Archives For Holy Week

Pharoah and his army he cast into the sea, they went down, down, down like a stone. By your right hand, by your mighty right hand they were shattered; Lord, you shattered them all. Sing to the Lord; the Lord has won, he has won.  Sing to the Lord; the Lord has won, he has won.

– Exodus 15

Moses is referred to as a servant thirty-six times in the scripture Jesus learned on Mary’s lap.

Only, there’s another understanding of servant that courses through the Hebrew Bible. It’s not a memory of one God has sent to his People. It’s the promise of a servant God will send to rescue his People.

The prophet Isaiah was called after the Chosen People had been invaded, defeated and plundered by Babylon. Israel’s best and brightest were exiled into captivity. Those not exiled had it worse; they had to live among ruins, the promises of God reduced to ash and rubble. images

Isaiah looked for a day when God would restore his People by way of another Servant.

And maybe because of all the violence Isaiah had witnessed, maybe because Isaiah knew firsthand that violence doesn’t always end in victory songs, Isaiah anticipated a servant unlike Moses. Isaiah envisioned a deliverance different than the Exodus.

After Jesus enters Jerusalem, on Monday of Holy Week, Jesus goes to the Temple as though he’d been deputized and it’s his jurisdiction.

     Not content to ‘teach’ he drives them out:

The merchants who’ve set up shop in the narthex.

The money changers, looking to make a buck off atonement. The venders who sold doves to those too poor (like Mary and Joseph) to purchase a proper animal for sacrificing.

Jesus drives them out along with all the thousands of sheep and oxen waiting to be sold to the holiday travelers.

Tradition refers to this as Jesus ‘cleansing’ the Temple, but it’s really a stampede. In a city already filled with 200,000 pilgrims and the 20,000 lambs required for their Passover meals Jesus’ cleansing of the Temple creates chaos in the streets. It leaves the crowds spellbound.

     It puts Jesus firmly in control of events.

If he truly is a Messiah like they expect then his coup d’etat is nearly complete: the Temple’s been taken, the crowds are on his side and the Roman fortress is literally just next door.

But Jesus doesn’t take up arms.

Instead, Matthew says that after he’s driven out the merchants and money changers, Jesus welcomes the blind and the lame and the children to come up to him in the Temple, a place where they were forbidden.

     Jesus’ cleansing of the Temple becomes yet another example of how he’s taught all along.  

As though God had sent this messiah to teach.

     As if deliverance could be accomplished with just words.

     Or with the Word.

 

IMG_0593The Satisfaction or Substitutionary theory of the atonement is what many Christians take to be the only understanding. It’s the perspective you hear before altar calls or read in religious tracts.

This metaphor is rooted in biblical passages that suggest vicarious suffering as the way in which human sin is redeemed (Isaiah 53); that is, Jesus suffers in our place and we benefit from it. 

Paul writes using this metaphor, especially in 2 Corinthians and Romans. This theory, despite its omnipresence today, wasn’t that widespread in Christianity until it was popularized by St Anselm in his book, Why Did God Become Human? 

     Though many Christians assume this is the only biblical model for atonement, it’s critical to note that Anselm bases his understanding in the vassal-lord relationship of Medieval feudalism. Anselm draws a parallel between judicial and legal imagery used by Paul to the relationship of serfs and lords.

Sin, according to Anselm, is like the social disobedience shown to a lord. Just as satisfaction for the ‘debt of honor’ must be a paid to a serf’s lord, so too does God demand satisfaction for our sin. Like a Medieval lord, Anselm believes our sin offends God and God’s honor.

We’re guilty of offending God.

Sin is a debt that needs to be forgiven.

As Paul says, the punishment our offense merits is death.

     This theory focuses on Jesus’ suffering on the way to and on the Cross. In this understanding, Good Friday is the day that changes history.

It’s called the substitution theory for reasons that will be obvious.

Substitution imagines salvation as a law court in which you and me and all of humanity stand in the dock as the accused, on trial for the evil we do to one another and to God’s creation.

     God is the Judge.

The angry, wrathful Judge.

These are charges that we’re guilty of and our guilt is so severe that there’s no recompense we could ever make. What we deserve is eternal punishment, for God to just wipe his hands of us and be done with this thing called creation.

But Jesus suffers in our place.

      This is also called the objective theory because Jesus’ suffering changes how God sees us whether we believe or not.

The Protestant Reformers used the term ‘double imputation’ in reference to this theory of the atonement.

Human sin is ‘imputed’ to Christ, who had no sin himself, and Christ’s righteousness in turn is imputed to us, who have no righteousness on our own. Double Imputation recalls Paul’s letter to the Corinthians when he writes that ‘God made Jesus to be sin.’ Christ’s death objectively imputes Jesus’ righteousness to it. It objectively, once for all time, how God regards us. It reconciles, literally it sets things right.

This theory takes seriously the sin in the world. After all, who could look at the newspaper or travel to a third world country and not think God has ample reason to be ticked off at us. 

This theory also takes seriously the nature of Jesus’ death. Why is it, after all, that Jesus dies on a cross and seems to foreshadow from the beginning that this is what would happen to him? According to this theory, Jesus dies on a cross because its the lowliest, more forsaken death we can experience. Jesus dies the sort of death we deserve. It’s not the extent of suffering Jesus endures, it’s the lowly, abandoned nature of his death.

On the other hand, this theory can focus so much on the necessity of Jesus’ suffering and the severity of his suffering that God can seem more determined by his wrath than by his grace.

Does God, for example, really need to have his wrath satisfied?

The notion that our sin can offend God seems to put our sin in the driver’s seat. 

Most importantly, this theory seems to put God in contradiction with God’s self. God’s mercy is at odds with God’s righteousness. Grace seems conditional on Christ’s act of sacrifice. It seems to imply that incarnation is a last ditch effort to save humanity, that prior to Christmas and Cross God was not inclined to forgive humanity.

     What emerges therefore is a depiction of God that is at times distasteful. It presents a God who seems to need to be reconciled with us rather than a God we need to be reconciled to.

Think again of the tracts passed out by evangelists, the ones that describe God’s wrath, how death is what we deserve in God’s eyes, how God made Jesus die in our place. To someone with no other knowledge of Christianity, do you really this rendering would lead them to think God is a God of infinite love and peace?

 

 Karl Barth, a 20th century theologian, addressed some of these troubles while trying to recover the power of the substitutionary understanding of the atonement. Primarily Barth did it by more explicitly grounding the atonement in an act of the Trinity. It’s not, therefore, that God makes Jesus in our place; it’s that God-in-Christ suffers in our place.

     To say God is a wrathful Judge is not incorrect but it is incomplete. God, as Jesus Christ, God in the flesh, is the Judge Judged in Our Place. Whatever wrath God feels towards us for our sin, God assumes and suffers for us. In this way, God has always been, eternally, the God ready to die for us. God’s wrath is subordinate, even on the cross, to God’s love and mercy. 

