An Alternative to Empire--June 24, 2026

An  Alternative to Empire--June 24, 2026

[Jesus said to the disciples:] "And whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me." (Matthew 10:38)

At some point along the way, I think we misunderstood the meaning of "taking up a cross." We didn't mean to, and maybe some kind of confusion was unavoidable.  But for a lot of religious folks, the phrase "take up your cross" somehow came to refer to bearing some generic unpleasantness or doing some difficult task, rather than the much more loaded and scandalous implications of crucifixion in the first century Roman Empire.

"Oh! You're taking care of a sick relative while also working a full-time job?  What a cross you have to bear!" you might hear.  Or, "She volunteers her time at that soup kitchen so faithfully--that's her cross to bear!"  In other words, we often talk about "taking up the cross" in positive, congratulatory tones, about how whatever burden someone has taken on is noble, virtuous, and respectable.  People these days typically use "taking up the cross" practically as a compliment to call attention to honorable, or even heroic, good deeds that someone might do. It never comes off as something shameful, scandalous, or subversive.

And yet, in Jesus' time and place, taking up a cross was unavoidably tinged with disgrace and dishonor.  Before Christianity transformed the cross of Jesus into a sign of hope, life, and victory, it was unquestionably the worst thing that anybody could do to you.  It was the means of execution that Rome used to make an example of people it saw as particularly despicable and dangerous.  It was not a sign of virtue if the Empire put you to death on a cross--that was a sign you were guilty of treason against the nation, an enemy of the state, or a disturber of the peace.  Others might get glorious deaths, worthy of praise in epic poems and enshrined in statues: the soldier fighting in battle, or the general leading the charge, perhaps.  Or others who had committed crimes but still were allowed to preserve some of their honor merely got beheaded--quicker, less drawn-out, and perhaps even a modicum of dignity (The Apostle Paul, for example, was likely beheaded when he was finally brought up on charges, because he had Roman citizenship).  Even old Socrates, deemed a public danger by the people of ancient Greece for his outlandish notions of probing for the truth and <gasp!> critical thinking, was still allowed a respectable means of capital punishment by drinking poisonous hemlock.  But crosses were unquestionably shameful, because they were reserved for the ones who most insidiously threatened the status quo.

On Jesus' lips, "Take up your cross" did not simply mean, "Shoulder your noble burden stoically," or "Face adversity heroically." It meant "Take your place beside me against the wall when the firing squad comes to execute us on charges of treason and sedition." It meant being seen as a part of a subversive conspiracy that threatened the Powers of the Day.  It was not an inspiring call to be seen as a hero, but a dare to be labeled as an enemy of the state. Now, of course, Jesus' way of being a threat was not through violence or armed revolt. The Empire could only think in those terms, so when it heard people describing Jesus as "king" or "messiah" or the one bringing about "the Kingdom of God," it could not help but react with fear and insecurity--that is, it sought to kill Jesus and suffocate his movement.  In a very real sense, Jesus and the "Reign of God" he announced were a threat to Caesar (and every other empire and emperor since), but Jesus wasn't launching a coup or trying to spark an armed revolt like the Zealots.  That kind of revolution simply isn't radical enough.  Jesus intended to replace our perpetual need to dominate one another with God's gentle rule of graceful serving and self-giving love.  Rome could not make sense of that, and indeed, Jesus' kind of community shook the fault assumptions on which the empire was built and pulled them down to the ground.  All of that was caught up in the language of "taking up the cross." Jesus was not offering us a glorious end to this life, or even a respectable one. He was reminding us that following him would make us into accomplices in a conspiracy that threatened the empire's grip.  That is the life into which we have been called.

I wonder whether we think in such terms any longer.  Quite frequently the Christian faith is seen as a way to "have it all"--to be respected and applauded, to seen as successful and important, and to win the approval of others.  Plenty of TV preachers have sold their viewers on promises of health and wealth, and plenty more regimes in numerous countries have told their subjects that being a good Christian required them never to question their governments in the name of being "good citizens."  But to hear Jesus here on his own terms reminds us that he has always called us to live in ways that are faithful to him even when it costs us the approval of the throne or the appearance of respectability.  

Like the old line attributed to Stephen Mattson puts it, "Sometimes being a good Christian meant being a bad Roman."  If we have been listening to Jesus at all, we can't say he didn't warn us.  The way of Jesus has always been an alternative lifestyle: that is, an alternative to empire.

If that's what Jesus has actually meant all along with the call to "take up your cross," are we still in?

Lord Jesus, give us the courage to be counted with you and take up our cross as we point to your alternative to the ways of empire, past and present.