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This sermon began with a clip from the
classic movie, To Kill a Mockingbird. The movie is a
fine adaptation of Harper Lee’s novel set in the rural South
during the Great Depression. The main character is Atticus
Finch, the small town lawyer who risks his reputation by
defending Tom Robinson, a black man accused of sexual
assault on a white woman. Some of the whites in the
community think Atticus should just put up a token defense
for this “colored man,” but it would be impossible for a man
of Atticus’ integrity not to give Tom his absolute best.
During testimony, it becomes clear that Robinson is not
guilty of the crime. But the question remains, can a black
man receive a fair trial, especially when the jury is all
white?
The film clip begins with Jem and
Scout, Atticus’ children, sitting in the balcony with the
other African Americans. They are accompanied by Rev. Skyes,
the pastoral leader of the black community. The jury returns
from their deliberation with a guilty verdict. They usher
the convicted man out of the room as Atticus tries to assure
him that he will do all he can on appeal. Atticus returns
to the defense table, gathers up his papers, puts them in
his briefcase, and starts to walk up the center aisle. The
courtroom is deserted except for the people sitting silently
in the balcony. Not one of them has left. Scout is so intent
on watching her father that she neither sees nor hears the
people getting to their feet in silent tribute as Atticus,
unconscious of the sign of respect being paid him, walks up
the aisle. “Miss Jean Louise…Miss Jean Louise,” the reverend
quietly calls Scout by her formal name. “Miss Jean, stand
up, your father’s passin’.”
* * * * *
“Miss Jean Louise, stand up, your
father’s passin’.” Each time I see that scene in the movie
To Kill a Mockingbird, it gets me. No medal or
presidential citation could ever mean more than the quiet
show of respect for the humblest citizen of Maycomb,
Alabama. Atticus Finch epitomizes the man of integrity
celebrated by the Book of Proverbs when it reads, “A good
name is to be chosen rather than riches, and favor is better
than silver or gold.” (Proverbs 22:1)
Atticus Finch. He is so quiet and
unassuming that his children are unaware of what a special
man their father is. At the beginning of the story, Atticus’
son Jem is upset because his father refuses to join the
Methodist baseball team. Atticus tells him that he is too
old. But here, at the story’s climax, they witness a power
in their father that transcends even the baseball diamond.
He is given the kind of tribute one can only earn by living
a life of integrity, a life of risky love that reaches out
regardless of what others might say or do. Atticus Finch is
the real deal.
Last week, we heard the Pentecost call to
join the work God has started in Jesus Christ, the work of
healing and transforming the world. Tonight we will try to
get a glimpse into how we can actually become a part of this
enormous task God is calling us to. To do this, we turn to
Jesus’ last words, found in the 28th chapter of
Matthew’s Gospel, often called The Great Commission. It
reads:
Then the eleven disciples went to
Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go.
When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted.
Then Jesus came to them and said, “All authority in heaven
and on earth has been given to me. Therefore, go and make
disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the
Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching
them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I
am with you always, to the very end of the age.” (Matthew
28:16-20)
Let’s crack open these familiar words to
see if we can find some insight into how we can participate
in this larger-than-life task to which Jesus has invited
us.
It begins with Jesus saying, “All
authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.” The
Greek word used here for authority is exousia. “All
exousia in heaven and on earth has been given to me.”
Exousia means the power to bring something under
control, to have dominion over it. Jesus is saying that he
has been given all the power in both heaven and earth. He
has the exousia.
But here is the thing. Jesus flips the
very meaning of exousia—the very meaning of power and
authority—on its head. He changes it forever. Over and over
again in the scriptures we see Jesus bumping up against the
religious and political leaders of his day, those who had
far different understandings of exousia—of power and
authority—than Jesus had. In Jesus’ day, the world’s lone
superpower was the Roman Empire. They too claimed to have
all authority, all power, all exousia, in heaven and
on earth. The Roman Empire ruled the world through coercion.
Their M.O.: submit to the Empire—to its authority, to its
exousia—or die, be crucified. Submit or die!