     The cross, the sign of abject humiliation, is actually exaltation. It’s the complete and final disclosure of who this God really is. 

 

      Patristic theologians, those theologians in the Church’s first generations, understood the work of atonement primarily in battle imagery.

For them, the Son’s work is a dramatic struggle Jesus wages with Sin and Death. Death in this perspective is a malevolent power, synonymous with Sin, which looms over God’s creation and frustrates God’s intentions for us. Paul, in Colossians 2.15, speaks of the Cross in this way and the effects Jesus’ cross have over the natural world in the Gospels suggest it too: the earthquake, the graves exploding open, the sky darkening, the temple veil torn in two. Jesus in Mark 10.45 speaks of his life being a ransom.

The Palm Sunday allusions to a military parade echo such a battle metaphor too. Jesus rides into Jerusalem just like Pilate, the crowds wave palm leaves, a messianic symbol, and Jesus is tried for claiming to be a rival king and he dies a revolutionary’s death. IMG_0593

For the early Church, Easter- much more so than the Cross- is the day that changes everything and the significance of the Cross is that it’s empty.

In the Gospel narrative, Pilate and the chief priests represent the power of Death and Sin in the world. They represent us, who enamored of ‘power’ such that we cannot recognize or accept that Jesus’ self-giving form of love is the true power that moves the universe.

Jesus saves us by breaking Death’s power, by defeating the lure that Sin has over us and by making possible a life lived in anticipation of God’s New Creation. This metaphor sees atonement has happening primarily through Easter’s Empty Tomb.

The strengths of the Victor theory include its recognition of the reality and power of Sin in the world; Jesus comes to defeat Sin on a cosmic level not simply forgive my personal sin and Jesus does this objectively and decisively.

According to this way of thinking, Sin really was defeated by Jesus once and for all. As Paul says in Ephesians, he has brought down the principalities and powers. All that’s left in our world, all the sin and evil we see in our world, is just the last gasp of an enemy that’s already been defeated.

Think of the Ring of Power in the Lord of the Rings and how it exercises power and evil long after Sauron had been defeated. It was, in fact, this model of the atonement that informed Tolkien.

Another attribute of the theory is how it understands that God works liberation and reconciliation not through violence but by letting Sin do its worst to him and thus demonstrating its ultimate finitude and weakness.

The Cross, then, shows God exhausting Sin’s power.

There’s literally nothing else Sin can do to him and its still not enough to destroy God’s condescending love. 

The Victor metaphor also pays due attention to Jesus’ life. The content of Jesus’ life, his teaching, is the same power that defeats Sin at the end of the story. His teaching isn’t extraneous or optional for us. It’s Jesus training us to do battle in the world today.

Christians committed to the efficacy of Jesus’ teaching aren’t being naive or idealistic, as critics often charge; in fact, they are being more realistic than anyone else.

Sin has been defeated by Jesus.

We shouldn’t act as though Christians must resort to non-Christians means to do battle. Sin should be taken seriously but the only way to defeat it is through Christ’s way of life.

It may even kill us as it killed him but ultimately Easter shows it to be the only winning strategy.

 

IMG_0593     The biblical concept of ‘salvation’ spans past, present and future.

     Salvation isn’t just what Jesus did; it’s what God does.

When it comes to Christ specifically, salvation, meaning ‘healing’ or ‘rescue,’ is a word that functions with two complementary but different meanings.

Understood against a large canvas, ‘salvation’ refers to what Jesus does (or did) through his life, death and resurrection. More particularly, ‘salvation’ also refers to what God does today to heal us of Sin; that is, ‘salvation’ refers to how God extends the benefits of Christ’s work to us in the present.

I would argue the only way to avoid such confusion is construing salvation as a work, not of God or Jesus in isolation from one another, of the entire Trinity.

     As Trinity, God worked salvation for us through incarnation, cross and resurrection.

     As Trinity, God works salvation (healing, rescue) for us through the Holy Spirit. 

 

Put in trinitarian terms, salvation is both past and present. It’s a work of both the Son and the Spirit.

As a work of the Son, salvation can be defined in terms of Christ’s act of atonement and refers to the way in which Jesus‘ birth, life, death and resurrection reconciles a sinful humanity to God.

While this work of the Son properly encompasses the breadth of Jesus‘ story, oftentimes atonement more narrowly refers exclusively to the Cross.

When Christians say ‘Jesus saves,‘ for instance, they usually mean ‘Jesus atoned.‘

Atonement is a sacrificial term owing to the Levitical holiness codes in the Old Testament. In Christian terms, it denotes the way in which Jesus (his life or death or both) is an expiation, an expungement, for humanity’s sin. As I tell the confirmation students each year, atonement refers to how Jesus makes us ‘at-one‘ with God, a God we’d estranged through our sin.

Christ achieves this at-onement irrespective of the rest of the course of human history. As the darkening skies, the torn temple veil and the quaking earth in the Gospels‘ Good Friday scenes suggest, there is an objective status to Christ’s work on the Cross. In some real way, the obedience and faithfulness of Jesus all the way to the Cross determines how God henceforth regards humanity.

     That the penalty of humanity’s sin is reconciled, however, does not mean that humanity is fully restored to the life God originally intended.

     It may be the 1 Cross + 3 Nails = 4-giveness

but that does not mean you are a transformed person.

Forgiveness alone does not make you who God made you to be. Forgiveness instead makes it possible- it frees you- for the work of the Spirit (grace) to restore you so that, over time, you may resemble Christ.

The work of the Son is objective, true, and perfect. It is continued and perfected in us by the work of the Spirit. The Spirit makes available in the present the work of the Son in the past.

You can see this Trinitarian flow in the chronology of the Gospels themselves. After Good Friday and Easter, the Risen Christ appears to the disciples (to whom all is clearly forgiven) and breathes his Spirit upon them.

Soon, having received the Spirit, the disciples, heretofore dim-witted, sinful and cowardly, bear a striking resemblance to Jesus himself.

Having been reconciled they’ve been restored to lead Jesus‘ life for themselves.

As a present work of the Spirit, salvation can be defined in the very terms Jesus used the word: as healing, rescue, restoration from sin. This is the way Jesus speaks in Luke 19 when Christ invites himself to Zaccheus‘ house. Jesus‘ hospitality and welcome of a dreaded tax collector and Roman collaborator changes Zaccheus‘ heart such that Zaccheus willingly gives up his ill-gotten fortune. In response, Jesus declares ‘salvation has come to this house today.‘ In other words, Zaccheus right then and there has experienced healing.

Salvation as a work of the Son refers to what Jesus says ‘is accomplished’ on his cross. It’s the work that is true regardless of my own belief or faith. Salvation as a work of the Spirit refers to how I access and appropriate the Son’s work in my present life. If the work of the Son is what is objective about salvation then the work of the Spirit is that part of salvation that requires my response.

 Already you may be asking: If the work of the Son (on the Cross) is definitive, perfect and objective once for all, then what of those who don’t believe? Who never come to the faith or who do not take it with sincerity?

