Way of the Cross

The way of Jesus is not only fiercely nonviolent, it’s also intrinsically non-retaliatory. In Christ, we are introduced to the God who comes and dies for his enemies, the God who absorbs the evil of his adversaries and neutralizes it within his own broken body. This radical, sacrificial love of God in Christ is the power of God unto salvation. It is the mechanism by which he recreates the world. To “believe in Jesus” is to love the cross-bearing God revealed in Christ and to trust in his counterintuitive redemptive process. We can’t even be a part of what he’s doing until we lay down the sword and follow him in taking up our cross.

Such in odd thing, in light of Christ’s teaching, that many American Christians have come to believe we can bear the cross and the sword together. As a result, we are preoccupied with our “rights” to use violence to protect what’s ours, we justify our greed, fear those who threaten our position of power and privilege, succumb to politics that validate and incite our grievances, frantically grasp for more imperial power, and gleefully relish the tears and “owning” of our ideological and tribal adversaries. I’m increasingly convinced that this fundamental misunderstanding of the mechanics of the cross—which is the confounding power of God—accounts for much of what has gone wrong within American evangelicalism. We have claimed allegiance to the cross and the kingdom while brazenly trusting in the instruments of the empire.

When we take up the sword, our actions shouldn’t merely be seen in terms of our disobedience to Christ’s clear commands (though they are that). Our reliance on the sword is nothing short of our failure to believe in the mechanism of the cross. The sword is not mildly incompatible with the cross; it is its opposite, and its use represents the outright and complete rejection of the cross and our crucified King.

Not a Racist!

More than a few accusations of “racism” have been hurled at the president and his supporters. Even clothing items bearing the MAGA brand such as campaign t-shirts or the signature red cap have become super-charged with racial tension. Those in favor of the MAGA movement have consistently expressed disbelief and anger at how their commitment to racial equality is being questioned solely based on their political affiliations. Let’s be honest, insinuating that someone or a whole group is “racist” probably amounts to the worst sort of insult known to modern society. Even notorious white supremacists like Richard Spencer are reluctant to claim the dubious title of “racist.” It seems we’ve done a thorough job of rebuking “racism” (as an abstraction, anyway), but perhaps we haven’t done as thorough a job of defining it. If by “racist” we mean individuals who have conscious malice in their hearts toward other racial groups, then I’d agree with the sentiment that “not all of the president’s supporters are racist.” However, racism is not confined to aiming a fire-hose at a peaceful protester, turning an attack dog loose, or pouring a drink on someone’s head as they sit at a “whites only” lunch counter.

“Racism” is better understood as systems of power that work in favor of one racial group and/or against another. And while racial bias and even deep seated prejudice can be found in individuals of all sorts and shades, it's only the majority culture—white America in this case—that has the necessary collective power (in both numbers and influence) to manifest the far more harmful expressions of societal racism.

The president has consistently marketed himself as the best means to combat the hordes of “invading” brown people (whether they’re coming across our southern border, hail from Muslim majority countries—Muslim majority countries with which we don’t have strong economic ties, anyway—are already here as “Kenyan-born globalists” who have “illegitimately” held the highest public office, or are among the numerous “ungrateful” black athletes who don’t appreciate what white America has “given” them). He regularly promotes “dangerous brown man” tropes when he refers to undocumented Mexican immigrants as “rapists and murderers,” demonizes Middle Eastern refugees (while ignoring the fact that white, natural-born citizens are statistically a greater terror threat to the US public), or highlights anecdotal examples of criminal behavior carried out by immigrants (despite the data indicating that natural-born citizens commit crimes at higher rates than immigrants, documented or otherwise). Advancing the “dangerous brown man” narrative yields tremendous political utility, and it also does great harm to our brothers and sisters of color. It’s not that the president is simply a racist politician (I’m sure we have plenty of those on either side of the aisle); it’s that overt racism is at the core of his political message.

The societal scapegoat mechanism nestled within the “dangerous brown man” narrative is as old as the fall. Jesus willingly subjected himself to this twisted system as part of God's plan for him to be the final Scapegoat, and in so doing exposed the dark powers and their perverse methods to public shame. The scapegoat mechanism at the heart of racist systems has been judged on the cross and overcome by the reconciling love of God. The resurrected Christ, as the new human, is creating a new humanity in himself that will be fully submitted to his Father and suited for the new creation. When Christ-followers abandon the good news of God's better kingdom and return to a racist, scapegoat narrative it is not only perverse, it is nothing short of anti-Christ.

No doubt many of the president's supporters are conscious of his racist message, while others—perhaps most of them—are merely complicit. Should it be any consolation to our brothers and sisters of color, though, to hear that many of their white friends and neighbors are “not racist” but just too unconcerned with their well-being to recognize and resist racist propaganda? Does it improve the situation for them to know that we “don't approve” of racism, but it's not exactly a deal-breaker either? Does our ignorance about how racism actually works absolve us of our racism (especially considering that our brothers and sisters of color have been shouting it to us at the top of their lungs for generations now)? Does our “noble cause” (appointment of conservative, pro-life Supreme Court Justices, protection of religious liberties, etc.) justify the racist means by which we have attained power?

