Category: Jesus

The Jesus Way

‘People think faith is a big electric blanket, when of course it is a cross’ – Flannery O’Connor

Phil Wickham has nailed it. 

Mind you, I don’t know Mr. Wickham.  For all I know he wrote his song in a moment of exuberance and doesn’t really mean what he’s singing (although I suspect he most certainly does).  But the words to his song, The Jesus Way, are precisely what the Christian world needs to hear.  You can listen to the song here.  I particularly appreciate the first and third verses:

If you curse me, then I will bless you

If you hurt me, I will forgive

And if you hate me, then I will love you

I choose the Jesus way –

If you strike me, I will embrace you

And if you chain me, I’ll sing his praise

And I you kill me, my home is heaven

Oh, I choose the Jesus way

Wow.  What a call to radical, nonviolent love!  You just don’t find many popular church songs willing to lay it out so plainly (go ahead, try to find some).  The song has been out for over a year, but I heard it for the first time a week or so ago.  I looked it up and discovered it was only a minor hit on the Christian charts last year.  Perhaps its recent spike in airplay indicates a comeback of sorts.  That would be nice, but I suspect, sadly, that its lyrics won’t find much purchase in the minds and hearts of many contemporary Christians, particularly those who make the most noise these days. 

That’s because many professing Christians don’t understand what it means to follow Jesus.  Too many believe in what Dietrich Bonhoeffer termed, ‘cheap grace.’  Somehow, we have reduced the beautiful, fathomless mystery of the Atonement to shorthand: ‘Jesus died so we don’t have to.’  There is truth in this, but the repetition of this truncated explanation has its flaws.  For one thing, it’s obviously wrong in that we do still die (last I checked, the death rate was still hovering around 100%).  But beyond this, this shorthand has bled into Christian thinking to the extent that it is commonly believed we need never lay down our lives for Jesus.  Indeed, we never have to suffer for Jesus.  His way does not require it.  There is no cost to following Jesus, because, after all, ‘Jesus paid it all.’

But while Jesus can be said to have paid it all in terms of the wages of sin, he most certainly did not call us to lives of ease.  He calls us to lives of surrender and sacrifice.  He calls us to ‘take up our crosses and follow him’ (Matthew 16:24).  He calls us to imitate him (Luke 6:40).  He tells us that ‘in this world you will have trouble, but take heart, for I have overcome the world’ (John 16:33).  He calls us to, as Wickham sings, bless those who curse us, forgive those who hurt us, love those who hate us, embrace those who strike us, and, yes, to even die rather than become violent ourselves, knowing that the worst thing the world can ever do to us will only bring about our own resurrection (‘if you kill me, my home is heaven’).  In short, no matter what the world does to us, our call is to love as Jesus loved, even to love our enemies to the point of death. 

This is a hard teaching, and it is no wonder few can accept it.  But it is the 100% Gospel truth.  When we ignore it, we get pretty much the Christian landscape we see before us in our present moment of American history.  Once people decide, ‘Jesus died so I don’t have to,’ a shift takes place in their minds.  If the goal of the Christian life is to stay alive, rather than give your life away, than it becomes easy to hate your enemy instead of loving them.  It becomes easy to join the chorus of demagoguery, scapegoating, war, and violence.  The goal, after all, is self-preservation and life the way you want it.  And so, if someone threatens you or your way of life, even a little, you have every right to curse them, demean them, dehumanize them, propose violence against them, even perpetrate that violence yourself. You no longer have to turn the other cheek when struck. Instead, you strike back as hard as you can even before you have been struck. ‘Do it to them before they do it to us,’ as Robert Prosky’s character on Hill Street Blues used to say.  As a member of Congress put it not too long ago, ‘Jesus could have avoided crucifixion if he’d had an AR-15.’  Remember: Jesus died so you don’t have to. So, while Jesus didn’t have one, maybe you should.

It’s utter blasphemy.  Jesus didn’t die so that we don’t have to.  He died to show us how to live.