That specific question is best answered later but understanding salvation as a work of the Spirit allows you to answer part of the question now.

Namely, if one does not appropriate salvation in their present life then- no matter the question of how God will ultimately judge them- they are living an impoverished life. They are living (settling for) a life less than what God desires for them.

 

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This weekend for my sermon I answered questions people submitted about the Cross, the Atonement and the Passion Story.

I pulled the questions at random from a bingo tumbler and answered as many as possible.

Dennis Perry, my assistant pastor, joined me at 3 of the services and a friend and divinity student, Andrew DiAntonio joined me at 2 of the services. 

You can listen and/or download them by clicking here or going to ‘Tamed Cynic’ in the iTunes store.

I will add them to the ‘Listen’ widget on this blog by the end of this week.

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I hate Palm-Passion Sunday sermons. Hate. Them.

I know most everyone will never come to Holy Thursday or Good Friday so I feel this pressure to condense a week’s worth of holy week time and what is an easy third of the Gospel into one sermon, which is recipe for bad writing, which I know, which eventuates in bad writing. Argh.

Here’s a Palm Sunday sermon, “The Recipe for Peace,” from 2 years ago. It’s not terribly awful.

Scot McKnight has it posted it over at his Jesus Creed blog.

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At the same time I was finishing up seminary, my best friend was winding up his studies at law school. When I was starting out at my first church, he was beginning his law career.

After clerking for an appeals court judge for a year, he got chosen to clerk for the Supreme Court, for Justice Scalia, a job which first required he to pass an extensive FBI background check.

Because I was his best friend and because we’d been roommates together at UVA and because we’d known each other a long while, the FBI needed to interview me about his character.

So one spring afternoon during Holy Week a fifty-something FBI agent came to my church to interview me about my friend.

He was tall and balding and was wearing a dark wrinkled suit. When my secretary showed him into my office, the first thing he said to me was “you don’t look much like a reverend.” Whether he was talking about my age or appearance wasn’t clear, but the contempt was crystal. I decided right then and there that I didn’t like him.

He offered me his business card but not his hand and sat down across from my desk. He glanced around my office looking amused. Then, with a dismissive tone of voice, he said: “So, why are you doing this?” 

He meant ministry. Why are you doing ministry.

It wasn’t really the sort of question I was expecting to have to answer from him. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I believe God’s called me to this.’ 

And he chuckled.

Like there must be some angle, like I’d just given him a throwaway line I couldn’t possibly believe.

He nodded towards my diplomas on the wall by the stained glass window and said: ‘You didn’t really have to go to school for this did you?’ 

Looking back, I’d have to say it was right about then that I became cranky.

He opened up a leather portfolio, took out a pen from his pocket, and said: ‘Let’s get to it.’ 

I’m sure he had all the answers already, but he asked me how I knew my friend, how long I’d known him, how well I knew him. Those sorts of questions, verifying dates and addresses.

Then he asked me if I knew whether or not he belonged to any international organizations whose beliefs or interests might conflict with those of the United States government.

And because I’d already decided I didn’t much care for this agent and because I was feeling kind of cranky, a question like that was just too good to pass up.

So I responded by saying: ‘Yes, yes of course.’ 

He stopped writing and looked up from his pad. ‘Care to explain that?’ he mumbled.

And with my voice oozing sincerity I said:

‘Well, he’s a committed Christian. He belongs to a Church- that’s an ancient, international organization that demands complete and primary allegiance and can be quite critical of the government.’ 

The agent sighed as if to wonder what he’d done to deserve having to listen to a crazy person like me. He scribbled something in his notepad- religious nut-job, probably- and muttered: ‘But Christianity’s personal not political. It’s just spiritual stuff.’ 

And because he’d rubbed me the wrong way, and because sarcasm is my particular cross to bear, I decided to mess with him a bit more. I put a concerned look on my face and in my best conspiratorial tone of voice I whispered to him: ‘The problem is that Christians don’t see a difference between the two.’

I noted with delight his bald scalp starting to flush red.

‘Everything in the Gospels is about personal transformation,’ I whispered, ‘but everything in the Gospels is also a dangerous political statement.’ 

He set his pen down. He looked really irritated with me and I was loving every moment of it.

‘Alright,’ he said, ‘what do you mean exactly?’ 

Again with mock sincerity I said:

‘Think about it. As soon as Jesus is born the government tries to kill him. When he’s fasting in the wilderness he implies the governments of the world already belong to the devil. For his first sermon, he advocates across the board forgiveness of debts, redistribution of wealth to the poor and convicts to be set free. He never gives a straight answer about whether his followers should be paying taxes to the empire or not. When he enters Jerusalem the week before he dies he does so by mocking military parades with donkeys, coats and palm leaves.” 

And then I lowered my voice to a whisper and said: ‘even though he refuses to resort to violence he’s killed by the empire as an enemy of the State, as a revolutionary. And we call him King.’ 

When I finished, he waited a moment, not saying anything, trying, I think, to get a read on me. Then he narrowed his eyes at me and said: ‘You think you’re pretty smart don’t you?’ 

And I feigned innocence and replied: ‘And just think- I didn’t even have to go to school.’ 

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Every year during Passover week Jerusalem would be filled with approximately 200,000 Jewish pilgrims. Nearly all of them, like Jesus’ friends and family, would’ve been poor.

Throughout that Holy Week these thousands of pilgrims would remember how they’d once suffered under a different empire and how God had heard their cries and sent someone to save them.

So every year at the beginning of Passover week, Pontius Pilate would journey from his seaport home in the west to Jerusalem, escorted by a military triumph: a parade of horses and chariots and armed troops and bound prisoners, all led by imperial banners that declared ‘Caesar is Lord.’ 

     A gaudy but unmistakeable display of power.       

     At the beginning of that same week Jesus comes from the east.

His ‘parade’ starts at the Mt of Olives, 2 miles outside the city, the place where the prophet Zechariah had promised God’s Messiah would one day usher in a victory of God’s People over their enemies.

     And establish peace.

     The procession begins at the Mt of Olives, but Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem began all the way back in Luke 9.

For ten chapters Jesus has journeyed from one town to another, teaching his way to Jerusalem.

From Luke 9 to Luke 19, as Jesus has made his way to Jerusalem, it’s all been about teaching, his teaching, teaching about the Kingdom.

It hasn’t been healing after healing after healing. It hasn’t been miracle after miracle after miracle. Jesus has taught his way to Jerusalem, taught about the Kingdom here and now, and our lives in it.

But when they get to the Mt of Olives, this place that’s charged with prophetic meaning, it’s not his teaching they want to acclaim.

It’s his deeds.

The mighty deeds.

The deeds of the power.

The healings and the miracles.

As if to say: if Jesus can do that just imagine what he can do to our enemies.

 

There are no palm branches in Luke’s Palm Sunday scene, no shouts of ‘Hosanna.’ Not even any crowds.

It’s just the disciples and some naysaying Pharisees and this King who’s riding a colt instead of a chariot.

