Loving Strong

Loving Strong--March 31, 2017

"Then I saw between the throne and the four living creatures and among the elders a Lamb, standing as if it had been slaughtered, having seven horns and seven eyes, which are the seven spirits of God sent out into all the earth.  He went and took the scroll from the right hand of the one who was seated on the throne.  When he had taken the scroll, the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders fell before the Lamb, each holding a harp and golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints.  They sing a new song:

'You are worthy to take the scroll and to open its seals, for you were slaughtered and by your blood you ransomed for God saints from every tribe and language and people and nation; you have made them to be a kingdom and priests serving our God, and they will reign on earth'." [Revelation 5:6-10]

People who want to look tough say things like, "We do not negotiate with bad guys."  That's a strong, tough policy.  That's Harrison Ford's flinty president character in the movie Air Force One, or any of a million other movie heroes and real-life would-be tough-guys.  That's how you keep from getting taken advantage of.  You don't pay ransoms.  You don't let yourself look... weak.

Seems like God has never been much of a Harrison-Ford movie fan. 

I say that because at the heart of the Good News, and at the end of the Bible's story, is God's refusal to "look tough," if it meant giving up on a world full of blessed, beloved, benighted people... like us.  At the center of our faith is a God who is less interested in looking tough and more interested in liberating all people--even if it means paying a ransom.  Even if it means being a ransom.

Think about that for a moment.  Most people we know are a lot more protective of their reputations.  Most folks are bent on doing anything they can to look strong, to look tough, to look like they are in control.  Most folks are so obsessed with shoring up their fragile egos that they don't want to let anybody, anybody, see them bend.  But, as I am increasingly aware, Jesus ain't most folks.

You and I know it about ourselves, too, don't we?  We all like to picture ourselves as the tough-guys in the room.  No one can shake us.  No one can make us give up something precious.  At least we tell ourselves some version of that story. Everybody wants to be, or to be around, the kind of hero who beats up the bad guys, who negotiates with his fists, and who wins the day by bringing bigger guns and more ammo. Who doesn’t want to be friends with Superman—or better yet, to BE Superman, right? There’s a brilliant line of Robert Farrar Capon’s where he suggests that if WE had been drafting the divine plan, WE wouldn’t have done a “stupid” thing like dying on a cross—we would have done a “smart” (and impressive and strong) thing like not dying in the first place.

And then there is this God of ours.  This God's plan to save the universe, to redeem people of all nations, languages, cultures, and places, to redeem creation... is to not simply "pay" a ransom to rescue us all, but to be the ransom.  The Christian Gospel centers on an act that the world would dismiss as "weak-looking," as "giving in" or "giving up," as "losing."  The great new song of heaven centers on an act of surrender that would never make it as a blockbuster movie.  But it turns out God is less interested in protecting the divine reputation then in restoring creation and reclaiming you and me.  The Lamb--Christ, the crucified and risen One who is the incarnate God--is the object of praise in the heavenly throne room because he has done the unthinkable in offering himself up as the ransom. 

It is a surprising thing that in the end, the savior of the world doesn't look like Harrison Ford punching stereotypical goateed bad guys and declaring defiantly, "Get off my plane!" but rather looks like a slain, but living Lamb.  But that's God for you--never aiming for movie-star appeal, but rather willing to save the world even if everyone else thinks it's crazy or foolish or silly. 

Let me ask it this way, as a way to frame this day: why do we think God is worthy of our praise?  Why do we find ourselves praising and worshiping God--what has God done that calls forth our adoration?  In the end, it's not that God has projected an image of being tough--but rather that God has set aside all fuss about images and reputations and just gone and given God's own self up for us.  How might you and I be called in this new day to set aside our reputations, our image, or the perception of being strong in order to be truly strong?  How might you and I point to the way we have been loved in the ways we care for the people around us? 

And just think of how much freer we could be--right now--if we didn't have to worry about whether we looked strong to other people... in order to simply love strong?

Lord Jesus, let us love like you--with reckless abandon.