An Unlikely Victory--November 21, 2024

An Unlikely Victory--November 21, 2024

"For whatever is born of God conquers the world. And this is the victory that conquers the world, our faith. Who is it that conquers the world but the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God?" [1 John 5:4-5]

Come on, John. Really? Can we be serious and realistic for a moment here? The thing that conquers the world is our faith--really? The one who conquers the world is the one who believes in Jesus? That just seems either patently false or hopelessly, quixotically out of touch. Saying that faith conquers the world seems like the sort of thing you can do only with your eyes closed and the windows shut--especially for John, living in the first century AD. All he has to do is open his eyes and look out the front door to see the presence of the Romans everywhere--they sure look the part of world conquerors. The Romans ruled the known world in John's day--at least the world that John lived in. The Romans had established their conquest and built it on military victories over decades. And to the ordinary man-on-the-street in the 1st century territory of the empire, it was obvious that "the one who conquers the world" was none other than Caesar, the man at the top of the whole Roman war machine. In the first century AD, Rome saw itself as the picture of "greatness," and Caesar saw himself as the "greatest of the great" at the top of the heap. So if you would have asked John's rhetorical question, "Who is it that conquers the world?" to an actual person at random in the first century, their first response would likely have been, "The Emperor, of course!"

Now, I am going to go out on a limb for a moment and make an assumption--that our author here, John, was not a stupid man. Even bracketing out for a moment the inspiration of the Holy Spirit speaking as John wrote, John himself seems like a bright enough guy to know that the Empire was all around them. And he doesn't seem to be so thick-headed as to miss the presence of centurions marching through the streets carrying their banners with the Empire's mottos and images of Caesar to remind everybody just who it was that called the shots.

So for John to say, so matter-of-factly, that obviously it is "our faith" that conquers the world, it's not that he's temporarily forgotten about the Empire. If you whispered politely to John, "Pssst--what about Caesar? Isn't he the one who has conquered the world?" he wouldn't blush and say, "Oh, dear, well, I'd forgotten about him--obviously he's really the one who has conquered the world." No, John makes his statement in full view of the Emperor and all of his soldiers, with his eyes open and the curtains on the windows pulled back wide. And John says, anyway, with a certain holy defiance, as a detachment of soldiers walks by out past his front porch, "Nope--it's not them or their swords and spears that conquer the world. Nope--it's not the Empire with its banners and imperial propaganda in big gold letters and memorable slogans. Nope--it's not the man with the crown whose face in on all the coins who calls the shots. It's Jesus, and because it's Jesus who conquers the world, so do all those who trust him."

John says this plainly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world to him, knowing that to any bystander he must sound like he's crazy. "Nope, it's not the armies outside the door who run the show. It's Jesus, and it's by the strange power of faith that we share his victory, too," he says. The Christian community does that, too. While so many others are sure that the United States is the last great superpower, or worries about the growing specter of Chinese power and influence across the Pacific, or of authoritarian war-mongering out of Russia, or whatever else the day's news on the international stage is, we Christians believe (or at least, we should, if we believe half of what we say every Sunday morning) that Jesus really is victorious over them all and has conquered the world already in his death and resurrection. 

We do not believe that the one with the biggest stockpile of weapons wins the day, or that the one with the most gold makes the rules. We do not need to worry, at least in the big picture, about whether our country is losing its influence around the world or whether there will have to be room in the public square for more voices than there were before. We do not belong, in the end, to this country or this society. Our "home team" that we cheer for is not the U.S.A., but rather the Reign of God and its scar-wearing King. And we have been given the assurance that Jesus has already overcome the other forces in the world that rage against him--and he has done it, not by marching armies in anywhere, but through the self-giving suffering love of a cross and the surprising power of the resurrection.

That's the message we announce to the world, knowing full well ahead of time that it will sound absurd to many around who can only see the centurions and images of Caesar around us. We are people who live as though the whole world has been reclaimed by its Creator, and that the Creator has done in through the execution (albeit, an ultimately unsuccessful one) of an unarmed rabbi at the hands of the ones who pretended that they really ruled the world. He is the one we cling to, and the grip by which we hold on to him and share in his victory is called faith. That's what it means for us to be victorious, despite all the other forces out there, over the world by faith in Jesus, the Son of God. It is an unlikely kind of victory, but it is ours already, because of Jesus, who is himself an unlikely sort of victor.

For all of the Emperor's self-important bluster, he is naked, even if nobody else has the guts to say it out loud. Jesus has already overcome the world clothed in reckless self-giving love.

