Jesus joined all humanity in his baptism, and led us from those waters into the ways of service, humility, and love.
Here’s a transcript:
Hau’oli Makahiki Hou! Happy New Year!
And I also wish you a Happy Epiphany. I’m recording this episode of What I’m Thinking on the Epiphany holiday. Epiphany is one of the most ancient of the Christian celebrations. It recognizes the revelation of God in Jesus Christ. And so as we begin 2026, may we all find God’s love revealed to us, not just through What I’m Thinking, but in God’s movements in our hearts and in our souls.
I’m thinking about a way in which God moved in the heart of Jesus. That’s the third chapter of Matthew: Jesus’ baptism.
Unlike the other Gospels, Matthew described a conversation between John and Jesus. “I ought to be baptized by you,” John protested, “yet you have come to me.” “Let it be so for now,” said Jesus, “for this way we will do all that is required.” And so John baptized Jesus; he came up out of the water; he saw the Holy Spirit descending on him like a dove; and he heard those words: “This is my beloved son, with whom I am well pleased.”
Matthew emphasized something that the other Gospel writers, I think, understood but chose not to emphasize, and that was Jesus refusal to play into notions of power and of privilege. Instead, Jesus chose to fully join us in that necessity of recognizing what we have done poorly or sinfully, and that we need to take steps to wash that away, to set it into the past, and take on new ways.
Jesus did, indeed, take on new ways following his baptism: his baptism launched his ministry. But he didn’t need the baptism to begin it, now did he? And John made that clear.
Jesus did the thing even though he didn’t need to because he didn’t want to take a shortcut that the rest of us cannot. Jesus chose not to exercise any kind of privilege or pride. He chose not to live in hubris. He chose to give us an example of humility and of acceptance and of following the hard and sometimes painful steps that lead us towards a brighter future, that lead us towards doing fully the will of God. Jesus in the Jordan not only joined us; Jesus led us from the waters of baptism out into a life of full service, and faithfulness, and loving kindness.
It was an astonishing thing to do then and now.
That’s what I’m thinking. I’m curious to hear what you’re thinking. Leave me your thoughts in the comment section below. I’d love to hear from you.
It’s still Christmas. It really is twelve days long in the Church calendar, and we’re on day eleven, so you can thank your lucky stars that you’re not likely to receive eleven pipers piping or eleven missionaries today. On this eleventh day of Christmas, if we’re thinking about the Holy Family, we’re probably thinking about the mixed joy and fear of Jesus’ parents, still trying to figure out what their newborn would need next.
The Revised Common Lectionary wants us to turn our attention elsewhere. As Cody J. Sanders writes at Working Preacher, “The prologue of John’s Gospel cracks the lens with which we are tempted to engage in any too-small reading of the Gospel by directing our attention toward a cosmic space-time reality. Unlike the Lukan narrative that often shapes our imaginations in the Christmas season, the Second Sunday of Christmas plunges us into the deep time of the primordial Genesis creation narratives with John’s opening words: ‘In the beginning…’”
You’ve probably caught the reference John made to the beginning of Genesis, “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth…” (Genesis 1:1) You may not have caught the other parallels John made with other classic texts, particularly those from Jewish Wisdom literature like Proverbs and Ecclesiastes. As Jaime Clark-Soles writes at Working Preacher, “John brilliantly presents Jesus in the role of Lady Wisdom in a number of ways. As we read in numerous LXX texts, Lady Wisdom (hokhmah in Hebrew, Sophia in Greek) is God’s partner: she helps to create the world, she delights in the human race, she continually tries to help humans to get knowledge and flee from ignorance. She cries aloud incessantly. Unfortunately, the Old Testament tells us that she is often rejected because fools hate knowledge and humans would rather wallow in ignorance, for the most part.”
As I mentioned in this morning’s children’s time, wisdom and knowledge aren’t the same thing, but… acting in ignorance, deliberately choosing ignorance, is definitely not wise.
