A Lenten Reflection

On power and the cross, and what we think we're doing

I’m about to head out to Atlanta for the weekend (a work trip but no public events), and it’s been a long week already. As many of you know, we received word on Monday that the president of Calvin was stepping down. I may have more to say on this at some later point, but not now. When I got the news, I was about to hit “publish” on this post. In the aftermath, it lingered all week in a tab on my computer. I didn’t have the time or heart to return to it. But I wanted to share it before I leave. The words here were a source of inspiration and strength for me, and perhaps will be for some of you as well.

Without further ado…

When I started down the road of public scholarship several years back, my goal was to bring historical research to a wider audience. For the most part, that’s what I’ve done. What I wasn’t prepared for was the frequency with which I’d also be asked to reflect on my personal faith.

I’ve often been somewhat reluctant to do so, not because I don’t have a deep faith, but because I do. As you know, it took some arm-twisting for me to agree to talk about my faith on the Holy Post a few months ago, and I explained some of my reticence then. Part of the reason is that I come from a tradition that prefers analyzing to proseltyzing. We tend to display our spirituality in more sublte ways. We’re not the type to raise our hands in worship. We prefer reciting creeds. When the spirit moves us, we crack open the books and think about things.

When I wrote Jesus and John Wayne, it was only at the insistance of my editor that I added the handful of sentences on my religious background to the introduction. I don’t regret including those sentences, but it was important to me to be clear that the book is a work of history, not a memoir or theological treatise.

That said, I understand why people are curious. I also understand why some people think it matters. It’s harder to paint me as an “enemy of the church” if you know anything about me. (Not that plenty don’t do that anyway, to be sure.) It also means that sometimes when I do talk about my faith, I get lumped in with those who would “whitewash” Christianity and attempt to absolve Christians of any misdeeds. In truth, I don’t have any calculated agenda. I’ve simply decided to answer honestly the questions I’m asked, and let the chips fall where they may.

I don’t claim any authority to dictate what is or is not “true Christianity,” but I can speak to the faith I’ve claimed as my own, and to the religious teachings that have shaped my own trajectory. I was thinking about that trajectory in church this past Sunday, as our interim pastor, Len Vanderzee, began his sermon, because Len has been part of that trajectory. Long ago, he was my pastor at South Bend Christian Reformed Church, the church I attended throughout graduate school. My advisor George Marsden attended there as well, as did fellow historian and provost Nathan Hatch, biblical scholar Jim VanderKam, philospher Al Plantinga, and several other notable Christian intellectuals. For several years I played on the church softball team with many of these illustrious scholars, and each week I sat under Len’s preaching.

It’s becuase of Len and the other pastors of churches I’ve attended in the Christian Reformed Church that I don’t identify with the term “deconstruction.” I haven’t had to deconstruct my faith in fundamental ways. Instead, I tend to see my work in terms of continuity rather than disruption.

As I was listening to Len preach on Mark 8: 27-38 this week, I was particularly struck by this fact. I thought I’d share the sermon here. If sermons aren’t your thing, you may want to click away now. But even if you aren’t a Christian, you may find this variation interesting. It doesn’t appear to be the dominant expression of Christianity today, at least not politically, but it reflects the kind of Christianity that motivates many of us to push back against this dominant expression—not despite our faith, but because of it.

Here’s a taste (you can view the whole thing here):

Jesus has taken the disciples away for a few days of training and teaching. It’s time for a little catechism class.

Jesus starts with asking what’s happening? Who do people say that I am. Well, there’s no settled answer that question. Some say this and some say that. Well, Jesus goes on, what about you. Who do you think I am?

There’s a lot of hemming a hawing but Peter nails it. He gets the catechism answer exactly right. “You are the Christ, the Anointed, the Messiah.” But the problem was that as he sees in his mind is quite different than what it meant for Jesus.

For Peter, Jesus was clearly to be a Messiah like King David. He is the Son of David who would throw off the yoke or Roman oppression and bring back the glory days of Israel. He would Make Israel Great Again.

Here’s how a famous Jewish writing from around Jesus’ time talked about the Messiah. The Messiah will “purge Jerusalem from the nations that trample her to destruction. With a rod of iron he shall break them in pieces and utterly destroy them. That’s Peter’s picture of a proper Messiah

But then Jesus told them what the true Messiah looks like. Mark writes, “He began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly.”

Openly….there was no doubt about Jesus’ message here. And Peter is shocked. The word Mark uses is a tough one. Peter rebuked Jesus. Basically he told him off. He told Jesus that he had it all wrong.

And Jesus cuts him off. He will not hear another word of it. “Get behind me, Satan.”

You may remember that earlier in Marks’ gospel it just says Jesus was tempted in the wilderness by the devil. It doesn’t describe the actual temptations.

But here we find out. The Devil’s greatest, most essential and powerful temptation for Jesus is to trade in the powerlessness of the cross for the power to rule.

With Peter now behind him, Jesus turns to face the rest of the disciples. Mark says there was actually a whole crowd. “If anyone want to follow me, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

In other words, what I have just said about the cross isn’t just about me, it’s about you. To follow me is to bear a cross.

…Of course, Jesus did die for our sins, but the cross tells us far more than that. The Gospel of the cross doesn’t just define how we are forgiven and saved from sin, it defines how we live our lives. It defines the arc of history. As Zahnd puts it, it is the wood between the worlds.

That’s why Jesus says, If you will come after me, you will deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow me.” The cross defines our way in the world.

