Even as a Christian, you can feel the yips—that moment when shame from old sins creeps back in, making you wonder if you’re really free, if God’s forgiveness is truly yours. Romans 6:23 speaks directly into that weight: the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Study Questions

The following study questions are AI generated and may contain errors.

How does the baseball story of Rick Ankiel and the idea of “the yips” help describe the ongoing shame and setbacks Christians can face even after an initial season of growth and confidence in faith?
In what practical ways does sin continue to feel like an ongoing debt or enslavement even after someone has trusted in Christ, and how does the coal mine story bring that dynamic to life?
According to Romans 6, what is the difference between sin’s ongoing “wages” and God’s free gift, and how might understanding that distinction shift the way you handle persistent shame?
How might recognizing that God’s grace is already fully given—rather than something we earn or work toward—change the way you respond to past sins or current struggles?
What areas of life still feel like “owing” to sin’s company store, and what practical steps might help someone move from dwelling in that shame toward living as someone already freed and called by God?

Transcript

This transcript has been automatically generated and may contain errors.

I am awfully happy that it is baseball season once again, and not only baseball season but it’s been a fun season so far. Not a perfect season—we’ve had a sort of disappointing loss to the Cubs—you’re ready for this? Yes, we lost to the Cubs yesterday. Tonight, hopefully, things will be made right again in the world. But it’s been a fun season, and there was another fun season years ago—2000 to be exact—a season in which the Cardinals would go into October baseball. They went to the playoffs, and they went with a phenomenal rookie who had demonstrated an incredible ability to pitch. In fact, as they entered the 2000 playoffs, this rookie had been so incredible that while most of the pitchers had been injured, there were two ready to go. He was one of them, and Tony La Russa, the manager, decided that this pitcher would secretly be the game one pitcher for the division series.

He pitched the first inning perfectly—not a single hit. It’s pretty amazing—high stakes, so high that again it was secret. The manager was worried that if the press knew, they’d push this guy too much, and he wanted to keep it secret until it actually happened. In the second inning, another perfect inning—no hits—and then he got to the third inning and set a record for wild pitches in the playoffs. After that, he never pitched well again—ever. That’s the story of a rookie named Rick Ankiel, who got what they call in baseball “the yips.” He just couldn’t pitch anymore. He couldn’t keep the ball under control or get it to go where he wanted, even though he’d been recognized all the way up through the system as a top prospect, someone seen as a top performer. He even earned a spot as the game one starter.

But after undergoing surgeries and going through the minor league systems for years, after being at the top in his rookie year, he was demoted—sent all the way down to rookie minor league ball—and unable to get back. I try to imagine what that would feel like. Can you imagine the shame you would feel? Here you are, by the time you get through your first year and you’re pitching in the playoffs, you probably feel like, “Hey, I’m a major leaguer. I’m important.” And we’ve all been in those places where, in whatever we do, we may not later realize we weren’t really there yet, but in the moment, it feels like we’re there because we’re doing really well—exactly what we imagined doing before we got there. And when it blows up, it just overwhelms us. How do we deal with that?

I sit like this every day, because at times—maybe especially right when we become Christians—it feels like we’ve gotten to the major leagues of life. Here we are—we’ve got this truth, and we believe it. And then it feels like we get the yips. And now what do we do? Well, as we wrap up our series in Romans 6 tonight, we’re going to think about that. What happens when we get the yips in the series of life? Let’s pray that God would help us, because unfortunately, it’s not just a one-time occurrence—it happens over and over again.

Father, thank you for your Word and for the truth that we find in it, for the hope that we find in it. Would you help us when we get to that place where you’ve told us what to do, and it felt like we were on track, and then suddenly, all we can do is throw wild pitches? That you would help us by reminding us that we can’t do it, but you are the God who can. Would you give us the strength we need, and comfort us and direct us through the only hope we have—the hope that we find in your Holy Spirit? We pray this in Jesus’ precious name. Amen.

As we come to the end of this chapter, the first thing that we run into is Paul wrapping up all that we’ve been exploring about what’s new because of the resurrection. The first thing he wants to emphasize is that the sin we had leaves us with shame. We see that in Romans 6:20: “For when you were slaves to sin, you were free of obligation to righteousness.” What fruit did you reap at that time from the things of which you are now ashamed? The outcome of those things is death. We might like to think that when we become Christians, that all goes away, but we know it doesn’t—especially if you grew up as a Christian. We all have things that leave us ashamed, especially if you came to believe later. You might look back and wonder, “Did I really do that?” And those of us who grew up as Christians also have those “Oh, did I really do that?” moments. We all have those things that leave us ashamed, and sin constantly—not only does sin give us new reasons to be ashamed, but it also helps us dwell in it. And by “help,” I mean help—because it’s not a good thing. But we find ourselves immersed in it, and the more we recognize what we should do—maybe it’s an area of life where God’s Spirit convicts us—and we realize we’re not actually living according to God’s way in this part of life. So we start to adapt, and that often leads to greater shame than before. Even as Christians, we felt pretty good, and then suddenly, we don’t.

