Year A: Proper 7 | Romans 1:1b-11
St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church
June 21, 2026
the Rev. Jonathan Hanneman
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When most people hear the word “sin,” they likely think of behaviors that cause some level of harm to others: theft, assault, murder, and the like. And those types of negative behaviors certainly are examples of what sin can look like. But to fully consider what Paul and other Biblical authors are talking about when they use the term, we need to look well beyond “an offense against religious or moral law,” “an action that is or is felt to be highly reprehensible,” or “an often serious shortcoming,” as the Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines the word.[1]
Unlike our associations, in the Bible, “sin” isn’t necessarily a moral issue. It includes moral failings, but the concept is much broader than that. It’s far more along the lines of failure blended with or possibly even wrapped in decay. “Failure” can arise from either moral or amoral actions,[2] while decay is more of a natural state—something that simply happens if no one takes any effort to prevent or reverse it. We could imagine “sin,” then, as a sort of film that sticks to everyone and everything involved in human society. It’s an invisible burden that constantly weighs us down, that drags us toward our base instinct—the self-serving animal nature—or simply toward passivity, inaction, and lack of care.
In the natural world, this sense of “sin” is why cars rust or termites infest houses or even why natural disasters may take place. In humans, it’s certainly associated with actions that harm or burden others, but beyond that, it includes any source of grief or pain. So while “sin” may reveal aspects of itself in things like violence, selfishness, and cruelty, it’s equally active in the drudgery of taking out the garbage or making a mistake on your homework or even in the aches and pains that simply come with aging. All of those things fall under what the Bible means by “sin.”
In the verses leading up to today’s Romans reading, Paul sets up a contrast between “the old man”—symbolized by Adam—and “the new man,” represented in Jesus. In his example, the first man—God’s eldest child—chose not to follow God’s instructions, thus bringing “sin”—failure and decay—into the world. Intentionally or not, Adam essentially hit the button on the cosmic nebulizer that let that pervasive film settle onto human life. Once this Pandora’s Box was open, the mess became impossible to clean up, leaving everyone who came after him stuck with the same problems whether or not they tried to live an exemplary life or were careful to walk God’s pathway of mercy, love, and generosity. Thus, failure and inertia became the most prominent factors of our existence.
Jesus, then, was born into this same situation—film and all. He, however, overcame the challenges that “sin” had been layering upon humanity. Throughout his life, he remained faithful and loving and kind. And he continued to follow God’s pathway even as it led him toward his own undeserving death.
Paul’s argument here plays around the idea that, similarly to a butterfly escaping its chrysalis or a snake slipping out of damaged skin, Jesus’ death essentially allowed this “second Adam” to leave the sin-film behind and, in resurrection, live outside the challenges and struggles that earlier form of life had imposed. Paul points to Jesus’ baptism as his scene of “adoption”—the time God announced that the younger Son would be heir rather than the eldest. We watch this play out in Matthew, Mark, and Luke when Jesus rises from the water beneath a vision of God’s Breath fluttering like a dove while a voice from nowhere announces, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”[3]
Paul’s understanding, then, is that just as Jesus was appointed as God’s heir in his baptism and moved beyond sin through death and resurrection, we join in that standing when we are baptized “into” Christ and thus fall under the umbrella of Jesus’ own anointing. That doesn’t mean that we no longer struggle under sin—none of us present today have fully died quite yet; we still live under that same blanketing effect. But now, through Jesus’ example and our own dedication to the path he laid out for us, we can step beyond longing or imagination and embody the realities of a life beyond the fog that so frequently envelops us.
Baptism into Christ becomes a sort of cry of victory in the midst of our need to struggle forward, a celebration offering us the opportunity and empowerment to interact with the world around us in a new and better way. Realizing that “sin” is the very thing that drains us and attempts to limit our progress and energy, we choose to renew our connection with the true power that underlies Creation—to declare our allegiance to the same authority that raised Jesus from the grave and thus pushed him beyond an existence weighed down with sin. Recognizing that the sin-film we’ve labored under all our lives isn’t actually impermeable gives us the strength not only to envision life without it but to actively exercise ourselves toward achieving that new and greater existence.
In baptism we declare our freedom from sin and our commitment to follow Jesus into God’s Kingdom. In renewing our baptismal vows, we as a community reinforce that cry and remind ourselves of that dedication. And in communion, we who are baptized celebrate Christ’s overcoming reign, feasting as one people—as one united and victorious family—before the throne and presence of God.
[1] https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/sin | as accessed on June 19, 2026
[2] Failure can even be a byproduct of what we would consider to be “good” activity through collateral damage or other unintended consequences.
[3] Mark 1:11 | All Bible quotations are from the NRSVue unless otherwise noted.