In contrast, wrote John, Jesus, God’s Messiah, embodied the ancient concept of Wisdom: knowledgeable, just, generous, righteous, thoughtful, faithful, peaceful.
These had been the virtues encouraged by Judaism: written in wisdom literature, declared by the prophets, required in the Law, and celebrated in the Psalms.
Those are the virtues exhibited by Jesus.
A little wisdom had become a lot of wisdom.
It’s a wisdom that’s not just of the intellect. “The Word became flesh and lived among us” – the word “lived” can be translated as “pitched a tent.” “Pitching tent,” writes Karyn Wiseman at Working Preacher, “means coming to be fully part of the world in which you live and minister. The Word in this text is doing just that — coming to ‘pitch tent’ with humanity. The Word made flesh comes to be in the world and to change the world.” Dr. Clark-Soles writes that John is “a very touchy-feely Gospel… John wants us to understand that the same intimacy shared by God and Jesus is shared with us and Jesus/God. Hence, the Incarnation.”
“Moreover,” writes Karoline Lewis at Working Preacher, “in the Word made flesh and dwelling among us, now God not only goes where God’s people go, but is who they are. That is, God now dwells with us by taking on our form, our humanity. This ‘different’ dwelling of God is God being where God’s people are, and now who God’s people are.”
A little bit of wisdom has become a whole lot of presence, God’s presence, with us, with everyone, with all the world.
The wisdom Jesus embodied is the wisdom Jesus lived. He brought compassion and forgiveness to people who’d been told they deserved no forgiveness and would receive no compassion. He rejected the options of servile acceptance of tyranny and of violent upheaval against tyranny. He encouraged rigorous personal ethics and a community ethic of mutual care and support. He refused to accept the casual practices that had enriched moneychangers around the Temple at the expense of faithful people. When they came to arrest him, he did not meet violence with violence.
Jesus set us the challenge of living that same wisdom, and it is a challenge. It’s a high bar. It’s a wisdom that may call us to put others’ interests over our own. It’s a wisdom that looks foolish when it leads to a cross.
It’s a wisdom that leads to resurrection.
The foolishness of the world leads to suffering, dissension, and death.
I really wish people wouldn’t hand me perfect sermon illustrations on Saturday, but some people have a talent for it. The headline of yesterday’s editorial from the New York Times Editorial Board was, “Donald Trump’s Attack on Venezuela Is Illegal and Unwise.” They concluded with these words:
“We will hold out hope that the current crisis will end less badly than we expect. We fear that the result of Mr. Trump’s adventurism is increased suffering for Venezuelans, rising regional instability and lasting damage for America’s interests around the world. We know that Mr. Trump’s warmongering violates the law.”
This is the kind of leadership that Jesus simply rejected. He wouldn’t do it himself. He wouldn’t bow to those who tried to govern him that way. Let’s be clear: it got him crucified. Nothing they did could force him to change his ways. Nothing they did could prevent his resurrection.
Fortunately there are examples of people following Jesus’ wisdom in the world.
Melissa Bane Sevier writes in her blog: “Yes, there are people who do really bad things in this world. But there are also moments when we can point to some person or act and think: There. There it is. That’s how we see eternity right here.
“Maybe it’s some random act of kindness. Or the face of your most precious loved one. Some deep goodness you see in a person you know or a stranger.
“We have each other. The Word is made flesh anew each day, right here among us.
“And we glimpse grace and truth.”
Glimpse grace and truth in those around you. Let others glimpse Christ in you.
Amen.
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Sermon
Pastor Eric makes changes while he preaches. Sometimes they’re intentional. Sometimes they’re not.
Joseph had a dream, and it changed what he did, and what he did changed things for Mary and Jesus, and what they all did changed the world. What is your dream?
Here’s a transcript:
The service for the Fourth Sunday of advent the Church of the Holy Cross will feature the Christmas pageant performed by our young people. I’m not thinking about this week’s Scripture with the idea that it will become a sermon, but I am still thinking about the first chapter of Matthew (Matthew 1:18-25).
