Christology

I find it strange that I haven't posted anything on the blog lately given how much of my life has been spent writing. So here's a (small) portion of my Ordination Paper. These are my reflections on Jesus. Your thoughts??

I’ve heard that at some point in the ordination examination process I’ll be asked whether or not Jesus is my Lord and Savior. I’d like to answer that now so we can discuss other things later. While this question can often inspire the greatest internal revolt possible within my gut when asked by strangers, I must confess it’s a good question to address in this space. The question of Jesus’ lordship is foremost a question of power. Power is always constructed, in context, in relation and what is considered power/full changes over and through time. Hence, any honest discussion of power will include information about particular social relations formed by ideology, culture, and history. “Lord” became a signifier of and title for Roman emperors as Pax Romana extended its power geographically and politically up to and after the 1st century CE. These lords were objects of the “emperor cult:” they were worshipped and venerated as saviors who would heal, transform and restore the conditions of the people worshipping them. The basic notion informing this veneration is that political power is supreme power, the most efficacious power, the power upon which lives could be changed/saved. This notion of lordship rests on the assumption that any power at all is power over something else. The logic of this lordship sets up paradigms of sovereignty and dependency and perhaps what’s most destructive is that it requires people to surrender their own power with one another to maintain a top down system of ‘salvation.’ This kind of power was responsible for Jesus’ death. However… Jesus flipped this power script completely. He so radically over-turned imperial power that people began using the title “Lord” in reference to him. This wasn’t just a syntax transfer; it was a taking back of language, a signifying practice of dissent and resistance. By calling Jesus “Lord,” his people were deconstructing the prevailing political power of empire and proposing a new and better form of power. They were, in essence, saying no to top-down, power-over strategies of control and yes to the power of mutual relation. Jesus’ power came in the form of solidarity and “self-emptying.” He flexed his power by inviting his friends to journey with him, by feeding people, teaching compassion and forgiveness, healing hemorrhaging/out-cast women and smelly/dead men. He told silly stories and liked to party at a table full of rebels and radicals. He found his power in making old scriptures relevant to new circumstances. He found his power in long periods of prayer and meditation in nature. His ministry was one of power because it was not a solo enterprise: Jesus was able to accomplish the aims of agape because of his disciples’ willingness to engage with him in acts of gracious hospitality, acts of challenge, acts of reverent worship. His was a power with, a power of relationship, a power of love and it was in “diametrical opposition to the power of the emperor.” I revere and worship the embodiment of power made known in Jesus of Nazareth. Certainly any saving power I’ve known in my own life has taken the form of service, relationship and love. Would I call Jesus my Lord? Yes: if it meant saying no to military power, patriarchal power, white power, or economic power as the driver of my life. I must say though, the imperial connotations of the word “Lord” make it difficult for me to pronounce in any casual way, especially given my country of origin and its current strategies of foreign policy. “Savior” is a bit easier (though not effortless), especially as I understand it related to sin. Jesus saves me from “a life of aimlessness” by providing me with spiritual clues to the great ontological question how shall I live? There’s a different question I like much better than the “lord and savior” question, a question that’s more important to me. It’s what John Caputo calls the “question of the unhinged” and it descends from St. Augustine: What do I love when I love my God?