If we've bought into the president's “dangerous brown man” narrative—a narrative that is not only factually untrue, it's an offense against the Imago Dei—then we've empowered racism in America. If we've merely tolerated the president's narrative in support of his candidacy, then we've likewise actively given power to racism. If we've hidden behind an insufficient definition of racism, one which only describes individual conscious prejudice, then we've ignored and therefore empowered the widespread observable inequities of systemic societal racism. It should be noted, I think, that it's this inadequate yet popular definition of racism that sustains numerous white delusions regarding race and America. One of which is that it's impossible to be both “racist” and also happily working, recreating, and worshiping with people of color. It's an unfortunate truth, however, that we can be both pleasantly disposed toward individuals of a racial group and at the same time actively harming them by way of our “politics” and shared societal perceptions.

I'm fully aware that calling the president's supporters—including several of my friends and family—“racist” is considered by many to be inflammatory and unkind. And I should make clear that I’m not suggesting that jumping on the MAGA train is the only way to actively or passively empower racism (the various permutations of the “dangerous brown man” narrative certainly predate the president, and they will almost certainly outlive him). Reducing “racism” exclusively to pouring a drink on someone’s head or wearing a red MAGA cap is to avoid the more complex and implicating questions of how racialized systems of power form and manifest throughout our society. At the end of the day, it's tragic that we're more upset by accusations of “racism” than we are by actual racism. We're more concerned with exonerating ourselves than acknowledging and addressing our contributions to unjust and racist systems of power. And is it a surprise to any of us that it's always the powerful and the privileged—the folks for whom the system works—who insist that we hold our tongues, that we avoid “divisiveness” in order to “keep the peace?” It's with such sensitivity, over-the-top politeness, and measured diplomacy that we regularly handle our fragile white brothers and sisters. But what of our brothers and sisters of color? What of their feelings? And what of their Maker? Do we also consider how they will be offended by our “polite” silence?

I’m not writing this for those who are already set against the president and his supporters. For many of them it would only serve as a hearty source of self-gratification, further smug confirmation that the monsters all reside on the other side of the aisle (after all, hashtags and virtue signaling are more about announcing that “I am not a racist” than actually addressing racism in any meaningful way). Likewise, I wouldn’t waste my time on the committed MAGA disciple who would zealously stay the course even after being rebuked by Jesus himself in a road-to-Damascus type encounter. It’s the people of “genuine good will” that Dr. King identified in his letter from a Birmingham jail that I’m addressing. Those who seek God’s kingdom and would genuinely want to know if they were mistaken. Peter, friend of Jesus, was once cowed by a racially prejudiced majority into compromising the gospel. In response, Paul "opposed him to his face" in a public setting. I take no pleasure in pointing out our racism, but it has to be done. There's no way out until we name it, no future wholeness without genuine repentance, and no hope for reconciliation without justice. Shame on the numerous shepherds who in an effort to spare their white parishioners’ feelings fail to clearly and publicly identify the racism at the core of the MAGA movement. Their cowardice on this topic is helpful to no one (least of all themselves). The “to each his own” approach to politics within the church, as if politics are morally neutral, is reckless and wrong. As is the tunnel vision of party-driven theology. We mustn’t see the three-fifths compromise, state sanctioned genocide of westward expansion and manifest destiny, legal wholesale murder of the unborn, the corporate destruction of God’s good creation for economic gain, or the dehumanization of an “other” to catalyze a political base as merely “politics.” To quote the prophet Bonhoeffer, "God will not hold us guiltless."

He (or she) who has ears to hear, let them hear.

 

“An open rebuke is better than hidden love! Wounds from a sincere friend are better than many kisses from an enemy.” - Proverbs 27:5-6

 

Taking Back His Rebel World

In many Christian circles, we've reduced the gospel to a simple pitch about the afterlife. Saving souls (i.e. trading hell for heaven upon one's death) is often seen as God's primary objective—the meat of the gospel, so to speak. Consequently, signing people up for the sweet hereafter becomes our exclusive agenda (with everything else seen as either a distraction or an optional add-on). Jesus’ version of the gospel, however, had a noticeably different focus than our popular afterlife-insurance spiel. Jesus, for example, was preoccupied with announcing the coming of God’s subversive counter kingdom (arriving off the grid and under the noses of the present powers it was undermining, like yeast spreading through dough or a germinated seed slowly growing into a mighty tree). He invited his followers to experience this radical kingdom-life today as we’re reborn into him and subsequently transformed from enemies into agents of his sweeping new creation project. He described a new humanity and a new world that is even now crashing into and supplanting the old by way of his incarnation, death, resurrection, ascension, and eminent return. In God’s kingdom, the hungry, forgotten, and marginalized—the “last”—are given priority and the “first,” the powerful and privileged, are sent away empty handed. Jesus’ story crescendos with his physical return, the resurrection of the dead (and the end of death), his final confrontation of evil, a restored creation, and the total reunification of heaven and earth in himself, through the power of his Spirit and to the glory of his Father. Far from an evacuation to heaven, the gospel is more accurately describing the invasion and “colonization,” as N.T. Wright would say, of earth by heaven (a proposition that is either wonderful or terrifying—maybe both at the same time—depending on one's perception of the King and attachment to the present system that he means to overthrow). In short, God is now taking back his rebel world through the person and work of Jesus.

