The Strange Freedom of Dying to Sin

When I first read Romans 6, I was struck by its shocking promise: the very thing that once enslaved me—sin—no longer has to define me. In those verses, the apostle Paul doesn’t just preach law or guilt; he unveils a profound spiritual reality: through faith in Christ, we are united to His death and resurrection so that we might walk in newness of life. That newness isn’t theoretical. It’s radical. And it’s meant for you.

I want to walk with you through Romans 6—not as a theologian alone, but as a friend who once trembled under the weight of sin and discovery. Because what Paul writes isn’t religion. It’s redemption. And it’s not a call to fear; it’s an invitation to freedom.

Let me begin where Paul begins: with a question—“What shall we say, then? Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase?” (Romans 6:1, NIV).

The very tone is startling. Why would anyone even ask such a thing? Because when grace feels limitless, when the gospel becomes true and alive, there emerges a twisted temptation: to use grace as a license rather than a rescue. Maybe if I’ve been forgiven, maybe if I now belong to Christ, then old habits don’t matter so much. Maybe the darkness can linger, covered by the light.

But Paul refuses to allow that. Not even a foot in the old life. Not even a toe dipped in the mire. He refuses because he knows what grace does. Grace doesn’t excuse sin. Grace delivers from sin. Grace breaks reigns.

He writes: “By no means!” (Romans 6:2). The Greek there feels like a shout—no room for compromise. Then he walks us into the crux of the gospel’s power: “We died to sin; how can we live in it any longer?” (6:2).

Pause with that. “We died to sin.” In Christ. Our union with Him is not symbolic. It is spiritual and deep. When He died, we died. When He rose, we rose. And when He walked free of sin, we walked free.

Paul isn’t offering a motivational pep talk. He’s offering identity. A new identity.

And identity shapes behavior—not by forcing it under law, but by empowering it in truth. Because when you truly believe you are dead to sin, the tyranny of sin over you is broken. You don’t have to sin. Sin loses its throne.

That union with Christ doesn’t belong exclusively to mystics or “superholy” Christians. It belongs to every believer. Every child of God. When you first believed, when you submitted to Christ, you were baptized into His death—whether by an actual immersion in water or simply by faith. That baptism symbolizes a powerful truth: your old self has been crucified with Him.

Paul says later in the chapter: “Don’t you know that all of us who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?” (6:3). That baptism—whether visible or invisible—means that your old master, sin, has lost his power over you. You are no longer bound. You are free.

But freedom isn’t always loud. Sometimes freedom is quiet—less about explosions and more about a subtle shifting of allegiance.

Paul goes on: “We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life.” (6:4).

Live a new life. Not patched-up version of the old. Not sin with disclaimers. New. Clean. Alive.

Why is this critical? Because old sins don’t deserve better clothes. They deserve exile. In humility. In truth. In the tomb of your identity with Christ.

Still, some might worry: “If I’m dead to sin, does that mean I’ll never struggle again?” The answer, if we walk honestly with Scripture, is: of course not. Struggle may come; temptations may rise. But now they come against a different you.

Your heart is changed—not perfectly yet, but irrevocably. The new creation is underway. The reign of sin is over in your life. Not because of your willpower, but because of your union with Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit working within you.

In verse 6:6, Paul writes: “For we know that our old self was crucified with him so that the body ruled by sin might be done away with, that we should no longer be slaves to sin.” That old self, enslaved by sin, controlled by lust and fear and shame—that self is crucified. The body ruled by sin doesn’t have to be our master any longer.

You may think, “But I still see the desires. I still feel the pull toward old habits. I still stumble.” Good. Because transformation often begins in the soil of awareness. When you see the roots of sin, acknowledge their hold, and remember—they’ve already been broken.

Paul doesn’t tell us to wall off that awareness. Instead, he calls us to a transformed orientation: not yielding to earthly passions, but offering our bodies to righteousness, as instruments of justice (Romans 6:13). That is the counterintuitive freedom of the gospel.

You are free to choose. You are free to serve. Not because you’re perfect. Not because you’ve earned it. But because through Christ, you belong to the One who defines righteousness.

And here’s a truth that often shakes us: when Christ lives in you, the outcome is not merely behavior modification. The result is sanctification—an ongoing journey. But a secure one, because it doesn’t rest on your efforts alone.