The disciples lay their clothes on the road in front him.

They sing about ‘peace’ just as the angels had at his birth.

And then they proclaim excitedly about his mighty deeds.

And just as the disciples begin voicing their expectations and the city comes into view, Jesus falls down and weeps: ‘If you, even you, had only recognized the things that make for peace.’ 

He’s looking at the city but he’s speaking to his disciples.

And he’s talking about the Kingdom, his teaching about the Kingdom.

He’s talking about:

Good news being brought to the poor and the hungry being filled

Embracing society’s untouchables

Eating and drinking with outcasts

Loving enemies and turning the other cheek and doing good to those who hate you and refusing to judge lest you be judge and forgiving trespasses so you might be forgiven

Greatness redefined as service to the least

Love of God expressed as love of Neighbor

Hospitality so extravagant it’s like a Father who’s always ready to welcome a wayward home

A community of the called who are committed to being like light and salt and seed to the world

     He’s talking about the Kingdom.

 

Our life in the Kingdom in the here and now.

 

With the city in view and excited shouts of mighty deeds ringing in the air, Jesus falls down and he cries.

He weeps.

Because after every sermon, every beatitude and parable and teaching moment his disciples still don’t get it.

 

They still don’t see how his teaching about the Kingdom and how he will save them are one and the same.

 

‘Enough with the Sunday School lesson,’ the agent said. His bald head was a deep shade of red and I was gleeful for it.

‘You don’t have any reason to believe ___________ has subversive ideas about the government do you?’ 

Did I mention I was feeling cranky?

Well  I was. So I replied: ‘Like I said, he’s a Christian. I should hope he as some subversive ideas.’ 

The agent threw up his arms and pointed his finger at me: ‘This is about your friend’s job,’ he said, ‘so tell me straight what you’re saying.’ 

I nodded my head in concession.

‘Christians,” I said, “we don’t believe governments or empires or militaries really have the power to change the world. Christians have a different definition of Power. We believe its Jesus, his way of life, that makes for peace.’ 

That’s not the way the world works’ he said, the disrespect creeping back into his voice.

     ‘That’s what I was trying to tell you.’  

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     In all four of the Gospels, there’s only two places where Jesus weeps.

     The first is over the grave of his friend Lazarus.

     The second time Jesus weeps it’s over us.

It’s like he knew.  It’s like Jesus knew we’d never get it, never grasp that it’s our living his Kingdom here and now that makes for peace.

And yet he doesn’t stop the Palm Sunday parade. He doesn’t get down off the colt. He doesn’t tell the Passover crowd to pick up their palm leaves. He doesn’t turn around and head back to Galilee.

He goes up.

To Jerusalem.

Knowing right then and there that we had no idea what he’d been trying to teach us, Jesus still goes up into Jerusalem.

As if the only way to show us, once and for all, would be-

for him to forgive those who trespass against him

and for him to turn the other cheek

and for him to bless those who curse him

and for him to give his robe to those who take his cloak

and for him to love his enemies

all the way to a Cross

just so we might finally see

the things that make for peace.

 

The Cross isn’t just a grim reminder that you’re a sinner and Jesus suffered and died in your place.

The Cross is proof that, no matter how we think the world works, his is a way and a truth and a life not even death can defeat.

photo-1IMG_0593There’s a sense in which the Gospels are extended Passion stories. That’s certainly true of Mark and John’s Gospels. And yet for all the attention given to the cross, the Gospel writers do not make anything about the cross self-evident. There’s no neon footnotes shouting ‘This is what IT means.’

The confusion gets compounded by the fact that the Passion stories are layered with biblical allusions and imagery.

So it’s not surprising that the cross would provoke questions.

This weekend as part of my sermon I want to tackle some of questions people have about the cross, Jesus’ last week, Christ’s passion and the atonement.

If you have a question email by 5:00 PM EST at jamicheli@mac.com.

Just like we did at Christmas I’ll throw it in the bingo tumbler and give it a go.

 

IMG_0593This weekend is Palm-Passion Sunday and, with it, the beginning of Holy Week. We’re following Jesus to the Cross.

The following is an anecdote I used to begin a sermon on the atonement a few years ago:

It probably tells you something about my life that I’ve known two different people named ‘Frog.’ The first was a bully in middle school who sat in front of me on the bus. That was the Frog on whom I one day unleashed my inner Taxi Driver, but that’s a story for another place.  

     The other Frog was a retired man who worked for the funeral home in the town where I once ministered. This Frog- I have no idea what his actual name was; it actually said ‘Frog’ on the somber nametag he wore for the funeral home- was tall and skinny and bald. His head was small and his Adam’s apple was large and stuck out further than his nose. 

     Once, I was sitting in the hearse with Frog. I had my robe on and my worship book in my lap. We’d left a funeral service at my church and we were leading a processional of cars to the cemetery for the burial. I’d ridden with Frog before. Frog was a lay leader at his church- a deacon I think is what they call them. His church was Pentecostal Holiness, one of approximately fifty-three in town. 

     As we led the procession through town and up the winding road to the graveyard, Frog told me that he and his church had that previous weekend baptized sixteen youth in the Jordan River. 

     ‘Excuse me?’ I said. ‘In the Jordan River?’ I asked.  

     And he said: ‘Yeah, the Jordan River…at Holy Land, USA.’ 

     Holy Land, USA was a- I don’t know what you call it- theme park a short drive away in Bedford, Virginia. The Jordan River in question was actually more of a stream that eventually found its way to the James River. I had driven past Holy Land, USA before. 

     It is a not- quite- to- scale recreation of the Holy Land complete with State Park-like wooden signs explaining in irregularly painted words what you’re looking at. The Garden of Gethsemane, for example.  

     It all has a certain charm to it, and I suppose if you can ignore the thickly forested mountains, the waste baskets and park benches, then it’s just like the Holy Land. It’s on the same tourist route as Foam-Henge, the Natural Bridge Wax Museum and the miniature toy museum. 

     This is the hallowed, sacred site where Frog had proudly helped baptize sixteen of his church’s youth. 

     ‘That’s…interesting’ I said. When he didn’t say anything in reply, I was afraid I had offended him. But we had arrived at the cemetery and he was instead looking in his mirrors to check that the procession was lining up behind him properly. 

     ‘It’s a waste of land’ he said to me absently. And I thought he was talking about the graveyard. 

‘At Holy Land, USA they have I don’t know how many acres. You can walk Jesus’ whole life.

But if Jesus just came to suffer for our sins, it’s an awful waste of land.’ 

     Then he got out of the hearse. 

     By that same reasoning you could argue that the Gospel texts themselves are a waste of ink and pages. Filler. Unnecessary prologue on the way to the Passion and to Paul.

Frog is hardly the only person to harbor that perspective.

     When the purpose of Jesus’ life is defined exclusively in terms of his death, then the content of his life seems superfluous. Indeed (and this may be one reason why the substitutionary perspective has such mass appeal) the ethical imperatives preached by Jesus in his life no longer carry much urgency.