God, as the Creator, has exclusive rights to his creation. In Genesis we read how God created humans in his image and assigned them the task of tending to his creation as his administrators. The original human vocation, then, is to reflect the goodness of God to creation and to lead creation in worship of the Creator. It should be noted, however, that despite humanity's extensive, delegated authority over creation, Scripture is always clear that humans are tenants and not owners. When his vast and finely-tuned temple is operating correctly it harmoniously tells a true story about the One who made it. The resulting music is spectacular for everyone involved. But what happens when the middle management refuses to play their part? What damage is done if the conductors won't lead the orchestra to perform the symphony as the Composer has written?

Jesus once told a story about some presumptuous tenants who thought they could deny their landlord access to his own vineyard (the specific context of this story is relating to 1st Century Jewish leaders, but there are intended parallels throughout the biblical narrative between the Israelites/Canaan and humanity/creation). The tenants behaved as if the vineyard was their own, managed it as they saw fit, tried to keep the harvest for themselves, and ultimately murdered the owner's only heir in their attempts to retain power. It didn't go well for them in the end.

Seeing ourselves rightly as created beings who are indebted to our Creator is an important first step in recognizing the severity of our collective offense. If we wrongly conclude that God has created us with no particular purpose in mind, we may assume that we're free to do whatever we want so long as we're generally nice, decent creatures. Judging whether or not we've been successful at this ambiguous endeavor is itself an extremely subjective task (leading many to falsely conclude they are basically “good people”). We'll undoubtedly have differing ideas, for example, about what is or isn't nice and decent human behavior. If, however, we rightly understand that God has made us to be something like a mirror, to reflect his beauty, his justice, and his mercy, then the question isn't whether or not I'm being the best me that I can be. All of our opinions at this point are irrelevant. The real question is whether or not I'm accurately reflecting a specific person, namely my Creator, as he intends (It should be noted here that billions of finite image-bearers could potentially reflect an infinite Creator, with no two of them being the same, and yet the cumulative sum wouldn't even come close to fully describing him). He alone is qualified to determine my success at this. If it turns out I'm not accurately reflecting him (perhaps, like a shattered mirror, I'm no longer even capable of accurately reflecting him) then I'm essentially lying about him by way of the distorted image my life is projecting. Even worse, all of humanity (a tragic collection of broken mirrors that only produce more broken mirrors) is systemically and perpetually misrepresenting the Creator to each other, the rest of creation, and—most importantly—to the Creator himself. Whether we realize it or not, the exploitative and materialistic ways in which we typically view and abuse our fellow image-bearers and the rest of what God has made is nothing short of blasphemy. And the resulting dissonant music, if we can even call it that, is ravaging his creation.

At this point in the story, God has a decision to make (a decision he mysteriously settled in his own mind before even creating). Will he wipe the board clean and begin again (it seems creating is a simple thing for him, after all), or will he undergo the long and painful process of repairing and reinstating the undeserving rebels and undoing the damage they've caused to his creation? (It should be noted that simply ignoring the hell his wayward image-bearers have birthed was never an option for the Creator, as he is intrinsically incapable of apathy). His restrained approach to human rebellion, however, speaks volumes about how he views and wields the infinite power at his disposal. He hasn't abandoned the creation he dearly loves to its usurpers; he has subjected it (as an act of his permissive will) to bondage “in hope” (Romans chapter 8).

The Creator has a unique knot to untangle if he wants to have his creation restored to him as the temple it was meant to be. As already mentioned, an essential component of his interconnected design calls for humans to be willing participants, submitted to his sheet music as an act of their own volition, functioning as conduits of his grace and administrative justice (this willing submission to God by humans is the essence of his kingdom). This delegation of his power is certainly not out of necessity. He could easily conduct his composition himself, play all of the individual instruments, and so on, but this clearly isn't what he's after. The specific structuring of his orchestra, including the vital role assigned to its human conductors, has as much to say about the generous Composer as the actual symphony it was all meant to perform. Jesus, the servant King, once contrasted God's shockingly reserved methodology with typical human rulers' heavy handedness (as seen in our predictable tendency to lord it over each other). Human rulers have historically used violence or propaganda to coerce or manipulate their subjects into submission. But this simply won't produce the sort of kingdom that the Creator is after. He naturally won't bypass or extinguish human volition in his efforts to restore it. The kind of submission he's after can never come as the result of brute force or deception. But how does one convince one's enemies, pitiful creatures who are now inherently rebellious, to willingly, without coercion, submit once again to their rightful King? The complexity of the Creator's dilemma can hardly be overstated, but fortunately for us his ingenuity is boundless.

If human rebellion is the epicenter of creation's trouble, then the remedy can only come as the result of a humanity back on track, reflecting God's glory, and tending to his temple as the priests we were created to be. Here in lies the problem. Every one of us, according to Scripture, has become disqualified. There's an incredible scene in Revelation chapter 5, involving an important, symbolic scroll that sat unopened. An angel shouted out, “'who is worthy to open the scroll and break its seal?' And no one in heaven or on earth or under the earth was able to open the scroll or to look into it.” John, the author of Revelation, at this point broke down and wept uncontrollably over the hopelessness surrounding this unopened scroll. It seemed as though the original human vocation would tragically go unclaimed and unfulfilled.

