Author: Pastorbrentmiller

In the Presence of Our Enemies

‘So David triumphed over the Philistine with only a sling and stone, for he had no sword’ – 1 Samuel 17:50

I’ve been preaching a series through Psalm 23, the one that begins, as most Christians and Jewish persons know, if not everyone else, ‘the Lord is my Shepherd.’  As I have worked through its imagery, I have, among other things, pondered the life of its author, Israel’s second king, David. 

David’s life was an interesting one, filled with ups and downs.  One day he could be ‘a man after God’s own heart,’ the next an adulterer and murderer.  David did much that was good, but also made many mistakes.  And while most people don’t see it this way, I have long felt that his first mistake happened on the day he fought Goliath in the Valley of Elah. 

Most everyone knows the story.  Goliath, champion of the Philistines, came out every morning and evening to taunt the armies of Israel.  ‘Send out your best man to fight,’ he shouted, ‘If I win, your people will become our slaves.  If you win,’ and here he surely laughed out loud, ‘we will become yours.’ 

He surely laughed because the very idea of an Israelite defeating him was ludicrous, and not just because he was nine feet tall, rippled with muscle, and armed to the teeth.  It was ludicrous because any battle between the well-trained, well-armed Goliath and an Israeli soldier would only illustrate the enormous discrepancies between the culture and might of Philistia and that of Israel.  Philistia was, for its day, an advanced culture.  They had ships that sailed the sea, traded with other nations, enjoyed the finer things of life, and, most relevant to the battle that was shaping up in the Valley of Elah, boasted of smiths who could work iron and bronze, i.e., they had swords and armor.  This latter facet of Philistine culture gave them a major technological advantage over the Israelites, who were little more than an upstart nation still trying to carve out space in the Promised Land.  Israel had no smiths to work iron and bronze.  Consequently, they were not well supplied with swords and armor.[1]  As they stood opposite the Philistines on the far side of the valley, they were armed with, well, sticks and clubs. 

In other words, any battle between Goliath and an Israelite, including the one that would take place between the young shepherd boy David and the seasoned warrior Goliath, would merely highlight Israel’s lack of sophistication and power.   The Philistines were all giants compared to the Israelites.  To any reasonable bookie, no Israelite stood a chance against Goliath, nor did Israel stand a chance against Philistia.      

But the Israelites had something the Philistines did not: God.  Their relationship with God had proven sufficient to overcome every obstacle that had ever come their way.  No swords?  No problem.  They had only to be still and know that Yahweh was God.  Moses hadn’t needed swords to lead the Israelites out of Egypt; he had only to be still and let God fight for his people.  Gideon (who, I contend, would best be played on film by Rick Moranis) needed only pitchers and torches to rout the Midianites.  Shofars had made the walls of Jericho come down.  Repeatedly, God had demonstrated to his people that they did not need to fight like the nations to prevail.  The ways and means of Israel were not the ways and means of the surrounding nations.  As God’s ‘peculiar people’ (see, Exodus 19:5-6), Israel had only to be still and let God be God. 

Which, at first, David seemed to understand.  He was only a shepherd boy when he accepted Goliath’s challenge.  But he believed that God was on his side.  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ he told a skeptical King Saul, ‘I’ve defeated bears and lions in the wilderness.  The Lord who rescued me from them will rescue me from this Philistine!’  When Saul tried to give him armor and a sword, he said he didn’t need them.  For one, they were too bulky for him.  For another, well, who needs a culture of iron when you have God on your side!

And so, David strode into the Valley of Elah.  He picked up five stones from the riverbed and the rest, as they say, is history.  ‘You come to me with sword, spear, and javelin,’ he shouted to his foe, ‘but I come to you in the name of the Lord of angel armies!  You’re going down giant, and everyone here will know that the Lord rescues his people, but not with sword and spear.  This is the Lord’s battle, and he will give you to us!’  Reaching into his shepherd’s bag, he took out one stone, placed it in his sling, swung it (‘round and round and round and round and round and round and round,’ as my Sunday School teachers taught me to sing), and brought the giant down. 

David had won, not with technological advancements, not with the weapons of the Philistines, not, in truth, even with a stone and a sling, but with the power of the Living God. 

But then, I contend, he made his mistake.  As Goliath lay unconscious on the ground, defeated already, David ran over, pulled Goliath’s sword from its sheath, and killed the Philistine by cutting off his head.[2] 

I have heard it said that David’s taking of Goliath’s sword was a turning point in the history of Israel.  It signaled, not just the casting off of the Philistines, but the dawn of a new day.  From this point on, Israel would use the tools of the Philistines as their empire expanded.  They too would work with iron and bronze.  Their smiths would make swords, spears, and armor.  They would become like the nations around them.  They would become a power and contend with the nations on a level playing field.  

There is only one problem with all of that: it is not God’s way. 

God’s way is a crazy way.  It calls people to, as I have previously noted (quoted from scripture really) be still and let God be God.  It calls people to trust God, to face a hostile world in peculiar fashion, believing that he will deliver them from their enemies without the need to become like them.  God’s way is the way of Jesus, who conquered the world with a cross, not a sword (heck, he didn’t even use a sling).  It is the way of utter foolishness to the world, but for those who believe, it is the wisdom and power of God (see, 1 Corinthians 1:18-25). 

David, in picking up Goliath’s sword, took a significant step away from the wisdom and power of the God he had trusted so completely when he first stepped into the Valley of Elah.  In taking it up, he not only adopted the weapons of his enemy, but the ways and means of his enemy, the ways and means that would, as we see when we read the rest of Israel’s story, lead the nation further away from God. 

I cannot help but wonder what might have happened if David, instead of taking up that sword and cutting off Goliath’s head, had simply commanded in the name of the Lord that the armies of the Philistines pick up the prone body of his enemy and take it back to Philistia, never to bother Israel again.  I wonder what would have happened had Israel, instead of becoming a culture of iron, had simply gone on living as the peculiar people of God, trusting him to preserve them from their foes. 

I know, you’re thinking that would never have worked, that even if the Philistines had listened to such a command, they would have come back a second time, with either a revived Goliath or some other champion.  What choice did David have but to take up the sword of his foe and wield it?  What choice did Israel have but to adopt the ways of means of their enemies, and become a culture of iron so that they could defend themselves in the future?    

To this I can only say, ‘Seriously?  You don’t believe that God could have used a sling and stone, or some other unexpected means, to overcome the enemy a second time?  You don’t believe that the God who delivered Israel out of the bondage of Egyptian slavery without their having to raise so much as a finger, couldn’t have delivered them again by miraculous means?’ 

