Decades ago a brief wave of “catacomb” experiences passed through evangelical churches, premised on the question, “What would Christians do if the government outlawed public worship?”
Taking our cue from the outlawed 3rd century Christians who secretly worshipped in the catacombs beneath the streets of Rome, the basement fellowship hall of the church I served became our catacomb. Singing quiet hymns with only candles for light while sitting across the floor on scattered pillows, we tried to re-create an aura of hushed secrecy. We tried to imagine: could the church survive if persecution forced it underground?
Today we are no longer pretending. What was then an interesting experiment is now reality. Most churches on Easter were closed, although only temporarily and thankfully not because of persecution.
What might we learn during these weeks as an “underground” church in America?
For several years I lived in Ethiopia and taught at the Ethiopian Graduate School of Theology in Addis Ababa. Most of my mid-career graduate students grew up during the Derg regime, the Communist government that overthrew Emperor Haile Selassie and ruled Ethiopia from 1974 to 1991.
The Derg closed churches and brutally repressed Christians. My students described secret worship gatherings in the forests surrounding their towns. Some were arrested as leaders of these underground churches; a few even offered to show me their scars from the torture they endured in prison.
Many of my students shared how the dark decades of the Derg sowed the seed for the amazing church growth Ethiopian evangelicals have experienced in the last 30 years. (Several also voiced was how evangelicals were losing power now that they had gained earthly power and respect.)
Might we use this disruptive (if brief) moment to ponder the true meaning of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ?
The Theology of the Cross
Before Jesus initiated the Lord’s Supper on Maundy Thursday evening, two of the disciples (and brothers) named James and John took him aside for a special request: “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” (Mark 10:37)
James and John (along with Peter) were Jesus’ closest disciples. Why wouldn’t this special relationship qualify them for key positions of power and authority (which is what sitting next to him implied)? “We’ve been with you all the way, Jesus. We’ve proved our loyalty. We deserve to be in charge. We have what it takes to run your kingdom for you.”
Jesus replies with one of the most shocking paradoxes of Scripture: “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.”
Even more, this upside-down greatness is not simply an interesting idea, but is deeply centered in Jesus’ own life and mission: “For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”
Martin Luther used this mind-bending paradox to create one of the seminal ideas of the Protestant Reformation. Luther describes two diametrically opposed views of power, which he called the “theology of the cross” and the “theology of glory.”
Jesus verbalizes the theology of the cross when he rebuffs James and John: “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.”
Jesus chose death on the cross–just as his disciples must choose servanthood and even slavery–fully trusting the crazy idea that weakness is God’s path to strength, that servanthood is God’s path to greatness.
God defeats evil, by allowing evil to defeat him (albeit temporarily). Jesus dies on the cross, but his death is actually a victory. God’s power flows through weakness, not strength.
The Apostle Paul will later write: “but he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” So, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. (2 Cor. 12:9)
The Theology of Glory
According to Luther, the theology of glory cannot stand weakness. It assumes (often despite high-sounding rhetoric) that God’s power is quite similar to human power, only raised to the nth degree. One wins, by winning!
Carl Trueman writes:
Taking our cue from the outlawed 3rd century Christians who secretly worshipped in the catacombs beneath the streets of Rome, the basement fellowship hall of the church I served became our catacomb. Singing quiet hymns with only candles for light while sitting across the floor on scattered pillows, we tried to re-create an aura of hushed secrecy. We tried to imagine: could the church survive if persecution forced it underground?
Today we are no longer pretending. What was then an interesting experiment is now reality. Most churches on Easter were closed, although only temporarily and thankfully not because of persecution.
What might we learn during these weeks as an “underground” church in America?
For several years I lived in Ethiopia and taught at the Ethiopian Graduate School of Theology in Addis Ababa. Most of my mid-career graduate students grew up during the Derg regime, the Communist government that overthrew Emperor Haile Selassie and ruled Ethiopia from 1974 to 1991.
The Derg closed churches and brutally repressed Christians. My students described secret worship gatherings in the forests surrounding their towns. Some were arrested as leaders of these underground churches; a few even offered to show me their scars from the torture they endured in prison.