Lord Jesus, let us trust that you do really reign, even when it doesn't look like it in the eyes of the surrounding world. And let us be willing to stake our lives on that reign, and so share in the victory that is already yours.

Gates That Never Shut--November 20, 2024

Gates That Never Shut--November 20, 2024

"And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God is its light, and its lamp is the Lamb. The nations will walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it. Its gates will never be shut by day--and there will be no night there. People will bring into it the glory and the honor of the nations." [Revelation 21:23-26]

Open gates are a sign of strength.

Open gates are a sign of confidence, of peace, of power, and of not being afraid.

You close the gates when you are afraid of something "out there"--whether or not there really is anything out there to be afraid of.

Closed gates smack of feeling insecure, of distress, and of weakness.

That's why the story of God's victory in the Slain-but-Living Lamb (Christ!) ends with this scene with permanently opened doors in God's new city--with gates that never shut.

The whole book we call the Apocalypse, or the Revelation to John, is chock full of symbolism. John the Seer doesn't waste a single opportunity to give us layers upon layers of meaning, from Christ as the Lamb to white robed singers to lampstands and seals and bowls. Even down to the dimensions of the city of God, the New Jerusalem (which is a cube, curiously enough--a three-dimensional symbol of completeness, perfection, and wholeness), and the number of gates in the city (twelve, which calls back to the tribes of Israel and the new community of disciples that Jesus gathered), every image in the book of Revelation is intentional.

That's why it's worth paying attention to this scene from the tail end of the book at the tail end of the Bible and the way it describes the full and complete victory of God. There, at the last, John says, God's reign is perfect and complete, so that there is no reason to be afraid. And when there is nothing and no one to be afraid of, the gates are left open and the doors are left unlocked. The last enemy--death itself!--has been dealt with, and so there is no threat to God's beloved community. John gives us this picture of gates permanently left open as a way of saying, "The living God is so strong and so secure that we don't need hide away from anybody anymore. We don't need to close the gates, because we are no longer ruled by fear--we are ruled by God whose love casts out fear like a demon."

In other words, when John wants to come up with an image of complete confidence and peace, he doesn't say, "And we'll all hide behind the big strong walls and the big sturdy iron gates, so that nothing bad can come and get us anymore." But rather, John says, "At the last, we will finally be done with living in fear and we can leave the doors all propped open and welcome everybody from every nation (a nice touch John is sure to add here), because God isn't afraid of them coming in. The very fact that all the nations and their rulers want to come into God's city is a sign of God's glory--it is the highest compliment of all that they all come streaming in to be in the fullness of God's presence and God's reign.

One of my favorite places on Earth is a sleepy little town on Lake Erie where my family has vacationed every summer since I was a baby, and one of the things that I like best about it is that it is a place where people still all leave their doors unlocked. There is no fear that somebody will break in or take things, and there is no fear that our loved ones are not safe. And so you find friendly faces coming and going, running in and out of their doors to go get their kites or swimsuits, all because they are so confident that they are safe, and therefore don't have to look suspiciously or fearfully at their neighbors. People come from all across the country to vacation there, and I have never met anyone there who was overcome with anxiety about intruders. There is a peace to that place, because no one is afraid. And I think something like that is the image that John wants to give us about how God's victory is finally going to be felt and seen. It's a community where the doors can be left unlocked.

In the end, God's strength, God's kind of "winning," and God's kind of "toughness" are not found in the locking of doors or in turning away the nations who want to come in. In the end, God's kind of victory is shown most clearly in gates that are never closed, in a confident welcome to all nations, and in a beloved community who lives at peace because they are no longer ruled by fear.

Now, I know--this isn't how daily life in our world feels right now. I know that burglars break into homes and thieves come in and steal--even when you DO lock the doors and shut the gates. I know that this is a world in which countries still invade each other (like Russia's ongoing onslaught against Ukraine) and attack each other (like the war in Gaza, still wearing on day by day), where death sure seems to still get the last word, and where we have all just gotten used to living with a certain amount of fear of the bad stuff that could happen. And I'm not suggesting you should leave your car doors unlocked when you park it at the grocery store, or that you can leave your garage door open and assume everything will still be in it at the end of the week.

But I am saying that it is worth remembering the future toward which all creation is headed, according to Revelation, and that our hope in God's victory pulls us toward that future now. We are called to be people no longer ruled by fear. We are called to be people who recognize that the open gates of God's city are not a sign of weakness on God's part, but the supreme sign of confidence that God is not afraid of anything or anyone coming in.

We will be people, then, who welcome strangers--to our tables, to our churches, to our communities.

We will be people who see that strength is expressed in open doors, not in hiding behind locked ones (like the fearful disciples on Easter Sunday).