I write all of this, not to pick on David, but to make us think.  We live in a time when many Christians believe that their cherished values and beliefs are under assault.  While I tend to think much of this fear is exaggerated, I would admit that there is some truth to the notion that the Church is under attack.  After all, it always has been, and it always will be (Jesus warned us to expect as much).  Sometimes it can feel as if a giant is standing on the far side of the valley calling us out, mocking our faith.    

The question is: what do we do about that?  Should we pick up the weapons, the tools, the techniques of our enemies?  Should we become like them?  Should we seek political power and influence?  Should we lie, cheat, and steal to get what we want?  Should we adopt a ‘do it them before they do it to us’ mentality?  Should we become like the nations?

Or should we live as peculiar people, move forward in faith, entrust our future to God, and believe that he will do what is necessary to further his purposes in the world?  Should we simply live with the conviction that we are not to use the ways and means of our enemies, but rather the ways and means of a loving, powerful God? 

In Psalm 23, David, on one of his better days, wrote of God being present with him in dark valleys and preparing a table before him in the presence of his enemies.  That’s the version of David who started so well that evening in the Valley of Elah: the David who trusted in God’s presence and provision and proceeded accordingly. 

The David who picked up Goliath’s sword, well, I would submit that was David foolishly taking matters into his own hands, becoming the very thing he fought against, and dooming Israel to do the same. 

To all who would adopt the ways and means of the world to fight God’s battles, take heed.  The best thing to do in any situation remains to be still and let God be God, to allow him to set the table before us, even in the presence of our enemies. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] See, 1 Samuel 13:19-22; 17:38-39.  There were no smiths in Israel, partly because the Philistines didn’t allow them; they wanted to keep Israel in the technological dark ages so that they might more easily dominate them.  Only Saul and Jonathon possessed smelted weaponry.  When David went to fight Goliath, the only suit of armor Israel had for him to wear was Saul’s, which David wisely rejected. 

[2] It is commonly believed that David killed Goliath with his sling and stone, but the text makes clear that Goliath was still alive after the blow to his head and that David killed the giant with his own sword (see, 1 Samuel 17:51).  Whether the blow from the stone would have proven fatal or whether Goliath would have recovered is something we will simply never know. 

Growing Young

‘So, Peter, you’ve become a pirate?’ – Wendy Darling

What happens when the boy who never grew up grows up? 

That is the question at the heart of the movie Hook, Steven Spielberg’s 1991 sequel to Disney’s 1953 animated version of J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan.  At the start of the film, the adult Pan, played by Robin Williams, is a far cry from the scourge of pirates he once was.  Years before, he had made the decision to grow up, and grow up he did.  He has a family of his own, which is nice, but has lost his childlike spirit, his faith, his ability to fly.  He has no memory of who he was.   Living far from Neverland, the adult Pan has adapted to the ‘real world,’ adopted its practices, become adept in its ways, and forsaken his true self.  On a visit to the now elderly Wendy Darling, with whom he once had grand adventures (Pan is now married to her granddaughter) he explains that the business that keeps him from visiting more often involves ‘mergers and acquisitions,’ i.e., he has become a corporate raider.  This provokes a shocked and disappointed Wendy to speak the words in the epigraph to this post: ‘So, Peter, you’ve become a pirate.’  The once great Pan who conquered pirates has become very thing he once fought. 

This sad tale of Peter Pan growing up came to mind recently after a conversation with a friend, wherein I found myself remarking that if the early disciples of Jesus were to visit Christians in America today, they would likely mistake many of us for Romans.  The early disciples knew all about Romans.  They lived under their rule.  The Romans believed that the way to change the world was from the top down; seize power and impose your will on everyone below you.  Theirs was the way of violence; they used force whenever they deemed it expeditious to ensure the ascendency of their cause and the defeat of their enemies.  In a Roman world, if you wanted something, you made it happen, by any means necessary.  The Roman way was, if I may stick with the Peter Pan analogy, the way of the pirate, the way of the sword.  And they pulled it off quite well. 

Jesus however, had taught his disciples another way.  Once, when his disciples attempted to shoo some kids away, he said, ‘let the little children come to me, for the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these.’  On another occasion, he remarked that unless a person became like a little child, they could not enter the Kingdom of Heaven.  Jesus, in other words, told his followers to stay young, to refrain from ‘growing up.’  They were not to make things happen by any means necessary; they were to live as children, trusting in their Heavenly Father to lead them through the ups and downs of life.  They were not to become violent to advance causes or defeat enemies; they were to love enemies and leave the future to God.  They were not to seize power and impose their will on others from above; they were to become servants and make the world a better place from the bottom up.  Theirs would not be the way of the pirate, the way of the sword.  It would be the way of the cross, the way of the Lamb. 

And for a time, Jesus disciples pulled it off quite well.  Even as the Roman pirates threatened and attacked, as happened for centuries, they insisted on being, to borrow Rich Mullins’ phrase, ‘children who loved while the nations raged.’  Their response to a world arrayed against their beliefs and values was not to attack, but to love and serve.  As threats mounted, they simply drew closer to Jesus.  They continued, like children, to trust that he and their Heavenly Father would take care of them, and that such an approach to life would work.  They believed that God was in control, and that one day they would be rewarded for their faithfulness, for their refusal to become pirates themselves, as they witnessed the return of Christ and the restoration of all things.  And so, like faithful children, they continued on their way, refusing to become pirates. 

But somewhere along the line, the Church decided to grow up.  Like Peter Pan, it adapted to the ‘real world,’ adopting its practices, becoming adept in its ways, forsaking its true self.  The Church grew powerful.  It no longer sat at the bottom but stood on top, and from its privileged position began to impose its will from the top down.  It even employed violence, pursuing any means necessary to advance its goals and defeat its enemies.  It became a church of pirates. 

Not all Christians went along, of course.  Some remained faithful, and these inspired renewal movements to draw the Church back to her original vision, to the time when the Church was young.  These met with some success, but sadly, as the train of history shows, far too often, the dominant branches of the Church continued to behave like pirates. 

Like Romans. 

And so, the comment to my friend.  Look around you, American Christian.  What do you see?  A Pirate Church.  Tens of millions of professing Jesus followers embracing the Roman way.  Christians attempting to seize power that they might rule from above, forging unholy alliances with unscrupulous characters in an attempt to have their way.  A willingness to employ (or at least excuse) any means necessary, even violence, to achieve desired ends.  A willingness to sell their souls to stand on top and ‘own’ those below them.  A willingness to distort the very teachings of Jesus to the point that they would be unrecognizable to him or the early disciples if they were to show up today. 

