Becoming All Things to All People Without Losing Yourself
1 Corinthians 9:19-23
"Though I am free and belong to no one, I have made myself a slave to everyone, to win as many as possible. To the Jews I became like a Jew, to win the Jews. To those under the law I became like one under the law (though I myself am not under the law), so as to win those under the law. To those not having the law I became like one not having the law (though I am not free from God’s law but am under Christ’s law), so as to win those not having the law. To the weak I became weak, to win the weak. I have become all things to all people so that by all possible means I might save some. I do all this for the sake of the gospel, that I may share in its blessings."
In chapter eight, Paul defends his apostolic freedom ("I am free and belong to no one" ) and then immediately turns around and says, "I have made myself a slave to everyone." That deliberate paradox is the heartbeat of gospel mission. And now in chapter nine he's essentially saying he'd rather be dead than take money from the church for serving that gospel. Paul is not teaching a spineless people-pleasing or moral compromise. Notice how he carefully explains himself in parentheses.
What Paul explains is he's surrendering himself in his cultural comforts. He's letting go of his ego, his preferences, and his rights as a Jew. He is freeing himself of these things. This is contextualization with integrity. Like Jesus, who was born under the law to redeem those under the law yet touched lepers and ate with tax collectors, Paul embodies the truth that love willingly limits its freedom for the sake of others and the gospel.
Paul sees the Christian life as a race. Laying aside every weighty question.
Hebrews 12:1–2
"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus…"
The sin that so easily entangles:
Greed, lust, pride, bitterness, idolatry; anything that is outright rebellion against God. These are like ankle weights made of iron; they don’t just slow you down, they trip you and drag you into the mud.
These things are corruptible crowns. Like a laurel wreath given to an Olympian champion that soon withers and dries out.
Everything that hinders:
"Every weight" (Greek: ogkos), an athletic term for excess body weight that a runner would rigorously train off before the games. It’s not necessarily sinful; it can even be perfectly lawful and good. But if it slows the runner down in the particular race God has marked out for him or her, it has to go.
So Paul disciplines himself, because the Christian life is not a casual jog. It is an Olympic race with eternal stakes, and love demands that we travel light. Paul ran lean. He ran focused. He ran with eyes fixed on the prize and on the people he longed to bring across the finish line with him.
Paul says the runners in the Isthmian Games (which every Corinthian knew well) trained for ten brutal months for a crown of wild celery or pine that turned brown and crumbled within days.
1 Corinthians 9:25
"Do they not run for a perishable wreath (stephanos phthartos), but we for an imperishable?".
That is the perfect image for "the sin that so easily entangles." And yet they run themselves ragged, lungs burning, heart pounding, chasing what will be dust in their hands before sunset.
The greedy man finally gets the money; then lies awake fearing he will lose it. The lustful man tastes the forbidden; then wakes up emptier than before. The proud man hears the applause; then dreads the day the stadium goes silent. The bitter man savors vengeance; then discovers it is a poison he drank himself.
These sins don’t just weigh us down; they promise a crown and deliver a corpse.
But there is another crown.
Jesus ran the same race; only His course was splashed with blood and tears, and His "crown" at the finish line was first a crown of thorns. He wore that perishable shame so that He could give us the imperishable crown. Not a new religion. Not a new priesthood of some, but a priesthood of all believers. Not a cult or orthodoxy. Jesus did not run His bloody race so that a new clergy class of professionals could wear special collars and dole out grace through rituals. He ran it to tear the veil from top to bottom, to shatter every wall between God and His people.
Friends, don’t sell your soul for a wreath that rots! Strip off the fake gold! Run light, run free, eyes locked on the only Champion who ever ran the full distance, collapsed under the weight of our sin, rose again, and now holds out to every finisher a crown that will never fade!
1 Peter 2:9
"You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for His own possession…"
Not "you might become."
Not "only if you go to seminary."
Not "only if you keep the rules well enough."
You ARE, because Jesus wore the perishable shame, the thorns that belonged to us. He wore the mocking purple robe that was our rebellion. He rose and placed on every believer’s head the imperishable diadem:
1. Direct access
2. Bold approach
3. The right to stand in the holiest love and cry "Abba," the authority to proclaim His excellencies in the streets, in the cubicles, in the hospital rooms, and in the prisons.
No more mediators between us and God except the One Mediator who finished the race. This is the crown that never fades. You ARE NOT a spectator watching priests do the real spiritual work. You ARE NOT a second-class citizen in the kingdom.
You are a priest-king, robed in Christ’s righteousness, carrying the incense of prayer, the sacrifice of praise, the ministry of reconciliation wherever your feet take you today.
So don’t sell that birthright for a bowl of rotting leaves, for the applause of a crowd that will forget your name tomorrow, for the comfort of staying entangled in the old sins.
Throw it down.
Run light, run free, run royal. Jesus said the race is finished. The joy is yours forever.
Prayer
King Jesus,
Thank You for running the race I could never run, for wearing the thorns I deserved, for rising to make me not just forgiven, but royal. I lay every rotting wreath at Your feet today, every cheap crown I’ve chased. Clothe me afresh in Your righteousness. Teach me to live as the priest-king You have declared me to be, offering my life, my words, my ordinary Monday as worship. And when I cross the final line, let the only crown I care about be the one You place on my head with Your own hands.
Amen.