Category: Jesus

The Zeal of the Lord

Nevertheless, the time of darkness and despair will not go on forever.  The land of Zebulun and Naphtali will be humbled, but there will be a time in the future when Galilee of the Gentiles, which lies along the road that runs between the Jordan and the sea, will be filled with glory.  The people who walked in darkness will see a great light.  For those who live in a land of deep darkness a light will shine.  You will enlarge the nation of Israel, and its people will rejoice.  They will rejoice before you as people rejoice at the harvest and like warriors dividing the plunder.  For you will break the yoke of their slavery and lift the heavy burden from their shoulders.  You will break the oppressor’s rod, just as you did when you destroyed the army of Midian.  The boots of the warrior and the uniforms bloodstained by war will all be burned.  They will be fuel for the fire.  For a child is born to us, a son is given to us.  The government will rest on his shoulders.  And he will be called, Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.  His government and its peace will never end.  He will rule with fairness and justice from the throne of his ancestor David for all eternity.  The passionate commitment of the Lord of Heaven’s armies will make this happen – Isaiah 9:1-7, the New Living Translation

German educator Friedrich Wilhelm Foerster suggests that the deepest meaning of the Incarnation becomes clear if we listen to the cries of newspaper vendors calling out the latest news, which, he argues, is hardly new but rather ‘age old and constantly repeated: the cold or hot war of everyone against everyone else.’  Each year at Advent we light a peace candle and echo the song of the angels, ‘peace on earth.’  But just beyond our voices we hear the cacophony of un-peace.  Violence.  Hate.  Gunfire.  Bombs.  The insatiable capacity of people to war with one another over matters large and small.  With misguided zeal, people strive to free themselves from the threat of perceived enemies and are willing to employ violence to do so.  It is hard to believe things can improve.  Turn on the news and you will see evidence of this war everywhere.  It seems our times are dark and growing darker each day.      

If there is any consolation, it may be that this feeling is not new.  It is, as Foerster says, ‘age old.’  Isaiah, centuries before Christ, wrote of a people walking in deep darkness.  These were the people of Northeast Israel (Zebulun and Naphtali), who had fallen to the Assyrian Empire.  Their land was the staging point for both the invasion of the Northern kingdom of Israel and the deportation of her people.  These people knew well the sound of warriors’ boots and the sight of uniforms stained in blood.  They felt the oppressors’ rod and the yoke of slavery.  They knew injustice as we know only in our worst nightmares. 

But Isaiah had comfort to speak even to such as these.  For the people who walked in darkness, Isaiah proclaimed, would see a great light. Glorious things would happen.  What would this entail?  Well, for starters, Isaiah states that Israel would be enlarged.  No doubt his initial readers took this to mean a literal expansion of Israel’s territory; having lost much of it (the entire Northern Kingdom) to the Assyrians, they would get it back, and then some.  Perhaps Israel would be as great as when David ruled, or encompass all the land once described to Moses (Numbers 34).  Understandable, but wrong.  The key to understanding Isaiah’s words is to ask: what is Israel, that she should be enlarged?  Israel is God’s people, called to be his peculiar treasures, to live in God’s light and show others his glory.  His instrument by which he would win all peoples to himself and bring restoration to the world.  Israel is a light to the nations, the people through whom God would bring about the day when, as Isaiah will later say, every knee will bow, and every tongue confess Yahweh’s lordship (45:3).  This is what is meant by ‘Israel enlarged;’ God had not, despite appearances, abandoned his promise.  Israel would fulfill her role.  The nations would be included, and the world restored.  Her light would expand to the ends of the earth.

Isaiah imagines the day when the people who walk in darkness will rejoice like harvesters at the harvest, like warriors dividing plunder.  Harvesters rejoice at harvest because it signals the end of a season during which any number of things might have gone wrong.  Now the harvest will sustain the community through the coming winter.  Warriors (careful: don’t abuse the metaphor and think God is calling his people to violence) rejoice when dividing plunder, not so much for plunder’s sake, but because war is over, and they can return to a life of peace.  Yes, Isaiah insists to his audience, you will rejoice, for the yoke of slavery will be lifted, the oppressors rod will be broken. 

But how, the people ask? 

Isaiah answers, ‘You will break the oppressor’s rod just as you did when you destroyed the army of Midian.’  The reference is the victory of Gideon over the Midianites (Judges 6-7).  Gideon defeated them in a most unusual way: God demanded he lose the thousands of troops he had amassed, whittling them down to a force of 300, and then, had him attack the vastly superior forces, not with weapons, but with the sound of shofars and the rattling of jars, together with shouts to the glory of God.  The Midianites became so filled with terror that they ran away attacking each other, giving Israel a victory without ever having to draw swords.  This is Isaiah’s first clue that the means by which Israel, and the world, will be delivered, is not what normally comes to mind: it will not come about in the usual fashion, with swords and human effort.  It will be God’s victory, and it will come about in a new and strange way.  The ‘boots of the warrior’ and the ‘uniforms stained with blood’ will not be needed.  They will be burned as fuel for the fire.  The great light that shall shine on those walking in darkness will bring about their fortunes without need for a battle. 