Yes, if the early disciples could see us now, I have no doubt they would mistake many in what passes for the Church in America for Romans.  They would wonder what went wrong.  They would say, with tears in their eyes, ‘So, Church, you’ve become the empire.’ 

That such a reaction is plausible is cause for lamentation.  Sackcloth and ashes.  And yet, the situation is not without hope. 

Well, we are children no more

We have sinned and grown old

But our Father still waits

And He watches down the road

To see the crying boys

Come running back to His arms.[1]

Repentance, homecoming, is still an option.  It is possible, if not for the whole Church, at least for a significant portion of it, to grow young again.  To recapture what it means to be young in Christ.  To become children who trust and obey as we follow the way of the Lamb. 

Could such a rebirth be possible?  Oh yes.  Just watch Hook.  There, the adult Peter Pan rediscovers what it means to possess childlike faith.  He learns how to believe again.  He learns how to fly.

Christians, if we would be worthy of that name, it’s time to become children.   It’s time to believe again.  It’s time to fly.    

It’s time to grow young. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] Rich Mullins, from his song, Growing Young, which along with Hook inspired this post. 

Yahweh

‘Indeed he is not far from any of us.  For in him we live and move and have our being’ – Acts 17:27-28

This past Sunday at the church I serve, I began leading a study of Psalm 23.  In our first installment, we focused on the first word of the Psalm.  In English, that would make for a tedious study, given that Psalm 1:1 begins, ‘The Lord is my Shepherd.’  But in Hebrew, the first word isn’t ‘the,’ nor is the second word ‘Lord.’  In Hebrew, what we read as ‘the Lord’ is simply God’s personal name, Yahweh. 

David could have used any number of names for God in his Psalm.  He could have called God Adonai (Lord), El Shaddai (God Almighty), El Elyon (God Most High), El Elroi (God who sees), or countless other Biblical names.  But in a Psalm intended to nurture personal intimacy with God, it is not surprising he would use God’s chosen, personal name, the name of God’s own self-revelation.[1]

There are many wonderful things to say about God’s name.[2]  But for purposes of this post, I will simply write of how it illustrates God’s nearness.  The name, Yahweh, you see, echoes the sound of our breath.  We breathe in (yah).  We breathe our (weh).  It has been said that the name Yahweh is the first word we speak at birth, with our first breath, and the last we speak at death, with our last.  The idea is that from beginning to end, all our life, God is near, as close as breath.  In the Book of Genesis, we are told that it is God’s breath that gives us life, and with every breath we take, we bear witness to this.  Knowingly or unknowingly, willingly or begrudgingly, every person on earth continuously calls out the name of their Creator. 

Think of this a little further and you will realize that there is no escaping God.  Psalm 139 is one of my favorite passages of scripture.  Therein, we read of ‘the Inescapable God:’

‘Where can I go from your Spirit?  Or where can I flee from your presence?  If I ascend to heaven, you are there.  If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.  If I take to the wings of the morning and settle on the farthest limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast.’[3]

The word for spirit in Hebrew is Ruach, and it means both spirit and breath.  We can no more escape God’s presence than we can our own breath.  There is nowhere to go, nowhere to run, that will take us beyond his reach.  Even in Sheol, that is, even in death, he is there.  The very name, Yahweh, speaks to the fact that God is always with us.  He never leaves us.  He never lets us go.  He never gives up on us. 

Of course, we don’t always realize this.  There may indeed be some reading this who feel as if God is distant.  I want to assure you that he is not.  Even if you have done all you can to run from him, he is still with you.  His breath is in you.  His love surrounds you.  He is ever close to you, ever willing to be your shepherd and guide. 

So let me invite you to do something.  Take a few deep breaths.  As you breathe in and out, speak God’s name.  As you do, think of God, not far above the clouds or beyond the stars, not in some alternate dimension of reality or unreality, but right where you are, surrounding you, providing you with life and breath, loving you, beckoning you toward his heart. 

And know that no matter who you are, where you have been, what you have done, or even what you may do in the future, he always will be. 

Under Christ’s (Yahweh’s) Mercy,

Brent

[1] See, Genesis 15:7; Exodus 3:14-15. 

[2] For those interested in the full message delivered last Sunday, you can watch it here. 

[3] Psalm 139:7-10 (NRSV).

Small Great God

‘Oh Great God, are you small enough for me?’ – Nicole Nordeman, from her song, Small Enough

Those connected with First Baptist Church of Collingswood, where I serve as pastor, know what I just finished a sermon series on the Book of Ruth.  It’s the Tuesday after the final installment, which normally means I’m itching to move on to the next sermon series.  As someone once commented, preaching is like giving birth on Sunday morning and waking up pregnant again on Monday.  But this week, before I tend to the next pregnancy, I want to linger with a lesson from Ruth that I must keep in mind.  Perhaps you do too. 

The story of Ruth takes place in the time of the Judges.  This was before Israel had a king, a time when, as the book of Judges tells us twice, ‘everyone did what was right in their own eyes’ (Judges 17:6 and 21:25).  It was a tumultuous time in which the strongest arms strutted across the stage of history afflicting regular folks with the consequences of their selfish choices.  Those consequences included, as they do at any stage of history wherein the powerful throw their weight around: tribalism, civil war, foreign invasion, famine, displacement of peoples, and, at the center of it all, indeed the cause of it all, a shift of allegiance from God to lesser things (aka idolatry). 

Sounds a lot like our world, doesn’t it? 

If there had been newspapers in the time of the judges, or 24-hour news networks, or, worse still, social media, I am quite certain that the news of the day (or whatever it is you call the dubious nonsense in our newsfeeds) would have had us all in about the same tizzy we find ourselves in when we consume the news today  Learning about the breakdown of civility and respect between the tribes of Israel, the fights that threatened their unity, the latest foreign threat, or the displacement of true faith by false religion would have had the same effect on us then as does now the daily onslaught of extremist rhetoric, the prospect of civil war, the invasion of nations, or, for Christians like myself, the coopting of historic Christianity by a particularly venomous form of Christian Nationalism.[1]  We would have been, as many of us often are now, consumed by the big picture of a world going to hell in a handbasket. 

But then, in the midst of those days, comes a little story about ordinary people and their ordinary problems as they navigate their world.  I’ll refrain from telling the whole story here (you can read it yourself), but basically, while the world rages, they have to live and cope with problems much closer to home.  Death in the family.  The consequent financially instability and justifiable concern for the future.  Having to move (twice) as a result of circumstances beyond their control.  And hovering over the story of such ordinary, close to home trials and fears, a question: does the great God of the universe pay attention to ordinary people and their problems?  Is he even able to notice them in a time when the big picture world seems to be burning to the ground? 