What John witnessed next in Revelation 5 parallels the incredible Daniel 7 prophecy, in which a mysterious human character (a “son of man”) ascends to heaven, walks boldly into the throne room of the “Ancient of Days,” and is “given dominion (see Genesis 1:28) and glory and a kingdom, that all peoples, nations, and languages should serve him; his dominion is an everlasting dominion, which shall not pass away, and his kingdom one that shall not be destroyed.” John sees this same epic “son of man” moment in his vision, when the despair surrounding the unopened scroll is suddenly shattered with the arrival of the “Lion” who is also a “slain Lamb.” Pin-drop silence falls over the crowd as this mysterious figure emerges. This somehow worthy human walks right up to “him who was seated on the throne” and claims the scroll on our behalf. The onlookers erupt into song, “Worthy are you to take the scroll and to open its seals, for you were slain, and by your blood you ransomed people for God from every tribe and language and people and nation, and you have made them a kingdom and priests to our God, and they shall reign on the earth.”

His solution to the human dilemma is elegant and unexpected. Ironically, God himself, as an authentic human, fulfilled the original human vocation, and, by doing so, he is reclaiming all that was lost. The only begotten Son, the eternal Word of God, who spoke the universe into existence, became the human we were all meant to be, the true “image of the invisible God.” As the Creator, God's authority over his creation and subsequent rights to it are uncontested. But in the incarnation, God reclaims, on our behalf, a uniquely human authority. Suppose for a minute that the person who invented American football also established and presided over the National Football League, built all the stadiums, owned all the teams, and held lifelong contracts with every player. Despite this person's vast authority over the sport they created and maintain, they would still need to take to the field as an athlete if their intention was to fairly win the league's most valuable player award. And that's exactly what he did. God took to the field in the form of a 1st Century, penniless, Galilean from backwoods Nazareth, and he conquered the world without firing a shot.

The unique mission of the Christ could only be fulfilled by a human character (that he was also by necessity God, on account of universal human failing, is a fantastic twist in the story but not the main point of this chapter—as we often make it). In other words, Jesus wasn't just pretending to be human in the incarnation; he was human (John claims that denying this fact is “antichrist” - 2 John 1:7). And though his divinity is firmly established in Scripture, proving it wasn't the drum Jesus was beating during his earthly ministry (You might remember that “son of man” was his favorite term for himself). He silenced demonic beings who recognized who he really was, and he frequently made it clear that he didn't speak or act on his own authority (Philippians chapter 2 describes his behavior in the incarnation as a humble emptying of himself in order to faithfully fulfill his mission). He operated with borrowed authority, given to him by God, authority reserved for an untarnished human, the promised King, God's chosen representative, on whom his divine favor rests (The term “Messiah/Christ” sums this up nicely). The call to accept Jesus as God's chosen human representative, the exclusive conduit through which his grace would flow, and the means by which he would reclaim his rebel world is what we see primarily promoted in Scripture (John 5:37-38, 6:29, Acts 4:10-12). Jesus lived his life as a perfect image-bearer, fully relying on the Holy Spirit, and in complete submission to his Father (he “learned obedience” on our behalf - Hebrews 5). Receiving Jesus as the Christ is equated with submitting to God's plan for humanity. If we miss this, if we instead see Jesus as something of a superman, then we miss the point of the incarnation (As an untarnished human, he was a superman of sorts, but not the way we often think). Don't misunderstand me; defending the deity of Christ is an important task from which the Church should never shrink back. But in doing so, we must also realize that there's much more going on in the incarnation than simply, “surprise—Jesus is God.” The man Jesus isn't meant to be seen as a perpetual singularity but the extraordinary means by which God is producing many more sons and daughters of a similar kind (Hebrews 2:9-18). We've unfortunately allowed the heretics to define the parameters of this conversation (especially the misguided ideological descendants of Arius). As a result, we're spending so much energy defending Jesus' divinity that we're left with little time to recognize and accurately describe the implications of his humanity.

Just as the first Adam's rebellion infected all of humanity, so the second Adam's obedience makes him patient zero for a new pandemic, what C.S. Lewis calls the “good infection.” Jesus is something of a Trojan horse, in this way, an unassuming Antidote for the human condition. He is the first of many Spirit-filled and fully submitted humans, the King and the kingdom rolled into one, the person where heaven and earth intersect, and the divine image-bearer who sacrificially resolves the human conflict with God in his own broken body. He alone, through restored conductors, will direct the orchestra to properly perform the Composer's magnum opus. Jesus is the prototype for a restored humanity and the catalyst for the new creation. He is the invasion we never saw coming.