The Jesus Way was never supposed to be easy, and it is a sin that we have made it so.  Bonhoeffer wrote, ‘the path of discipleship is unutterably hard,’ and that it is.  ‘To confess and testify to the truth of Jesus,’ he wrote, ‘and at the same time to love the enemies of the truth, his enemies and ours, and to love them with the infinite love of Jesus Christ, is indeed a narrow way.  To believe the promise of Jesus that his followers will possess the earth, and at the same time to face our enemies unarmed and defenseless, preferring to incur injustice rather than do wrong ourselves, is indeed a narrow way.’  But it is the way to which we have been called.    In the early church, it was common for new disciples to be asked, as they joined the community, whether they were willing to die for Jesus.  I don’t suppose that would be considered good marketing these days.  But the hard truth is that until a person becomes willing to give up their life for Jesus and his way, they aren’t really following him.  He said it himself: you cannot be his disciple unless you are willing to take up your cross. 

I don’t mean to make myself sound like a brave saint.  In all honesty, I get nervous writing like this.  I do not seek martyrdom.  But the path of discipleship does, for some, require it.  And I, like anyone who desires to follow Jesus, must accept this.  We cannot meet curses with more curses, hurt with more hurt, hate with more hate, violence with more violence.  We face the world armed only with the weapons of prayer and unlimited love.  As Athanasius of Alexandria said in the 4th Century AD, ‘Christians, instead of arming themselves with swords, extend their hands in prayer.’ 

Mr. Wickham, you have thrown down the gauntlet, and for that I thank you.  You have challenged the Church, you have challenged me, to commit once again to the call of Jesus.  And so, begging your pardon for using your words once more, I end with this:

I choose surrender

I choose to love

Oh, God my Savior,

You’ll always be enough

I choose forgiveness

I choose grace

I choose to worship

No matter what I face

I follow Jesus

I follow Jesus

He wore my sin, I’ll gladly wear his name

He is the treasure

He is the answer

Oh, I choose the Jesus way

I hope all reading this do too. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Atonement

A Reflection for Holy Week

And God saw that it was very good.

And it was, for a time.

Humanity walked beside the Creator.

In Union.

As One.

Until they did not.

I’m still here, God said.

I’ve never left.

This separation is illusion.

A fool’s perception.

An alienation of heart and mind.

A wandering on your part alone.

Toxic?

Yes.

Consequential?

Yes.

But don’t you see?

I’m still here.

But they would not hear it.

And so they sacrificed.

Grasping at straws

Hoping to appease.

To win favor.

Silly. Foolish. Unnecessary.

But what else could they do

In their dismembered state?

So God said, okay.

I’ll meet you here.

In your ignorance.

Sacrifice your bulls and goats.

And in the offering learn of

My Mercy raining down.

My Mercy, which never left you.

My steadfast love.

See.

Believe.

Remember.

Walk beside me.

In Union.

As One.

And so it went.

Year after year.

The blood poured out.

And in the pouring,

For a time, they

Saw.

Believed.

Remembered.

Walked afresh beside God.

In Union.

As One.

Until they did not.

And God let it be so.

Round and round.

Age upon age.

Even as he asked,

Where can you go from my presence?

If you flee to the far side of the sea, am I not there?

If you make your bed in Sheol, am I not there?

How can I give you up?

Can a mother forget her child?

How then can I forget you?

My love is steadfast.

It endures forever.

I’m still here.

See.

Believe.

Remember.

Walk beside me.

In Union.

As One.

But they would not.

And so,

One day,

When the time came round,

God became the sacrifice.

Not for blood,

But for love.

I’m still here, God said.

Do you see now?

In this offering?

My Mercy raining down?

My Mercy, which never left you?

My steadfast love?

See.

Believe.

Remember.

As I die beside you.

In Union.

As One.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

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

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. 

A Non-Military Solution

‘I never saw no military solution that didn’t always end up as something worse’

– Sting, from the song, If I Ever Lose My Faith in You

A week or so ago, two plus weeks into the Russian invasion of Ukraine, I was listening to one of my favorite podcasts.  The hosts are Christians for whom I have the deepest respect.  But I became troubled as they began recounting with pride the violent resistance being offered by Ukrainians.  Please don’t get me wrong.  What Putin and his armies are doing is evil.  They are the aggressors, the Ukrainians the victims, and her resisters have shown remarkable courage over the past several weeks.  Outmanned and outgunned, they have stood against overwhelming odds.  I take nothing away from them in the bravery department.  Moreover, I get why they are fighting back.  No one wants to see their land, their homes, their national and cultural identity stolen from them.  I understand the Ukrainian willingness to fight, the courage being displayed as they do so, and the natural response, even among Christians, to cheer them on. 

But here’s the thing, Jesus told us not to. 