We will be people who hear John's description that people from all nations will be drawn together into God's new creation, and we will practice for that day now by widening our circles now enough to get to know people from other nations in the mean time.

If the ultimate victory of Jesus looks like a city whose gates are never closed, into which all nations come streaming into it in welcome, then our lives will start to take that shape even today. 

That, after all, seems to be what Jesus has been after all along.

Lord Jesus, pull us into your future victory now with open arms, open communities, and open hearts.

Notwithstanding--November 19, 2024

Notwithstanding--November 19, 2024

"God put this power to work in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the age to come. And he has put all things under his feet and has made him the head over all things for the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all." [Ephesians 1:20-23]

I'll tell you this much, in all honesty: it doesn't look like it.

I'm sorry, but it just doesn't. I am a deeply committed, heavily invested, lifelong follower of Jesus and will happily and readily confess he is Lord... but I have to admit that it doesn't look like the risen Jesus is seated on the throne, reigning over "all rule and authority and power and dominion," with "all things under his feet." I do not deny that Jesus is Lord, not at all--but I will confess soberly that when I look around at all in the world in which we live, even with my eyes half-shut from squeamishness, it doesn't look like it.

And I'll tell you what else--the New Testament doesn't give us the option of just kicking the can down the road, either. We can't simply say, "Well, Jesus isn't currently 'Lord of all' right now... but he will be. And then, on that great future day, when he reigns from 'far above' all the powers of the day, then he will look like a proper King." We don't get to make that move, as far as the letter to the Ephesians is concerned, because as you can see for yourself in these verses from its opening chapter, the risen Christ is declared as supreme over every authority and dominion "not only in this age, but also in the age to come." Shoot. We can't just punt and say, "Well, one day Jesus will be Lord, but he just isn't yet." Ephesians says that he is already reigning over all things, and it's a follow-up claim that Jesus will also reign in the future, too. Whatever it means to say that the risen Christ reigns over all creation, Ephesians tells us that we have to be able to say it is happening right now, this very moment, this very day, in some sense.

And to read a news headline, watch the television, or pay attention at all to the aches in our friends and neighbors' lives, not to mention our own, it just doesn't look like Jesus reigns over it all.

The evidence countering that claim just seems to be everywhere:

There are the kids whose parents pass out nightly with needles in their arms but who are simultaneously afraid of what will happen to them when Children and Family Services comes and takes them away from whatever home and life they have known. And if we can bear to hear their story, we look up at the heavens and ask, "Really, Jesus? You are Lord over this situation... and you have let this happen?"

There is the ongoing war in Gaza, where kids still find their homes being blown up while their communities are starved to death and hostages are still being held and kept from their families. Meanwhile, war rages on in Ukraine, as Russian invaders continue to pummel towns, villages, and homes with missiles and drones. And in the moments we are brave enough not to forget that these wars are still raging, we cry out, "Jesus! How is this possible in a world where you reign over the other lesser powers and authorities?"

There is the twenty-something who has been run out of her childhood home by parents who see her as a lost prodigal, who has been rejected and ostracized by all her old high school friends and church in her small town home, who moves to the city to feel welcomed and accepted by someone, and is let down by the way you can feel alone in a crowd as much as you can on an empty porch on the farm. And as she contemplates taking her own life because she is just so sure no one will love her as she is, she cries out, "Christ! How can you let me feel so alone... so abandoned... so unacceptable? Didn't you make me? Aren't you Lord?"

Add whatever stories or evidence you wish, but I suspect the point is made already. Christians are in the sticky spot of confessing, sure and strong, that Jesus has been raised from the dead into Lordship over all other authorities and powers... and yet, too look at the world at all, even squinting, everything looks like it is in disarray and upheaval. Pick an institution or authority, and we savage bipeds have found a way to mess it up--drug epidemics and absentee parents, horrific violence and war, churches and schools and families that ostracize rather than nurture--and all of it seems to be in open rebellion against compassion, truth, goodness, generosity, and justice. It is hard to pay attention to the world and confess that Jesus is Lord, while saying it with a straight face.

In moments of clarity and honesty like this, what do the people of God do? What do the people who name the name of Jesus do with our difficult claim that Jesus is Lord over all of it, while also recognizing how much the world is so terribly cruel and unjust in so many ways?