Of course not everyone is celebrating Jesus' enthronement. There are plenty of people who don't want God to reclaim his rebel world (plenty of tenants who think they are owners). God is patient, but he won't wait forever. His rescue plan will go forward as scheduled (It's his universe, after all). When Jesus returns, he will personally confront those who resist his legitimate authority, those who love their rebellion more than their coming King. Participation in God's kingdom as citizen sons is voluntary, however, and all those who foolishly opt out of God's new creation project will eventually have their decision ratified for all eternity. God values and even honors human volition, but he won't allow these dissenters to wreak havoc in his new creation. Sin spreads like cancer. The only perfect human, he who was obedient to God unto death—even death on a cross—will stand in judgment of their defiance. He will banish them from God's restored universe. “There are only two kinds of people in the end,” says Lewis, “those who say to God, 'Thy will be done,' and those to whom God says, in the end, 'Thy will be done.'” Their subsequent existence, forever separated from the Author of Life, is described in Scripture as a “second death.” Jesus, himself, compares this eternal quarantine to being locked out of the city, thrown on a burning heap of decaying filth, or set adrift in a lake of perpetual fire. He passionately warns whoever will listen that this tragic fate is to be avoided at all costs.

However, forgiveness of sins is never an end in itself. The popular afterlife pitch frequently divorces Jesus' debt-canceling work on the cross from God's ultimate purpose of restoring the original human vocation. In a truncated gospel, the “why?” behind the cross is often answered with, “...so we can go to heaven after we die.” While it's certainly true that God knows and loves each and every one of us (and his ambitious new creation project naturally involves our individual repentance and willing submission to his Christ), it's a mistake to view our “personal salvation” apart from the good news of God's kingdom (Even Jesus' well known conversation with Nicodemus, in which he articulates an individual's desperate need to become “born again,” takes place within the context of his larger kingdom message – John 3:3). Ultimately, we're made clean as a prerequisite for service. Our great offense is mercifully removed on the cross so that we're finally able to get back to that for which we were originally created. Scripture frequently ties forgiveness of sins to reinstatement in God's service (Titus 2:11-14, Ephesians 2:8-10, Hebrews 9:14). God's reason for releasing Abraham's descendants from the bondage of Egypt, for example, was so they would be free to “serve” him (Exodus 4:22-23). Keep in mind, it's exceedingly good to be in his service. He means to make us kings and queens. Ultimately, a heart of stone has no interest in fulfilling the original human vocation (which is why the strictly punishment-avoidance-pitch is very popular), but a restored heart of flesh leaps with indescribable gratitude at the opportunity to be reinstated as a priest in God's temple. Many of our notions of heaven, salvation, and God's endgame need to be rethought in light of Jesus' kingdom message.

When we lose sight of the larger narrative, we'll often view sanctification (i.e. becoming like Jesus) as an add-on to the gospel instead of the point of it all. Growing into the image of Christ isn't merely a private endeavor that we undertake for our own personal edification (i.e. approaching the fruit of the Spirit as a self-help buffet that promises to unlock our best life now). Our personal transformation is an integral part of his wide-scale terraforming project. He's making ready a now-inhospitable environment for his glorious, unveiled presence. He's bringing all things under the lordship of Jesus, and incrementally answering the Lord's Prayer for heaven to be reunited with earth. As we submit to the indwelling Spirit of Christ, we become kingdom-pockets of heaven on earth. There are still many areas of his world—many corners of our own hearts—that haven't yet fully submitted to his reign. There's much work to be done, but fortunately his kingdom will continually increase (Isaiah 9:7). Jesus claims he is “making all things new.” If we truly are “new creations” in Christ, then we should see the obvious continuity between what he is now doing in us and the final restoration of all things at the eschaton (described most vividly in Revelation chapters 21 and 22).

I know a brother-in-Christ who ministers in his hometown of Machilipatnam, India. He's used mightily by God to clothe the naked and feed the hungry, to sometimes rescue women and children from sex-trafficking rings run by murderous gangsters. I've heard stories of children sold into prostitution for a bag of rice, whole families that have laid down together on train tracks in a time of total desperation. Some of the children have witnessed their own father savagely murder their mother before their eyes, while others have been intentionally maimed by organized crime syndicates that use them as professional beggars (little ones that have seen evil so cruel they're still unable to even speak it). To anyone paying attention, the world is still obviously full of profound brokenness. And yet the darkness is passing away (1 John 2:8). One of my sister-in-laws works as an advocate for victims of human trafficking. She could tell you that in virtually every city across the US there are image-bearers of God being exploited by other image-bearers in numerous, horrific and dehumanizing ways (some of whom you and I have almost definitely met in passing without even knowing). And yet the Light has come. Even among our own communities and churches, those who are being transformed into the image of Christ, ministers of the gospel, our friends and family, may succumb to hidden sexual sin, vile hypocrisy, corruption, greed, racism, addictions, emotional and physical abuse... and yet... a new Day is dawning. As I look within, I've felt at times defeated and ashamed at what my own mouth has said, the lies my sin-stricken heart has believed, and the evil my hands have done. But we mustn't lose heart; our King is on the move. “For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves” (Colossians 1:13).

It takes faith to believe that God, even now in the midst of our broken world, is actively bringing all things under the lordship of King Jesus. Likewise, it takes faith to trust Jesus when he assures us that “all authority in heaven and on earth” has been given to him. And it takes faith to know that when his massive restoration project is complete—a rebel world returned to its Creator—he'll one day present the kingdom to his proud Father. The Creator will then dwell among us on a restored earth. We'll see his face, he'll be our God, and we'll be his people. This is his incredible endgame. This is the story the Bible is telling. And it's into this exciting endeavor that he's inviting “whosoever” to join him.