Turns out he can and does.  The story of Ruth tells of a great God who is small enough for ordinary folks.  A God who is involved in the ordinary, intimate, day to day events of people’s lives.  A God who works in such events and lives to bring about the most beautiful ends.  A God who, believe it or not, uses this kind of work to save, not only the people immediately concerned, but the entire world, and in ways no one would ever imagine.[2]

As I walk away from the story of Ruth and move to the next thing, I don’t want to forget this.  I don’t want to forget that in a world gone mad, where more and more people seem intent on doing only what is right in their own eyes, where moral compasses seem irretrievably broken, where mad leaders strive for complete control, where civil war and dictatorship are more than just fantastic possibilities, where we literally face the prospect of a world on fire, and where many of those leading us toward the precipice abuse my faith to claim divine sanction for their actions, I need to remember that I cannot be so overwhelmed by the big picture that I miss what God is doing closer to home.  I need to remember that God is at work: in my family, in my church, and in the small circles of relationships I have in the community.  I need to remember that it is there that God is working out the most beautiful things, the things that will not only save the ones I most especially love, but through them, the world. 

If you haven’t lately, pick up a Bible and read the story of Ruth.  There you will meet a God who moves in the midst of a tumultuous world, not just in the big things, but in the small things. 

There you will meet a great God who is small enough for you and me. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] All Christian Nationalism is venomous.  What we are seeing today is especially so. 

[2] Again, I’ll let you read the story for yourself.  But when you do, note the genealogy at the end, and note especially where that genealogy ultimately leads. 

The Gospel of Stranger Things

‘What if all the great stories that have ever moved you, brought you to joy or tears – what if they are telling you something about the true Story into which you were born, the Epic into which you have been cast?’ – John Eldredge, from his book, Epic

I just finished watching Stranger Things Season 4.  I’ve been hooked on this show since its first season.  Part of the reason is nostalgia.  Stranger Things is set in the eighties, the period in which I grew up, and everything about it, from the music to Dungeons and Dragons to rock band T-shirts to home décor to Starcourt to antiquated video game systems sitting atop television sets (big boxy ones at that; no flatscreens) takes me back.  Yes, the show is a bit weird and frightening, but weird and frightening are part of growing up too, so it only adds to the nostalgia.  In many ways, Stranger Things makes me feel like a kid again; it enables me to relive the story of my youth. 

But it’s more than nostalgia.  Stranger Things also reminds me of the story I continue to live in; the story that, believe it or not, you live in too. 

The world of Stranger Things is plagued by malevolent forces that work behind the scenes from an unseen dimension called ‘the Upside Down.’  These forces mirror dark figures from the world of Dungeons and Dragons, including a Mind Flayer, Demogorgons, and a Lich, though there is more to them than meets the eye.  Through a doorway between worlds, they terrorize the fictional town of Hawkins, Indiana, from which they intend to move out and destroy the world as we know it. 

Enter the hero: a young girl named, oddly enough, Eleven (El for short).[1]  As the series progresses, El grows in knowledge and in wisdom, in purpose and in power.  She no sooner appears than she attracts a group of misfits.  Four nerdy youngsters.  An alcoholic cop.  A single mom struggling to raise two boys.  Teenagers who, at first, don’t seem to know whether they are coming or going.  A conspiracy theorist.  With El as their leader, they take on the malevolent forces of the Upside Down.  El’s band is foolish and weak in the eyes of the world.  But they are the heroes fighting to save it, the ones who see things clearly, while the other residents of Hawkins live distracted lives.

Caught up in the omnipresent battles of the 1980s, the residents of Hawkins are simply clueless.   The series hearkens back to the dominant battles of the time when it shows competing yard signs for Reagan and Mondale and evokes the terror of the Cold War.  These, alongside less pressing matters, occupy the time and attention of Hawkins’ residents, as such matters do in our own world.  No one realizes the real threat, or that the battles that dominate their lives are mere skirmishes in a much larger war.  Caught up in lesser stories, most residents of Hawkins (and beyond) neglect the main story that will determine the course and outcome of their lives. 

Sound familiar? 

It should of course, at least to Christian readers.   For we too live amidst malevolent forces, both seen and unseen, that desire to destroy the world as we know it.  A world wherein most people are caught up in lesser battles and stories, oblivious to the true story.  A world that, though not everyone knows it, has a hero.  A hero who tends to attract the most unlikely followers, the most effective of which are foolish and weak, despised by the world, counted as nothing in its eyes (see, 1 Corinthians 1:26-28).[2]

Yet these weak ones, as they follow their leader, their ‘El,’ are the ones who see things clearly.  They have identified the true enemy.  They are, of course, like the characters in Stranger Things, impacted by the lesser stories taking place about them.  But they maintain their focus.  They keep their hearts in the true story and live their lives accordingly, as they anticipate the defeat of evil and the coming of a new world. 

In the final analysis, this is why I love Stranger Things.  Like all great stories, It reminds me of the true story.  The story I hope to give my attention to all the days of my life. 

The question is, of course, whether you, reader, desire to give attention to that story as well?

I would suggest, along with John Eldredge, that if you like Stranger Things, there just might be a reason.  Deep down, your heart may have already realized that it is pointing you to ‘the true Story into which you were born, the epic into which you have been cast.’     

Here’s hoping that you take your place in that story.

And become one of its heroes. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] It’s probably just a coincidence, but in Hebrew, El means might, power, or strength, and is a name for God (e.g., El Shaddai, Emmanu-el). 

[2] These days, as in all days, there are powerful people who count themselves among the true hero’s followers.  But more often than not, they are, to borrow a phrase from Brennan Manning, ‘posers, fakers, or wannabes.’  Or worse. 

Armed Like Jesus

‘We and the world, my children, will always be at war. Retreat is impossible. Arm yourselves’ – Leif Enger, in Peace Like a River

Today I am almost at a loss for words.  Yesterday, in the wake of so much violence, including mass shootings whose victims made the mistake of engaging in such activities as shopping for groceries, attending church, or going to school, a tone-deaf, ivory-towered, and constitutionally confused majority of the Supreme Court issued a ruling on gun rights that will make it difficult, if not impossible, for federal, state, and local governments to enact reasonable laws governing the possession and use of firearms, and, in fact, calls into question every regulation presently on the books.  While the decision is hot off the presses and needs careful analysis before too much is said about its full scope, there can be no doubt that the Court’s action will result in more guns, and, consequently, more gun violence, in America. 