Luke described the circumstances of Jesus birth; Matthew didn’t. Matthew, however, talked about one of the real difficult moments in that series of events: because when Joseph discovered that Mary was pregnant, he determined to set her aside: quietly, so that she wouldn’t be shamed any more than she already was.
Then he had a dream, and in that dream an angel assured him that she was with child by the Holy Spirit, that this child would be the Messiah, and that he would be the one who would be called Immanuel, God with us.
You’ve got to have a dream.
That’s an old song from a musical, but it’s also true. Dreams change things when we set out to put those dreams into reality.
Joseph might have shrugged it off — I’m not sure how you shrug off the words of an angel whether in waking life or in dream life — but he could have. Mary could have had her child, the Messiah, all alone, cut off from family and friends. But Joseph had a dream, and Joseph’s dream meant that he had a role to play, and that was a supportive partner to those who were taking the lead roles: to Mary the mother who would carry and then comfort the newborn child, to Jesus himself, Jesus who would eventually carry everything including the cross, that Jesus had done so because Joseph had a dream and set out to live that dream.
What is your dream? Is it a dream of love and care and support? Is it a dream that overcomes your prejudices? Is it a dream that leads towards life becoming better, not just for you, not just for your family, but for all those around you and those perhaps on the far side of the world?
Dreams change life. Have a dream and live it.
That’s what I’m thinking. I’m curious to hear what you’re thinking. Leave me your thoughts in the comment section below. I’d love to hear from you.
“What did you go out to see?” Jesus asked the crowds, referring to the ministry of John the Baptist. “A reed shaken by the wind?”
I rather like that image, even though I suspect, along with Biblical scholars, that I don’t really understand it. It’s probably a first century phrase that has long since fell out of regular use. But would you go out to see grass blowing in the wind? (Well, I might, but I’m a photographer and I’ve been known to take pictures of grass blowing in the wind.) I just imagine a somewhat large reed growing from the riverbank and giving off a low tone as the wind blows across it. Instead of the voice of the prophet, you’d get the voice of the wind and the reeds.
Now, I suppose you might prefer that to someone who greeted his visitors with “You brood of vipers!” But would that bring you out? Probably not. You might come out to see someone wealthy and showy – that describes most big concert performers, come to think of it. You’d go out for those. Lots of people do.
Neither musical grasses nor well-dressed people brought people out to see John the Baptist. As Jesus put it, they came out to see a prophet, and more than a prophet. They came to see one who might give them some hope for a radical change in their condition. They came out because they were poor, and were going to stay poor, and they hoped that someone could change that. They came out because they were treated at best with indifference by the rulers of their day and at worst – all too frequently at worst – with casual cruelty, and they hoped that God cared about that. They came out because they knew they weren’t living by the laws of Scripture, and they knew that they needed to seek God’s forgiveness. They came out because forgiveness through the Temple was expensive: they had to bring sacrifices. They came out because John said they would find forgiveness with a simple – and inexpensive – bath in the Jordan River.
It was concerns like that which brought them out to see Jesus, too. Jesus didn’t baptize, but he and John shared their basic message: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” It’s also possible that it was John’s arrest that prompted Jesus to begin his preaching ministry. According to Matthew 4, Jesus returned to Galilee after John was imprisoned.
Quite aside from their shared experience of John’s baptism, they shared a message and they shared an offered hope. They may even have shared some time and some conversation. Perhaps they made plans. If they did, Herod’s decision to imprison John interrupted them.
Whatever may have been the case between the two of them, each of them brought out the crowds, and I would guess that most of those in the crowds wanted the answer to some variant of the question John’s messengers brought to Jesus: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” As James Boyce writes at Working Preacher, “Along with John we say, ‘Give us more data.’”
Well, what was the data?