Perhaps first, we lament. We lament it all, honestly and truly. We take the heartache and the rage, the sorrow and the sickness in our stomachs over all the world's ills, and we lift it up to this One whom we confess as Lord. We say it, and we lift it up in prayer in those words that Jesus himself taught us: "Let your Kingdom come here on earth the way you reign already in heaven... because it sure doesn't look like you are reigning here right now." We pull no punches. We hold back no words. The living God, after all, should be able to take whatever bitter words we have to throw if such a deity is not an idol or a sham. We lament--because in a sense, even lament itself is a confession of Christ's Lordship. When you are upset about the fly in your soup at a restaurant, you complain to the manager or the owner, not to a random stranger outside on the street, after all. To bring our laments to Christ is to recognize that he is the one to whom our complaints should be addressed, rather than looking for someone else easier to pick on or scapegoat. We do NOT have permission to simply blame problems on some group of "those people" when the face of wickedness is also staring back at us in the mirror. We start with lament.

Second, we pause and remember that the letter to the Ephesians was not written in some ivory tower, but likely from prison, and definitely at a time when the followers of Jesus were subject to beatings, stonings, torture, and persecution, and where the government of the day (Rome) was arrogant, cruel, violent, and seemed hopelessly permanent. War, famine, violence, injustice, and cruelty were a fact of life in the first century Roman Empire, and nobody among the writers of the New Testament pretended otherwise. Nor did they think that Christians needed to wield more political power to "fix" things, for that matter. The writer of Ephesians is well aware that it looks to the naked eye like Rome rules the day, like human institutions are fatally flawed, and that humanity is divided into tribes and factions bent on doing each other in.

But there is this: Christ is alive.

And if he is alive, then it means that when the other powers of the day did the worst they could do, they were still outdone by a crucified criminal named Jesus of Nazareth. It means that, even if Rome and the religious institutions of the day and all of the cruelty, excess, decadence, and debauchery of pagan culture looked like they were running the show, they could not stop Jesus from coming back to life. And in that, Jesus remains forever outside of their grasp, above and beyond their reach, and yes, in a real sense, above their pay grade.

That means, then, third, that Jesus' Lordship is rather like Aslan's in C.S. Lewis' The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. In his fantasy novel set in the magical realm of Narnia, Aslan is the rightful ruler and lord over all Narnia, even though the White Witch has proclaimed herself "Queen" and has brought winter to all the land. Despite her claim and usurpation, wherever Aslan shows up, spring breaks out, and life bursts forth, almost as a resistance movement to her wicked rule. There is no question in Lewis' mind that Aslan is indeed the true "Lord" over Narnia, but is a lordship that is actively engaged with undermining all the forces and powers that defy his good, compassionate, and just reign. The difference, however, between how Aslan exerts his authority and how the White Witch dominates Narnia, is that Aslan will not resort to the cruel, fearful, and intimidating tactics of the Witch. He is an untamable lion, but he is good, whereas "Queen" Jadis is only interested in preserving her own power, no matter what cruelty or devastation it demands. Aslan reigns... but he reigns in a particular way, without having to resort to cruelty or evil to get his way. That, in the end, makes all the difference.

Something like that is the way the risen Jesus reigns over all creation as well. To confess the risen Jesus as Lord is not to say that everything that happens is what Jesus "wants" or "decrees" or even "authorizes." It is to say that the risen Jesus has already launched a guerrilla campaign against the powers of Empire and Religion and even Death itself, and despite their worst attempts to stamp him out, they were all unsuccessful. And it is to say, further, that the risen Jesus continues to undermine the usurping powers and rulers and authorities of the world to assert his rightful, good, and just rule... but also that Jesus uses his own particular means of resisting those powers. Jesus will not resort to cruelty to combat cruelty. Jesus does not use brute force to get his way, even in resurrection. Jesus does not dabble in evil in order to "get the job done" because that's "just the way business works." For Jesus the end does not justify the means--but in fact, the way Jesus defeats evil is by refusing to resort to evil in a trade-off to secure his own power. And ultimately, that makes all the difference.

Theologian Douglas John Hall says it this way: "All the evidence to the contrary notwithstanding, God reigns." We need to be able to say both halves of that sentence--both that there is an awful lot of evidence in the world that makes it look like the risen Christ is not Lord... and yet at the same time that this same Christ Jesus does in fact reign, in his own peculiar, subversive way.  

So, all the evidence to the contrary notwithstanding, all hail King Jesus, the crucified and risen Lord.

All the evidence to the contrary notwithstanding, all hail King Jesus, whose heart still breaks over the brokenness of the world.

Lord Jesus, look kindly on this world over which you reign and for which you died and rose. And where the powers of the day still resist your goodness, work out your reign until all tears are wiped away, and all can live safely and in peace in you.