And once again, there will be those who call themselves Christians cheering in the streets.  No, much worse than that.  They will be heading to gun stores to buy more guns and ammo. 

What can one say to this?  Probably little of value if it comes from my own spinning head.  So I will turn to the story of Jesus, the story in which his followers are to look for guidance in all situations, specifically to an event wherein Jesus expressed his feelings on the subject of arming oneself.[1]

Jesus had gone to the Garden of Gethsemane to pray, knowing that in the coming hours, he would be arrested, convicted, and sentenced to die on a cross.  One of his followers, Judas, who had already betrayed him, knew to find him there.  He therefore came to the garden, guiding both religious officials and a detachment of soldiers (Jewish and Roman) armed with swords and clubs. 

Judas had told the soldiers, ‘Arrest the man I greet with a kiss.’  And so, upon seeing Jesus, Judas approached and kissed him.  The soldiers then moved in for the take down. 

That’s when Simon Peter, one of two disciples who had brought swords with them to the garden, drew his and swung wildly in defense of his Master.  His attempt was somewhat lame, as he only succeeded in cutting off the ear of Malchus, the High Priest’s servant. 

Jesus immediately rebuked his violent disciple. ‘Drop your Sword!’ he shouted.  ‘Everyone who lives by a sword dies by the sword.  Do you not know that I could call upon my Father for twelve legions of angels to fight for me?  But how then could the scriptures me fulfilled?’ 

Turning to the mob, he chastised them for thinking he would ever use force or lead a violent rebellion, even in self-defense.  He had come to save, not to kill.  As if to drive the point home, he healed Malchus before their eyes.    

Jesus then allowed the soldiers to arrest him.  They took him first to the religious authorities, and subsequently to Pilate, the Roman Governor, before whom he was tried, convicted, and sentenced to die.  Then he went to Calvary, where he prayed for his enemies even as they killed him.

At no point did he call on the angels. 

Apparently, not every professing Christian believes Jesus made the right call.  A member of the United States Congress, Lauren Boebert (R-CO), who claims to be a follower of Jesus, recently told a church gathering that Jesus didn’t have enough AR-15s to craft a different ending to the story.  If only Jesus had been a little more attached to the idea of self-defense.  If only he had allowed Peter to swing that sword.  If only he had armed himself with the legions of heaven.  If only he had armed his disciples with guns. 

Talk about missing the point.     

The point is that Jesus, when confronted with his impending death, refused the use of swords (or AR-15s, or handguns, or anything else) in his defense.  He clearly stated that the way of the sword was not his way.  Nor would it be for his followers.  The early church father Tertullian put it well when he said that when Christ disarmed Peter, he disarmed every Christian.

In the wake of the Supreme Court’s ruling, I fear what it will be like to live in a world where anyone can simply carry guns on their person, concealed or otherwise, wherever they go.  I fear what it will be like to live in a world where the people carrying them include those whose anger is already sent to full rage and ready to explode at the slightest provocation.  I fear what it will be like to live in a world where so many well-armed men and women are ready, willing, and able to carry out the violent rage fantasies of the political leaders they follow.  I fear what it will be like for my children to live a world where people who may hate them for their beliefs, the color of their skin, or some other ridiculous reason, will be both armed and enraged by their mere existence. 

How does one navigate through such a world? 

Maybe Tertullian is wrong and Boebert is right.  In a world such as this, perhaps the only thing to do world is to arm ourselves.  To take advantage of the Supreme Court’s decision and start packing heat. 

But no, we must instead look to Jesus.  Jesus lived in a violent world.  In fact, he lived in a world that was armed to the teeth.  Roman soldiers carried swords and were not afraid to use them.  Temple Guards carried swords and clubs.  Nationalist zealots carried daggers, eager to wield them at any moment against their enemies (their goal, by the way, was to toss out the Romans and make Israel great again).  Even Jesus’ disciples, despite everything he had taught them over the course of years, carried two swords with them to the table of the Last Supper, and on to the Garden.  One was even foolish enough to swing one. 

How did Jesus navigate through such a world?  By doing the opposite of the fools around him.  By refusing to arm himself.   

And yet, that isn’t exactly true, is it?  For while he did not carry a sword, he did carry the weapons of love and trust.  As he went about his business in a world that was armed with swords, even as he journeyed to the cross, he armed himself only with limitless love for the world and relentless trust in his Father – and called his followers to do the same.[2]

It is Tertullian, not Boebert, who understands Jesus correctly. 

Folks, the world we live in is violent and becoming more so.  And in such a world, there is only one thing to do for those who follow Jesus.  Drop our swords, trust our Father, and walk in love. 

We and the world are indeed at war.  The world loves violence.  It loves guns.  It believes the best thing in the world is a ‘good guy with a gun.’  Jesus says that the best thing in the world is a good guy without one. 

So yes, by all means, arm yourselves. 

But arm yourselves like Jesus. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] For the original Gospel versions, see Matthew 26:47-56; Mark 14:43-52; Luke 22:47-53; and John 18:1-11.

[2] See, Matthew 16:24.

The Sufficiency of Jesus

‘My grace is sufficient for you’ – Jesus, to his friend Paul, in 2 Corinthians 2:9

I am exhausted. 

It’s been a long haul these past few years.  So many losses.  So many struggles. So much going wrong with the world.  I could create a list, but, for one thing, you probably have one of your own, and for another, well, I want to keep this blog post relatively short. 

I will say that this week I have been thinking of the poem, The Second Coming, by W.B. Yeats, particularly the following lines:

Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and

   Everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

It seems to describe the world we live in quite well.  Whenever I think of all that is happening (or about to happen), I am nearly overwhelmed by anxiety.  The exhaustion of trying to navigate through the times we live in caught up with me a long time ago, and honestly, some days I don’t know how I’m going to make it to the next.   

Which is why I was so struck recently by these soothing words of Jesus, words I too often forget amidst the cacophony of our times.

‘Come to me, all of you who are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you.  Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’

(Matthew 11:28-30 NLT). 

Ah yes, the sufficiency of Jesus.  The promise that he is the one who will take my burdens and cares, vouchsafe me in his grace, and be my shelter amidst the storm. 

To give credit where it is due, I should note that I was reminded of these words while reading John Eldredge’s wonderful new book, Resilience: Restoring Your Weary Soul in Turbulent Times (I heartily recommend it).  Eldredge reminds us that while the world tempts us to live in its tumultuous, convoluted, anxiety provoking story, Jesus calls us to live in the story of his Kingdom, a story of love, grace, redemption, and hope.  A story that offers peace and rest in the midst of the storm.  A story that gives us strength to carry on. 