There’s healing, and healing that restored people to their families and to their communities. Lacking sight, difficulties with mobility, the inability to hear, different kinds of diseases: all of these are conditions in which people can live with dignity and respect, contributing to those around them and to society as a whole. That was less true in the first century, when there was no Americans with Disabilities Act. Any of those people would have had to beg, which is a degrading way for people to survive, and those with some skin diseases would have been forced out of their homes entirely. Jesus acted not just to relieve people’s pain and suffering, he also acted to restore their relationships with others.
In our days, I have to tell you, we have all the power we need to maintain and even strengthen the relationships we have with people with challenges to sight, hearing, mobility, and overall health. Relatively few of us have the power to change the conditions of the body – with acknowledgement of the medical professionals among us – but all of us can treat people with full respect and honor their worth. We can welcome their contributions to our society and make the accommodations which permit them to live fruitfully. We can make sure that there are curb cuts on the streets at pedestrian walkways. We can, oh, I don’t know, use a font that is more easily read by a screen reader. We can set aside our prejudices and take up our commitment to regard all people as created in the image of God.
Karri Aldredge has a particular insight about good news and the poor. She writes at Working Preacher, “Of particular note is Jesus’ final statement: ‘The poor have good news brought to them.’
“This phrase is often interpreted as sharing the gospel with the poor. The Greek reads, more literally, that the poor are gospelized. They don’t just receive good news. They experience it. This reflects the long list of actions Jesus has just named. Those most vulnerable in society—like John in prison—receive the gospel not only through words but through actions and community relationships.”
I like that. In Jesus, the poor don’t just listen or hear. The poor get good newsed.
“Perhaps the work of Christ,” writes D. Mark Davis at leftbehindandlovingit, “is a way of resisting any system – whether imperial, political, medical, social, or religious – that de-humanizes and de-communalizes life. For many years I have had a definition of sin as ‘anything that is destructive of life and community.’ I think that definition and this description of what the reign of God through Christ looks like are very complementary.”
If that is the work of Christ – to bring humanity back to human beings, whether they have been oppressed by law, prejudice, illness, injury, custom, church, and death itself – if the work of Christ is to restore humanity to human beings, then that’s something worth coming out to see. That’s better than a well-dressed public figure. That’s better than a row of reeds singing on the wind.
What have you come out to see?
There are better things you could do with a Sunday morning. Think of all the things you could do to make yourself happy. Starting with sleeping late, for many of us, right? A nice leisurely start to a low-anxiety day, and low-anxiety days are precious, few and far between. There might be things you’d like to read, or craft projects that keep your mind and fingers engaged. You might experiment with some new delight, or take care of those nagging chores you didn’t get to during the week. Seriously. There are much better things you could be doing than sitting around listening to me.
Except.
If we’re here, we just might get some hints to the answer to that question: “Are you the One, Jesus?” We might just make a connection with that One. We might just deepen our relationship with that One over weeks and over years. We can’t count on these things strengthening steadily, no. John showed that. He baptized Jesus and he still had to ask that question when things went sideways for him. None of us live lives of faith without going through times of doubt and living through times of shadow.
So we’re here to be our messengers to ourselves, to ask John’s question for ourselves, to make that connection with Jesus and find out who he is for us and for all those around us. We keep trying, because, as Debie Thomas writes at JourneyWithJesus.net, “…who Jesus is is not a pronouncement. Not a sermon, a slogan, or a billboard. Who Jesus is is far more elusive, mysterious, and impossible-to-pin-down than we have yet imagined. The reality of who Jesus is emerges in the lives of the plain, poor, ordinary people all around us. We glimpse his reality in shadows. We hear it in whispers. It comes to us by stealth, with subtlety, over long, quiet stretches of time.”
What did you come out to see?
Whatever that might be, you saw the signs of the One who humanizes humanity. You heard it in the words we read. You experienced it in the welcome greetings that came from the others gathered here. You felt it in some movement of your soul, one which you may not be able to describe but which you know is real.
Here you have sought and found the signs of the Christ.
Amen.
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Sermon
Pastor Eric prepares the sermon text beforehand, but he makes changes while preaching. Sometimes they’re intentional; sometimes they’re not.