     You only need the cross for salvation. 

     Not the sermon on the mount. 

     Jesus came to die for me. 

     Not to form me as part of a particular community.

     What’s demanded by this understanding of the atonement is my belief in it and not my           participation in or continuation of Jesus’ Kingdom community.

What’s more, if Jesus’ death is the point of it all then Easter seems little more than a happy surprise at the end of the story, a pleasant but not necessary epilogue, an example only of the eternal life we too will one day enjoy.

But here’s the real kicker:

Why is it that no one seems to notice that the most common ways we have of talking about the Cross and what Jesus accomplishes (and why) appear no where on the actual lips of Jesus?

How do we get away with narrating the Cross in a manner that the Gospel writers chose not to narrate it?

God Made Jesus Sin?

Jason Micheli —  March 19, 2013 — 2 Comments

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Holy Week is coming up next week and this Sunday is Palm/Passion Sunday; consequently, I’ve got the atonement running through my head.

The atonement is the theological term for thinking through how Jesus saves us through his suffering and death on the cross. Some may not realize it but the atonement has always been a debated topic in theology. Scripture uses a variety of images and metaphors to explain what Jesus accomplishes on the cross and why, and scripture never singles out any one of those as the normative, authoritative teaching. The creeds as well are silent when it comes to the atonement.

Nonetheless, in many evangelical circles ‘penal substitutionary’ atonement is one of the fundamentals and is requisite for orthodox belief. Lay people may not realize it but substitutionary atonement is a white-hot topic in the evangelical and emergence parts of the Church- it’s the official position, for example, of Christianity Today while Emergence Christians are making intentional strides to rethink the atonement.

Penal Substitution in a Nut Shell: Jesus suffers on the cross God’s wrath towards our sin.

God made Jesus to be Sin.

Our Sin.

While I think evangelicals are wrong to privilege this substitutionary atonement over all other understandings of the cross, as an historic, robust part of the Christian tradition does it deserve a hearing?

Here’s an attempt on my part to think constructively on Jesus’ agony in the Garden using the substitutionary perspective.

I spent a year after seminary serving as a chaplain at the UVA Hospital in Charlottesville. On one of my first nights spent there, my pager called me to the room of young girl. She was maybe in the fifth grade. She’d been in a car accident earlier that evening. I don’t remember the girl’s name, and I can only barely recall what she or her family or the doctors and nurses looked like.

What I do remember is the sound. I remember the sound the girl’s mother made when the doctor told her that her little girl would most likely die during the night.

It was a deep wail from somewhere in her gut, a cry that sounded like it cut her throat, followed by desperate pleading: with God, with the doctors, with me.

And almost as much as the sound, what I remember is how uncomfortable she, the mother, made the rest of us feel- how uneasy we felt to be that close to someone so fragile, how embarrassed we were to be confronted by another’s fear and grief and horror, how disarming it felt when there was nothing for any of us to do.

Mark’s Gospel gives us this uncomfortable picture of Jesus:

“Jesus began to be distressed and agitated; telling his disciples ‘I am deeply grieved, even to death.’”

Siddhartha Gautama, the man who became the Buddha, after a long life spent contemplating the ubiquity of suffering, died a serene death.

Hinduism, the oldest religion in the world, puts the brakes on Jesus when it comes to Christ’s agony and suffering. Jesus can only be an enlightened teacher, they say, if- before death- he slipped into a peaceful and contemplative state.

According to the Koran, Christ must be something less than who our creeds say he is- true God from true God- because the almighty God would never and could never suffer the indignity of fear and suffering.

To the average Roman of Jesus’ day, Socrates’ death was the ideal. The goal of every person’s life was to live heroically and die serenely. Apathy and detachment towards one’s death were virtues to be honored.

But, Mark’s Gospel tells us something that couldn’t be more jarringly different:  “Jesus began to be distressed and agitated; telling his disciples ‘I am deeply grieved, even to death.’” 

In the Greek text, Mark puts it even stronger and more embarrassing:

“Jesus began to be horror-stricken and deeply depressed.” 

Speaking of this very same passage, the Letter to the Hebrews says:

“Jesus offered up prayers and supplications with loud cries and tears to the One who was able to save him from death…”  

Uncomfortable, embarrassing stuff.

All along Jesus has acted as though he’s known all along what was to happen to him. Ever since he was baptized by John and called the disciples and began preaching and healing and offending convention- ever since Jesus has boldly and presciently spoken of himself as a dead man:

  • ‘One of you will betray me’ Jesus had told them.
  • ‘You all will become deserters’ Jesus had predicted.
  • ‘You will deny me three times’ he had warned Peter.

In Caesarea Philippi, just before the Transfiguration, just after Peter had confessed ‘You are the Messiah’’ in Caesarea Philippi Jesus had told them that “the Son of Man would undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests and the scribes; and be killed.” 

And back in chapter ten, after Jesus had blessed the little children, he’d taken the disciples aside and pointed out towards Jerusalem and said: “See, we are going there, and the Son of Man will be handed over…and they will mock him and spit upon him and flog him and kill him.” 

In Mark, there’s never been any mystery where this was headed, where Jesus’ path would end.

But to our embarrassment, Mark tells us that “Jesus was shaking with horror and depressed.” 

That night, Passover Night, after the sacred meal Jesus and his disciples had left the upper room and walked down the western hill of Jerusalem. On the way, they walked past the place of King David’s tomb- the place where Yahweh’s promises lay buried and dormant. They walked past the Temple- the place of God’s presence.

The city that night was filled with people, perhaps as many as 2 million, but the streets were empty. Everyone was inside celebrating the feast. The city was quiet for the first time that week. No more was anyone shouting ‘Hosanna.’ The 200,000 Passover lambs that had been bleating all week were silent now.

Jesus led them through the city to a plot of land, Gethsemane, and to a garden there. To pray. He left the nine near the garden entrance and, as he’d done before, took Peter and James and John further in with him. But even those three, Jesus left back a bit, behind him; as if where he was going they could not follow.

Earlier that afternoon, Peter had promised Jesus that he would follow him anywhere, no matter what. But in the garden that night, those promises seem far off as Peter can’t even stay awake. While the disciples sleep, Judas steals away.

Just a week ago, Jesus had dared James and John to drink from the cup that Christ would be made to drink from.  And just that night, Jesus had blessed a cup and said that the wine in it was blood from his broken body poured out for the world.

But now, in the garden, if any of the disciples were still awake, they would have heard something deeply embarrassing: Jesus crying and quivering with horror and pleading:

“Father, take this cup away from me.” 

     One of only two times Mark records Jesus speaking in his own language, Aramaic. The other time being from the cross: ‘My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”  

And Peter and James and John- those who’d been on the mountaintop when Jesus was transfigured and God had shouted from the sky ‘This is my Beloved Son’– if any of those three were still awake in the garden they would have noticed something else about Jesus’ pleading.

This time, God doesn’t answer back.