I’ve written frequently about Jesus’ position on violence (e.g., check out my previous post on Ukraine).  Suffice it to say he was against it.  He commanded his followers to love their enemies.  To turn the other cheek.  To offer up creative nonviolent protest, as opposed to violent resistance, in the face of evil.  When the powers came for him in Gethsemane, he refrained from calling on the angels of heaven (something he specifically said he could do) and commanded Simon Peter to put away his sword, adding, ‘anyone who lives by the sword will die by the sword’ (Matthew 26:52).  At the cross, he really put his money where his mouth was by praying for, as opposed to fighting, his enemies, choosing to love them to the end (and, I might add, winning a couple of them over). Later, after his Resurrection and Ascension (ahem, proof of the wisdom of his approach), he revealed to his disciple John the importance of following the peaceable way of the Lamb rather than the violent way of the dragon (See, generally Revelation).  And his disciples, Simon Peter included, threw away their swords forever, forsaking them to pursue the Gospel of peace. 

So why would Christians advocate for violent resistance against the Russians?  And why are so many seemingly chomping at the bit, increasingly with each passing day, to adopt policies that will only escalate the violence? 

Well, again, I kind of get why.  The atrocities we are witnessing are horrifying.  It is callous, even cruel, to sit by and do nothing.  That does not, however, mean that doing something requires violence.  There are other options that do not require the sword.    

In fact (again, see my previous post), many Ukrainians have been living out those other options.  They have prayed and sang hymns.  They have resisted nonviolently.  They have stood in the way of tanks and made them turn around.  They have blocked streets with cranes and cement blocks.  They have removed street signs to confuse Russian troops.  They have shown comfort and mercy to Russian soldiers.  They have demonstrated their dignity and humanity to the oppressor.  They have provided witness to the very sort of creative, nonviolent resistance that Jesus encouraged his disciples to engage in.  The kind that, believe it or not, has worked repeatedly in history.  In Gandhi’s movement for independence in India.  In the candlelight vigils and non-violent protests that removed the Iron Curtain in Eastern Europe.  In the actions of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and his allies during the American Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and 60s.  In the 2004 Orange Revolution in…wait for it, Ukraine!

So why aren’t we talking about that?  Why are we not telling those inspiring tales? Why are we not talking about mobilizing a sustained non-violent effort against the Russian invaders? 

The hard fact is that Putin and his forces are hell bent on taking Ukraine, and a martial response will gain nothing but death (as Edwin Starr sang, ‘war ain’t nothin’ but a heartbreaker/friend only to the undertaker’).  People cheered in the days prior to the invasion as Ukraine armed grandmothers and children.  Now grandmothers and children are dying.  There is no viable military solution here.  Strike back at Putin and the Russians, and they fire more bullets and drop more bombs.  Get NATO involved, and there will be a broader war with even more bombs.  Some of which may be nukes.  I repeat: there is no viable military solution here, no way to take up the sword, that doesn’t both result in increased casualties (both military and civilian) and threaten a regional, perhaps even global, war the likes of which we have never seen.  We may be able to understand why people would take up arms against an invader, but in the final analysis Jesus was right: those who take up the sword die by the sword even as they kill their enemies.  Violence begets violence. 

And here’s the bottom line for followers of Jesus (I presume most reading this post are): even if there were a viable military solution, that solution would be off limits for us.  We can neither pursue nor champion such a solution, for we belong to the Kingdom of the Lamb.  We must, instead, pursue and champion the long hard path of creative, nonviolent resistance.

That is our only option.  Not to fight, but to love.  Not to strike, but to pray.  To wage war not as the world does, but as Christ has (See, 2 Corinthians 10:4). 

Again, I understand why Christians are enthralled by the Ukrainian stand and why they want to do something to help.  But all Christians, both those in Ukraine and elsewhere, must remember who they are.  They, that is, we, must remain true to the Gospel call to creative nonviolent resistance and lift up such means as an alternative to war.

For that, as hard as it may be, is the way of Jesus. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

The Outsiders

‘In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the east came to Jerusalem, asking, ‘Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?’  For we observed his star at its rising and have come to pay him homage.’  When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all of Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born.  They told him, ‘In Bethlehem of Judea…’ (NRSV).