Photo of grass blowing in the wind by Eric Anderson.
When John asked Jesus if he were the they’d been waiting for, Jesus took the opportunity to define what a Messiah was, and to invite everyone into thee Realm of God.
Here’s a transcript:
For this third Sunday of Advent, I’m thinking about the eleventh chapter of Matthew’s Gospel (Matthew 11:2-11). If this seems a little far along in the book to be describing things that happened before Jesus’ birth, well, it is.
John the Baptist, who had baptized Jesus, had been arrested and was being held in prison by King Herod. He sent messengers to Jesus to ask him if he was the one who had been promised, or should they wait for another? Jesus said to the messengers, go and tell John what you see and hear: the people are being healed, the dead are being raised, the poor hear good news.
The messengers left, and hopefully that message brought John some comfort and reassurance.
Jesus then turned to the crowd and asked them why they had gone out to see John the Baptist in the first place? Did they go to hear a reed that was being blown by the wind? Did they go to see somebody in great clothing?
No. They went to hear a prophet. And yet, said Jesus, the least in the realm of God is greater than John the Baptist.
Well, that’s a lot, isn’t it?
In this message, Jesus defined for us what he meant an Anointed One, a Messiah, to be: a healer, a teacher, someone who restored people to life, someone who restored people to the full care of their communities. But Jesus also defined what it is to be a prophet. A prophet is one who tells the truth despite discomfort, despite oppression.
But Jesus also said it is God’s grace, the grace that brings us into the realm of God, that surpasses everything. God’s grace made John a prophet. God’s grace makes each and every one of us a citizen of God’s realm.
As we approach this season of Christmas, as we prepare to rejoice once more in the gift of Jesus Christ, let us rejoice as well that we have been included in that same realm of God as John the Baptist, that we share it with that great prophet and with so many other saints over time.
That’s what I’m thinking. I’m curious to hear what you’re thinking. Leave me your thoughts in the comment section below. I’d love to hear from you.
Wolves living peaceably with lambs, leopards and kids, calves with lions, cows with bears. They’re all grazing, which you’d think wouldn’t work for the wolves, leopards, lions, and bears. They don’t have the right kind of teeth.
Through them wander these little children who lead – I grant you that little children lead us around all the time, but that’s only until we catch on – and they even play safely around the poisonous snakes.
It seems fantastic. As Cheryl Lindsay writes at UCC.org, “Then, there is the testimony of the Banyan tree. It’s an extraordinary spectacle. Roots grow from the branches of the tree. The branches are long and the roots seek water from the ground. The Banyan tree can live for hundreds of years and expand to cover acres under its canopy of branches and sustaining roots. Most trees do not function this way, and the Banyan tree may seem like a creation of fantasy rather than another version of a fig tree.
“The world described in Isaiah 11 may also seem to be the fruit of impossible fantasy rather than a prophetic, imagined future crafted by the abiding love and longing of the Holy One.”
Living in Hilo, we’re familiar both with the wonders of the banyan tree and with its strange fragility. We’ve seen great trees come crashing tragically down. And we’ve seen them grow and thrive supported by those fantastic roots.
Is the banyan, or the remade natural world, really any more improbable than what launches this utopian vision: the image of a leader emerging from the house of David who demonstrated wisdom and understanding, counsel and might, knowledge and the fear of the LORD?
Isaiah lived through the reigns of good kings and bad kings. He had advised King Ahaz, who got very bad reviews from the authors of 2 Kings: “He did not do what was right in the sight of the Lord,” is how they introduced him in chapter 16. Isaiah had much better experiences with Ahaz’ son Hezekiah, who received great praise from the authors of 2 Kings and 2 Chronicles. “He did what was right in the sight of the LORD just as his ancestor David had done,” reads 2 Kings in chapter 18.
Is it so strange that a ruler should govern with wisdom and understanding, with knowledge and in the reverence of God?
