Slaves of the crucified Lord

 

     Paul – the “slave” of Jesus (Rom. 1.1; Gal. 1.10) – showed us how to follow a crucified King.  His encounter with the Risen Lord on the Damascus Road marked Paul’s “crucifixion” (cf. Gal. 6.14) regarding the self-assertive ethos that had guided him up to that moment and his “resurrection” into a new life of self-emptying, obedient service to his crucified-and-risen master (cf. Phil. 2.5-7; 3.4-11).  Indeed, Paul’s autobiographical remarks in his letter to the Philippians showcase two kinds of apologetic strategy – on the one hand, Paul’s former apologia had involved him in the pursuit of intellectual brilliance, socially mobility and respectability, and what’s more – zeal to the point of using violence to defend the integrity of Jewish tradition, and, on the other, a strategy of downward mobility, accompanied by the loss of status, credibility and security, that was albeit no less zealous.  Only that, once he had been commissioned as an apostle, Paul exposed himself to as much, if not more, violence than he had previously visited upon the followers of Jesus.  Paul put himself forward as an example of faithfulness to Jesus for his converts to follow (cf. 1 Cor. 4.16; 11.1; Phil. 3.17; 1 Thess. 1.6; 2 Thess. 3.9).

     Paul new that to live in light of the victory of God-in-Christ was to embrace the cross – the place where the “rulers of this Age” had failed to grasp God’s “foolish wisdom” and had attempted to eliminate the divine threat to their power (cf. 1 Cor. 2.7-8).  Paul strove to make his readers understand that, at the end of the day, their lives no longer belonged to them (!); they now belonged to Jesus:

“For the love of Christ urges us on, because we are convinced that one has died for all; therefore all have died.  And he died for all, so that those who live might live no longer for themselves, but for him who died and was raised for them.” (2 Cor. 5.14-15)

     Jesus conducted his ministry in a fraught context where there were two obvious and opposite sides.  And yet, he refused either to collaborate with the Roman regime or to play the role of a violent revolutionary leader.  Jesus’ idiosyncratic revolution was a third way, one that avoided the Scylla of cowardly collaboration and the Charybdis of vengeful violence.  Paul evangelized the empire with a subversive gospel of a crucified Jewish Lord, which made him, for his former colleagues in Judaism, a blasphemer and a traitor and for the Romans, a potential threat to the established order (cf. 1 Cor. 1.18ff).  Both Jesus and Paul died for their strange “revolutions”.  Those who would follow Jesus, like Paul did, must adopt the unpopular stance of confronting both sides of any ideological conflict with the bracing message of the cross.

     Through his incarnation and death, the Son of God turned the world upside down (cf. Ac. 17.6; Phil. 2.5-8).  A crucified slave, a slaughtered lamb, now sits on the throne of the cosmos (cf. Phil. 2.9-11; Rev. 5.6-12).  Power has been eternally “revalued”.  The Creator can re-create life out of death for an individual as well as on a cosmic scale (cf. Rom. 8.3, 11, 18-25).  The Son of God became a victim of imperial oppression, and thoroughly subverted all human hubris by experiencing the ultimate humiliation and triumphing over it through his death (Col. 2.9-15) and resurrection (1 Cor. 15.20-28).

     Those who follow the crucified Lord are “un-oppressable” – i.e. since they no longer play the world’s power-games and because they interpret every humiliation endured for Christ as a victory (just as Jesus did while accomplishing his Father’s will), since they have renounced their rights and have followed their Lord’s example in making themselves “condemned slaves” (cf. 1 Cor. 4.9-13) – they expect nothing from the world besides rejection and contempt (Gal. 6.14), and they look to Jesus who will crown their loyalty in the new world where true justice shall finally be the rule (cf. Rev. 2.10; 21.1-5).  At the end of the day, we need to embrace the cross as our only means of victory – to die is to live (Mk. 8.34-35).  People like Paul, Bonhoeffer and millions of others down through the ages have understood this, have died to see the reality of this.  To follow Jesus is to be liberated from the most pernicious of chains – those of fear and pride.  Disciples of the crucified Lord know themselves to be loved and have no need to prove themselves worthy.  To follow the risen One is to walk free of fear – even death cannot defeat those who have been – and will be – raised with Christ. 

     This is the kind of (Christian) revolutionary that we need – people who will proclaim the gospel of the crucified-and-risen Lord with creativity, cognizance of the story of Christianity and Western culture, accompanied by compassion as well as the courage to be misunderstood by both sides of the culture war, and perhaps even to become a martys (i.e. a “witness” to the death and resurrection of Jesus; cf. Ac. 1.8, 22; Rev. 2.13).  While the prospect of dying for (being hated for) one’s faith in Christ might strike many of our Western contemporaries as an unacceptable instance of intolerance, bigotry and injustice (which it undoubtedly is), the fact remains that it was precisely by the means of an act of corruption and political expediency which was a conscious-and-willful judicial murder[1] that God saved the world (cf. Ac. 2.22-24).  Chesterton can help us re-imagine just what it is about our Christian faith that is worth dying for.[2]  Dying for one’s Christian faith is simply the “logical” conclusion of a life lived in service to something – someone – else.  Simply put, martyrdom is simply the (ultimate) price one pays for truly and persistently willing the good of another over one’s own well-being – i.e. for loving.  As Soren Kierkegaard entitled his work (published posthumously in 1938), Purity of Heart is to Will One Thing.  To insist on being single-mindedly devoted to Christ could plausibly, perhaps, lead one to witness to their faith with her/his life.


[1] I.e. divine “wisdom” and “power”: 1 Cor. 1.23-24.

[2] Cf. Chesterton, G.K. The Everlasting Man: A Guide to G.K. Chesterton’s Masterpiece (Introduction, Notes, and Commentary by Dale Ahlquist), Elk Grove Village: Word on Fire, 2024 [1925], p. 467, where, in the closing paragraph of his magnum opus, Chesterton remarks upon the characteristically Christian propensity to demonstrate humour and cheer in the face of fate and death.  Thousands of martyrs continue to be made around the world each year, especially in the Global South.  Chesterton explored the idea of a modern westerner taking his (lack of) faith seriously enough to give his life for it in his whimsical novel The Ball and the Cross (1909), in which an atheist and a very traditional, devout Roman Catholic repeatedly try, unsuccessfully and while being pursued by the law, to conduct a duel over the question of the existence of God.

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