How can this be?  Isn’t a battle necessary to make peace?  Is peace not achieved through the use of force?  Do we not need to fight for it with all the zeal we can muster?  Do we not need our own bloody coats and tramping boots?  How can darkness be fought in the absence of such measures?  To this, Isaiah can only offer what God has told him: For a child is born to us; a son is given. Which sounds crazier than what happened with Gideon, doesn’t it?  How can the birth of a child deliver the world from darkness?  How can a child rule a government whose peace knows no end? 

Well, Isaiah says, this will be no ordinary child.  His names will be ‘Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.’  Somehow, in ways Isaiah’s audience (or Isaiah for that matter) couldn’t have understood, the child to be born would bear the power of God, even deserve the names of God, in fact, be God, and God, of course, can do anything.  In this we begin to see how it can be that people who walk in darkness will be lifted into light without need for a battle; for it will not be the zeal (or ‘passionate commitment,’ as the NLT puts it) of men and women that will deliver them from evil.  It will be the zeal of the Lord.  God will, in this child to be born, enlarge the nation.  God will, in this child to be born, break the yoke and rod.  What we cannot do, God can.  It will not be our zeal that saves us, but God’s. 

And this, you see, is why peace is so elusive in our world.  For in our attempts to make a better world, we rely on our own efforts.  We rely on our power, we take matters into our own hands, rather than trusting things to God’s hands.  We forget that the promised victory of peace, the dawn of light to those in darkness, will not be won by conventional means, neither by the sword nor the arguably less bloody weapons of our culture wars.  We forget that the victory will not be won by us at all, but rather by the zeal of the Lord of heaven’s armies.  We forget that it will only be when we embrace his way that we can even taste the promise of a better world. 

Not so long ago, I saw a woman on TV who clearly forgot this.  She was decked out in a T-shirt professing her Christian faith, telling a reporter that it was perfectly acceptable for her side of the political divide to encourage the deaths of those on the other, because, you see, ‘we are at war!  We have to fight for our rights!  God wants us to!’  No, he most certainly does not.  He wants us to be still.  To trust and know that he is God.  Yes, he wants our prayers and witness, our truth-telling and sacrifice.  But not our violence or bellicosity.  It will be his zeal, and not ours, that will one day fill this world with light. 

I suppose I can understand the thinking of those who believe that the only way to fight the darkness is to fight themselves; to rely on their zeal to save the world.  This idea of waiting on the Lord to take care of things seems, to many, naïve.  Or worse, dangerous.  Waiting on God instead of taking matters into your own hands, that just might get you killed or at least result in the loss of cherished rights and privileges.  And honestly, there is truth in that.  It sounds more realistic, more practical, to strike back at our enemies, if not first, to at least give it all we’ve got, to fight on the world’s terms.  I can only say that God calls us to fight on His.  He calls us to, like Gideon, trust in ridiculous strategies, believing in the possibility of a peaceable victory.  He calls us to throw our boots and uniforms, our instruments of war and vengeance, into the fire, and to believe the darkness will, in a stunningly new way, meet its defeat.  He calls us to believe that the zeal of the Lord will bring this about. 

And it will.  How do I know?  For unto us, a child has been born.  Unto us, a son has been given.  The vision of Isaiah has already come to pass.  We can now stand, with old Zechariah over the crib of his newborn son John, the one who would prepare the way for the Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace, and sing his song, believing that the tender mercy of our God has broken upon us (Luke 1:78).  That his light is shining on those who sit in darkness.  And that he will guide our feet in the way of peace.

We can know, as Jurgen Moltmann once said, that ‘the liberator is already present and his power is already among us,’ and that ‘we can follow him, even today, making something visible of the peace, liberty, and righteousness of the Kingdom that he will complete.’  And complete it he will, for he is zealous for it, and nothing will ever stop the zeal of the Lord. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

If I Heard a Voice…

‘My sheep listen to my voice. I know them, and they follow me’ – John 10:27 NLT

If I heard a voice telling me to sacrifice a lamb to God, I would know this was not the voice of Jesus, whose death on the cross put an end to such practices once and for all (Hebrews 10:1-18).

If I heard a voice telling me to employ violence against anyone, friend or foe, I would know this was not the voice of Jesus, who strictly commands his followers to drop their swords (Matthew 26:52).

If I heard a voice telling me to remove the alien from my community, insisting he or she doesn’t belong there, I would know this was not the voice of Jesus, who commands his followers to welcome the stranger as if they were welcoming him (Matthew 25:35; 40).

If I heard a voice telling me to take the means of procuring food from the poor, I would know this was not the voice of Jesus, who commands his followers to feed the hungry (Matthew 14:16; 25:35; 40)

If I heard a voice telling me to take away the ability of the poor to access healthcare, I would know this was not the voice of Jesus, who sends his followers into the world to heal the sick and hurting (Matthew 10:8).

