What kind of Lord?

Of Charity and Cruciformity

The heart of the Christian faith is the confession that Jesus is Lord. There is so much to say about these three words. But there’s one thing that strikes me in particular this morning as I write, namely, the upside-down way early Christians understood the concept of “Lord.”

Most of us think of the word “lord” in terms of, say, domination. That’s how the ancients thought of it as well (in Greek, “lord” is kyrios). And so when we think of Jesus as kyrios, we often take this to be synonymous for “Jesus as the one who dominates.” The word “domination” is a word, of course, shrouded in all sorts of connotations, such as: violence, abuse, maltreatment, exploitation, etc. Such things are the antithesis of the life and ministry of Jesus. He’s a different sort of kyrios.

I was reading through a passage from St Matthew’s Gospel last night, and it captures the heart of what Jesus is all about. Notice the sort of lordship that Jesus repudiates:

But Jesus called them to him and said, “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over [katakyrieuō] them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. It will not be so among you; but whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be your slave; just as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” Matthew 20:25–28 (NRSV)

In other words, Jesus’s vision of lordship counters the world’s understanding; it upends the usual expectations. To see the shocking nature of Jesus’ upside-down understanding of what, exactly, lordship is all about, we need to read this passage in light of its broader context.

Immediately prior to this, the mother of two of his disciples (James and John) asks that Jesus would grant her two sons positions on either side of his throne—to be given, in other words, seats of authority and primacy (Matt 20:20-24). It’s important to note that James and John were eager participants in this request as well. In Mark’s account it’s James and John who make the request (Mark 10:35-37). This, naturally, led to anger and division among the disciples (Matt. 20:41). The other ten disciples weren’t objecting out of piety, but presumably because the elevation of the two brothers to positions of authority meant, in their minds, they would not get to enjoy such power (see Luke 22:24-27).

This is the point where the passage above comes into play—when Jesus sits everyone down for an important lesson about the sort of life he demanded of his followers: In Jesus’ kingdom, it’s not about domination; it’s about service. It’s not about power over others, but sacrifice for others.

What makes James’ and Johns’ request so baffling is that, immediately prior to it, Jesus had just told them that he—the Messiah himself—would be subject to arrest, mockery, suffering, and death by the cruelty of crucifixion (Matt. 20:17-19). It’s interesting to think, really, that the disciples could hear such a thing and then so quickly fall prey to such vanity.

That’s the thing with people, though. If given the opportunity to drink heavily from the well of self-conceit, we indulge. We have so much to learn. And our Lord has so much to teach us.

And he does so not merely by giving us a good lecture, full of true propositions. There’s a place for that. We do, in fact, need to spend lots of time sitting at the feet of Jesus, soaking in everything he has to say about what it means, exactly, to be a citizen of his Kingdom. We need to hang on every word he speaks so that his truth can sink deep into our bones.

But the way to be transformed from the inside out is to set our eyes not upon a proposition, but upon a person. We need to see love incarnate. And that’s exactly what we have in Jesus’ crucifixion—in his body, broken for us. In this way, says Jesus, will his true version of lordship be known.

“The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many” (Matt. 20:28).

Utterly baffling. The disciples lived in a time and place, after all, where emperors and lords crucified people. They expected similar things of their Lord—a military leader, a man with a sword in hand, ready to destroy the enemy without mercy. What they got, instead, was a Lord who wielded not a sword, but a cross—the latter of which was for him, not his enemies. And it is that truth which became the rallying call of the early Christian movement (1 Cor. 1:23-25). And it is that truth which gives us the true understanding of what it means to confess “Jesus is Lord.”

At the heart of that confession is the understanding that Christians, too, are called to imitate the ways of their Lord—to display the ways of charity and cruciformity. It’s a terribly difficult thing to do. But, at the same time, it is a calling that cannot be compromised. As Christ says,

“If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” (Matt. 16:24)

And I think that’s the key, namely, to follow him. In other words, we can only find strength to take up our cross when we fix our eyes upon the one who is bearing his, paving the way for our imitation. He goes before us. We follow.

We can find strength to follow him in a life of cruciformity by prayer—by means of extended contemplation and meditation. Most Christians find such things repulsive. Contemplation and mediation require lingering and unhurried reflection. In our fast-paced world, such things are heresy. And lazy.

But never mind that. We can’t afford not to fix our eyes upon the cross. Our very humanity is at stake. So is our politics.

And so, let us dare to ask…

Who is Jesus? Jesus is Lord.