This is the story we must live in.  The story of Jesus.

Of course, living in Jesus’ story does not mean that we are to withdraw from a troubled world.  How tempting it is to escape, to, say, move to the mountains and forget about everything (I confess sometimes that sounds simply wonderful).  Jesus, however, commanded his disciples to go into the world – to be agents of his grace, makers of his peace, speakers of his truth, proponents of his justice.  To storm the very gates of hell.  He commanded us to make a difference by making disciples, finding others who are willing to live in his story alongside us, and thereby point a world gone mad back to God. 

Which, you might think, would mitigate against the peace he promises.  After all, the world doesn’t take kindly to those who, even silently, point out its madness. But no.  For Jesus, in giving this commission, promised to ‘be with us always, even to the end of the age’ (Matthew 28:30).  In other words, as we go about the business of walking through a troubled world, his promise to lighten our load endures.  He carries our burdens.  He gives peace in the midst of the storm.  He gives rest in the midst of the tumult.   He gives hope to carry on.  His presence, his grace, is sufficient for us in this age.  And when this age is over, he will still be with us, wiping the tears from our eyes and the sweat from our brow, as he invites us into a universe where all things are made new (see, Revelation 21:1-5). 

Dear exhausted souls, today I pray that you, in the midst of whatever you are going through, discover the sufficiency of Jesus.  That you who are weary and heavy laden come to him and find rest.  I pray with the apostle Paul that:

‘…from God’s glorious, inexhaustible resources you will be empowered with the inner strength that comes from the Holy Spirit.  That Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him.  That your roots will grow down deep into God’s love and make you strong.  And that you would have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is.  I pray that you would experience the love of Christ and be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God’(see, Ephesians 3:16-19). 

Friends, we need to live in Jesus’ story.  We need Jesus to do this for us. 

He is enough. 

He will do it. 

He is all we need. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Until the Next Time

‘Is there no balm in Gilead?  Is there no physician there?  Why is there no healing for the wounds of my people?’ – Jeremiah 8:22

Last Thursday, the church I pastor hosted a candlelight vigil to honor the ten men and women cut down by an assault-style semi-automatic rifle with a high-capacity magazine in the racially motivated mass shooting at the Tops Market in Buffalo, NY.  While planning the event, another episode of gun violence occurred at a church in Laguna Woods, CA, adding yet another victim to those we recognized at the service.   The vigil was a somber attempt to create sacred space for lamentation and reflection, and, from that space, generate constructive action toward the goal of eradicating the twin evils of hate and gun violence that characterize so much of American life these days.    

On the following Sunday, a member of our congregation, one of the most socially active I know, apologized that he had been unable to attend the vigil because of work.  He expressed his hope that we would not need another one any time soon.  The moment those latter words passed his lips, we looked at each other and sighed; we both knew it would only be a matter of time before the next high-profile act of violence involving guns would occur.[1]  The only question was: how long would it take? 

Two days. 

Tuesday evening I came home from work and saw the news.  Another gunman, armed with an AR-15, the assault-style weapon of choice for mass shooters in America, had shot up a fourth-grade classroom in Uvalde, Texas.  By the following morning, the death toll had risen to twenty-one: nineteen children and two teachers.  Nineteen children, each about 10 years-old, who simply went to school that morning to learn.  Each with hopes and dreams for the future.  Each who now, if I may paraphrase Neil Young, will never get to grow up, never get to finish school, never get to fall in love, never get to be cool.  Their teachers, two women with families of their own, died as heroes while attempting to shield the children with their bodies. 

One would think nothing could be worse than this.  But what makes it worse is that this is nothing new.  Shootings of the kind we have just experienced in Buffalo, Laguna Woods, and Uvalde are pretty much part of the landscape these days.  They have been for decades.  I thought of listing some of the place names, but the list would be so long it would probably crash your server.  The stories are somewhat different in each one, but the vast majority of the time, there are common denominators: an assault-style weapon was involved; and/or a person who should not have had access to the weapon used obtained it lawfully for lack of appropriate background checks and screening; and/or there were warning signs flashing (a documented history of mental illness, a published manifesto, a string of violent social media posts, a record of threats or violent behavior, etc.), the kind that should have alerted someone in authority to have acted before it was too late, or at least have served as an impediment to the purchase of a gun or ammunition had appropriate background checks and screening been employed.  Any and all of which could easily be addressed with sensible gun legislation that would have, if it had been enacted in time, prevented at least some of the shootings; that would have saved at least some of the innocent lives.  That could, even if enacted after the fact, save countless lives in the future. 

Which leads, of course, to the infuriating common denominator we experience in the aftermath of every mass shooting: the hard reality that no commonsense gun legislation ever passes.  What happens instead is as predictable as the rising of the sun.  Within hours of a mass shooting, politicians and pundits on the left call for common sense gun control measures while politicians and pundits on the right talk about the loss of life, including the lives of children, being the ‘cost of freedom’ (an expression that makes my blood boil even as I write it).  This plays out over a couple days, maybe a week, until the pro-gun forces of intransigence prevail, and nothing is done.  Then, most of the public gets bored, forgets, and moves on to think about happier things. 

Until the next time, when the cycle starts all over again.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  Oh, and bury the bodies. 

Predictably, the politicians and pundits are at it even as I type.  The script is being followed to the letter.  And while people are hot today, if history is any predictor of what is to come, we know that as soon as there is a lull in the violence, people will just move on to happier things. 

And so, Jeremiah’s lament, ‘Is there no balm in Gilead?’ echoes in my soul today.  For like him I ask, ‘Is there no hope?  Is there no one who can bring healing to this land?  Why is there no healing for my people?’

Five years ago, I wrote Jeremiah’s words at the head of another blog post about another mass shooting.   Over the course of a month, in fact, I had written two posts in reaction to high-profile mass shootings in Las Vegas and Sutherland Springs.  In them, I decried the fact that nothing had been done and nothing would likely be done.  I called for a time of lamentation, of sackcloth and ashes, in which we would sit in the dust and grieve the violence of our society.  I urged people not to simply move on to happier things, not to seek solace in something more comfortable, but to wade into the misery, to let it sink in, to empathize with the victims and survivors, and to then leverage what they felt toward constructive action. 

My response is the same now, with one difference.  Our lamentation time, as necessary as it is, cannot go on for too long.  We must cut it short and get about the business of making a better world before the next shooter strikes.  It is time to step up and do something.  It is time to engage in creative, nonviolent actions which push for an end to gun violence and create more beauty and peace in the world.[2]  It is time to act politically and vote the fools who think that dead school children are the ‘cost of freedom’ out of office.  It is time to demand our state and federal legislators pass common sense gun legislation and that our governors and President sign it. 