If I heard a voice telling me that it was okay to harm children, or to consider their deaths ‘collateral damage,’ I would know this was not the voice of Jesus, who took little children in his arms and blessed them (Mark 10:16).

If I heard a voice telling me to ravage the environment for the sake of profit, I would know this was not the voice of Jesus, who made all things and died so that his creation would one day be restored (John 1:3; Colossians 1:16; Romans 8:22).

If I heard a voice telling me to hate my enemies, I would know this was not the voice of Jesus, who commands his followers to love their enemies (Matthew 5:44).

If I heard a voice telling me to seize political power and wield it to force my will upon those beneath me, I would know this was not the voice of Jesus, who rejected that very temptation and calls his followers to do the same (Matthew 4:8-10; Luke 6:40; Matthew 20:25-28).

If I heard a voice telling me to accumulate money and possessions beyond my needs, thereby neglecting my responsibilities to help others, I would know this was not the voice of Jesus because he specifically said such behavior ends in judgment (Luke 16:19-31).

If I heard a voice telling me to demean another person, or class of persons, because they were in some way different than me, I would know this was not the voice of Jesus, who loves and treats everyone with respect, and calls his followers to do the same (see, well, the Gospels).

If I heard a voice telling me to ignore oppression, or side with the oppressor, I would know this was not the voice of Jesus, whose mission is to set the oppressed free, scatter the proud, and topple tyrants from their thrones (Luke 1:51-53).

If I heard a voice telling me to do any of these things, I would know this was not the voice of Jesus.

Why then, do so many Christians heed such voices?

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Postscript – I don’t know of any Christians who sacrifice lambs these days. But as for the rest…

The Dark

When did we learn to be afraid of the dark?

Was it in our nascent days, as newborn eyes

slowly opened to a world full of light

that illuminated so many things we could not name

as we learned what faces were, and found one or two

we could trust, only to have those faces suddenly

disappear in darkness as the light, suddenly taken,

plunged us into distress that could only be assuaged

when the faces reappeared in a resurgence of light?

The faces tried to help of course, and out of love

gave us small lights that burned through the night

or else little glowworms that eradicated darkness

at our touch.  Or else rushed at the sound of our cries,

turned on the big lights, and held us as they whispered,

‘There, there, everything will be alright.’

And so, we learned that light was safe, and darkness –  

something to be feared, cast off, avoided at all costs. 

All of this is understandable, of course.

For the dark can be filled with terror, something

we learn more fully as we grow to discover

the existence of wild creatures, criminals, and worse.

As stories of evil found in darkness become more

than just stories, and teach us that we were right

to be afraid of the things we could not name

which are now all the more terrible for the naming. 

But the dark is more than this, is it not? 

It is beauty.  Grace.  Stillness.  Silence. 

‘Large and full of wonders,’  Dunsany said.

It is the place where moon gardens bloom,

where stars find space and power to shine.

It is where the Aye-Aye creeps to life

and nature shows a side we seldom see. 

It is where lovers so often meet,

and life itself is blessedly conceived. 

Was it not out of darkness that earth came to be?

Did not God create the darkness and the light? 

And were we not, before we learned to fear,

safe and secure in the dark of the womb,

where we were ‘fearfully and wonderfully made?’   

Jesus knew darkness.  Indeed, he ran toward it. 

Both the darkness of the skies and the darkness

of the hearts of men.  The darkness of his slowing

breath.  The darkness of his coming death. 

A darkness embraced of his own free will.

‘Into your hands, Father, I enter the darkness.’

His body would lay in darkness for three days, he said.

Yet even at this he did not shirk.  Knowing, unlike us,

that there was no reason to be afraid of the dark. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Luke 9:51 – A Meditation for Ash Wednesday

Jesus set his face like flint

to the city that killed the prophets.

It was not by accident that he

landed among the raging storms

political, religious, and spiritual.

He set his face like flint

to the city that killed the prophets.

He set his face

to fear, hate, and jealousy,

violence, lies, and treachery,

division, wrath, and envy.

He set his face

To the agony of the garden,

the betrayal of friends,

the fists of soldiers,

the scorn of elders,

the dance of demons,

the might of empire,

the filth of politics.

He set his face

to bone studded flagella

that tore his flesh,

the weight of the beam,

the bite of iron nails,

the slow loss of breath,

the knowledge of impending death.

He set his face

to the full weight of sin:

theft, lies, adultery,

abuse, neglect, cruelty,

guns, bombs, missiles,

war, famine, genocide,

my country right or wrong,

silence, fear, cowardice,

complicity, ignorance, indifference.

He set his face

to cold death surging

through his veins,

to pulses of unending pain,

to the mockery of passersby,

to the contempt of those

for whom he’d die.

He set his face to

to you and me.

To all who lived

or would come to be.

To the criminals gasping at his side.

To the soldier watching as he died.

To the women gathered ‘round his cross

To all the least, the last, the lost.

Jesus set his face like flint

to the city that killed the prophets.

It was not by accident that he

landed among the raging storms

political, religious, and spiritual.

He set his face like flint

to the city that killed the prophets.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

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.