One of the most radical things Jesus ever
did was to introduce the world to a completely different
kind of exousia. His was a power and authority that
does not come from coercing others, but rather from serving
and sacrificing for others. Jesus is always talking about
this different understanding of authority. He says, “It is
not about the first but the last.” He says, “If you want to
gain your life, you must lose it.” Jesus’ authority, his
exousia, did not come from the sword but from the towel
and basin, not from conquering people but from washing
people’s feet. Jesus had an entirely different understanding
of exousia. Any power or authority Jesus ever had
came from living his life with such authenticity and
compassion that the people who came into contact with him
could only say, “Okay, that’s real.” Jesus demonstrated that
the authority that comes from an authentic life of service
and sacrifice is far more powerful, and lasting, and
transformative, than any notion of authority that is derived
from manipulation and coercion.
Atticus Finch had the kind of exousia,
the kind of authority, Jesus was talking about. Mother
Teresa had it. Rosa Parks had it. Saint Francis of Assisi
had it. The exousia that comes from a life of humble
service and self-sacrifice has been lived out by thousands
of nameless saints. One such saint was a nurse I met in the
weeks my mother lay dying in the hospital. I no longer
remember her name, but I will never forget her exousia.
She had such love and compassion for my mom. She would comb
her hair and massage her back. She would lovingly rub lotion
on her arms and legs. She would hold her hand and sing to
her. She treated people who were in the last days of their
lives with incredible dignity and respect. There was just
something about her. When you saw her in action, you saw an
exousia that could not be denied. She had power and
authority. She was the real deal. Exousia is when you
can see what the love of God looks like in flesh and blood.
Jesus became it, and we are called to show it to the world.
Jesus declares, “All exousia, all
power and authority, has been given to me, so go and make
disciples of all the nations.” We are called to make
disciples. The Greek word for disciples is mathetes,
and it is often translated as “student” or “pupil.” But
there is a danger here because, for us, the word “student”
implies the learning of some sort of intellectual knowledge.
And if that is the definition that shapes our understanding
of discipleship, then we might fall into the trap of
thinking that the primary task of the church is to transfer
religious information about Jesus to the world. You know:
who he is, how he was born, why he died, when he rose—the
facts of our faith.
But in the first century world of Jesus,
the whole idea of a mathetes, of a student, would
have been very different. In the first century world, one
did not learn a trade by going to school, taking classes and
passing exams. Instead, one learned a trade by becoming an
apprentice, by literally working for years under the
guidance of a master. Their whole lives were oriented around
learning the trade of a master craftsperson. To be a
disciple of Jesus is to be his apprentice, and thus
orienting our lives around learning the trade he came to
teach us. That trade? Living our lives in a manner that
brings healing and transformation to the world.
It is important to note what Jesus did
not say here. Jesus did not say, “Go therefore and make
Christians of all the nations.” He did not call us to
invite people to join a religion. We are called to help
others become more than believers, more than religious
converts. We are called to help others become followers,
imitators, apprentices—to live the way Jesus lived. Did you
know that the word “Christian” appears only one time in the
scriptures, while the word “disciple” appears 232 times in
the four Gospels and the Book of Acts? We are called to help
others become disciples, to become apprentices, of the life
Jesus has called us to live.
But this is not where the phrase ends.
Jesus goes on to say, “Go therefore and make disciples of
all nations.” In the Greek, the word here for “the nations”
is ethnos. It is from ethnos that we derive
the words ethnic and ethnicity. So Jesus is saying, “Go
therefore and make disciples of the ethnos.” And so,
who are the ethnos? They are the people who are not
like us.
Now, this was a radical departure from
the religious mindset of Jesus’ time. If you were a good
Hebrew, you believed that the Messiah, the Savior of the
World, came for your people alone. So in Jesus’ time, the
notion of “the nations” meant all of the “unclean, heathen
unbelievers.” If we are only around Christians, only rubbing
shoulders with people who have our worldview, our politics,
our values—if we are only hanging around people who are just
like us—then can we ever expect to make disciples of the
ethnos?
Have you ever noticed that Jesus is
always hanging out with tax collectors and sinners, the
people who were considered unclean and the people you
weren’t supposed to dine with? Perhaps a great measure of
our faith would be to ask ourselves this question: “Do
people who are outside of the church—do people who have been
considered unclean, sinners or heathens—gather around us? Do
atheists and outsiders invite us to their parties and enjoy
our company?” So how are we to live out this call to give
ourselves over for the healing and transformation of the
world? One way is by patterning our lives along a path that
puts us in the midst of people who are different than us.
Jesus says, “All exousia has been
given to me. Therefore, in your going, make mathetes
of all the ethnos, baptizing them in the name of the
Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” The Greek
word Jesus uses here is baptiso, which literally
means “immerse.” This can mean literally to perform the
ritual of baptism, but by adding the next line—baptizing,
immersing, them in the name of the Father and of the Son
and of Holy Spirit—Jesus is pointing us to much deeper
truths.