Jesus' Kind of Victory--November 18, 2024

Jesus' Kind of Victory--November 18, 2024

"Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good." [Romans 12:21]

You cannot dig your way out of a hole by going down deeper.

You cannot spend your way out of debt.

You cannot smash pottery shards back together to repair the broken vase.

And you cannot overcome evil by playing at its own game.

Or, as the good Dr. King famously put it, "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."

So when we followers of Jesus refuse to sell out or do rotten things as a means to a supposedly noble end, it is not because we are cowards afraid of danger or fools naïve to the reality of evil in the world. It is simply that we have learned, following Paul here in Romans, that you cannot overcome evil with evil. You can only be truly victorious--with Jesus' kind of victory--through goodness.

That's important to say out loud, even if it seems obvious, because the temptations to sell out always sound like they are reasonable.

"We have to be in a position of power if we want to get to make good policies... so we have do to anything necessary to get to power." That has a certain appeal to it, doesn't it?  But plenty of folks--even ones who prattle on about their piety--have made deals with the devil to get themselves into seats of power, only to have things turn out disastrously.  I know an awful lot of folks who have walked away from the church, not because they rejected Jesus, but because the leaders and loud voices in church they knew of had shown that Christ-like character didn't really matter to them after all, when there was someone willing to give them power, prestige, or influence.

"We want to be able to do noble things with our fortune in the future, so in the mean time, we don't ask questions about where our investments come from or whether the business we do is good for people now in the mean time." That sounds like a fair deal, right?  But in the mean time, our witness is destroyed when we are willing to make a profit off of unethical companies or shady business deals.  And it's a lie to say you care about the exploited poor if you've got investments in corporations that use sweat-shop labor or whose workers are unable to provide for their families.

"We are afraid of a future in which we aren't as important or powerful or great as we once were, and so we will give our support to any voice that promises us (whether they can deliver on such a promise or not) a way to keep things the way we imagine they once were, regardless of what it costs other people." That can sound awfully alluring if we are honest.  But of course, it reveals deep down a doubt that God will take care of what we need, and a terrible choice to see other people as threats to be stopped rather than neighbors to be loved.

"We are so concerned that someone else might do something bad to us that we decide to preemptively do something bad to them in advance to thwart them." That just sounds like basic, old-fashioned conventional wisdom to our ears.  But it sure doesn't sound like the way of Jesus.

If we are going to be truthful with ourselves, those are all ways of lying to ourselves and trying to justify rottenness if we think it will lead to something good for ourselves in the future. And that just isn't how Jesus wins the victory. Whether it's the temptation to torture bad guys in the name of protecting innocents, or pitting your comfort against the ability of neighbors to have what they need to survive, or selling out your convictions to get more votes--or maybe closer to home, doing something unethical at work because your boss tells you to, even if it will hurt other people, none of those are Jesus' way of winning God's victory.

Today, Jesus dares us to respond to the darkness of the world, not with more darkness, but with God's own light. It turns out that's really the only way you can.

Lord Jesus, give us the courage to be like you in the world.

Without the Angel Armies--November 15, 2024

 

Without the Angel Armies--November 15, 2024

"Then they came and laid hands on Jesus and arrested him. Suddenly, one of those with Jesus put his hand on his sword, drew it, and struck the slave of the high priest, cutting off his ear. Then Jesus said to him, 'Put your sword back in its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword. Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then would scriptures be fulfilled, which say it must happen in this way?'" [Matthew 26:50b-54]

Here's a rule of thumb I have found helpful in any attempt to say anything truthful about the Mystery we call "God": any sentence that begins with the words, "God cannot..." is automatically wrong.

No matter how it ends.

Any sentence that starts out saying God "can't..." or "isn't allowed to..." or "isn't powerful enough to..." or what have you, is wrong on its face. Unlike the ancient Greek or Roman gods of empires past, which each had spheres of influence in which they operated and areas they couldn't rule over (e.g., Poseidon ruled the sea, but wasn't lord of the air; Hades ruled the underworld, but didn't have the power over the living like Zeus, and so on), the God we meet in the Old and New Testaments does not have "turf" and therefore has no boundaries. Everything is in this God's jurisdiction. And everything is within this God's power. All the rest are pretenders.

Now, once we have gotten that out of the way--that there is nothing that the living God "cannot" do--it makes for a really important conversation about what God could do, theoretically, but chooses not to do. Because that is a rather significant list.

And similarly, because we Christians are convinced that where Jesus is, God is, it's rather telling to take a look at what things Jesus will not do--since presumably, it's not a matter that he could not or cannot.