Corrinne L. Carvalho writes at Working Preacher, “It is difficult for Christians to hear this poem, especially during the season of Advent, and not think it celebrates the birth of Jesus. But it is important to remember that this yearning for a perfect world pre-dates and exists independently of the Christmas story. I think if people around the world were asked to draw a picture of a perfect world leader, that ruler would have many of these same attributes.”
Although… there are some who have other ideas. Michael J. Chan writes at Working Preacher, “In the royal propaganda of the ancient near East, royal figures frequently encounter predatory animals, and especially lions. And so it is no surprise to find the royal child depicted as a shepherd among lions. What is surprising, however, is the way in which the young shepherd interacts with them. In general, kings would be depicted fighting and killing lions, not leading them or living among them.”
Fighting and killing. Not leading. Not living among them.
Does this sound familiar?
Isaiah’s vision of peace relies upon leaders who make peace a priority. Peace, not power. Peace, not privilege. Peace, not pride. Isaiah’s peaceful ruler relies upon the wisdom of God, the righteousness of God, the reverence of God. Isaiah’s peaceful ruler uses that wisdom and righteousness and reverence to look more carefully at the stories they hear. They give regard to the concerns of the poor. They relieve the oppression of those who suffer from the acts of the powerful.
In his novel Jingo, Terry Pratchett described a dialogue between a ruler, Lord Vetinari, and a genius, Leonard of Quirm.
“As they say, [said Lord Vetinari] ‘If you would seek war, prepare for war.’”
“I believe, my lord, the saying is ‘If you would seek peace, prepare for war,’” Leonard ventured.
Vetinari put his head on one side and his lips moved as he repeated the phrase to himself. Finally he said, “No, no. I just don’t see that one at all.”
Terry Pratchett, Jingo (New York, HarTorch), 1997
We make peace by moving toward peace. We move toward peace in our households when we stop insisting on our way, or our authority, or our “rightness.” We move toward peace when we work on our relationships. We move toward peace in our voluntary communities when we work through the different ideas and disagreements and choose a way we can share together. We move toward peace in our churches when we accept that there are things we don’t know about God and about the nature of the world and prioritize the welfare of those affected by our decisions.
We move toward peace in the world when we select leaders who decide in the interests of all people, not just themselves or those in their circle or class. We move toward peace in the world when we send leaders packing who demonstrate that they work for themselves, not others. We move toward peace in the world when we make it clear that we will not tolerate injustice, intolerance, oppression, cruelty, and tyranny.
We move toward peace in the world when we embrace peace within ourselves. We move toward peace in the world when we choose the righteousness of God rather than the self-interest which is so common. We move toward peace in the world when we ourselves take the time and effort to learn more than what appears to be obvious, and seek diligently for truth. We move toward peace in the world when we choose wisdom over folly.
As Cory Driver writes at Working Preacher, “God has always been calling the Holy Community to justice and faithfulness, and has always promised to send leaders who will show the way. It is such a leader that we, along with Isaiah, look for during this Advent.”
Let us be such leaders in our families and communities; let us be such citizens in our nation, let us insist upon such leaders in the houses of government in the world.
Let us journey toward peace.
Amen.
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Sermon
Pastor Eric writes his sermons in advance, but he makes changes while he preaches, sometimes intentionally, and sometimes not.
Ancient Israel had a somewhat romantic view of shepherds. They pictured themselves as herding people rather than farming people, people of the hillsides rather than the plains. They ignored lots of the gritty details of shepherding, including the long hours, low pay, and lengthy list of discomforts. Rather they praised the virtues of the shepherd, including attentiveness, diligence, bravery, and self-sacrifice.
Over and over again in the writings of the Old Testament, the Hebrew writers compared their monarchs to shepherds. In that best remembered psalm, the one-time shepherd who became a monarch compared a shepherd to God.