“I do not set aside the grace of God,” Paul says in verse 14. “For if righteousness comes through the law, Christ died for nothing!” Him? Died for nothing? Never.

No. The gospel doesn’t demand more law. It delivers more life. It doesn’t require perfection. It provides power. Not to condemn, but to transform.

You might be asking by now: What does that look like in daily life? How do I live out this “new life” under the sun of everyday routines and struggles?

Here are a few ways I’ve seen it play out in my own life—and ways I want to encourage you to walk it out in yours.

Offer your loyalties to Christ. Each morning, decide afresh to belong to Him. Remember who you are, whose you are. In the morning quiet, before the rush or the roar, whisper: “I am yours.” Let that ground your identity.

See sin for what it truly is: not a harmless habit, not a defining comfort—but a deceiving tyrant. When the temptation rises: ask, “Am I living as one dead to sin, alive to God?” That question, brought before the cross, can shift your perspective.

Let the Spirit shape your choices—not your fears, habits, or guilt. Because guilt can lead to hypocrisy or despair. But the Spirit cultivates life—fruit, light, hope.

Clothe yourself daily in righteousness—not by clinging to past performance, but by anchoring to your union with Christ. When you fail, return—not to condemnation—but to confession and faith. Remember that in Christ, your worth is not in your deeds but in your belonging.

Live now what you will fully be. Not in pride, but in humble trust. If you have been raised with Christ, then walk in the newness of life (Romans 6:4–5). Let the resurrection shape your steps—not by force, but by grace.

Let me offer a few reflections that have helped me personally when I wrestle with doubt or fear—those sneaky torments that sometimes whisper you’re still captive.

First: The tomb is empty. The old self didn’t rise. Your grave is empty of shame, guilt, condemnation. And because of that, every morning becomes a resurrection dawn—a fresh start soaked in grace.

Second: Your story is hidden with Christ in God (Colossians 3:3). That means even when you walk in hidden places, when your failures are unseen by others or even yourself, God knows. He remembers you are His, sealed not by perfection but by promise.

Third: Grace doesn’t ignore darkness; it redeems it. The gospel doesn’t say, “Pretend you’re not broken.” It says, “Take every broken part to Me. Give Me your grief, your shame, your buried wounds. I make new.” And the newness is real. The scars may remain, reminding you of what once was—but they don’t define what you are now.

Fourth: Community matters. Walking in resurrection life doesn’t mean walking alone. When you surround yourself with believers who know the gospel—not as theory, but as life—you find strength, encouragement, correction, love. You find family. Because the gospel is never meant for isolation.

Fifth: Hope persists. Sanctification is not a sprint—it’s a pilgrimage. There will be seasons of growth and seasons of waiting. There will be mornings when you rise and feel like victory is distant. But remember: the power that raised Jesus from the dead lives in you. That power never runs out, never tires, never fails.

Now, you may wonder: is this freedom an excuse for complacency? After all, if we died to sin, doesn’t that make stumbling less tragic? Perhaps. But Paul anticipated that misunderstanding. He doesn’t call us to cheap grace—but to deep transformation. He doesn’t call us to shallow assurance—but deep conviction. He doesn’t call us to hold loosely to sin—but to release it.

He invites us into holiness—not as a requirement for love, but as the fruit of love. Because Christ’s love in us doesn’t demand perfection for its presence. It demands surrender for its expression.

If you are weary of striving, of guilt, of failure, let Romans 6 be your resting place. Not because you’re good enough. But because He is. Let your identity in Him overshadow every old label. Let your baptism into His death drown those old voices that shouted, “You’re still a slave.”

And then stand up. Feel the weight of chains drop. Breathe in resurrection air. Walk forward—not as someone imprisoned by sin’s graveyard—but as someone resurrected, alive, free, powerful.

Because that is who you are.

That is why you were saved. That is what your baptism means. That is what your union with Christ promises. That is what you were reborn for.

So walk. Walk not in condemnation. Walk not in fear. Walk not in half-hearted devotion. Walk in fullness. In light. In freedom.

Walk as one raised with Christ.

Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s inspiring faith-based videos on YouTube

Support the ministry by buying Douglas a coffee

By — Douglas Vandergraph

#Faith #Grace #NewLife #Romans6 #Resurrection #IdentityInChrist