Maybe it even seems like a strange thing to suggest that someone--human or divine--would intentionally choose not to do something that they could do, at least odd to the ears of our culture. We live in a culture and in a time, after all, where we have more and more potential of doing more and more, and that same culture seems to take it for granted that there is no good reason not to do what we have the power or technology to do. It's like the old line from Jurassic Park: "You were so obsessed with finding out if you could do it, that you never stopped to ask if you should." But we're not just talking science fiction about cloning dinosaurs--we live in an age where technology allows me to order goods from around the world (goods increasingly manufactured by robots) and have them shipped right to my door (maybe even by a robot drone in the near future!), an age where many of us live with enough material abundance and supply of fast food chains that you could eat every meal of your week at a different fast food chain and start all over again next week, an age where we can kill people from oceans away with remotely controlled weaponry without having to think about or see their faces, an age where we can edit and manipulate the genes of things from crops to critters, and an age in which you can have an "artificial intelligence" write your term paper, craft a poem, or even write a love letter for you--all without you having to use an ounce of your own humanity to do it. And for whatever ostensibly "good" things are in all that technological potential, there are also about a million open questions about when and where and whether there are bigger costs that come with each of them. But in a technological age, it is easy to forget (or ignore) asking the "should we do this?" question and instead just doing whatever we have the power to do.

So, like I say, it is telling, I think, that Jesus the incarnate Son of God has the power to do certain things or make certain things happen... and yet chooses not to. It says something about who he is and how God reigns that Jesus doesn't, for example, shoot lightning bolts at those who doubt him... or desert him... or even those who declared him guilty and worthy of death. It says something about what kind of victory needed to be won that Jesus knows he "could" summon forth angel armies to fight back when the lynch mob came for him... and yet he didn't.

Think about that for a moment. Let it sink in. Jesus knows full well that he has the whole divine arsenal at his disposal. It is his "right" to bear angelic arms, if he chooses. It is his prerogative as the Son of God to protect himself, to use angels as his shield and his sword and to wipe out anybody who threatened his safety. He CAN stop the mob from coming for him, and he COULD launch an all-out assault on the religious establishment, on the puppet-king Herod, and on the Romans themselves for that matter, if he chose. It is not a lack of firepower or ability or authority.

And yet Jesus chooses not to call on the angel armies to defend himself. He chooses not to even let one of his followers pull out a weapon in self-defense, either. "Those who live by the sword die by the sword," Jesus says unapologetically. "Nope--we just don't do that in my movement," he seems to say.

In fact you, won't find a "Don't Tread On Me" flag anywhere near Jesus here--not just in the Garden, but in Jesus' whole way of living and dying... and rising. There is no defiant attitude of "I have the power to stop you, so look out, I'm coming for you." Jesus can, and Jesus could, but Jesus doesn't.

That is radical.

That is the essence of Jesus' kind of victory. If Jesus calls in the angel armies, he is trading self-preservation for self-giving. If he gets the heavenly host to go on the offense to smite his would-be attackers, there is no way of the cross, only the way of convenience. If Jesus lets his followers start pulling out weapons in the name of "protecting me and mine from someone threatening us," the old order of returning evil for evil stays in place. And Jesus has come, not simply to replace one sword-wielding empire for another, but to undo the whole system, the whole structure. Jesus says "no" to calling on the angels to fight back in order that he can say "yes" to... you. And to me. Jesus' No to self-defense and self-preservation and the whole don't-tread-on-me mindset is what makes possible Jesus' Yes to pouring out his life for the redemption of the world.

What Jesus chooses not to do (even though he "could") speaks volumes. In fact, the whole of the Gospel hangs on the amazing news of a God who could call in the angel armies but does not, a God who instead stretches out divine arms in love to be nailed between thieves.

This is our victory.

Lord Jesus, thank you for saying "No" to the angel armies and fighting for yourself, so that you could choose to say "Yes" to us as your people, and "Yes" to the cross, by which you redeemed us. Thank you for your victory over self-preservation, in order to love us.

The Divine Rebellion--November 14, 2024

The Divine Rebellion--November 14, 2024

"For since death came through a human being, the resurrection of the dead has also come through a human being; for as all die in Adam, so all will be made alive in Christ. But each in his own order: Christ the first fruits, then at his coming those who belong to Christ. Then comes the end, when he hands over the kingdom to God the Father, after he has destroyed every ruler and every authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death." [1 Corinthians 15:21-26]

You know, it's not really a surprise that the first Christians kept getting rounded up by the Empire and then thrown in jail or fed to lions. At least if any of the rest of them sounded like Paul here. Paul is downright subversive--the Romans were right to see his voice as a threat to their unquestioned rule... even if he was never looking to launch a violent coup or lead an army. We just don't often consider the real weight to the apostle's words here.

