Who Gets Jesus?

Sermon

This week I began reading a book that has come up in conversation several times in the past few weeks. Jesus and John Wayne, by Kristin Kobes Du Mez, recounts the history of the white evangelical church in the U.S., and how, in the author’s opinion, white evangelical church leaders corrupted a faith and fractured a nation.

I don’t really like to tear into another part of the Christian family; I adhere to the teaching that we should take the logs out of our own eyes first. But Du Mez’s research is thorough and compelling and, honestly, horrifying. There has been a determined movement within parts of the evangelical church to keep women in submission to men, to wipe out what they would call the stain of homosexuality, to keep the church lily white, and to gain as much political power as they can so they can turn over a Christian nation to Jesus when he returns.

Read the book, and we’ll talk about it. But for today, both the scripture text and Jesus and John Wayne have elicited for me this question: Who gets Jesus? Who gets to claim Jesus, who he is and what he wants us to do? Who gets to interpret scripture—the scholars, who spend lifetimes in translations and historical research? The lay person, who encounters sacred words with fresh eyes?

I ask this question because how we understand and know Jesus has significant implications beyond our individual lives; how we understand Jesus can impact the rise and fall of the world.

We know about Jesus because of the Bible. Four gospels are dedicated to his life, and the letters that follow are about how to live out his call both as individuals and as communities. From the gospels we get a picture of this guy, this first-century Palestinian Jew, this itinerant preacher, this convicted criminal. We get a picture of his humanity, and his divinity—his miracles, his resurrection. We moderns form an impression of his personality—a wise man, a man full of grace, a man of courage who was not afraid to take on the powers when they were causing harm.

We see his extraordinary compassion and unconditional love. A lot of us see him as the gentle one who brings peace, so then when we read a text like the one for today—well, what do we do with this Jesus?

Scholars help us understand these verses that seem out of place. Back in chapter 9, Luke tells us that Jesus has set his face toward Jerusalem, that Jesus has deliberately turned toward the final months of his earthly life; he knows he is walking toward his death. Because of that, there is an urgency to his words. He only has so much time left, and he needs his followers to understand.

Some scholars believe that these words about bringing fire and division do not belong to Jesus but to Luke. Luke was describing the fractured situation of the early followers of Jesus, who were turning away from their traditional Jewish roots and turning away from their families so that they could follow the Messiah and form a new sort of family, based not in blood but in belief.

The late Fred Craddock frames this passage with the understanding that Jesus is the crisis of the world. He writes, “Crisis does not mean emergency but that moment or occasion of truth and decision about life.” To turn toward Jesus means turning away from something or someone else. Scholars agree that following Jesus requires decision and commitment.

But which Jesus are we following?

Do we follow the meek and mild Jesus, captured in the well-known painting by Warner Sallman, a silky-haired, light brunet Jesus with the Van Dyke beard and thousand-yard gaze? Do we follow the Jesus carrying the lost lamb on his shoulders? Do we follow the Jesus who was seriously ticked off and turned over the money changers’ tables in the temple? Do we follow this righteous, stressed-out, division-bringing Jesus we meet in Luke 12:51?

Part of what makes all of this so difficult is the layers and layers through which we see Jesus. There is the layer of time—two millennia later, we are still figuring out and following this guy. There is the layer of ancient texts, a Bible based on scraps of parchment and papyri which are subject to the choice of translators and editors. There is the layer of the history of interpreting Jesus, the Jesus of the persecuted people of The Way, the Jesus of the church of the Holy Roman Empire, the Jesus of liberation theology, feminist theology, womanist theology, queer theology.

There are so many layers to learning about Jesus. We know so many things about Jesus. We know his mother was Mary, that Mary’s husband Joseph was a carpenter. We know Jesus grew up in Galilee, that he had an intimate relationship with his God. We know he was crucified by the Roman authorities. We believe God raised Jesus from the dead.

We know about him, but do we know him? I think our evangelical kin have an edge on us in this regard. We Presbyterians are the scholars of Protestantism, and we have been both lauded and condemned for our brain-based faith. To talk about knowing Jesus, or even having a personal relationship with him, can make the average Presbyterian a little itchy.

I will admit to my own struggles with knowing Jesus. I grew up in a Presbyterian church in Houston which had a little bit of evangelical flavoring, and there were some leaders in the church who encouraged us youth to have a personal relationship with Jesus. I felt bad that I didn’t really know what that meant.

Forty years later, I don’t think I have a personal relationship with Jesus in the way that the elders of my youth meant. But I have experienced the divine presence in so many ways—moments when a grace beyond my ken washes over me, times of crisis when a sense of calm enters my spirit, unanticipated joy that brings me to tears for no reason at all. In those times I am experiencing the presence of God, the presence of Jesus. And for that I am grateful.

Which Jesus do we follow, know about, know? In some ways the answer is figured out by each person, but then again, it’s figured out in the church as well. We preachers have a bit on influence in all of this, and the five of us work very hard to do justice to the text and not to our egos or agendas. Some texts are so easy to preach; others are not. How Jesus appears in one story lends itself to wonderful interpretation and application. But sometimes Jesus says things we don’t like.

He says we have to forgive, seventy times seven. He says we have to look out for people like tax collectors and prostitutes and the homeless and those possessed by evil spirits. He says that following him might mean losing your family or even losing your life. You might wonder if following Jesus is worth giving up your family. I cannot tell you what makes following Jesus worth whatever pain or sacrifice might come with that—you have to decide for yourself.

Still, I’m reassured by something the late Rachel Held Evans once said. “I am a Christian because the story of Jesus is still the story I’m willing to risk being wrong about.” (Inspired: Slaying Giants, Walking on Water, and Loving the Bible Again) The story of Jesus is a good story, one that encourages its hearers to live for something greater than themselves.

It’s a story that reminds us that sparrows and beggars are of utter importance to God. It’s a story that reminds us that generosity is way better than greed. It’s a story that reminds us that sometimes doing the right thing brings pain, and defeat, that we may never see the fruit of our doing the right thing, but we should do it anyway. It’s a story of goodness grounded in God. There’s a lot I’d be willing to lose to live that goodness, because there is also so much to gain. We gain love, and life, and community.

At the beginning of the sermon, I made the bold claim that how we understand Jesus can impact the rise and fall of the world. A big claim, I know. As we consider this, take in these words of Barbara Brown Taylor. “With all the conceptual truths in the universe at His disposal [Jesus] did not give them something to think about together when He was gone. Instead, He gave them concrete things to do—specific ways of being together in their bodies—that would go on teaching them what they needed to know when He was no longer around to teach them Himself… ‘Do this’ He said—not believe this but do this—‘in remembrance of me.’” (An Altar in the World: Finding the sacred beneath our feet)

What would the world be like if people of faith didn’t feed the hungry? What would the world be like if no one ever questioned the reality of violence? What would the world be like if the widow and orphan were ignored? What would the world be like if no one did the hard work of forgiveness? What would the world be like if we never practiced unconditional love?

Who gets Jesus, meaning, who understands this guy? Well, we all get a part of him, and until we see him face to face, we may never get him fully.

Who gets Jesus, meaning, who gets to interpret him? All of us—the faithful and the doubter, the evangelical and the agnostic—all of us get to have a word about who we think he is.

And who gets Jesus, meaning, who receives his grace and truth? I’m tempted to invoke Oprah and the car giveaway—you get Jesus, and you get Jesus, and you get Jesus! But we all get his grace and truth, whether we deserve it or not; we all get his love, regardless. Because that’s who he is.

To the glory of God. Amen.