In his Meditations, Soren Kierkegaard comments on the remarkable fact that the chief priests and scribes of Israel, the very men who knew the prophecies of the Messiah so well they could tell the place of his birth, were not stirred to action at the news of the wise men.  Here were the very people who had, supposedly, longed for and preached about his coming, and yet, when he came, they remained in place; only the magi went forward to the town of Bethlehem to behold the long-awaited newborn King.  Kierkegaard writes:

‘What vexation it must have been for the kings, that the scribes who gave them the news they wanted remained quiet in Jerusalem!  ‘We are being mocked,’ the kings might have thought.  For indeed what an atrocious self-contradiction that the scribes should have the knowledge and yet remain still.’

It isn’t hard to see why they remained still.  These men were connected to Herod.  Perhaps they did not approve of all Herod stood for, indeed it would be hard to believe otherwise, given Herod’s ghastly reputation, but they certainly liked the perks of being connected.  They were, in essence, court prophets with easy access to the halls of power.  They treasured the honor and authority of their position, the fine and flowing robes that spoke to their prestige, the sumptuous feasts at the table of the king, and their places among the councils of the mighty.  Had they left with the wise men, all of that would have been lost.  Who would leave such a life to find the one born in the impoverished town of Bethlehem?  And so rather than go to see the one they supposedly believed in, they remained in Herod’s court, savoring their insider status and the glories of a lesser kingdom.

Insiders are like that.  Men and women of influence, those who enjoy a certain level of what the world calls success, can become so enthralled by the perks of their position and their political, social, or economic masters that they lose sight of what truly matters.  Sadly, we live in a world where most want to be insiders.  To have access to the halls of power, to possess honor and authority, to wear fine and flowing robes, to feast sumptuously at the tables of influence, to find places in the councils of the mighty, that is what life is all about.  Who would trade such a life to follow the one found in impoverished places like Bethlehem?  And so as it was in the case of the magi, it remains today.  Most, even in the church it seems, would prefer to remain in the halls of Herod than risk their insider status in pursuit of one whose kingdom is of a different nature. 

For Jesus’ Kingdom, of course, is of different nature.  It does not occupy the halls of power.  It does not possess the kind of honor and authority coveted by the insiders of the world.  It involves no flowing robes, no sumptuous feasts around tables of influence, no place in the councils of those whom the world calls mighty.  Indeed, the only time Jesus spent time in those halls and councils was when he was on trial for his life. 

Which is why Jesus’ Kingdom is usually filled with outsiders. 

Just take a look at the cross.  As Jesus died on Calvary, he didn’t have much of a following.  Most had abandoned him.  Only one of the twelve, John, was present, along with several women, one of whom was his mother.  There was a criminal dying on a cross to his side, and a Centurion, who, while he may have begun the day as an insider, ended it by treasonously declaring Jesus to be God’s Son.[1]   None of these would find access to the halls of power.  None would ever find positions of honor and authority in the eyes of the world.  None would wear fine flowing robes that enhanced their prestige in the eyes of the people.  None would feast sumptuously at the tables of a king or take places in the councils of the mighty.  Their positions at the foot of the cross marked them out, not only as insignificant men and women in the eyes of the insiders, but as men and women willing to risk their reputations and lives for the sake of an upside-down kingdom.  For them, the glories of the world were nothing when compared to the infinite value of simply being near Jesus. 

Such is the way of things.  The insiders, those with much to lose, are the most reluctant, the most hesitant, to move in the direction of Jesus.  But the outsiders, those with little or nothing to lose, or at least those who are willing to give up what they do have for the sake of something better, something real, those who do not love their lives so much that they are afraid to lose them, will always be found leaving the places of honor for a place at Jesus’ side.  They will always be found, not in the halls of power, but in impoverished towns, beside lowly mangers, and at the foot of the cross, willing to follow the one who led them there. 

This year, may we be found among them.   

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] Son of God was a title belonging to the Roman Emperor. 

The Politics of Christmas

‘At that time, the Roman Emperor, Augustus, decreed that a census should be taken throughout the Empire…’ – Luke 2:1

The second chapter of Luke’s Gospel contains the most widely remembered account of Jesus’ birth.  Linus Van Pelt likely has something to do with its fame.  For many of us, it just doesn’t feel like Christmas until we hear the story. 