Paul clearly says that Jesus' victory is not riding the coattails of Rome, or through an endorsement of Caesar. Paul says that at the last, every ruler, every supposed "authority," and everyone who wields "power" will finally give way to the Risen Jesus. And to first century ears, that was a direct assault on the claims of Rome, which insisted that it would last forever in an eternal dominion (personified for the Empire by its worship of the goddess "Roma Aeterna," who was a sort of embodiment of the  supposed "greatness" of the nation-state of Rome).

Let me say that again so that we do not miss the point: in Paul's day, the official policy of the Empire was that the nation-state of Rome was to be worshipped as divine, and official messaging from the Empire was that Rome's rule would last forever. So when Paul comes along and says that Christ will ultimately be victorious over every ruler and authority and power, it cannot have been heard as anything less than a protest against the supremacy of the dominant nation-state of his day, and against the ruler at the top who boasted so much about its greatness.

This is a really decisive move for Paul, because he doesn't just say that God reigns "through" Rome, like a behind-the-scenes puppet-master pulling the strings. Paul doesn't say here that everything Rome does gets God's endorsement, nor does he say that criticism of Rome is criticism of God's appointed ruler. (We can spend time on another day with Paul's comments in Romans 13 about the governing authorities being used by God to restrain evil and limit the dangerous of chaos, but at least here in 1 Corinthians, Paul is not afraid to say clearly that no authority or ruler carries equal ultimacy with Christ.) Instead, Paul says that no matter how the letterhead changes from one empire to another, as the power of one nation-state after another goes into the dustbin of history, no matter who came on the scene yesterday or who comes on the scene tomorrow, none of these powers deserve our ultimate allegiance, and none of them will outlast the crucified-and-risen Christ.

And then, in what I am coming to see is Paul's greatest slap in the face to "Eternal Rome" and its Caesar, he undercuts all of Rome's propaganda by saying that the real kingpin to be dealt with at the last is death itself. Paul realizes that Jesus' victory is not simply to replace one empire (Rome) with another (even though Christians tried to do that with what they called "Christendom" or in things like "the Holy Roman Empire" or in the modern-day heresy of Christian nationalism). Jesus' victory goes deeper than just picking off Caesar. The empires of history, and the emperors who have ruled them, are really just the henchmen of the real heavy-hitting Power to be dealt with--death itself. Rome, Babylon, Assyria, Pharaoh's Egypt, and all the rest...they have just been the hired muscle that Death has used throughout history. But make no mistake about it--death has been the real Power underneath all of them. Death gave those empires--and every other empire since--their ability to threaten and coerce. After all, what Rome, Babylon, and the rest did was to intimidate their subjects into obedience on pain of death--do what the centurions say, or else they can string you up on a cross! And every empire and dominant system ever since has basically made the same threat. But death has been the real enemy all along. Without the underlying power of threatening death, no one would listen to Caesar or Pharaoh. But with that power, empires spread, and people get stepped on.

So Paul cuts through to the real contest--not between Christ and Caesar, but between Christ and Death Itself. That's got to be humbling if you are Caesar getting wind of this letter--it's almost like Paul is saying, "Christ isn't even going to waste his time taking out Caesar; he has bigger fish to fry, and Caesar is just too small a guppy to worry about." Paul knows that Caesar and his reign will come to an end, and that Rome and its boasts as a nation-state and empire will fade away in time, too. But the real power to be reckoned with is the power of death--and that, Paul says, is precisely what Jesus has come to deal with.

Jesus' resurrection is the beginning of the end of every other claim of ultimate power, because Jesus' resurrection shows that every empire and every emperor who makes the threat, "Do what I say, or else..." cannot stop or silence Jesus. The resurrection is a defiant "No!" to Rome's insistence that Jesus stay in the grave, and it is also a shot across the bow to death itself, warning that the power of death is coming unraveled, too. As Jurgen Moltmann wrote, "Christ's resurrection is the beginning of God's rebellion. That rebellion is still going on in the Spirit of hope, and will be complete when, together with death, 'every ruler and every authority and power' is at last abolished....Easter is at one and the same time God's protest against death, and the feast of freedom from death."

All these centuries later after Rome, it is tempting to think we are smarter, wiser, more pious, or otherwise different from the Empire of Paul's day. But the temptation to worship our own national power is just as real, just as alluring, and just as strong. The letterheads, change, but it is the same old impulse to bow down to "Roma Aeterna" in a different outfit and to worship the nation-state. Paul reminds us here that history's empires and nations come and go, and none of them is ever really as permanent as it imagines itself to be. But that is because death is a fickle and cruel mob boss who always turns on its henchmen. And then Paul tells us that the real power to be worried about--death itself--has its days numbered, too. And that the victory in which we hope is not merely Jesus over Rome, but rather Jesus over death itself.