“For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved.” - Romans 8:19-24a


“To him who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood, and has made us to be a kingdom and priests to serve his God and Father—to him be glory and power for ever and ever! Amen.” - Revelation 1:5b-6

“Then the end will come, when he hands over the kingdom to God the Father after he has destroyed all dominion, authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death.” - 1 Corinthians 15:24-26

Great Commission (Remixed)

 

"All authority in heaven and on earth will be given to me at some future millennial kingdom. Nevertheless, go (two-week, short term trips ought to do it) and make converts of all nations (mostly just the ones who look and think like you), teaching them to raise their hands (with all heads bowed and all eyes closed, of course), recite the sinner's prayer, and assuring them of their super-awesome afterlife. And surely I am with you always as you hunker down, buy a bunch of crap, form dubious political alliances, ignore injustices against your fellow image-bearers, and wait for the rapture."

- Said Jesus never

(Check out Matthew 28 for the actual Great Commission)

Ears to Hear

Jesus would sometimes interject his teaching with, “if anyone has ears to hear, let them hear” (Mark 4:23 NIV). In saying this, he acknowledged that some of his followers would perhaps listen without really hearing. There is often a vast chasm between a person's capacity to hear and understand and their actual willingness to hear and understand. In John 9, Jesus rebuked a group of Pharisees who, despite their functioning eyes and keen minds, refused to see what was vividly clear to even a recently-blind man. When an “expert in the law” asked him “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus, true to form, responded with a question: “What is written in the law?” But it's Jesus' followup question, “how do you read it?” that I find most intriguing (Luke 10:25-26 NIV). The world's greatest communicator was not only interested in what was said but also what this man heard. Are we prone to hear what the Word of God is saying, I wonder, or do we like many of Jesus' 1st Century friends and foes merely listen for what we wanted him to say?

Jesus knows all too well how our selective listening works—our human propensity toward confirmation bias. And there's times where he's almost purposely elusive when responding to a disingenuous question. He seemed to even let some folks walk away with the wrong idea, if that's what they had already set out to do from the beginning. Despite what he actually said, for example, some of his listeners heard the familiar voice of a nationalist messiah who promised to lead Zion's armies to victory over her Roman oppressors. Others, who were listening without the rich Jewish history of the long-promised coming of God's kingdom rooted in their hopes and dreams, might have heard a Gnostic who was always advocating for some ethereal life in the glorious hereafter. Even today, many hear in Jesus' teachings a justification for—or at least a compatibility with—moralism, Marxism, white nationalism/nativism, consumerism/economic greed (what we often rebrand as “prosperity” or “trickle-down economics”), or militarism, as well as a myriad of other “isms” that are clearly at odds (clearly to anyone who is actually listening, that is) with the historical Jesus of Nazareth's teachings.

It's not that Jesus wants to be misunderstood or that he's just careless in how he conveys his ideas. But maybe he can't, or won't, force people to understand against their hardened will (not at this particular juncture anyway). Perhaps this is one of many dignities God bestows on his image bearers: the ability to stop up our ears, close our minds, and shut our eyes to our Creator if we so choose (the ability to “resist” the whispers of his Spirit). Naturally, God will not bypass human volition as he carries out his sweeping project to restore our desire and ability to willingly submit to our Creator via the person and work of the new man, Jesus the Christ. Since Eden, the ability to choose has always been a noticeable facet of his plan for humanity. Many of the stories Jesus told about God's kingdom were crafted in such a way as to leave the hearer with a choice—a choice to believe or to doubt, to comprehend or to confuse, to seek Truth or to run from him. I maintain that Jesus' parables are most often simple and direct. However, the parable format allows lazy or intellectually dishonest hearers to impose their alternate meanings. I want to be clear that it's ultimately not Jesus' ambiguity but our own pride, preferences, preconceptions, and sin-stricken hearts that lead us astray.

As a confirmed skeptic (who has now been won over by Jesus and his good news), I've often wondered why God didn't eliminate any opportunity for doubt or confusion. Sure we have the Scriptures, numerous miracles, compelling prophecies, and Jesus' own resurrection, but the skeptic in me always wants more. How have so many of his misguided followers managed to become crusaders, inquisitors, slave holders, advocates for apartheid, and purveyors of the alt-right? How could they possibly hear approval in the words of Christ and veer so far off course? Why have others heard nothing at all? How is it that so many of his friends and foes alike mishear or misrepresent him? Why couldn't God shout even louder, so to speak, so that everyone, even those with the hardest hearts, couldn't help but hear him? Well, one day he will. Jesus promises “there is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed, and nothing concealed that will not be known or brought out into the open” (Luke 8:17 NIV). “Every knee” will eventually bow to him (Phil 2:10). But he wants us to be “hungry” and “thirsty” for him now, and we can't claim to be listening, as an act of our own volition, when at his return we have no choice but to hear. Paul explained to the Athenians how God had orchestrated human history “so that [we] would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from any one of us” (Acts 17:27 NIV). Maybe he presently speaks in a “gentle whisper” so that we will have to stop and truly listen in order to hear him (1 Kings 19:12 NIV). I like how the New Living Translation renders Luke 8:18: “...pay attention to how you hear,” says Jesus. “To those who listen to my teaching, more understanding will be given. But for those who are not listening, even what they think they understand will be taken away from them.” 

