sinful to do something the Bible calls us not to do.

But there are other things that are less clear, that may come more from upbringing or from past trauma or from social norms. Or maybe they come from the situation: how do we apply the Bible’s instructions in this particular context? Sometimes these ideas will be right, and sometimes they won’t; but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that, for whatever reason, these acts or behaviors about which the Bible is less explicit make the person concerned feel uncomfortable in their conscience: they feel like they shouldn’t do this, that it wouldn’t be honoring God. Their consciences are warning them to not do this thing.

We need to listen to our consciences, even if the Bible says nothing explicit about a particular action or decision. Our conscience is how the Holy Spirit guides us when the Bible doesn’t speak on a given subject, and often he does this by warning us against things that might not be sinful in itself, but that wouldn’t be good for us.

For example, someone who is predisposed to addiction could more easily become an alcoholic than someone who isn’t. So the Spirit may warn this person, in his conscience, to stay away from alcohol, because once he starts he may not be able to stop.

The point of all this should be a big relief for those of us who aren’t perfect yet (that is, all of us): Paul wants it to be clear that it’s okay to still be growing. It’s okay to not know where every line is; it’s okay to not know what the Bible says about every possible sin, or how to apply what the Bible says in every conceivable situation. These are things we’ll learn with time.

So if you’re more mature in your faith, don’t make this learning process more difficult for your less mature brothers and sisters. Make things easier for them. Take their growth into account. If you see they’re uncomfortable with whatever you’re doing, do something else. Really, what will it cost you? A little bit of your own pleasure now, in order to love your brother or sister well. What we gain from that exchange far outweighs whatever paltry pleasure we lose.

Love Your God By Not Taking the Risk (v. 23)

And if you’re the less mature one, and you’re uncomfortable but you’re not sure whether you should be, Paul has one simple word for you: if you have even the slightest doubt about whether or not you should engage in any activity, don’t do it.

V. 23 (this is the one verse directed towards the “weaker” brother or sister):

But whoever has doubts is condemned if he eats, because the eating is not from faith. For whatever does not proceed from faith is sin.

If you have a doubt about whether or not doing this thing is a good thing—eating this meal, or drinking this drink, or watching this movie, or listening to this music, or participating in this conversation, or spending time alone with this person—if you have a doubt about whether it’s a good thing or not, don’t do it. If you have a doubt, and you do it anyway, you’re condemning yourself.

Don’t panic when you hear that: he’s not using the word “condemned” here in the same way he did at the beginning of chapter 8—Paul has clearly told us that there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. What he means is that if you do something even though you think it might be sinful to do it, you’re making yourself guilty of sin. It may not be sinful to eat meat, but if you’re unsure about that and you do it anyway, eating meat becomes sin for you, because you’re displaying your willingness to disobey God. You’re showing that you’re willing to take the risk of disobeying him—not because you’re convinced it’s okay, but because everyone else is doing it.

Now, that sin of being willing to disobey God has been covered by the blood of Christ, absolutely—he lived, died and was raised in order that you might be forgiven of that. But it’s still not nothing: we don’t speak often enough about the fact that sin isn’t just something we have to confess later, but something we’ll have to recover from. All sin—even sin we know has been forgiven by God—makes it harder for you to listen to God in the future, harder to enjoy God in the future. It’s a sin you will have to confess and recover from later. Don’t do it.

But why would something that’s not sinful—in this case, it’s eating meat, but it could be any number of things—become sinful just because we have doubts? Paul gives the answer: because the eating is not from faith. For whatever does not proceed from faith is sin.

So if you have a doubt, don’t do it. Let your refusal to do something—even something that might be okay—be an act of faith, a way of telling God, “I don’t know if you want me to do this. But I want to be like you so much, I want to take holiness so seriously, that I don’t want to take the risk.” That’s an act of faith: denying yourself something that might be fine, in order to do something you know is right.

Conclusion

A good way to land the plane here might be to come back to this question of freedom. Paul says in v. 14: I know and am persuaded in the Lord Jesus that nothing is unclean in itself. That’s a pretty broad statement, if taken out of context—obviously, he’s talking about things that God created, not sinful actions we commit. But one of the most frequent questions that people ask me (and we asked it this week in our home groups) is, What exactly does it mean to be “free” in Christ? Are there limits to that freedom?

I often explain the freedom Christ gives in two complementary ways. If we look at the teaching of the Bible as a whole, freedom in Christ means, firstly, that we are free from having to earn our salvation through our behavior. It is not the fact of doing or not doing certain things that makes us right with God—it is only the work of Christ accomplished for us through his life, death and resurrection, and applied to our hearts by his Holy Spirit to give us faith in repentance. That is what saves us. So we don’t have to achieve anything in order to be loved and forgiven by God. That is incredible freedom.

But it does come with a necessary change. Freedom in Christ does not mean that we are now free to do whatever we want. Rather, freedom in Christ means that we are finally free to desire those things we should desire, free to do those things we should do. Why? Because now God has given us faith. Before he came in and changed us, we had no faith, so we only sinned, all the time—we did nothing from faith, and whatever does not proceed from faith is sin. But now, we have faith. We can finally do things that proceed from faith—we can finally desire those things God says are good for us, and we can desire them for the right reasons.

So how do we know the limits of our freedom in Christ? If nothing that God created is unclean in itself, how do we know when to say no?

This text gives us three clear limits.

Limit 1: We say no to anything the Bible calls sin. Again, nothing God created is unclean in itself, but there are plenty of ways to misuse what God created: the human body, our relationships, food, drink, leisure, our minds, our hearts… If the Bible clearly calls something sinful, that is an automatic no for us.

Limit 2: We say no to anything our conscience tells us not to do. Again, our conscience might be wrong—or rather, we might mistake for conscience things that make us uncomfortable for other reasons. It doesn’t matter: if we have a doubt, it’s better to say no. It’s not worth the risk of desensitizing ourselves to the voice of the Holy Spirit reminding us of what truly is right and wrong. If we feel our conscience is troubled by something, we should say no, even if the Bible says nothing explicit about it.

Limit 3: We say no to anything that might trouble the conscience of the brother or sister next to me. This is more of a general principle than a “no”—when we are with other people, we take them into account before making a decision. We ask ourselves what would serve them best in this situation, how we can love them well in this situation. And if we don’t know, we ask. We have that conversation. Like we saw last week, if we approach these discussions with humility, they will always result in growth in our faith and in our relationships with one another.

There is incredible freedom in Christ—but that includes freedom we might not expect. It means being free to not pursue our own desires at all costs. It means freedom to put others’ needs before our own. It means freedom to focus our eyes on something other than ourselves, which is far more freeing than we imagine.

Let us serve one another well, love one another well, and celebrate our freedom together by what we don’t pursue, just as much as by what we do.