Who Is Really Lord?

Who Is Really Lord?--April 12, 2018

"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 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 unfolding news of another (another!) chemical attack in Syria, as symptoms of hundreds--men, women, and children--reveal nerve gas used on their own people, with no clear cut "fix" in sight, and a brutal dictator hunkering down to just endure whatever action or non-action the rest of the world will take.  And when we read the details or watch the images on the news of victims of the gas attack foaming at the mouth because of what a brutal strongman has done to hold onto his power, 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 fur-less savage bipeds have found a way to mess it up--drug epidemics and absentee parents, horrific violence and corrupt governments and dictators, 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.

All hail King Jesus, the crucified and risen Lord.

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.