In the name of the Father and of the
Son and of the Holy Spirit. That is Trinitarian
language. For thousands of years, Christians have understood
that there is one God, but that this God comes to us in
different, distinct ways: the Father, the Son and the Holy
Spirit. Put more simply, there is one God, but there is also
this loving, relational flow within God. This explains why
seventh grade girls talk on the phone all the time. It is
because they are created in the image of their maker, and
their maker is a relational being. They can’t help it. They
need to connect. It is who they are. It is who they were
created to be.
Our maker is a community of love. So we
crave relationships because we were created in the image of
a God who, at his core, is a relationship: Father, Son and
Holy Spirit. So by saying to the church, “Therefore go and
make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name
of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,”
perhaps what Jesus is really saying is that we are to
immerse ourselves, and others, in a community of love. “In
your going among people who aren’t like you, immerse them,
invite them, into a community whose relationships with each
other reveal the nature of a God who is all about
relationship.” We gather for worship, in small groups, on
the softball field, we go on camping trips and mission trips
together, we do all of this in the hope that the ways we
relate to each other, the ways we love each other, the ways
we speak to each other, the ways we serve each other, would
reveal to others the very nature of God. When they see us
interact with each other and with the world, do they see an
exousia, a power that cannot be denied?
So why I am spending all of this time
unpacking this scripture? Because after I present a call to
service and mission in the world, someone will invariably
ask me, “All this is well and good, Jeff, but when do we
tell them about Jesus?” My answer to that question is, “We
already are!” Every time we pound a nail in a Habitat home,
we are already telling the world what we believe about
Jesus. Every time we pledge to do the CROP Walk, we are
already telling the world what we believe about Jesus. Every
time we work at Cass in Detroit or volunteer at Baldwin in
Pontiac, we are already telling the world what we believe
about Jesus. Every time we take a meal to a neighbor who is
sick, every time we call a friend who is going through a
rough divorce, every time we make sure to introduce
ourselves to the new people on the block, no matter what
their religion, race, material status or sexual orientation,
we are already telling the world what we believe about
Jesus. We are already teaching people about Jesus. The
question is, what are we teaching them about Jesus?
How are
we to go about this mission of healing and transforming the
world?
·
By living with the kind of
exousia that Jesus displayed, a power and authority that
only comes from self-sacrifice and service.
·
By living our lives among those
who think, vote, believe, look and live lives different than
our own.
·
And by immersing ourselves, and
inviting others, into a community whose relationships are
built on the kind of love that reveals to the world the very
nature of the God found in Jesus Christ.
I know what some of you are saying. “That
is some good preaching there, preacher. That is a nice
little theory they taught you in that seminary of yours. But
you don’t really believe this stuff do you?” Believe it? Not
only do I believe, it I have seen it.
It was a spring break mission trip to
Memphis with the youth group. One young man was sent on the
trip as a punishment. I love that! Who do the parents think
they are punishing, anyway? This young man came up to me on
the first day and said, “Here is the deal. I am here against
my will. I am not going to cause you any problems, but I am
an atheist. I don’t believe any of this stuff. Don’t expect
me to do any of this Christian stuff!”
So what did the rest of the kids do?
Nothing. They did not pressure him. They did not debate him.
They did not try to convince him to change his mind. They
just loved and accepted him. They just went about doing what
we do when we are on mission trips. They served. They
shared. They sang. They prayed.
At the beginning of the week, this young
man separated himself during the devotional times. But
something began to happen as the week unfolded. Slowly, he
started to sit closer to the group during the nightly
sharing and prayers. And on the last night, he chose to
address the group and said something to this effect: “I am
still an atheist. I don’t believe in God. But I like you
guys and I want to do what you do. Count me in the next time
you go.” And sure enough, there he was.
Now, I don’t know if this young man will
ever consider himself “a believer” in Jesus Christ.
But a “follower,” an apprentice, of Jesus, well, that
I can tell you he already is.
Note: Once again I am grateful for the
preaching and writing of Rob Bell, the preaching pastor at
Mar Hills Bible Church outside of Grand Rapids. Bell’s
theological clarity and boldness are both refreshing and
challenging. This week I drew heavily from his sermon
entitled, “We Already Are,” which I received via podcast.
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