This picture of Christ, shuddering with grief and fear, makes uncomfortable. We don’t know what to do with it. Has Jesus lost his nerve?

Mark’s Jesus embarrasses the other evangelists too.

  • Matthew softens the language so that Jesus is just “sorrowful.”
  • Luke removes the language all together.
  • And John cuts out the whole scene from his Gospel.

One of the reasons I believe the Bible to be true is passages like this one. Tonight’s passage is hardly the creation of religious wishful thinking. This moment in the garden flatters no one.

“Jesus began to be horror-stricken and desperately depressed.” Mark tells us. And the question Mark raises is as obvious as it is troubling: Why?

In the second century, a famous pagan named Celcus wrote a diatribe against Christianity, one of his chief points of attack being: ‘How could someone claimed to be the divine Son of God mourn and lament and pray to escape the fear of death?’

The question need not be so pointed. As one of you emailed me this week about this passage: ‘Why did Christ become agitated and ask that the cup be removed from him? If he knew what would come, why ask?’

So, what’s going on tonight? In the garden?

St. Paul says that “For our sake God made Jesus to be Sin who knew no Sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.”

If sin is separation from God, then I believe what Jesus experiences here in the garden- in his horror and agony and abandonment- is sin.

Not his own, but the burden of ours. The deafening silence from God that meets his pleading prayer is the echo of our own unrighteousness.

His agony is the separation we put between ourselves and God.

It’s not simply the dread of death that Jesus experiences this night; it’s the dread of our self-imposed Godforsakeness.

Up until then, Jesus has lived our life. He’s celebrated and laughed. He’s scolded and condemned. He’s hungered and feasted with friends. He’s wept and lamented.

He’s experienced our life, but he’s never experienced Sin.

He’s judged Sin. He’s preached against it. He’s bemoaned it and forgiven it. But he’s never experienced it. Felt its weight and pain. Not until now.

Tonight, in the garden, Jesus is submitting himself to total abandonment.

As embarrassed and uncomfortable as it might make us feel to be up so close to someone so fragile, in those moments in the garden Christ experiences what we experience our whole lives when we try to live without Him.

When Jesus gets up from his knees, he’s committed to giving up everything that is his and shouldering everything that is ours.

When his prayer is finished, Jesus stands and wakes up the sleeping “twelve.” Mark doesn’t call them disciples again until after Easter.

Maybe it’s because where Jesus goes next, we can’t follow.

There’s nothing for us to do.

He alone can make things right.

 

 

The Politics of Jesus

Jason Micheli —  March 18, 2013 — 3 Comments

121101065950-red-blue-state-jesus-custom-1Here’s this weekend’s sermon for our Counterfeit Gods series on idolatry. You can download the sermon here or in the iTunes Library under ‘Tamed Cynic.’

You can listen to it on this blog, to the right under ‘Listen’ widget.  

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We’ve been doing a sermon series during Lent on idolatry; that is, giving to earthly things what we should give to God alone. Wednesday afternoon Dennis told me he wasn’t going to be able to preach this weekend as planned.

    I said, ‘No problem.’

He said, ‘Thanks.’ 

I said, ‘Remind me again what idol we’re talking about this weekend.’

He said, ‘Partisan Politics.’ 

I said, ‘Oh___________.’

And Dennis nodded ruefully and then he said, ‘Well, at least not many people in the congregation are politically active.’ And then, like Satan himself, he laughed diabolically and disappeared in a cloud of sulfur.

So there it is.

I think we can all agree that our fearless leader has given me a poopy-flavored lollipop. I mean, Jesus gets crucified right after today’s passage. If I can just do better than Jesus, I’ll be happy.

Given our hyper-partisan culture, if we can all just take a deep breath, if you can just trust me for the next few minutes, and if we can make it, in Jesus’ name, to the end of the sermon together- if we can just do that then Aldersgate Church will be like a light to the nation, like a city shining on a hill. 

To insure I don’t end up on that (the cross) at the end of the service, I want to be as simple and straightforward as I can today. No jokes, no inspiring stories and absolutely no personal opinions- you have my word on that.

     I just want to open up today’s scripture passage, unpack it for you and then offer you one clear, bipartisan recommendation that I believe comes out of this scripture.

So open up your bibles to Mark’s Gospel, chapter 12. For you liberals out there, the Gospel of Mark is in the New Testament. Just kidding…That’s the last joke.

     “Teacher, is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar or not? Should we or shouldn’t we? Yes or no?” 

      The first thing this passage makes unavoidable is that Jesus is political. It’s not that he’s not.

I know some of you have a Joel Osteen notion of Christianity: that Christianity is a private religion of the heart, and Jesus is about spiritual things. The only problem with that kind of Christianity is that it requires a bible other than the one God has given us.

Mary’s pregnancy begins with her singing of how her in-utero Messiah will one day topple rulers from their thrones and send the rich away with nothing.

Jesus kicks off his ministry by declaring the Year of Jubilee: the forgiveness of all monetary debt owed by the poor.

And for 3 years, Jesus teaches about the Kingdom of God and, because Jesus was a Jew, he didn’t have pearly gates in mind. He was talking about the here and now.

Jesus is political.

The Gospel story begins by telling you about a tax levied by Caesar Augustus to make the Jews pay for their own subjugation. The Gospel story ends with Pilate killing Jesus- on what charges? On charges of claiming to be a rival king and telling his followers not to pay the tax to Caesar. 

The tax in question was the Roman head tax, levied for the privilege of being a Roman citizen. The head tax could only be paid with the silver denarius from the imperial mint.

The denarius was the equivalent of a quarter.

So it’s not that the tax was onerous.

It was offensive.

One side of the coin bore the image of the emperor, Caesar Tiberius, and on the other side was the inscription: ‘Caesar Tiberius, Son of God, our Great, High Priest.’ Carrying the coin broke the first and most important commandment: ‘You shall have no other gods before me.’ 

And because it broke the commandments, the coin rendered anyone who carried it ritually unclean. It couldn’t be carried into the Temple, which is why money changers set up shop on the Temple grounds to profit off the Jews who needed to exchange currency before they worshipped.

You see how it works?

     “Teacher, is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar or not?”

What they’re really asking, here, is about a whole lot more than taxes. But to see that, to see what they’re really asking, you’ve got to dig deeper in to the passage. Today’s passage takes place on the Tuesday before the Friday Jesus dies. On the Sunday before this passage, Jesus rides into Jerusalem to a king’s welcome. On Monday, the day before this passage, Jesus ‘cleanses’ the Temple. Jesus has a temper tantrum, crashing over all the cash registers of the money changers and animal sellers and driving them from the Temple grounds with a whip.

And that’s when they decide to kill Jesus.

Why?

To answer that question, you need to know a little history.

 

200 years before today’s passage, Israel suffered under a different empire, a Greek one. And during that time, there was a guerrilla leader named Judas Maccabeus. He was known as the Sledgehammer.

The Sledgehammer’s father had commissioned him to “avenge the wrong done by our enemies and to (pay attention) pay back to the Gentiles what they deserve.” 