Paul has been talking about how sin is a form of enslavement. But even the aftermath of sin is a form of enslavement, because once we get past it, we’re not really past it. So he can say to the Roman Christians, “There are those things you did that you still feel ashamed of from the past. Do you remember those?” And for those who are Christians, the Holy Spirit works in them—reminding them of the things they need to confess and guiding them. Yes, he will convict them of that, but he’s not going to leave them there. Sin is what leaves us there. In the middle of sin, it feels like it’s going to solve the problem. We’ve failed at something, so we think, “Let me cut this corner, and I can deal with my failure in another way.” And, in the moment, it actually seems to work; it seems like there’s less shame because maybe we can succeed somehow, things can improve.

One commentator said that when we’re thinking about sin, it’s like an opiate—sin dulls the pain of other sins. That’s part of how it keeps us enslaved, because we feel bad about some sin, and then we think of another sin that would numb that feeling. We keep doing more sins—more and more—and what comes of that? We’re going to get more into verse 23 in a moment, but for now, let’s just look at the first part of it: “The wages of sin is death.” The wages being referred to here are the same term you’d use for how you pay a Roman soldier—so sometimes we think wages mean the final sum or total pay that sin provides, and that’s true if we don’t have redemption. But here, the wages are more like your weekly salary—meaning it’s not just the final total, but the continual contribution that sin makes, constantly putting us into a new state of death over and over again. We can feel that when we fall short—even as Christians. It doesn’t mean we are losing salvation, but the sting of death can rear its head again when we’re caught in sin. It’s like the reason we come to confession—God told us to do it; he knows we need it.

You might say, “But he already knows all my sins.” When I first confessed, I said, “I’m a sinner; I need your grace.” Why do I need to keep coming back? Because we actually need to come to the cross and recognize that the new wage of death we’ve earned has already been paid for. Back in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, as immigrants came to the United States, they arrived at Ellis Island. They’d be trying to figure out what to do next, and there were recruiters there looking for work. They would say, “If you come work with us, we have this new venture—coal mining. Come, we’ll get you to work, and we’ll provide a place for your family to live, give you all the tools you need.” It sounds like a good deal—you don’t know the language, you don’t know your way around, you don’t know anyone. But they’d say, “We’ll provide everything—everything you need to start.” What they didn’t mention was that they weren’t providing it for free. When you went to the rural coal mines in West Virginia, for example, they’d give you a cash advance on your salary—so you owed them for the tools, for rent, for food—you’d get your feet on the ground, get trained, get clothes. And one more thing: as long as you owed them, they wouldn’t pay you cash—they’d give you a script, which you could use at the company store. That way, you could buy what you needed, but they often charged more than you could afford, which caused you to fall deeper into debt.

It seemed beneficial—this great job, the signing bonus, the benefits—but what it really was was a clever way to enslave immigrants, because they could never earn enough to pay off the debt, so they were trapped. That’s sin. Just as Tennessee Ernie Ford famously sung, “Sixteen Tons”—what are we going to do? Keep owing more and more to the company store of sin, with no way out. That shame is like a cash advance—initially, sin felt good, promising, but once we’re past it, the debt remains, lingering inside, preventing us from experiencing the freedom promised in Christ. Satan loves to remind us of that debt. We confess, Christ forgives us, but the weight of shame stays. Inside, we might hear, “Don’t forget, you owe.” And you haul that “sixteen tons” again—yet you’ll owe more at the end of the day, because you get frustrated and sin again. The company store of sin owns you more than when you started.

Shame is present in the Christian life; it’s part of the fallen world we live in. We sin, we repent, but we don’t always forget. We all have sins we wish we could erase from our memory. Those moments are like fingernails scraping a chalkboard—especially at night, when they keep coming back, and we wish they would just go away. Things we hope no one else will ever know. That does exist—I don’t need to tell you; you already know. But, as Paul wraps up Romans 6, he wants us to hear that it’s not our future—that “slavery” still feels like it’s hanging over us—but there is more.

Romans 6:22: “But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves to God, the fruit you reap leads to holiness, and the outcome is eternal life.” The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord. Righteousness leads us out of debt. Often, we get into sin because we’re seeking benefits—thinking this time, it’ll really work, the benefit will be ours. But Paul says that righteousness isn’t just something that might happen; it really will. There is a real benefit, which is a gift—not a cash advance. You might not fully experience it now, but if you think about the difference, a cash advance feels like reality—initially—but it’s not. It’s a trap, because you can’t pay it off; you’re ensnared in debt.