We can imagine the scene unfolding before our eyes.  There’s Mary and Joseph, racing into the ‘little town of Bethlehem,’ unable to find room at the inn – though they were more likely in a relatives’ home, just downstairs with the animals.  Still, it’s a comfy, cozy scene, as Jesus is born into the midst of domestic tranquility – though he really wasn’t.  Births are hardly tranquil events.  But never mind, there’s baby Jesus, all swaddled and warm, radiant beams emanating from his holy face – well, not really.  OK, so maybe the way we imagine Luke’s scene is off a bit, but it’s still a wonderful story – the story of the Living God, the One through whom all things were made, becoming flesh to dwell among us.  And of course, adding to the wonder is the presence of the shepherds, outcasts invited in, after first being ‘sore afraid’ and told by angels that they would find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger, complete with a heavenly chorus of ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, goodwill to men.’  Yes, that’s what Christmas is all about Charlie Brown.

What’s interesting though, apart from the little things we get wrong, is the part of the story we miss.  Over the years, we listen to sermons on what this story meant to just about everyone involved: Mary, Joseph, the Shepherds, the angels.  Then we branch out into other Nativity-related texts, bringing in the Magi, Herod, Zechariah, Elizabeth, Simeon, Anna.  We even flash ahead and talk about the ministry of John the Baptist from time to time.  But there is one character, prominent in Luke’s account, that we tend to ignore, or, at best, mention briefly without comment.

Augustus Caesar.  He’s part of the Nativity story too.  Augustus was the Emperor of the Roman Empire at the time of Jesus’ birth.  After the death of his adoptive father, Julius Caesar, there had been a power struggle, complete with civil war, throughout the empire.  Eventually Augustus emerged victorious, which brought an end to the strife and ushered in a period known as the Pax Romana, or Roman peace, though it was, in truth, the peace of the oppressor, not the oppressed.  Nonetheless, at least to the Romans, Augustus was a hero.  He was rewarded with absolute power: military, political, and imperial.  He was worshipped and adored as the ‘Son of God’ (yes, that was his title) and everyone was expected to pledge their allegiance to him.  The world moved at his word, the activity in the wake of his order for a census being a case in point.  Augustus said the word, and everyone moved to be registered. If there was one guy on earth of whom it could be said, ‘he holds all the cards,’ it was Augustus Caesar.

The original readers of Luke’s account understood all this.  The mere mention of Augustus in the opening line said it all.  But reading on, by way of contrast, we discover the son of another King.  His name was Joseph, the descendant of David.  You would not have known Joseph was descended from kings by looking at him.  It had been a while since David had been king; his heirs long removed from the throne.  Joseph was a mere craftsman, and an impoverished one at that.  He held no military, political, or imperial power.  He was neither worshipped nor adored.  The world didn’t move for him.  He was one of the ‘moved.’

As was his adopted son to be, Jesus.  Yes, Jesus and Augustus were both adopted into a royal line.  The difference was that while Augustus was adopted into the lap of luxury and power, Jesus was adopted into the lap of poverty and weakness.  The contrast between Augustus and Jesus could not have been starker.   Like I said, in the eyes of the world, Augustus held all the cards.  Jesus held none. 

Which was exactly the way God wanted it.  The way the story unfolds reveals that God arranged for the arrival of His Son (for, after all that’s who Jesus REALLY is) in a manner that might cause us to rethink what power is all about.  Luke tells the story masterfully, using words that, while tame to modern ears after decades of overuse, were, for his first readers, shocking.  The angel brought the shepherds ‘Good News of Great joy.’  Good News.  The Gospel.  In Greek, euangelion.  In the Roman world, that word had a specific meaning.  It referred to an imperial pronouncement, usually accompanied by flags and political ceremony, that an heir to the empire’s throne had been born, or that a distant battle had been won.  The Angel went on to say that someone had indeed been born, calling him both Savior and Lord.  Again, in Rome, these words had specific meaning.  Savior was a title given to – guess who?  Augustus!  He was the one who had healed the chaos of Rome and brought the empire into a golden age.  Lord, as well, was a title for the Supreme Roman ruler.  And then came the song of the heavenly host: ‘Glory to God in the Highest, and peace on earth to those on whom God’s favor rests.’ Similar choruses were sung to Augustus, who, after all, had brought ‘peace’ to the empire.  The words to one such ode were inscribed upon a government building in Asia Minor in 6 BC:

‘The most divine Caesar…we should consider equal to the Beginning of all things…for when everything was falling into disorder and tending toward dissolution, he restored it once more and gave the whole world a new aura; Caesar…the common good fortune of all…the beginning of life and vitality…all the cities unanimously adopt the birthday of the divine Caesar as the new beginning of the year…whereas providence which has regulated our whole existence…has brought our life to the climax of perfection in giving to us the emperor Augustus…who being sent to us and our descendants as Savior, has put an end to war and has set all things in order; and whereas having become god manifest, Caesar has fulfilled all the hopes of earlier times…the birthday of the god Augustus has been for the whole world the beginning of the Gospel.’ 