 

Traditions of Men

Jesus rebuked the Pharisees of his day for elevating their traditions above God’s word. He cited several examples of how their time-honored customs had subtly undermined, perverted, and even outright contradicted many of God’s commands. The Pharisees were, of course, deeply offended by this accusation. In their own estimation and by all outward indicators, they held God’s word in the highest regard. I think the poison that Jesus noted in the Pharisees' twisted traditions, however, often manifested without them even being aware. It’s easy enough to see the Pharisees as a group of men who simply set out to twist the word of God with their traditions, but I think this is a dangerous oversimplification of who they were (and, by extension, who we are). It’s truly astounding how self-deluded our sin-stricken human hearts can be, even effectively keeping us in the dark when it comes to our own deepest motivations and intents.

I want to be clear from the start that traditions alone aren’t the problem here. Jesus wasn’t waging a war against the human practice of making and keeping traditions (On the contrary, he utilized several existing traditions and even instituted a few of his own). I'm not with the overzealous crowd of Christians who dogmatically reject any tradition unless it’s explicitly outlined in Scripture (ultimately out sola scriptura-ing even Luther himself). That’s certainly not the drum I’m beating. There are numerous extra-biblical traditions that have been crafted by the Church with the intent of magnifying God, declaring his good news, and edifying his people. And in many cases they accomplish just that. Our Catholic and Orthodox brothers and sisters, as examples, rely heavily on tradition within their particular expressions of the Christian faith. Protestants, despite our reputation as being anti-tradition, hold fast to numerous extra-biblical traditions as well. And though tradition doesn’t carry the same weight as Scripture in our dogma, it certainly does at times in our actual practice. That’s where the problem lies. But if we can’t even distinguish between our human traditions and the word of God, we’re likely to cross this dangerous line without even realizing it.

Many Christ-followers, I think, fail to see the prevalence of identity politics and extreme nationalism, which have long found a home within the American Church (especially among evangelicals), as potentially the same sort of Scripture-stifling traditions that angered Jesus. It’s as American as apple pie, for example, for “Old Glory” and the “Old Rugged Cross” to share the same space in our church gatherings. So long have the two narratives (the story of our nation and the story of God) been made to walk together that many Christians can now no longer separate the two (and both get warped as a result). It’s easy to see how our pro-slavery, Christian ancestors blatantly misrepresented Scripture in their attempts to defend their traditions (just as the Pharisees had a mountain of proof-texts for their hypocritical nonsense), but hindsight is 20/20. It’s infinitely more difficult to see how our current Christian traditions, which inevitably intersect with notions of patriotism, individualism, economic theory, self-defense, immigration, race, gender and sexuality, healthcare, foreign policy, and environmental conservationism, are often at odds with God’s heart for kingdom loyalty, community, generosity, sacrificial non-violence, hospitality, justice and reconciliation, grace and truth, compassion, mercy, and responsible stewardship. Sociopolitical allegiances often come with deep seated traditions. If we’re not careful, these partisan values will skew the way we read Scripture, and our stubborn hearts will willingly devise all kinds of Pharisaical “explanations” for why the sacred text condones our present course.

Every church community (no matter how fresh and contemporary) will inherit, and likely create, traditions. As mentioned, this is to be expected and perfectly fine to a point. But we need to be able to properly name our traditions as such so that they don’t inappropriately find their way into the wrong category. No doubt there are some explicit biblical instructions regarding church structure and practice, but our traditions often come in just where the command leaves off. It can become understandably difficult to distinguish between the two.

The “sinner’s prayer” is a good example of a cherished, and somewhat recent, tradition that has become in many Christian communities the exclusive way in which one is ushered into the kingdom of God. I’m not saying that the common practice of leading someone in a prayer, as their first response to the Gospel, in which the new believer is encouraged to acknowledge their sin and ask for God’s forgiveness on account of Jesus’ death and resurrection is a bad thing or that it should be abandoned. The tradition is after all rooted implicitly in passages like Acts 2:21 and Romans 10:9-10. But I think we’re hard pressed to find the contemporary practice of what we now know as the “sinner’s prayer” explicitly modeled in Scripture. Let me reiterate: That doesn’t mean it’s a problem, but it probably means that it’s one of our traditions, and it should be treated accordingly. We don’t see Peter, after preaching the Gospel to the Pentecost crowd, saying “now with all heads bowed, and with every eye closed, can I get a show of hands for who would like to accept Jesus into their hearts as their personal Lord and Savior?” Likewise, Phillip, after declaring the Gospel to the Ethiopian eunuch, didn’t lead him in a prayer to “get saved.” And Paul, after preaching the Gospel to the Philippian jailer and his family, didn’t have them come to the front and repeat after him to receive Jesus.