Not power, but powerless love. Not getting even with our enemies, but loving and forgiving them. Not expecting popularity and acceptance, but expecting rejection and persecution. Not aligning ourselves with the kingdoms of this world, but aligning ourselves with the coming kingdom of God.

I’ve also been reading another fascinating book about the tremendous growth of the early church in the first couple centuries. The author pored through what pastors and bishops at that time taught their adult catechumens to prepare them for baptism.

One of the things he found was a universal and overwhelming emphasis on peace, non-violence, and loving their enemies.

Now remember, this was the age of persecution. But the church taught that if you’re going to be baptized into Jesus Christ, like these children today, your committed to accept his cross.

That means not to engage in retaliation, or violence. Instead , you must love your enemies and pray for your persecutor, and accept even death as an expected result of following their Lord who died on a cross.

And this is the church that grew tremendously.

The whole ethos of the Roman empire was built around power and control. One of the most important symbols of that power was the cross. This is what happens to anyone who stands in the way of Roman power. And crosses were a common sight.

The Emperor Nero once crucified thousands of his enemies on crosses all along the Appian way like so many billboards.

That Christians worshipped a crucified Lord and God was considered ludicrous and even blasphemous.

Rather recently, archeologists have discovered a graffiti on some old Roman wall from around 200 AD. It depicts, cartoon-like figure of a man on a cross with a donkey head. Next to it is a man with his hand raised in worship. Scribbled beneath are the words, “Alexamenos worships his God.” That’s what Rome thought of our crucified Lord.

As Paul said, “We preach Christ and him crucified, foolishness to the Greeks and blasphemy to the Jews. But here is the power and the wisdom of God.

How do we understand this crucified God? How do we grasp this holy mystery? It’s not just some simple transaction. Here’s one of the ways Brian Zahnd puts it in his book on the cross that really grabbed me:

“Jesus was killed not by God but by the hands of wicked men into which God the Father handed him over. With great violence and hatred, the principalities and powers sinned all the sin of the world into the sinless body of Jesus.

On Golgotha the sin of the world, as a hideous singularity, was drawn inescapably into the greater singularity of God’s love where sin itself was undone.

When Jesus prayed, “Father forgive them, what was forgiven? Everything. Every sin, every transgression, every act of idolatry, every deed of injustice…every notorious crime, every hidden sin—it was all forgiven. On [the cross] all the sins of the world became a single sin that it might be forgiven once and forever.

Remember John writes, it was not for our sins only, but for the sins of the whole world.

And God raised him from the dead, the victor over sin and death and all the powers of evil that hold the world in their thrall.

That was something of the meaning of the cross in that persecuted early church. In fact, some of its most important leaders like Paul and Peter were also crucified, or martyred in other terrible ways. They went fearlessly, willingly, gladly even, with forgiveness in their hearts.

Why? Because in the cross of Jesus Christ they were set free from sin and death. No earthly power could destroy them or separate them from the Jesus or the power of his cross and resurrection.

They sang with all their heart the hymn Paul wrote down in Philippians 2.

God raised Jesus Christ from the dead and gave him a name above every name that at the name of Jesus, every knee shall bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father.

That’s what they believed. That’s what they lived.

Here’s the question. What changed? How did that message of the cross get mixed up in the scramble for earthly power by the church of Christ all through history.

How is it that many Christians through the centuries, and even now, easily turn to the violence of the state in order to preserve their power and influence. Why are Christians afraid that someone will come and take away their faith?

This week, at a National Association of Religious Broadcaster’s convention, former President Trump told the cheering throng, “They want to tear down crosses where they can, and cover them up with social justice flags. But no one will be touching the cross of Christ under the Trump administration, I swear to you.”

I want to say, Dear sir, and fellow child of God. The crucified and risen Lord Jesus Christ and his church does not need protection by you or by any governmental power. If the cross needed the protection and

recognition of any earthly power, it would be totally unworthy of our faith and allegiance. Jesus Christ is Lord, and he, and he alone will finally overcome all the powers of evil by the power of his cross and resurrection

What does the church of Jesus Christ look like? We are not the winners, the power-brokers, the ones in control. Nor do we aspire to be. We are not cowering in fear before earthly powers or seeking that power for ourselves.

Brian Zahnd suggests that the church is described nowhere better than in Jesus’ opening words in the Sermon on the Mount?

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

“Blessed are the meek (gentle), for they will inherit the earth.

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice, for they will be filled.

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely[b] on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven.”

Lord knows, my comfortable middle class life is a far cry from the cross-shaped life to which Jesus calls me. But that’s my calling, and yours.

I come back to that awful and beautiful crucifix I saw above the altar at St. Michael’s church last Sunday. It tells me that the Eucharist we share each week is the feast of God’s loving self-surrender. We gather under the bloody cross of Christ and we eat the body and drink the blood of our crucified God.

In his resurrection he has conquered sin and death and all the powers of Hell. And that is why we are now free to live a cross-shaped life of self-surrendering love, peace, and non -violence.

We do not live by fear but by faith, faith in the Son of God who bore the sins of the world on the cross and rose to reconcile us with his Father.

And one day we will join that victory song of the Lamb.

Worthy is the Lamb that was slaughtered to receive blessing and honor and glory and might forever and ever. Amen

So that’s it. This is the faith that inspires some of us. Even as we know we fall short of the ideal, we are pushing back against those intent on abandoning the ideal entirely and claiming power over others in the name of the cross.

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