That notion is potent stuff. If we took it seriously, we Christians might just become anew the world-changing, love-embodying, truth-telling movement that the Romans thought we were at the beginning. We are a part of God's rebellion against the tyranny of death and all of its minions. We are a part of God's protest against death.

Go. Now. Tell the world that death does not get the final say.

Lord Jesus, let us take confidence and courage from your resurrection, and give us strength in our voices to remind the powers of death they do not get the last word... ever.

Victory as Gift--November 13, 2024

Victory as Gift--November 13, 2024

"When this perishable body puts on imperishability, and this mortal body puts on immortality, then the saying that is written will be fulfilled: 'Death has been swallowed up in victory.'  'Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?' The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved, be steadfast, immovable, always excelling in the work of the Lord, because you know that in the Lord your labor is not in vain." [1 Corinthians 15:54-58]

As I write this, the Cleveland Cavaliers are undefeated--they are only the twelfth team in NBA history to get to an 11-0 start to the season. As a Cleveland-area native, that means I feel some measure of celebration every time they win a game. To some degree, fans get to share in the victory of their teams, even though it is patently obvious that my cheering while I watch on a screen does not contribute to their success in any way.  (And, simultaneously, I share in the heartbreak and disappointment of every painful Browns loss I've endured watching through this season so far.  Fans share in the defeats as well.) 

The bottom line is that success for the Cavs doesn't depend on my contributions to the team, and yet the team's wins are shared with me and all the other fans for us to celebrate.  There is literally ZERO chance that they'll ask me to shoot the free-throws or even hand out towels to the starting line up, and yet, their victory is shared with Cavaliers fans both within the city limits of Cleveland and all those in the diaspora anywhere.  The same is true for whatever team in whatever sport you root for--the players on the field or on the court do the work, but you get to celebrate (or commiserate, as the case may be) because they are your team--and you are their fan.

In a way, there's something similar in the way the New Testament talks about Jesus' victory over death--he has done the defeating, but he "gives us the victory." None of us has died for the sake of the world or risen to break the power of death, but Jesus has, and he has given us his victory to share. That's really important, because it gets the relationships in the right direction. Jesus doesn't need our help to ensure a cosmic win against sin, death, and evil--rather, Jesus has already come out victorious and shares that success with us so that we no longer have to live in fear of death or ruled by the dictates of sin and evil.  Jesus has the undefeated record of wins on the court, so to speak--but we get to share that triumph like it's free giveaway night at the stadium and they are handing out free jerseys for all the fans to wear.

In fact, that image is also a part of how Paul talks about sharing in Jesus' victory.  It's like this old perishable body "putting on" imperishability, and this old mortal self "putting on" immortality--like it's a gift to be worn, not an achievement I have to attain on my own.  It really is like being given the team jersey as a gift, not a matter of having to make our own at home from scratch in order to be good enough to get admission to the field house.

Taking these biblical images seriously does something to us--at the very least it makes us profoundly aware of how graced we are, and hopefully also profoundly humbled at how Jesus saves us.  For the biblical writers, it's not like Jesus is the coach and we're the ones actually sweating, shooting, or getting fouled on the court. It's that Jesus is the One doing the work, and we are enabled to share in his victory even if we don't know a point-guard from a pick and roll. Jesus does the saving. Jesus has the victory.  It does not depend on our praying hard enough, following rules well enough, fighting culture-war battles fiercely enough, or courting political influence strongly enough.  Jesus has won the victory. He gives his win to us.

Sometimes I hear Respectable Religious Voices talk in ways that seem to forget that.  Sometimes you'll hear them insist that "If all good Christians don't do X or Y or Z..." then the devil will win, or Christianity will die, or God's kingdom will be thwarted.  But that's precisely NOT how the New Testament sees things.  We are told instead that that Jesus has already won--the question is whether we will take that victory seriously even in the face of a world that doesn't believe it yet.  We've been given Jesus' own resurrection life to put on like the team jersey--it has been a gift, not a to-do list.  When we remember that, we will find ourselves less belligerent, less bitter, and less bellicose in the world.  And maybe on days when we are especially joyless, we'll recover reason to celebrate as we claim Jesus' victory as our own to share in.

Jesus has given you his win--the one that really matters, against death. Let that set you free today.

Lord Jesus, give us the faith to trust in the victory you have already accomplished.