The sinner’s prayer has risen to prominence within evangelical circles in the last few centuries and seems to initially have been adopted for the sake of well-intentioned expediency (particularly so that large crowds of people could be readily welcomed into God’s kingdom at big tent revivals). However, baptism, the new believer’s Scriptural first response to the Gospel, has been somewhat sidelined or even replaced by the rise of the sinner’s prayer. Baptism almost feels redundant within this new arrangement. We usually get around to it (Jesus commanded baptism after all), but it’s something like an afterthought, especially in many non-denominational, evangelical traditions. We sometimes have a waiting period on baptism (as if you’re buying a gun or something), maybe even with a prerequisite class before getting in the water (to be sure you understand what you’re doing, I suppose). I’m all for knowing what you’re getting into (“counting the cost” and so on), but you should have already been brought up to speed with an accurate presentation of the Gospel. If it wasn’t the invitation to be united with Christ in his death so that we may partake in his resurrection (as illustrated in baptism) then it wasn’t the Gospel we heard to begin with.

If someone insists they’re “Heaven bound” simply because they raised their hand or repeated a prayer—even though there’s no evidence they’ve been born of God, truly repented, are filled with God’s Spirit, and Jesus is now their King—then their faith is not actually in Christ and his “new creation” project but in a human tradition. Traditions are best used to point us to God, to magnify Christ in our lives and in others. Only a fool would put their faith in a human tradition, expecting it to act as a golden ticket, lucky charm, or a magical incantation, as if it could undo or supersede the word of God. That’s the backwards thinking of the self-deceived men who conspired to murder the Author of Life.

It’s difficult to really even know how many human traditions we each, and collectively, subscribe to. As I’ve suggested, many of our human traditions are intertwined with Scriptural traditions (i.e. the specifics of how we observe baptism and the Lord’s Supper, organize our Family gatherings, carry out communal worship, and structure church leadership). I think there’s room in the diverse body of Christ for our various distinct traditions (so long as our traditions know their place). When our human traditions become divisive or elevated above God’s word, we've gone too far.

We’re following dangerously in the Pharisees’ footsteps, then, when our preferred traditions become dogma. Many Christians take dogmatic stances on everything from teaching styles to carpet colors (growing up in the church, I feel like I’ve heard it all, every arbitrary position declared with the same zealous conviction as Stephen the Martyr). It’s perfectly normal to have opinions, but recognize that many of our subjective preferences are simply rooted in human traditions and not Scripture.

The main objective of this post is to encourage the reader to faithfully examine all dearly held human traditions. We must be ready to reject—with extreme prejudice—any traditions that undermine or contradict the commands of Christ (or he simply isn’t our King). It’s shocking how many of our political and religious traditions attempt to render Jesus’ commands to love our enemies, care for the poor, and take up our cross (as only a few examples) completely meaningless.

Our next step is to critically examine the traditions we hold to that don’t directly oppose the word of God (This can be the more difficult task of the two). Are these traditions ultimately helpful in achieving what they’re designed to accomplish (In other words, do they draw us and others closer or further away from Jesus)? Is there perhaps a better more effective way to pursue the same goal? Has our tradition in its current form outlived its usefulness? In this category, the conversation revolves around how helpful or unhelpful a given tradition is rather than declaring its inherent “wrongness” or “rightness.” Cross-cultural ministers of the Gospel are often more attune to this important process (with perhaps a clearer vantage point of typical American syncretism) as they seek to plant a pure seed in a foreign context. I’ve raised some of these questions elsewhere regarding the widely accepted building-centric nature of our gatherings. These are hard questions that we should have the courage to passionately discuss in Spirit-filled community (with grace and humility). If our goal is truly to glorify God by sharing the good news of Jesus (and not simply to maintain our own preferences) then our traditions should readily bend to that aim. None of our human traditions should be beyond the possibility of the chopping block. And if we feel that they are, then we know for sure that our traditions have become idols to us.

“You have let go of the commands of God and are holding on to human traditions. Thus you nullify the word of God by your tradition” —Jesus (from Mark 7:8, 13a)

Winner Takes All

 

I've heard people cite Jesus' instruction to "render unto Caesar what is Caesar's" as an example of Christ delineating between the secular and the sacred. The popular American ideology that springs from this divides our lives into two categories: God is only after "spiritual things" like my saved soul, sincere heart, regular Scripture reading, solemn meditation/prayer, charity, and church attendance, we often think. He is not concerned—and neither should clergy be, if they know what's good for them—with 90% of my finances, my political outlook, and most everything else that falls within the sweeping "practical" or "secular things" category.

I don't think this is what Christ was saying at all when he held up the Roman denarius with Caesar's image imprinted upon it (Matthew 22). This is, however, what the Herodians, the Gentiles, and other earthly minded passers by would hear (Jesus' words were often multifaceted and intentionally layered). "This man is harmless," they'd think. Those attempting to ferret out Jesus' politics, would likely conclude, "He is something of a Gnostic who cares only for the unseen world." To Jesus' Jewish audience, however, they would instantly recall the "Imago Dei," how God has made humanity in his image. Jesus is saying that Caesar, shortsighted as he is, can have the metal with his imprint. God, however, lays claim to the person, body and soul. This should not be seen as a dividing of the spoils between God and Caesar. Any fool knows that if you get the man—his body, his mind, his heart, his soul, his ambitions and dreams, everything he is—you get everything else too. There is no aspect of life, of art, conflict, politics, economics, human sexuality, race, etc. that will not be affected (or "redeemed," to use biblical vernacular) by a reborn kingdom citizen.