Get it?  To the Roman world, a world focused on military, political, and imperial power, Augustus Caesar was the Good News.  He was the Gospel.  He was Savior and Lord.  He was the one worthy of worship.  God manifest among us!  But in Luke’s story, the tale is flipped. The angels proclaim Jesus, the manger baby, to be the Good News.  Jesus is the Gospel.  Jesus is Savior and Lord.  He is the one worthy to be worshipped.  He is God manifest among us!

This makes the angel’s announcement the most politically subversive in history.  It is the proclamation that the world’s glamorization of military, political, and imperial power isn’t all it is cracked up to be.  It is the proclamation that in God’s eyes, true power is found in humility and weakness. The proclamation that, despite what the politics of Rome proclaim, God’s politics, the politics of Christmas, points to a different reality: Jesus is Lord and Caesar is not.  If you want a Savior, a bringer of peace, you must follow Jesus, not the emperor.    

Well, that’s nice.  But does it have anything to do with us?   Of course, it does. Perhaps, at this moment in history, and in this country, it has more to do with us than at any other time in recent memory.  American society is deeply divided.  Over what?  Over who gets to play Caesar.  There’s a lot that needs to happen to bridge that divide.  A lot of soul searching, deep listening, and critical thinking needs to happen, for as Jesus said, a house divided against itself cannot stand.  But whatever the rest of society chooses to do, we who call ourselves Christians especially need to take a deep breath and search our hearts.

For the great temptation, first presented to Jesus in the wilderness (see, Luke 4:1-13) and us ever since, is that we will place our hope in power games and entangle ourselves in the politics of empire.  That we will follow imperial saviors.  That we will embrace a false Augustinian gospel, which is, as Paul would put it, no gospel at all (see, Galatians 1:6-9).  For you see, we were never meant to sing songs to the empire, be it red, blue, or purple. Be it Roman or American.  Our call has been, is, and always will be, to join the chorus of the shepherds and angels and proclaim that there is only one Gospel.  One Savior. One Lord.  One who is worthy of our worship.   He is the one born and laid in a manger, who lived to die on a cross for the sins of the world, who, from the moment of his birth, was proclaimed to rule a different kind of Kingdom; to be a different kind of King.   

That’s not to say Jesus would have nothing to say about the issues of our day, or that those who follow him should stay silent in the face of evil.  That would be wrong too.  But as we discern what we should say and do we must remember that in a world filled with those who still believe that the path to glory is the way of Augustus, who strive for, and pledge allegiance to, military, political, and imperial power, there is but one choice for those who claim the title ‘Christian.’  That choice is to forsake all other allegiances and embrace the politics of Christmas, allowing its author to inform our place and position on all matters.  This is the politics that calls us to stand only where Jesus stands and say and do only what he would say and do.

To paraphrase a line from Shane Claiborne and Chris Haw’s Jesus for President, this is the politics that will cause the faithful to say to those political, military, and imperial powers that demand their fealty: ‘Enough your imperial eagles.  Enough with your donkeys and elephants.  We pledge our allegiance to the Lamb.’

This Christmas, may we all do so.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Note: in addition to the paraphrased quote from Claiborne and Haw, I want to credit their book for the inscription to Caesar, historical references to meaning of ‘Gospel,’ ‘Savior’ and ‘Lord,’ and the overall spirit of this post.

Boo Radley and the Gospel of Christmas

‘When Israel was a child, I loved him, and I called my son out of Egypt.  But the more I called to him, the farther he moved from me, offering sacrifices to the images of Baal and burning incense to idols.  I myself taught Israel how to walk, leading him along by the hand.  But he didn’t know or even care that it was I who took care of him.  I led Israel along with my ropes of kindness and love.  I lifted the yoke from his neck, and I myself stooped to feed him’ – Hosea 11:1-4 (New Living Translation)

Back in the 1970s, The Animals had a hit song that included the line, ‘I’m just a soul whose intentions are good, O Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood.’  I sometimes think it’s a line God could sing to himself.   There are some who adhere to the theology of Homer Simpson, who once prayed, ‘O smiteful One, tell me who to smite and they shall be smoten!’  God, to many, is violent, vengeful, and vindictive. 