If there is a balm in Gilead, we are going to have to make it.  I for one, will begin today. 

I’m no longer waiting until the next time. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] I say high profile, for, as we should all know, gun violence happens every minute of every day in America. 

[2] E.g., in the church I serve, we are partnering with RAWTools to decommission guns and turn them into garden tools (see www.rawtools.org).

The Devil’s Bargain

‘Let no man turn aside, ever so slightly, from the broad path of honor, on the plausible pretense that he is justified by the goodness of his end.  All good ends can be worked out by good means.  Those that cannot, are bad; and may be counted so at once, and left alone’ – Charles Dickens, in his novel, Barnaby Rudge

The past few days I have been thinking of Leland Gaunt.  For those who don’t recognize the name, Mr. Gaunt is the proprietor of the shop ‘Needful Things’ in the Stephen King novel of the same name.  The shop offers a curious inventory of items, and for each individual customer who comes through the door, there is a particular item that inevitably overwhelms their discretion and self-restraint.  It is an item they simply must possess, no matter the cost.  Mr. Gaunt, eager to please, offers each enthralled customer the item of their desire for two prices, both of which they must agree to pay. 

The first price is always a bargain, leaving each customer with the distinct impression that Mr. Gaunt desires to give his stock away.  The second price isn’t specified up front. Mr. Gaunt simply advises that he will come to collect later.  If this makes you suspicious you are right to be, but the shoppers at Needful Things, seeing the item of their heart’s desire before their eyes, never take time to be so themselves.  All they can contemplate is that they need the item, and so they pay the initial price without consideration of the second.  They simply can’t resist, for, as Leland Gaunt himself says, ‘Everybody loves something for nothing…even if it costs them everything.’

And that, of course, is the catch.  It will cost them everything.  For, as it turns out, Leland Gaunt is no ordinary shopkeeper.  He is the devil himself come to Castle Rock, Maine to wreak havoc.  He lets his customers enjoy their items for a time, and then, when he has them where he wants them, comes to collect the second price, which, wouldn’t you know it, is destructively, even lethally, high.  In the end, each item fails to deliver on its original promise, and ends up costing the buyer, as Mr. Gaunt himself had intimated, everything.    

This past week, as most of you know (unless you’ve been living under a rock), a draft opinion by the United States Supreme Court leaked to the press.  The opinion, if adopted, would overrule Roe v. Wade, the 1973 landmark decision that made abortion legal throughout the United States.  The whole country has been in an uproar ever since.  The draft decision is being seen as vindication for the many Christians who, despite reservations, voted for Donald Trump in 2016 and/or 2020.  Sure, he was an odious character, a womanizer, a racist, a bully, and possessed more than a few authoritarian tendencies, but heck, he promised to appoint conservative, originalist Justices who would overrule Roe, and that was something for which those same Christians had been praying for decades.  The protection of unborn life was the worthiest of causes, and the bargain Mr. Trump proposed was simply too enticing to pass up.   And so, they held their noses, pulled the proverbial lever, and waited for the promised victory. 

Now, that victory seems imminent.  And so, in the minds of many, the Faustian bargain struck with Mr. Trump seems to have been worth it. 

But was it? 

You see, just as was the case in Mr. Gaunt’s shop, a devil’s bargain always comes with a second price, and the promise given always fails.  Now, I understand that we are talking about the lives of unborn children.  I am myself pro-life.  I believe all life to be sacred, from womb to tomb.  But one must ask whether this bargain is even going to hold; whether the promised gain will be fully realized.  Whether, for starters, the draft opinion will even become law.  Whether, in a society where the majority simply doesn’t see things as I and other pro-life persons do, such a decision will be allowed to stand for long, or even have the desired effect (one of the ironies of overruling Roe may well be that in the states where the vast majority of abortions are performed, abortion access, and hence the number of abortions, including late-term abortions, will likely increase, rather than decrease).  One must ask whether, in fact, there may have been other means, other ways, to save the lives of unborn children, say, by providing financial, emotional, and other support to birthmothers, birthfathers, and families facing unplanned or crisis pregnancies, as many Christians and agencies have been, and still are, doing.  Or by ensuring that health care and other benefits remain available to those same mothers and families.  Or by coming alongside families and helping them raise their children by providing childcare and other support services.  Or, in situations where birth families are not able to care for their children, by adopting their children and raising them to cherish their birthmothers and fathers and their choice for life.  Or by simply engaging in the patient industry of gentle persuasion and the modeling of a better way.  There are many ways to be pro-life with respect to abortion, with or without the reversal of Roe.

And then there is the matter of the second cost.  In backing Trump, Christians partnered with a man who has threatened democracy, damaged race relations, denigrated public decency, and caused countless other social harms.  The consequent injury to the Church’s witness has been incalculable.   In the minds of many both within and without the Church, Christianity has become associated with Trumpism.  Christians (even those of us who didn’t make the bargain) are now widely thought of as the people who support racism and white supremacy, who separate children from their families, who approve of the use of violence against peaceful protestors, who look the other way as women are demeaned and abused, who, well, we could go on for a while here.  It seems no exaggeration to say that both the message and messengers of Christianity have been tarnished severely by this association with Mr. Trump, and that this tarnishing, on top of the aforementioned damage to society, may well result in millions, even tens of millions, turning away from Jesus forever. 

Talk about a high second price.

So it is with the devil’s bargains.  They seem to offer an effective means to a certain end.  But in the end, the promise is never fulfilled, and the price proves to be too high.  Which is why, for example, when Jesus was offered a similar bargain by Satan in the wilderness, in that case control of all the kingdoms of the world, he refused (see, Luke 4:5-8).  Sure, he might have gained control over the world’s kingdoms (and been able to pack their courts!), he may even have been able to do much good, but he would have done so by rejecting the way of the Cross, the one thing necessary for the salvation of the world and the establishment of the one Kingdom that truly matters.  He would have missed the proverbial forest for the proverbial trees.  For Jesus, the means by which he saved the world was as important as the end, for only by following the right means could the proper end be truly achieved. 

It may seem like a bargain to give power to a despot in order to win one’s favorite cause, especially a cause as important as the preservation of human life.  I can understand the temptation.  But folks, it is always a mistake to accept the devil’s bargain.  It is always better to follow the path of Jesus, the path of service and sacrifice, as long, hard, and frustrating as it may be, than it is to accept the cheap and easy way out offered by, if not Satan himself, those who seek to wield his power. 