Many of my students shared how the dark decades of the Derg sowed the seed for the amazing church growth Ethiopian evangelicals have experienced in the last 30 years. (Several also voiced was how evangelicals were losing power now that they had gained earthly power and respect.)
Might we use this disruptive (if brief) moment to ponder the true meaning of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ?
The Theology of the Cross
Before Jesus initiated the Lord’s Supper on Maundy Thursday evening, two of the disciples (and brothers) named James and John took him aside for a special request: “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” (Mark 10:37)
James and John (along with Peter) were Jesus’ closest disciples. Why wouldn’t this special relationship qualify them for key positions of power and authority (which is what sitting next to him implied)? “We’ve been with you all the way, Jesus. We’ve proved our loyalty. We deserve to be in charge. We have what it takes to run your kingdom for you.”
Jesus replies with one of the most shocking paradoxes of Scripture: “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.”
Even more, this upside-down greatness is not simply an interesting idea, but is deeply centered in Jesus’ own life and mission: “For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”
Martin Luther used this mind-bending paradox to create one of the seminal ideas of the Protestant Reformation. Luther describes two diametrically opposed views of power, which he called the “theology of the cross” and the “theology of glory.”
Jesus verbalizes the theology of the cross when he rebuffs James and John: “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.”
Jesus chose death on the cross–just as his disciples must choose servanthood and even slavery–fully trusting the crazy idea that weakness is God’s path to strength, that servanthood is God’s path to greatness.
God defeats evil, by allowing evil to defeat him (albeit temporarily). Jesus dies on the cross, but his death is actually a victory. God’s power flows through weakness, not strength.
The Apostle Paul will later write: “but he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” So, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. (2 Cor. 12:9)
The Theology of Glory
According to Luther, the theology of glory cannot stand weakness. It assumes (often despite high-sounding rhetoric) that God’s power is quite similar to human power, only raised to the nth degree. One wins, by winning!
Carl Trueman writes:
“Yes, many talk about the cross, but the cultural norms of many churches seem no different to the cultural norms of—well, the culture. They often indicate an attitude to power and influence that sees these things as directly related to size, market share, consumerist packaging, aesthetics, youth culture, media appearances, swagger and the all-round noise and pyrotechnics we associate with modern cinema rather than New Testament Christianity.”
For any who buy into such American cultural marks of power and influence, missing the crowd-fueled emotional high on Easter reveals a deeper problem. At rock bottom, the theology of glory wants glory (God’s power) without the cross. Weakness is for losers!
The Romans who crucified Jesus thought he was a loser. The Chief Priests and Jewish Sanhedrin who mocked Jesus thought he was a loser. Even his own disciples ran away and thought Jesus was a loser.
But here’s the point: in the Resurrection, God vindicates weakness, not strength!
Jesus is executed as a common criminal. Yet God turns his death into new life for the entire cosmos! Servanthood and obedience (“the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many”) becomes the pathway for the redemption of humankind.
The Resurrection is contrary to everything we humans know about power and success. God is on the side of losers.
My Ethiopian friends during the Derg regime were, by any human measure, total losers. Yet God built a “theology of the cross” passion within their generation that sparked one of the fastest growing churches in the world today.
How many of us, especially my fellow evangelicals, talk about the theology of the cross but actually view the world through (and vote to promote) a theology of glory?
Can I really believe God is on the side of weakness, that God’s power looks like losing?
The Romans who crucified Jesus thought he was a loser. The Chief Priests and Jewish Sanhedrin who mocked Jesus thought he was a loser. Even his own disciples ran away and thought Jesus was a loser.
But here’s the point: in the Resurrection, God vindicates weakness, not strength!
Jesus is executed as a common criminal. Yet God turns his death into new life for the entire cosmos! Servanthood and obedience (“the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many”) becomes the pathway for the redemption of humankind.
The Resurrection is contrary to everything we humans know about power and success. God is on the side of losers.
My Ethiopian friends during the Derg regime were, by any human measure, total losers. Yet God built a “theology of the cross” passion within their generation that sparked one of the fastest growing churches in the world today.
How many of us, especially my fellow evangelicals, talk about the theology of the cross but actually view the world through (and vote to promote) a theology of glory?
Can I really believe God is on the side of weakness, that God’s power looks like losing?
And most important: how much am I willing to risk becoming a loser/servant myself to find out?