It doesn’t help that professing Christian promote this idea.  Some time ago, a group of ‘Christian’ protestors gathered just a block from the church where I serve bearing signs that proclaimed God’s hatred for the LGBT community, feminists, liberals, and a host of others.  And while that’s an extreme example, there are others who, while seeming more respectable, nonetheless, say things that render God unapproachable.  It’s a long and inglorious tradition.  At the time of Jesus’ birth, some religious leaders peddled a God who could only be approached with extreme trepidation.  Indeed, if you were sick, poor, or beset with problems, they said, it was almost certainly your fault, and you needed to clean up your act before God would have anything to do with you.  Far from the image of God depicted by Hosea, who led his child by the hand despite his failures, these religious leaders made God out to be the bogeyman. 

You can understand how this view came to be.  Israel’s history was ripe for misinterpretation.  Prophets repeatedly called Israel to faithfulness, warning of the consequences of turning from Yahweh, and again and again, when Israel broke faith, trouble ensued.  When she did, it was easy to interpret events to mean that God had brought wrath and violence upon his people.  In fact, God did no such thing; the people, by rejecting God’s lifegiving ways, had brought wrath and violence upon themselves.  But even as Israel faced the consequences of her foolishness, God never turned from her.  Through the same prophets who issued words of warning, God also spoke words of consolation, of his longing for his people to return to him that he might, as Hosea said a bit later in his book of prophecy, ‘love them freely’ (Hosea 14:4).  Yes, even when Israel turned, God remained faithful.  His love remained unconditional.  Somehow though, the religious leaders in the days before (and after) Jesus’ birth missed that.  They felt you had to earn God’s love, and if you didn’t, it would probably be best for you to stay away.  And so, the image of a vindictive God got all the press, and the image of the God whose sole desire was to comfort his children as a mother comforts hers, was, by and large, lost. 

But God had a plan to fix that.  Michael W. Smith has a great Christmas Song, The Final Word, wherein he sings, ‘in the space of the beginning, was the living Word of light, when that word was clearly spoken all that came to be was right.  All creation had a language, words to say what must be said, all day long the heavens whispered, signing words in scarlet red.  Some had failed to understand it, so God spoke the Final Word, on a silent night in Judah’s hills, a baby’s cry was heard.’  Christmas, folks, is God’s answer to our misconceptions about him. 

At Christmas, God, who had, as the writer of Hebrews tells us, spoken previously through the prophets, now spoke through the Son, who is no one less than God with us.  God became one of us, descending from the infinite reaches of eternity into the womb of a virgin, born as a helpless infant and laid in a feeding trough.  He became first a craftsman who understood the labor of men and then the gentle, compassionate teacher who healed the sick, lifted the despondent, shared companionship with notorious sinners, and never, not once, turned anyone away, no matter who they were, where they had been, or what they had done.  In the Incarnation, in the person of Jesus, we behold the true image of God.  An image that defies the misconceptions that have survived from the first century to our own.  Dick Westley put it this way: ‘the old image of a vindictive, mean and jealous God gives way in Jesus to the God of faith who cherishes people, all people, and has made his abode with them.  Jesus presented a God who does not demand but gives; does not oppress but raises up; does not wound but heals.  A God who forgives instead of condemning and liberates instead of punishing.’ 

This was the purpose of the Incarnation.  To, as Brennan Manning put it, ‘convince us of the faithful love of God.’ 

Some years ago, I caught a glimpse of this wonderful truth while reading one of my favorite books, To Kill a Mockingbird.  Harper Lee’s story is cherished for many reasons.  It is a story of racial injustice, of a black man, Tom Robinson, on trial in the south for a crime he didn’t commit.  It’s the story of Atticus Finch, a man of integrity who fights for justice in an unjust world (forget the version from that other book!).  It’s the coming-of-age story of Atticus’ two children, Scout, his 6-year-old tomboy daughter, and her older brother Jem.  But it’s also the story of the enigmatic Arthur Radley, known to all as Boo. 