So Judas the Sledgehammer rode into Jerusalem with an army of followers to a king’s welcome. He promised to bring a new kingdom. He symbolically cleansed the Temple of Gentiles, and he told his followers not to pay taxes to their oppressors.

     Judas Maccabeus, the Sledgehammer, got rid of the Greek Kingdom only to turn around and sign a treaty with Rome. He traded one kingdom for another just like it.

But not before Judas the Sledgehammer becomes the prototype for the kind of Messiah Israel expected.

That was 200 years before today’s passage.

About 25 years before today’s passage, when Jesus was just a kindergartner, another Judas, this one named after that first Sledgehammer, Judas the Galilean- he called on Jews to refuse paying the Roman head tax.

With an armed band he rode into Jerusalem to shouts of ‘hosanna,’ he cleansed the Temple

And then he declared that he was going to bring a new kingdom with God as their King.

Judas the Galilean was executed by Rome.

You see what’s going on?

 

Jesus the Galilean has been teaching about the Kingdom for 3 years. He’s ridden into Jerusalem to a Messiah’s welcome. He’s just cleansed the Temple and driven out the money changers.

The only thing left for Jesus the Sledgehammer to do is declare a revolution. That’s why the Pharisees and Herodians trap Jesus with a question about this tax: 

Jesus, do you want a revolution or not? is the real question. 

Come down off the fence Jesus.

Which side are you on? 

Politics makes for strange bedfellows. For the Pharisees and the Herodians to cooperate on anything is like Nancy Pelosi and Paul Ryan co-sponsoring a budget bill.

And that’s not even an exaggeration because the Pharisees and the Herodians were the two political parties of Jesus’ day.

The Sadducees were theological opponents of Jesus.

But the Pharisees and the Herodians were first century political parties.

The Pharisees and the Herodians were the Left and the Right political options.

And instead of Donkeys and Pachyderms, you can think Swords and Sledgehammers.

 

The Herodians were the party that supported the current administration. They thought government was good. Rome, after all, had brought roads, clean water, sanitation, and- even if it took a sword- Rome had brought stability to Israel. The last thing the Herodians wanted was a revolution, and if Jesus says that’s what he’s bringing, they’ll march straight off to Pilate and turn him in. 

 

The Pharisees were the party that despised the current administration. The Pharisees were bible-believing observers of God’s commandments.They believed a coin with Caesar’s image and ‘Son of God’ printed on it was just one example of how the administration forced people of faith to compromise their convictions. 

The Pharisees wanted regime change. They wanted another Sledgehammer. They wanted a revolution. They just didn’t want it being brought by a 3rd Party like Jesus, who’d made a habit of pushing their polls numbers down. 

 And so, if Jesus says he’s not bringing a revolution, the Pharisees will get what they want: because all of Jesus’ followers will think Jesus wasn’t really serious about this Kingdom of God stuff, and they’ll write him off and walk away. 

 That’s the trap.

     “Teacher, is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar or not? Is it or isn’t it?’ 

If Jesus says no, it will mean his death.

If Jesus says yes, it will mean the death of his movement.

 

Taxes to Caesar or not, Jesus?

Which is it going to be? The Sword or the Sledgehammer?

Which party do you belong to?

You’ve got to choose one or the other.

What are your politics Jesus?

 

Jesus asks for the coin.

And then he asks the two political parties: ‘Whose image is on this?’ 

And the Greek word Jesus uses for image is ‘eikon,’ the same word from the very beginning of the bible when it says that you and I were created to be ‘eikons of God.’

Eikons of Caesar, the coin. Eikons of God, you.

 

Jesus looks at the coin and he says ‘Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s but give to God what is God’s.’ 

But even then it’s not that simple or clear because the word Jesus uses for ‘give’ isn’t the same word the two parties used when they asked their question.

When the Pharisees and Herodians asked their question, they’d used a word that means ‘give,’ as in ‘to present a gift.’

 

But when Jesus replies to their question, he changes the word. 

Instead Jesus the very same word Judas the Sledgehammer had used 200 years earlier. Jesus says: ‘Pay back to Caesar what he deserves and pay back to God what God deserves.’ 

 

You see how ambivalent Jesus’ answer is?

What does a tyrant deserve? His money? Sure, it’s got his picture on it. He paid for it. Give it back to him.

But what else does Caesar deserve? Resistance? You bet.

And what does God deserve from you?

Everything.

Everything.

 

Jesus is saying is: ‘You can give to Caesar what bears his image, but you can’t let Caesar stamp his image on you because you bear God’s image.’ 

 

Jesus is saying you can give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar.

But you can’t give to Caesar, you can’t give to the Nation, you can’t give to your Politics, you can’t give to your Ideology, you can’t give to your Party Affiliation- you can’t give to those things, what they ask of you: your ultimate allegiance.

You see, like a good press secretary, Jesus refuses the premise of their question.

The Pharisees and the Herodians assume a 2-Party System.

They assume it’s a choice between the kingdom they have now.

Or another kingdom not too different.

They assume the only choice is between the Sledgehammer or the Sword.

But like a good politician, Jesus refuses their either/or premise.

He won’t be put in one their boxes. He won’t choose sides.

Because Jesus the Galilean was leading a different kind of revolution than Judas the Galilean.

A revolution not with a sword or a sledgehammer.

But with a cross.

 

    Jesus refuses to accept their premise.

Because his movement wasn’t about defeating his opponents.

His movement was about dying for his opponents.

 

And that’s a politics that qualifies and complicates every other politics.

 

If you were to ask me: ‘Jason, what’s your absolute, A#1, favorite part of ministry?’ then I think I’d have to say it’s: getting email forwards.

Who doesn’t love email forwards?

Some of you only get email forwards from your family or your circle of friends. I pity you. I’m blessed to have an entire congregation thoughtful enough to send me email forwards. How awesome is that?

And much like you, I’m sure, my favorite email forwards are the political ones. Seriously, I don’t know what Christians did prior to the internet. They must’ve had to ask questions and engage in civil conversation and listen patiently.

I can’t even imagine.

Here’s one that has a special place in my heart:

 “Jesus said his disciples were to be as wise as serpents. So how can any Christian with a brain be so stupid as to vote for __________ candidate? If you’re a Christian with a brain please forward this to a Christian without one.’ 

I sent that one to Dennis 🙂

But see, aren’t you jealous? Just imagine what your life could be like- getting a dozen forwards like that a day from people who pay your salary?

It’s awesome.

Seriously, I could filibuster my way past Pentecost just reading the political email forwards I get from you.

On every imaginable issue, I get emails. Emails asserting that God is on this side, not that side.

Emails demanding:

that bible-believing Christians check this box, not that box,

that Jesus is with this party and against that party,

that to support this agenda instead of that agenda is simply to do what Jesus Christ himself would do.

 

    The Bible has a word for rhetoric like that.

      Idolatry.

     And for some of you, left and right, this is a serious spiritual problem.

 

So here’s my one, simple bipartisan recommendation. It’s one I think we can all agree upon and I think it’s one that might actually do some public good:

     Don’t do to Jesus what Jesus wouldn’t do to himself. 

I wanted to get you all plastic bracelets with the acronym on it but the shipping was too expensive.

     Don’t do to Jesus what Jesus wouldn’t do to himself. 

Don’t put Jesus in a box. Don’t make Jesus choose sides. Don’t put a sword or a sledgehammer, an elephant or a donkey, in Jesus’ hands.

Don’t say Jesus is for this Party. Don’t say this is the Christian position on this issue. Don’t say faithful Jesus followers must back this or that agenda.

Because we all know it’s more complicated than that. And so is the Gospel.

     Don’t do to Jesus what Jesus wouldn’t do to himself. 

I mean, this might be an epiphany newsflash for some of you, but you can find good, faithful, sincere, bible-believing, Jesus-following Christians everywhere all along the political spectrum.

You know how I know that? You’re sitting in front of me.

    But what you must not do is insist that Jesus is for this or that politics. 

    Jesus wouldn’t do that to himself so why are you doing it to him? 

     You’re mixing up God and Caesar.  

     You’re making Jesus fit your politics instead of conforming your politics to Jesus. 

      You’re committing idolatry, using your ultimate allegiance to bless and baptize your earthly opinions. 

    Don’t do to Jesus what Jesus wouldn’t do to himself. 

Because when you do-

When you do to Jesus what he wouldn’t do to himself, it becomes too easy to believe that the problems in the world are because of the people on the Left or the Right instead of what the Gospel says: that the problem in the world is what’s in here (the heart) in all of us.

When you do to Jesus what he wouldn’t do to himself, it becomes harder and harder to like your neighbor and it becomes impossible to love your enemy.

When you do to Jesus what he wouldn’t do to himself, you forget that the Kingdom Jesus’ death and resurrection kicked off isn’t a Kingdom that any political party can ever create.

When you do to Jesus what he wouldn’t do to himself, you forget that the Kingdom launched by Jesus’ death and resurrection is a Kingdom 

where trespasses are forgiven, gratis; 

where grace is offered, free of charge; 

where enemies are prayed for on a weekly basis; 

where peace isn’t won and isn’t a soundbite it’s a practice; 

where money is shared without debate so that the poor would be filled; where our earthly differences are swallowed up because its more important for us to swallow the body and blood of Christ at this Table together. 

     When you do to Jesus what he wouldn’t do to himself, you forget that the Kingdom Jesus brings is you. When the Holy Spirit comes at Pentecost, the Holy Spirit doesn’t cast a vote for Emperor. The Holy Spirit creates the Church. 

Us. You and me. The Church. 

We’re Jesus’ politics.

Andy Crouch in his book, Culture Making, argues that the early Christians transformed their culture and eventually the world by converting those in their society who were at the top of culture, the culture-makers. Artists and writers and leaders. With the notable exceptions of the Catholic Church and some emergent churches, this effort to reach culture-creators has largely been abandoned by the Church.

We’ve got contemporary Christian music, which is largely pop imitation of other bad pop music. We’ve got our own Christian book and film industries which primarily create content for Christians by Christians.

We don’t have an intentional reach to those you’d about in the Arts section of the NY Times, but they are the ones who presently creating what will be mainstream/pop down the road.

So, I’ve taken Crouch to heart and want to make a deliberate push to the artists in our community and region.

Submit me a tattoo design based on one of the Stations of the Cross passages below. I’ll get a jury of 1 professional artist, a pastor, and a lay person to judge them. ‘First prize’ will win $500 and the honor of me getting your image tattooed on me during Holy Week. 

All of the submissions will be a part of our Stations of the Cross exhibit that will be open to the church and community during Holy Week 2013.

Submit to: jmicheli@aldersgate.net 

More Information at www.aldersgate.net

If you got an artist in the family, if you got skills, if you’re a teacher and want to pass this on to students, if you’re a pastor and have someone in your congregation that might like to participate, if you know someone who doesn’t consider themselves a Christian but might like to try this…please pass this on.

Here are details from the flyer:

Rev Jason Micheli of Aldersgate United Methodist Church invites artists and students in the region to create an original illustration of one of the traditional scenes of the Stations of the Cross.

The Stations of the Cross, also known as the Way of Sorrows, are the ancient way Christians have reflected and meditated upon human sin and Jesus’ sufferings during the weeks leading up to Easter.

Each ‘station’ is an image from the story of Christ’s Passion as told in the Gospels.

From the inception of the church, visual art has been used to help depict and understand the passion. The images submitted will be part of that legacy as Aldersgate and the surrounding

community will use them as part of their Holy Week devotion.

The designs will be juried. Top Prize: $500.00

And Rev Jason Micheli, will get your design tattooed on himself during Holy Week. Members of the Aldersgate community will also participate in getting tattoos selected by our juror.

To participate…. Deadline: February 15

Station 1- Wash (John 13)

The night he’s betrayed Jesus takes off his robe, takes on the role of a servant and washes his friends’ dirty feet. It’s a symbolic action showing how God has taken off his divinity and come to us as a servant, Jesus. What it means to follow him, Jesus says, is for us to wash one another’s feet. To serve.

Station 2- Pray (Mark 14.32-42)

In the Garden, knowing his ‘hour’ of suffering/glory is fast approaching, Jesus prays to God to move this ‘cup’ from him; that is, to move Jesus off the path of suffering. The fear, alienation and sorrow Jesus experiences in the Garden is meant to evoke the experience we all share apart from God.

Station 3- Betray (Mark 14.43-52)

Jesus is betrayed by his friend Judas. He’s betrayed by a kiss for a token amount

of money.

Station 4- Put It Away (Luke 22.47-53)

When the soldiers come to arrest Jesus, Peter, a disciple, pulls out a sword and attacks them. Having already taught his followers that ‘blessed are the peacemakers; Jesus tells Peter to put away the sword.

Station 5 – Deny (Luke 22.54-71)

As predicted by Jesus, Peter denies ever even knowing Jesus. Denies him three times as the rooster crows.

Station 6 – Crown (Mark 15)

Not matching our expected notions of power or majesty, Jesus is mocked,

scourged and crowned with thorns.

Station 7 – Carry (Luke 23)

Beaten and forced to carry his cross to his place of execution, Jesus is helped by a bystander in the crowd. Simon of Cyrene carries Jesus’ cross while the crowd hurls insults at him.

Station 8 – Forgive (Luke 23)

Jesus is crucified, but as he dies on the cross he prays that God forgive his

enemies for ‘they know not what they do.’

Station 9 – Promise (Luke 23)

Jesus promises heaven to a guilty thief who is being crucified on the cross next to him.

Station 10 – Rise (John 20.24-29)

Jesus rises on the third day and invites Thomas, who still doubts it’s Jesus, to touch his wounds for proof.

For More Information Please Visit

www.aldersgate.net