Both the psalmists and the prophets urged the nations’ leaders to emulate the virtues of the shepherd, to keep the people together, to attend to their needs, and to protect them from outside dangers. The Scriptural record says that on some occasions they were successful. A few of the kings of Israel and Judah received the praise of the prophets themselves and, later, the ones who wrote the histories of the Bible. But most of the time, both prophets and historians sounded more like Jeremiah here, who most likely had the last king of Judah, Zedekiah, in mind when he wrote, “Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture! says the LORD. Therefore thus says the LORD, the God of Israel, concerning the shepherds who shepherd my people: It is you who have scattered my flock and drive them away, and you have not attended to them.”
I’m afraid it’s not unusual in human societies that people call upon their leaders to emulate the virtues of the shepherd and, instead, find themselves afflicted with the gritty realities of sheep herding: long hours, low pay, and a lengthy list of discomforts. In the meantime, the leaders live large.
It’s an old, old story.
Jeremiah lived that old, old story even as he told it so frankly and so boldly. The “righteous branch” from David’s line translates the Hebrew “Tzemach Tzedek,” an ironic reflection on the king’s name, “Tzedekiya,” or “the LORD is my righteousness.” Essentially, Jeremiah said that God was not the king’s righteousness, and another branch from David’s family tree would do much better, thank you very much.
Around six hundred years later, Jesus excited a lot of interest, a lot of speculation, and a lot of comment as he moved through Galilee and Judea. Jews had come to long for, even expect Jeremiah’s “righteous branch,” an “anointed one,” or “mesiach,” which we tend to pronounce “Messiah.” This would be someone to free them from the foreign rule of Rome and to clear the greatly disliked descendants of Herod the Great from their thrones. This would be a new monarch who would fulfill the yearnings of the centuries for a ruler who would display the virtues of the shepherd: attentiveness, diligence, bravery, and self-sacrifice.
But maybe not as much self-sacrifice as Luke described in chapter 23. As Debra J. Mumford writes at Working Preacher, “If Jesus was true royalty, he would not have been crucified on a cross. Secondly, even if Jesus somehow ended up on a cross, as a person with authority in those days, He would have had the power and influence to secure his own deliverance. So, they likely mocked Jesus because it was obvious to them that Jesus could not have been the person some claimed him to be.”
I really can’t overstate this. Kings didn’t get crucified. Saviors didn’t submit to a cross. Messiahs didn’t get executed by the ones they were supposed to overthrow.
The center of the Christian Gospel is that this time, that’s exactly what happened. The center of the Christian Gospel is that a crucified Messiah is exactly what we need. The center of the Christian Gospel is that even death cannot overthrow the righteous shepherd.
The prophets and the psalmists called for a monarch who would demonstrate the virtues of a shepherd for centuries. Even they, I’m sure, would have stood agog, even aghast, to see Jesus take that call to a cross.
What we have in Christianity is a monarch who sets aside the privileges of a king for the virtues of a shepherd.
We’ve spent the last two millennia trying to come to terms with that.
How can a crucified king bring us life? How can a forgiving king right the wrongs done to us and that we have done to others?
How can a peaceful king end the wars that rage within us and around us?
How can a compassionate king find the strength to lead us?
The result, I’m afraid, has been history in which Christian leaders imitated the rulers Jeremiah criticized so harshly more than they emulated Jesus. Contemporary American Christian Nationalism would look comfortably familiar to those who ordered the destruction of the Cathars in the 14th century, or authorized the Doctrine of Discovery in the 15th century, or launched the wars between Protestants and Catholics that afflicted the people of Europe for hundreds of years.
Jesus’ crucifixion forces us to ask who he is, as Emerson Powery writes at Working Preacher. “What kind of king will he be? Posing the question in this way is really another way of asking a more personal question: what kind of church should we be?”
Will we imitate Jesus, or imitate those who crucified him?
This congregation is not, I believe, filled with people in positions of power. We are not the movers and the shakers of the time. We are, however, moving and shaking within our own circles.
First, who are we moving and shaking for?