No one really knows Boo.  Scout describes his house down the street as a home ‘inhabited by an unknown entity the mere description of whom was enough to make us behave for days on end.’  In truth, this ‘malevolent phantom’ is a 33-year-old man with special needs, but no one knows that.  The stories about him are whoppers.  Jem insists he’s ‘six feet tall, judging from his tracks,’ and ‘dines on raw squirrels and any cats he can catch.’ The rumor is that he peeps through windows at night, has bloodstained hands, a jagged scar on his face, and yellow teeth.  Everyone knows to stay away from the Radley place.  No one ever climbs the steps to say ‘hey’ on a Sunday afternoon, no one dares to pick pecans from the tree in the Radley yard.  If a baseball was hit into it, ‘it was a lost ball, no questions asked.’ 

During the course of the story, Scout and Jem become curious about Boo and begin to play games designed to make ‘Boo Radley come out’ so they can get a look at him.  They don’t really get anywhere.  But along the way, strange things happen that are not in keeping with the stories they’ve heard.  Once, while playing in a tire that accidentally rolls all the way up the Radley sidewalk onto the steps, Scout hears someone laughing inside.  Another time, after running from a failed attempt to sneak up on Boo’s back porch at night, Jem got his pants caught on barbed wire and had to run home in his underwear.  The next morning, when he went back to get them, they were mended and neatly rolled up as if they expected him.  And then there were the presents.  Scout and Jem would find them in the knothole of a tree in Boo’s yard.  Two soap dolls, a boy and girl: images of themselves.  A watch and chain.  Good luck pennies.  A ball of twine.  Chewing gum.  An old spelling bee medal.  An aluminum knife.  It should have been obvious who they came from, but with all their misconceptions, Scout and Jem never suspected that Boo was their source.

The year progresses and Atticus tries in vain to defend Tom Robinson.  The racist jury convicts him, and the hearts of the children break.  Scout thoughts increasingly tend in Boo’s direction.  Then one night walking home from a school pageant, Scout and Jem are attacked by the racist Bob Ewell, who is out for revenge against Atticus for making him look like a fool at the trial.    He’s out for blood, but suddenly from out of the woods comes the unknown hero who has been listening and watching all along.  He saves the children and carries an injured Jem home.  As folks gather at the Finch’s to figure out what happened, the hero, who is of course the misunderstood Boo Radley, huddles in the corner out of sight, as if waiting for someone to invite him in.  Scout sees he’s nothing like what people have said.  She watches as a timid smile breaks across his face.  ‘Hey Boo,’ she says.  Her father makes the introduction: ‘Jean Louise [Scout’s true name], this is Mr. Arthur Radley. I believe he already knows you.’  Smiling, he whispers to Scout, ‘Will you take me home?’  Scout does, leading Boo by the hand to his front porch.  Scout turns and looks at her town, suddenly seeing what the past year must have looked like from Boo’s perspective.  And this is what she sees:

‘It was summertime, and two children scampered down the sidewalk toward a man approaching in the distance…still summertime, and the children came closer… Fall, and his children fought on the sidewalk…Fall, and the children trotted to and fro around the corner, the day’s woes and triumphs on their faces.  They stopped at an oak tree, delighted, puzzled, apprehensive.  Winter, and the children shivered on the front gate…Summer again, and he watched his children’s heart’s break.  Autumn again, and Boo’s children needed him.  One time, Atticus said you never really know a man until you stand in his shoes and walk around in them.  Just standing on the Radley porch was enough.’ 

This Christmas season, as I stand on Boo’s porch with Scout, I see what it must be like for God to be misunderstood, even feared.  Maybe you, reader, are someone who has misunderstood and feared him.  Maybe you have been taught to stay away from him just as Jem and Scout were taught to keep away from the Radley place.  Maybe you would never ordinarily dare to drop by his house on a Sunday to say ‘hey.’  If so, I want you to know something.  He isn’t who you’ve been led to believe. Get the old images out of your head.  Imagine instead, a manger.  A baby.  Can you see him?  Let me introduce you.  This is Jesus.  This is God.  I believe he already knows you.  He has watched and smiled and laughed while you have played.  He has lavished all sorts of gifts upon you.  He has hurt when you hurt.  And right now, the thing he wants more than anything, is for you to invite him in.  He isn’t angry with you.  He loves you and wants to be part of your life.  This Christmas, I pray you let him in. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent