1
Corinthians 1:18-25 focuses us squarely within the movement that is the
season of Lent. As a preacher, I worry that when I preach on “the Word of the
Cross is folly,” it will turn out that my words about the Cross will be
folly. The gravest risk for preachers
who’ve grown up in our thin, vaguely revivalistic environment, is that we will
minimize, individualize, trivialize and thus confuse and empty the Cross of its
richer meaning. If you had time to read
N.T. Wright’s The Day the Revolution Began: Rethinking the
Meaning of Jesus’ Crucifixion, you’d be well-served; suffice it to say
that his endeavor is to broaden the context and significance of Jesus’ crucifixion,
which is more than Jesus died for our sins.
Such eloquence: “When Jesus of Nazareth died on the cross, something
happened as a result of which the world is a different place… The death of Jesus was the moment when the
great gate of human history, bolted with iron bars and overgrown with toxic
weeds, burst open so that the Creator’s project of reconciliation between
heaven and earth could at last be set in powerful motion… Christian mission
means implementing the victory that Jesus won on the cross.” A revolution in all of creation began, and we
aren’t saved from the trouble but are called to be active participants in God’s
undeniable labor of reconciliation.
We have pretty crosses adorning our
churches, not to mention jewelry, posters, clothing… The cross in the first
centuries was horrific, from which you would avert your gaze. Christian art even avoided the cross for
several centuries, and even then the first ones were golden and bejeweled (Robin
Jenson’s The Cross: History, Art & Controversy
is a lovely study of the cross in historic art). Consider the first instance of
a cross – in that laughable graffiti found near the Palatine Hill in Rome –
depicting a man bowing down before a crucified figure with a donkey’s head,
with the inscription, “Alexamenos worships his God,” clearly ridiculing a late
second century convert to Christianity.
We speak of “apologetics,” the
intellectual defense of the faith. Paul
surrenders before beginning, making zero apologies for the absurd, unexpected
and not prophesied idea that the Messiah would not crush his foes but be
crushed by them; the Scriptures themselves indicated that being killed on a
tree was an offense. How can the
preacher resuscitate the disgust, the offense, except just to name it? Or maybe we show horrific images, maybe von
Grünewald's Christ, pierced hundreds of times,
or maybe that startling bronze crucifixion by Floriano Bodini… This is God? Looks entirely God-forsaken – which is a pitch-perfect way of speaking of it, since Jesus screamed in misery, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” So many Protestant churches suffer from adornment with slick, brass, polished wooden crosses that are allegedly empty - due to Easter? The crucifix tells the deeper truth of God's heart. As Rick Lischer put it in his memoir about his son's death (Stations of the Heart), when battling the cancer, they looked into a church and saw a crucifix - prompting them to know this was the place for them, for such a church, and such a God, "is not freaked out by death."
or maybe that startling bronze crucifixion by Floriano Bodini… This is God? Looks entirely God-forsaken – which is a pitch-perfect way of speaking of it, since Jesus screamed in misery, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” So many Protestant churches suffer from adornment with slick, brass, polished wooden crosses that are allegedly empty - due to Easter? The crucifix tells the deeper truth of God's heart. As Rick Lischer put it in his memoir about his son's death (Stations of the Heart), when battling the cancer, they looked into a church and saw a crucifix - prompting them to know this was the place for them, for such a church, and such a God, "is not freaked out by death."
God certainly gave us brains God would have
us use in the life of faith; but the perils of being so smart and learned are
many – perhaps especially for the clergy.
Martin Luther, when castigating some foe, loved to label him “Mr.
Smart-Aleck.” Anthony of Padua was one
of Francis of Assisi’s most brilliant followers – but Francis was exceedingly
wary of the life of scholarship, fearing that books and learning would become
property to be protected, and would puff people up. Finally and reluctantly, in a fascinating
letter, he agreed to allow Anthony to pursue a life in scholarship, but only
“on the condition that you do not extinguish the spirit of prayer and
devotion.”
Speaking of St. Francis, and the folly of
the Cross: while most devout Christians have gazed at the cross and felt
considerable relief that Jesus suffered in their place, Francis longed so
deeply to be one with Jesus that he prayed, “My Lord Jesus Christ, two graces I
ask of you before I die: the first is that in my life I may feel, in my soul
and body, as far as possible, that sorrow which you, tender Jesus, underwent in
the hour of your most bitter passion; the second is that I may feel in my
heart, as far as possible, the abundance of love with which you, son of God,
were inflamed, so as willingly to undergo such a great passion for us
sinners.” And with that, a seraph flew
toward him and burned wounds, the holy stigmata, into his hands, feet and side,
which bled intermittently until his death two years later.
If we ponder the cross, we try to choose
among or amalgamate various theories of the atonement. I love Robert Jenson’s remark (in Systematic Theology): “The Gospels
tell a powerful and biblically integrated story of the Crucifixion; this story
is just so the story of God’s act to bring us back to himself at his own cost,
and of our being brought back. There is
no other story behind or beyond it that is the real story of what God does to
reconcile us, no story of mythic battles or of a deal between God and his Son
or of our being moved to live reconciled lives.
The Gospel’s passion narrative is the authentic and entire account of
God’s reconciling actions and our reconciliation, as events in his life and
ours. Therefore what is first and
principally required as the Crucifixion’s right interpretation is for us to
tell this story to one another and to God as a story about him and about
ourselves.” Wow. Can the preacher simply trust the story,
which has worked for centuries, instead of over-explaining it?
Paul’s rhetoric about the hope in
weakness, that God’s weakness is stronger than our strength (by light years,
not an inch, and not by a last-second basket), then weakness might be the key
to a great many things for us, including leadership – which is what I tried to
explicate in my newest book, Weak Enough to Lead. I address Paul in the final chapter, as Paul
ingenuously plays on the weakness of the cross and his own, and how this is
God’s true way of redemption in the world.
Before turning to the Gospel, I think it
is worth passing along a word of encouragement to preachers that I cite at the
end of Weak Enough to Lead; it is
from Michael Knowles, and reminds me that we preachers need encouragement more
than we need material:
“The vast majority of preachers throughout the entire history of the Christian church have conducted their ministries in either relative or absolute obscurity. And they, by virtue of such obscurity, best exemplify cruciform preaching as Paul intends it. Wherever preachers stand before their congregations conscious of the folly of the Christian message, the weakness of their efforts, and the apparent impossibility of the entire exercise… there, Paul’s homiletic of cross and resurrection is at work. The one resource that genuinely faithful preachers of the gospel have in abundance is a parade of daily reminders as to their own inadequacy, unworthiness and – dare we admit it? – lack of faithfulness. Yet these are the preconditions for grace, the foundations for preaching that relies on God ‘who raises the dead.’”
“The vast majority of preachers throughout the entire history of the Christian church have conducted their ministries in either relative or absolute obscurity. And they, by virtue of such obscurity, best exemplify cruciform preaching as Paul intends it. Wherever preachers stand before their congregations conscious of the folly of the Christian message, the weakness of their efforts, and the apparent impossibility of the entire exercise… there, Paul’s homiletic of cross and resurrection is at work. The one resource that genuinely faithful preachers of the gospel have in abundance is a parade of daily reminders as to their own inadequacy, unworthiness and – dare we admit it? – lack of faithfulness. Yet these are the preconditions for grace, the foundations for preaching that relies on God ‘who raises the dead.’”
John
2:13-22 poses a
chronological challenge. The Synoptics locate the cleansing of the temple early
in Holy Week, while John sticks it in when Jesus is just getting started,
shortly after attending a wedding with his mother. People ask, What Would Jesus Do? If the Scriptures supply the answer, it just
might include overturning the tables of the religious and chasing people out of
church with a whip.
Jesus waltzed right into the temple, and in a rage that startled onlookers,
drove the moneychangers out of the temple.
Was he issuing a dramatic memo against Church fundraisers? Hardly. Like the wine at Cana, this was
a sign. He was acting out, symbolically,
God's judgment on the temple. The well-heeled priests, Annas and
Caiaphas, had sold out to the Romans. Herod had expanded the temple into
one of the wonders of the world - but he pledged his allegiance to Rome by
placing a large golden eagle, symbol of Roman power, over its gate.
The people were no
better: a superficial religiosity masqueraded as the real thing.
Within a generation of Jesus’ ministry, that seemingly indestructible temple
was nothing but rubble. Tell your
listeners about the massive Herodian stones in this wonder of the ancient
world. Help them imagine the sights,
sounds and smells of the moment. I once
set up a bunch of little tables with coins on them and proceeded to turn them
over as my sermon began. I’m not sure
anybody heard anything after that, but you never know…..
Jesus was not the
first to denounce the showy façade of a faked religiosity among God's people.
Through the centuries, Jeremiah, Isaiah, Micah, and John the Baptist had spoken
God's words of warning to people whose spiritual lives were nothing more than
going through the motions, assuming God would bless and protect them even
though their lives did not exhibit the deep commitment God desired. God's
prophets who spoke this way were not honored, but mocked, arrested, imprisoned,
and even executed. Jesus was courting disaster.
If we ask, Why did Jesus die? many might answer, For our sins. But then ask, Why did they kill him? Look
no further than this moment: Jesus shut down operations in the temple and
forecast its destruction. No wonder the authorities wanted to kill Jesus!
In a way, Jesus would himself become a kind of substitute temple.
The temple was the place, the focal point of humanity's access to God.
Jesus, like the temple itself, was destroyed, killed - and his death, and
then his resurrection on Easter Sunday, became our access to God.
Here’s a preaching point,
beyond the wonder of Jesus. Jean Vanier
points out the people then as always made an idol of money – which is at the
heart of so many injustices. Everything
gets commercialized – even church. James
K.A. Smith has quite shrewdly described the modern liturgy of the mall, with
its entrances and cues and communions. Jesus
wants all places to be holy, and we’d best start with the holy place. Jesus wants all bodies to be holy – as Vanier
suggests, Jesus, by purging the temple, “is also crying out against the
desecration of the temple of our own bodies.”
And Fred Craddock has helped
us discern the connection to the wedding at Cana. Both are on the “third day,” both are polemic
against religion centered on ceremony. But
the difference: “In Galilee is the wedding; in Judea is the funeral.”
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.