On the other hand, the free gift of God’s grace is true—because he promised it, and it already has effect. We might not feel it, but it’s true. Some of those miners, not all, could be freed because authorities from their home countries intervened. They couldn’t free everyone completely, but they could apply enough pressure for some to be released. And here’s the beautiful truth: because of Jesus, we have a greater advocate—a dignitary greater than any country’s authority—who advocates for us, who not only frees us but provides what we thought we were going to get at first. He supplies us with what we need.

It’s a beautiful thing we celebrate today, Trinity Sunday. You think about Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—the Father sent the ultimate gift into the world for us, and Jesus paid the debt we can’t pay. Not only does he pay our debt—that’s part of being free—but he also gives us the tools we need through the Holy Spirit, who is with us, strengthening and enabling us to do what we’re called to do. Often, it feels like all of this is pending—because we don’t see the fullness of what it will be like when God fully frees us from sin and dwells with us perfectly—when everything is beautiful and good. But the key is that it feels like it’s pending; however, when we speak of God’s grace, the only sense of pending is that we haven’t yet fully experienced it. It has already happened; it’s already true. In every other experience, pending means uncertain—up in the air. But in this case, it simply means not yet fully experienced; it’s already happened and is true.

All of this culminates in verse 23: “For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” It is completely free. If you’ve been trying to earn your way—accumulating more sin, more debt, hauling your sixteen tons—you keep coming back with that shame, thinking, “I owe.” But Jesus doesn’t pay with script—it’s with the ultimate currency, the only one of real value. What’s new? Because of the resurrection, we celebrate that we already have that gift. It may not be fully visible to us right now, but we can fully enjoy it—because it already exists.

So many things come with strings attached, and sometimes we distort Scripture to think that God’s grace involves strings, that somehow we must measure up, earn his love, or be freed only when we have sanctified ourselves—escaping the yips completely. But God doesn’t work that way. His grace is immediate, right now. Everything we do afterward isn’t for earning salvation but to use the equipment he’s given us—an axe, a bucket, tools—sending us out into a beautiful mind, full of gems, shining all around. The opportunity to show the fruit of the Spirit in our lives. We have a mission—yes, we do—and although there’s still a lot of ground to cover, even pain along the way, we will talk more about that tomorrow night on Steadfast as we continue in Proverbs 3, starting in verse 11, on what it means to face God’s discipline. But the clear point is that even God’s discipline is never about earning his favor—they already favor us because they love us. The righteous path often doesn’t feel better in the moment; for those who have been freed, it might not feel better now—feeling still in debt, not knowing where they are going, facing rejection from those around them. But even in that, God says, “I love you. I am with you. I want you to experience freedom.”

It’s often right in front of us, yet so overwhelming—shame and debt—that it’s hard to embrace it. Thinking back to Rick Ankiel, how many new rookies come up each year, dreaming of pitching in the postseason? They imagine their backyard, pitching or hitting in that critical game. They’ve done it; but now, they might not even want people to know. Because it’s humiliating—how do you admit, “Yes, I was really good”? When people hit that point—whether in sports, work, life—they often fade out, giving up. That’s true in many pursuits.

But Rick Ankiel’s story didn’t end there. After moving on from pitching, he announced he would switch to being a position player, trying to find freedom that was already in him. He didn’t give up. On August 9, 2007, he returned to the majors for the first time in years, coming in during a game to a standing ovation. He hit a three-run homer, winning the game, and continued to succeed as a hitter afterward—an example of recognizing that he already had the gift, that freedom was present. His story reminds us that we can recognize the gift of new life and let go of shame and failure, trusting that God’s purpose for us remains intact.

God’s challenge for us when we consider what’s new because of his grace is to ask: Am I willing to give up what’s old and broken? Am I willing to surrender my sin, my shame, my failures? Am I willing to set aside what I thought was important, what made me feel better by my own efforts? Will I accept the freedom to do what God has called me to do?

So often, we think we’re too sinful—still pitching when we should be hitting—thinking that we’ll never overcome the yips. But I want to clarify: if you believe in Jesus, you’re saved. But God also says, “Come up to the major leagues—I want to use you. I have a purpose for you.” You can give up what’s broken, what weighs you down, and find that in Christ, you are not in debt. You already have forgiveness. So would you pray with me?

Lord, be with us. Even those of us who have been believers for years still get the yips—those moments where we’re reluctant to act because of past failure, guilt, or unworthiness. Help us, Lord, to remember that you love us, that you’ve called us, and that you have a purpose specifically for each of us. Yes, we’ve sinned, and yes, we should sorrow over our sin, but that is not our future. That is not the end of the story. Help us to hold on to that hope—the beautiful hope we find in the God who restores us. We pray all of this in Jesus’ precious name. Amen.