God's weakness
A church shooting in Wisconsin. A string of church robberies in Oregon. A church arson in Washington. The question in these situations inevitably gets asked: where was God? How could a loving God allow this to happen to his followers? Is God not our protector?
The funny thing is, similar questions were asked at another event in history. A man who claimed to be the son of God hung on a Roman cross, bleeding and suffering. Those who stood around observing mocked him, asking "Where is your God now? If you really are the son of God, why isn't he protecting you?" For many people, that was the end of the story -- the claims to divine sonship refuted, a ministry of reconciliation brought to ultimate failure. The weakness of God was demonstrated, placed on a cross, up on a hill for the whole world to see.
Jesus told his followers that they could expect persecution. No servant is greater than his master, he told them. If the master is going to get beaten, tortured and murdered, what could the servants expect? A common thread runs through the epistles that make up the New Testament: expect persecution. If you are going to identify yourselves with the crucified Lord, you can expect the world to crucify you as well. The precedent had been set.
In America, where our religious freedom is protected by law, we have a dim and distant view of persecution. We consider ourselves persecuted when the culture opposes our claims to truth. We consider ourselves oppressed when immorality becomes legally sanctioned. We consider ourselves persecuted when people make fun of us, when they ridicule us for our "intolerant" beliefs. We shore up against the opposition and attempt to fight it. God is on our side.
Yet, when forms of persecution that would be more familiar to the early church creep into our sheltered lives, we begin to ask, "where was God?" When God's weakness becomes manifest, we become afraid and disoriented. We search in vain for explanations. When the cross becomes reality, we start to sound like the mockers who stood at the foot of Christ's cross.
The funny thing is, similar questions were asked at another event in history. A man who claimed to be the son of God hung on a Roman cross, bleeding and suffering. Those who stood around observing mocked him, asking "Where is your God now? If you really are the son of God, why isn't he protecting you?" For many people, that was the end of the story -- the claims to divine sonship refuted, a ministry of reconciliation brought to ultimate failure. The weakness of God was demonstrated, placed on a cross, up on a hill for the whole world to see.
Jesus told his followers that they could expect persecution. No servant is greater than his master, he told them. If the master is going to get beaten, tortured and murdered, what could the servants expect? A common thread runs through the epistles that make up the New Testament: expect persecution. If you are going to identify yourselves with the crucified Lord, you can expect the world to crucify you as well. The precedent had been set.
In America, where our religious freedom is protected by law, we have a dim and distant view of persecution. We consider ourselves persecuted when the culture opposes our claims to truth. We consider ourselves oppressed when immorality becomes legally sanctioned. We consider ourselves persecuted when people make fun of us, when they ridicule us for our "intolerant" beliefs. We shore up against the opposition and attempt to fight it. God is on our side.
Yet, when forms of persecution that would be more familiar to the early church creep into our sheltered lives, we begin to ask, "where was God?" When God's weakness becomes manifest, we become afraid and disoriented. We search in vain for explanations. When the cross becomes reality, we start to sound like the mockers who stood at the foot of Christ's cross.