Esau McCauley has said, ‘the way you get something is just as important as the fact that you get it…so as a Christian, I am never allowed to put aside means to get to an end.’[1]  He’s right.  As Dickens noted, good ends can always be worked out by good means, those that cannot are bad, and should be counted so at once, and left alone. 

And so I say to those who voted for Trump because of their pro-life convictions, this week may seem like vindication, but beware.  The second, hidden cost of your bargain is already playing out before our eyes.  In the end, it may very well cost everything. 

Far better, I believe, to reject the devil’s bargain in all its guises, and, like Jesus, pursue another way. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] See, interview with Esau McCauley in Holy Post Number 425. 

The Coronation of the King

This post for Holy Week is taken from my ‘subversive commentary,’ The Challenger: Faith, Love, and Resistance in the Gospel of Mark. 

The soldiers led Jesus into the palace courtyard, which is the Praetorium, and they called together the entire cohort.  They clothed him in a purple robe, and twisted together a crown of thorns, which they placed upon his head.  They saluted him, ‘Hail!  King of the Jews!’  They repeatedly struck his head with a reed, spat upon him, and bowed before him as if in homage.  When they were finished, they took off the purple cloak and put his own clothes back on him.  Then they led him out to be crucified.  They compelled a passerby, who had come from the country, to carry Jesus’ cross.  This was Simon of Cyrene, the father of Alexander and Rufus.  They brought him to the place called Golgotha, which means ‘skull place.’  They offered him wine mixed with myrrh to drink, but he refused to drink it.  Then they crucified him.  They divided his clothes among them, casting lots to determine what each should take.  It was the third hour when they crucified him.  An inscription of the cause was written over his head.  It read, ‘The King of the Jews’ – Mark 15:16-26

‘Are you the King of the Jews?’ Pilate had asked.  ‘You have said so,’ was Jesus’ reply, indicating that yes, he was indeed a king.  Pilate, though frightened by the implications of such a claim made at Passover, surely laughed.  What sort of king could Jesus possibly be?  What would such a king’s kingdom look like?  In this passage, Mark paints the picture for us, and it turns out, just as Jesus has said, both his kingship and his kingdom look like a cross. 

We have all seen movies, or read books, in which a king receives his crown.  Often, the coronation ceremony begins with a procession into the palace.  Officials are gathered, decked out in full imperial splendor.  The king is clothed in purple, the standard color of royalty.  A crown is placed upon his head, and the assembly cries with one voice, ‘Hail to the King!’  Everyone kneels and remains in a posture of submission until signaled to rise, and then, the newly installed King is led out to address his people. 

Mark’s description of what happens to Jesus makes clear that, to him, something similar occurs as Jesus is led away to be crucified.  The elements are all there.  Jesus is led into the palace.  The entire cohort assembles.  He is clothed in purple.  A crown is placed upon his head.  The cry goes forth, ‘Hail!  King of the Jews!’  The assembly bows in homage.  But it is not done in honor.  It is all caricature.  The soldiers who lead Jesus into the courtyard have just flogged him to within an inch of his life.  The purple robe is drenched in the blood they have drawn.  The crown is made of thorns, some of which penetrate Jesus’ skin, scraping his skull.  The cry and the bow are derisive.  Jesus is not led out to address his people in triumph.  He is led out to be crucified. 

Behold – the Coronation of the King!

As Jesus is led away, he even receives the assistance of a royal page.  Normally, this would be a member of the court who trails behind the king, carrying the mantle of his cloak lest it become dirty.  Jesus gets a peasant coming in from the countryside, compelled to carry his cross.  Jesus has lost so much blood from the flogging that he cannot make it on his own.  He is a pathetic sight for a king. 

They arrive together, the King and his page, at the hill called Skull Place.  Jesus is offered a drug, a singular gesture of mercy, to dull the pain that is to come.  He refuses.  He will face what is to come head on, with an alert mind and heart.

And so it happens.  Mark describes it with the meager words, ‘they crucified him.’  Books have been written on the subject of crucifixion.  It is a ghastly way to die, complete with bolts of searing pain and the slow process of asphyxiation.  This is the final act of Jesus’ so-called ‘triumphal entry.’  In a Roman triumph, the conquering hero presides over the execution of the prisoners of war.  In Christ’s triumph, the hero himself is executed, and in the most brutal way imaginable. 

The cause of this execution is inscribed above Jesus’ head: ‘The King of the Jews.’  It is a warning to anyone who would dare challenge the authority of Rome.  This is how the empire deals with those who defy it.  In the eyes of the empire, and in those of everyone who looks on or passes by, it appears that once again, might is declared right.  So sure of this are the representatives of empire that they play games as Jesus’ dies, casting lots for his clothes.  It is just another day in the life of the empire.  An upstart is defeated.  The empire prevails.  Violence triumphs over peace.  The challenge of the Challenger is over.

But the perception is wrong.  This is the Challenger’s greatest moment.  This is the moment when he exposes the empire, and all the powers that sent him to the cross.  Jesus, who refused the drug that would have dulled his senses, is the brave hero willing to pay the price to show the world another way.  The forces arrayed against Jesus – empire, religion, and the demonic – are shown to be mere shadows, fearful cowards who kill anything they do not understand, anything that threatens their carefully constructed house of cards.   Paul put the matter thusly: ‘he disarmed the powers of the world, made a public spectacle of them, and shamed them by triumphing over them at the cross.’[1]  The cross is Jesus’ greatest and ongoing challenge to the powers of the world.  From age to age, it continuously calls them out, exposing their violent, bullying ways, and calling anyone who will listen to follow another way, the way of love, peace, and sacrifice.  The way that, as we shall see, always wins in the end. 

The Coronation of Jesus may look like a bad joke.  But it is a victory.  It may appear to be pure foolishness, but it is in fact the power of God.[2]  Therefore, as we who dare follow Jesus cast ourselves back to that fateful day and imagine the perceptions of those who thought it was the end of the Challenger’s way, we do not join them, nor do we give up on the cross and throw our lot in with empire.  Instead, we celebrate the Coronation of our King.

Crown him the Lord of Peace!

Whose power a scepter sways,

From pole to pole that wars may cease,

And all be prayer and praise.

His reign shall know no end,

And round his pierced feet,

Fair flowers of paradise extend

Their fragrance ever sweet.[3]

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

To read more of The Challenger, visit ‘Brent’s Books’ by clicking here. 

[1] Colossians 2:15. 

[2] See, 1 Corinthians 1:18.

[3] From the hymn, Crown Him with Many Crowns, by Matthew Bridges and Godfrey Thring.