We need to move and shake for ourselves to some degree. Eating is a good thing. Housing is a good thing. And despite the mythology about people who do nothing and live large that is so widespread in the United States, the only people who live in comfort without working live in mansions. Most people do the job of a living wage, but they’ve also got to advocate for a living wage or they may not get one. As I keep saying, this nation believes in the value of hard work right up until it’s time to pay for it.
I’d argue, however, that if we’re only moving and shaking for ourselves, we’re subject to the same criticisms Jeremiah made of those ancient monarchs.
Even if we’re moving and shaking for our families, that’s still not enough, is it? Those ancient monarchs did what they could to see that their children inherited the power and the privilege that they did – sometimes they did it well, and sometimes they didn’t. But while they focused their attention on the welfare of their own family, what happened to the country? What happened to the people they were supposed to care for?
“Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture,” says the LORD.
Is it enough to include our friends in our care and concern? Or at least those among our neighbors who think right, act right, do right? A “coalition of the willing,” if you like. Well. Perhaps. It’s pretty good. You can build a community that way. But is it enough?
No. Not according to Jesus.
Cheryl Lindsay writes at UCC.org, “From the Incarnation at his birth to this moment of humiliation on the cross, Jesus has demonstrated that the kindom of God does not reflect the dominance-driven kingdoms of this world. Strength does not come from exerting one’s power against the powerless or stripping power and authority from enemies. The power of the Spirit enables us to love our enemies and to share power and other resources for the good of all.”
“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”
Jesus did his moving and shaking for the entire realm of God.
He also showed us how. Not, as Rev. Lindsay wrote, by exerting brute power over enemies. That’s the way of the monarchs, not the shepherds. Instead, it’s with forgiveness. Mercy. Sharing. Love.
That’s what a righteous shepherd looks like.
Debie Thomas writes at JourneyWithJesus.net, “If there is any moment in the Christian calendar that must smack all smugness out of us — all arrogance, all self-righteousness, all contempt — this one has to be it. Our king was a dead man walking. His chosen path to glory was the cross. If paradise was anywhere, it was with him, only and exactly where his oppressors left him to die: Today. With Me. Paradise.”
That is Christ’s gift to us: Today. With me. Paradise. It is also Christ’s challenge to us that we imitate the righteous shepherd, not the unrighteous monarch, and extend to others that same gift:
Today. With me. Paradise.
Amen.
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Sermon
Pastor Eric makes changes to his prepared text while preaching, sometimes accidentally, and sometimes deliberately. What you read and what you heard will not precisely match.
When we celebrate the rule of Christ, we celebrate a majesty revealed not in power, but in grace.
Here’s a transcript:
This coming Sunday concludes the traditional church worship year. That year begins with Advent, with the preparation for the birth of Jesus, which makes a kind of sense. But the year doesn’t have an obvious close, so the last Sunday before Advent is known as the Reign of Christ. It celebrates not just the divinity, what the authority, the rulership if you like, of Jesus.
And so I am thinking about the twenty-third chapter of Luke: the crucifixion of Christ.
Jesus did two things in this passage from Luke, and there was one thing he didn’t do. He prayed, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” He prayed that from of the cross, from that instrument of deadly torture.
He told a fearful, tortured thief that he, too, would see paradise. Those were the two things he did.
What he didn’t do was to follow the taunts of those who said, “If you are the king, come down. If you are the king, exercise your power. If you are the king, show us in the only way that we recognize.”
In Christ’s crucifixion we learn what true majesty is. It is not gold fixtures or crowns. It is not triumphant leadership of armies or the direction of people against other people. It is forgiveness, and assurance, and the restraint of power.
That is what we celebrate when we call Jesus Christ a monarch, a ruler, a king. That is what we rejoice in when we rejoice in the reign of Christ.
We Christians have emulated the more traditional notions of monarchy time after time after time over the centuries, and it is not to our credit. But Jesus on the cross showed us once and for all what true majesty is, what true power is, what it means to reign.
That’s what I’m thinking. I’m curious to hear what you’re thinking. Leave me your thoughts in the comment section below. I’d love to hear from you.
