In Romans chapter 7, Paul brings clarity to a question Christians have struggled to answer for a long time: how do we as followers of Jesus relate to God’s moral law?

Even though Paul’s argument aims at clarity, it challenges some of the most capable theologians and students of Scripture. It’s one of the most powerful yet controversial chapters in the Bible, and it warrants our attention. Here’s why:

You can hold to correct biblical doctrines while at the same time losing your functional grasp on the Gospel. The Bible, church history, and our own experience confirm this— mine sure does.

In my early 20’s, I moved in with a family far from my home. I was a new Christian seeking discipleship, adventure, and new scenery. My quest brought me from Northeast Arkansas to a family in central Florida with teenagers and toddlers. With my mom and dad’s blessing, I packed my bags and headed south.

The mother in that home welcomed me like family. She washed my clothes. She cooked my food. She packed my lunches for work. The dad was a pastor. He invested in me. He discipled me. He taught me the Bible. He “let me in.” And the kids treated me like their older brother. The only thing they asked in return was help with some construction projects around the house. It was outdated and needed some cosmetic upgrades on trim and floors—my specialties!

As I think back on that arrangement, I’m stunned by their trust. I was a virtual stranger and yet they took me in like one of their own. I shared a bonus room with their teenage son above the garage and fit right in.

My new life was sweet. I lived in an affluent beach community in Florida. I was getting discipled by an amazing pastor and making new friends at church. And what did it cost me? Not a thing. Free room and board. Free food. Free laundry. Free YMCA (that was covered). All I had to do in return was some random carpentry work. And the work benefitted me because I lived there! The future looked bright.

After a few weeks of getting settled, it was time to pay my dues. I put on my nail apron and got to work, and the whole family pitched in. They didn’t know squat about construction, but they helped where they could; spackling, sanding, caulking, painting, and making runs to Lowes for materials. We worked like animals that first year and at last we met our remodeling goals. Their home was updated. I earned my keep. Everyone was happy.

But before long, I lost my joy and started to feel like a tenant who never paid enough rent rather than a member of the family. Nothing had changed. My room and board were still covered in our arrangement. Free food. Laundry. The works. The change was a feeling of inadequacy welling up inside of me. I began to wrestle with the insecurity of

not being blood-related to this family. I doubted whether or not I truly belonged and even secretly questioned whether or not they wanted me around now that my work was finished. So I threw myself into new home-improvement projects.

To make matters worse, around that time I decided to re-enroll in a local college to finish my degree. So I became a full time student by night and worked a full-time job by day. On top of that, I was at church every time the doors were open; twice on Sunday and two mid-week gatherings. My life grew busy and complex.

Fatigue set in. I was going to bed sometimes after midnight and getting up at the crack of dawn for work. I was exhausted. I had homework to finish, and exams to study for. During one particularly busy week, the mom asked me about tiling the upper bathroom. It was tiny. The floor was old linoleum that needed to be ripped up (they could do that part). She had the tile, the thin-set mortar, and the grout. All I had to do was set the tile and grout the joints. Everything was ready. But I wasn’t.

Her request hit me at a vulnerable moment and I reacted poorly. I was not happy about tiling that bathroom. I had an exam that week. I was behind on homework. I was exhausted, and I was growing home-sick. It had been over a year since I saw my family back home. It was the first time I expressed a bad attitude about working on their house.

Then my thoughts assaulted me again. I began to feel like my relationship to that family —particularly the mom and dad—was based on how much work I did and how well behaved I was. Of course, it wasn’t. It was all in my head (isn’t that where all our identity struggles begin?). But that was how I felt. If we had a family meeting and talked about making sure we kept our rooms picked up, helped watch the little kids, parked properly (lots of cars at that house!), or discussed some other family need, I was probably the one who felt the most pressure to comply, and the most guilt from my failures. Why? Because I didn’t want to get kicked out. I didn’t want them to see that the only contribution I could make was construction-related.

So the bathroom tiling job presented an identity crisis of sorts. I had a terrible attitude about it—and didn’t bother hiding it. I told her this was a busy week, but that I would do it another time, maybe when I had a half-day at work.

Turns out, I had several half-days at work, back-to-back. But I didn’t go home and tile that bathroom. I was too exhausted, too grumpy, too lazy. So I drove to the beach, parked my truck, and slept for 3 hours—both days. I couldn’t even make eye-contact when I came home that second day. My guilt was overwhelming, so I tiled the room.

But I huffed and puffed. I groaned and moaned. I did it as unhappily as I possibly could, then I cleaned up the mess and crashed for the night. I woke up the following morning, grabbed the lunch the mom made for me, and went to work like normal.

When lunch break came, I opened up my lunch bag and found a note from the mom. I’ve kept it for over 20 years because it was so meaningful to me. It read:

Tommy, Thank you for doing the tile work. I know this is a bad time for you! Thank you for your friendship—we all love you like family. I will pray for you about your test and for tonight. Our family has been blessed to have known you—we consider you a son and a brother. May the Lord bless you and keep you and make his face to shine upon you! Love _______.

What a surprise. I’m sure I expected an eviction notice, or a reprimand. Some correction or an announcement that we’d be having a family meeting that night to discuss my future. Maybe I should point out (for the antinomian spirit in all of us) that neither did the letter say, “You’ve done enough work for us. Now you can rest. No more home improvement projects. Just live however you want in our home. Relax. We don’t care.”

But that’s not what I discovered. There were no threats or free-for-alls. No law. No rules. Just love. Welcome. Belonging. Appreciation. Gratitude. Blessings and promises. I was a son and a brother. They were my family. Nothing would ever change that.

I didn’t go to the beach that day after work for a nap. Or the next day. Or ever. I went home to a family who loved me, accepted me, and welcomed me. No more fear. No more doubt. No more insecurity or identity crises for me. That note settled it.

What strikes me as I remember that time was this: nothing changed in my living arrangement. I changed. The old Tommy died. The law-keeping, performance-based relationship I had concocted in my mind was shattered. I suppose you could say I was no longer “under law.” And I was free. I bore some serious fruit after that. I served with vigor, strength, and joy. I had a new incentive that was indestructible.

Home improvement projects were no longer burdensome. I no longer offered my services begrudgingly. I no longer secretly resented responsibilities in the family. I was a new man. In fact, over the course of the next several years, I helped add on a new mother-in-law suite to their home, a full back patio with a double deck, and 500 square feet to their living room. We were living large. They needed the space. After all, their family was growing. And I continued to live with them for the next 6 years.

Many Christians view their relationship to God the same way I viewed my relationship to that family in the beginning. I was under the law. The commandments were burdensome to me. I was serving them, but in the letter, not in the Spirit. And it caught up with me. It will catch up to you, too. But that letter changed everything. Wouldn’t it be nice to get a life-changing letter like that?

The New Testament is such a letter—from God! Consider Paul’s words in Romans 7:6, “But now we are released from the law, having died to that which held us captive, so that we serve in the new way of the Spirit and not in the old way of the written code”— Romans 7:6.

Are you serving in the new way of the Spirit, or are you still trying to “earn your keep” with God? Jesus already did all of that for you. Now you can serve Him with joy.