Two Hilltops

Photo by Alfred Aloushy on Unsplash

The First United Presbyterian Church

“Two Hilltops”

Rev. Amy Morgan

June 7, 2020

Matthew 28:16–20

16 Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. 17 When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted.

 18 And Jesus came and said to them, "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. 19 Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, 20 and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age."

Jesus stands on a hill. Throughout his life and ministry, he’s stood on several hilltops. So that people could hear his teaching. So that his disciples could witness his transfiguration. So that he could pray alone.

But the first time Jesus stands on a hill in the gospels, he is not alone. He is with the devil. And the devil makes him a deal. From the top of the hill, they can see all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil says, “all authority on earth I will give to you, if you just fall down and worship me.” The devil offers Jesus the authority to literally rule the world. He can use that power however he wants. To end war. To teach. To keep peace. But Jesus answered the devil, “The way of God says that we must worship and serve only God.” And that was that. The authority offered by the devil was rejected on that first hilltop.

But worshiping and serving God led Jesus to another hilltop - called Golgotha. The reward for worshiping and serving God was death on a cross. Seemed like the devil had the better deal.

But Jesus was resurrected! He destroyed sin and death! All was well.  

And in our scripture today, Jesus stands on another hill, the last hill he will ascend on earth. And he now proclaims that “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.”

No cheers erupt from the disciples. One of them whispers, “you could’ve fooled me.” Jesus is on a hill, in a poor, forgotten province of the Roman Empire, followed by a rag-tag band of 11 poor, confused, doubting friends, down from 12 last week. Nothing about this moment symbolizes authority, as we know it.

Dictionary definitions of authority include, “the power or right to give orders, make decisions, and enforce obedience;” “the right to control, command, or determine;” “power to influence or command thought, opinion, or behavior.”

When we think of authority, it means you are in charge. You rule. You have power. Nothing can take you down or make you budge. Absolute authority means you depend on no one but yourself.

This is the authority a man named Arius ascribed to God. Arius was a 4^th-century presbyter who believed that God alone was self-existent and unchanging. God’s power could not be shared, could not be divided or diminished. He opposed the emerging theology of the Trinity, in which God is defined as One God in three Persons. Arius wasn’t offended by the math, he was offended by the way it weakened God. God could not be sovereign and powerful and immutable if God was divided.

But the prevailing doctrine of the Trinity, encapsulated in the Nicene Creed in response to the Arian controversy, never divided God. Because God can’t be divided. God is one. And sovereign. And powerful. And immutable.

But God is all those things because of the strength of the Trinity, not the weakness of it. The doctrine of the Trinity says that God’s nature is relational. God cannot be God alone, but only in relationships so intimate and so strong that Oneness is the only possible result of those relationships. God’s power and authority emanates from those relationships rather than being diminished by them.

And this is a very different understanding of authority than the one we get from dictionaries or dictators, moral shaming or military might. This is the authority of a man who stands on a hill, betrayed and beaten, a man who has gone through hell and back, a man who is losing friends, not gaining followers. And yet he stands on a hill and insists that all authority in heaven, not just on earth, has been given to him. For this to be in any way believable, we have to have a different definition of authority.

Jesus’s authority is that same, relational authority that emanates from God. It is an authority defined not by control, but surrender. It is defined not through the maintenance of power but by giving it away. It is defined not by its absoluteness but by its vulnerability, not by its indifference but by love.

And on a hilltop in Galilee, Jesus demonstrates his authority by loving a sorry, spineless group of doubtful, cynical guys and then surrendering the control of his mission to them. He takes his authority, and the first thing he does is give it away. Not to people who are strong and capable. To people who are probably going to completely tank the project.

And on their own, each of those disciples most certainly would have done just that. But the authority they were given is authority that only works in relationship, is only powerful and effective in relationship. And so, thankfully, that’s how they used it. Through their relationships with Jesus and with one another, they were able to teach and heal and bring people into the family of God. Their authority grew as their relationships deepened and expanded. Their power increased as they gave it away to successive generations.

For us to be Christians in this day and time, we need to understand our Trinitarian authority. As the authority of the institution of the church has eroded, we have been tempted to go back and make that deal with the devil, to accept earthly, autonomous, absolute authority. How can we increase our influence, our security? How can we obtain the moral high ground? How can we posture effectively to gain a better following?

This is not the authority that has been given to us. Our authority as Christians is relational. It is not individual or even corporate authority. It is only authority in relationship.

What does this mean, practically?

It means we don’t have the authority to condemn, but we do have the authority to forgive. We have the authority to take the log out of our own eye before we help our neighbor take the speck out of their eye and the authority to love our enemies. We have the authority to forgive as we have been forgiven.

It also means that we don’t have the authority to judge, but we do have the authority to transform. Jesus taught his disciples, “Do not judge, so that you may not be judged.” But he also sent them out to teach new disciples “everything he had commanded them.” Most scholars believe this encompasses all of Jesus’s teaching, but if we want to get real specific, there’s exactly one command Jesus gave his disciples: love one another as I have loved you. If we could really teach that to “all nations,” this would be a very different world.

Christian authority means that we don’t have the authority to demand, but we do have the authority to demonstrate. Jesus came not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many. Servants can’t demand anything for themselves. But they can demonstrate a new way of life. They can demonstrate the value and belovedness of every one of God’s creatures. They can demonstrate on behalf of those they serve.

Christian authority means we don’t have the authority to demolish, but we do have the authority to dismantle. Our authority is not destructive. But there are systems and institutions, policies and prejudices, structures and false narratives that must be dismantled for God’s new creation to come to completeness on earth. Dismantling is intentional, slow, laborious work. It requires cooperation and collaboration. It requires that Christian relational authority that doesn’t depend on a single leader but on all of us.

Finally, Christian authority means we don’t have the authority to dehumanize, but we do have the authority to love. And that is an authority that is more powerful than what the devil has to offer. The only authority that can condemn sin and death, judge right from wrong, demand justice, and demolish all oppressive powers is the forgiving, transforming, demonstrative and disarming power of love.

Our authority rests in our willingness to give it away. And we do that by giving love. By being in loving relationships so intimate and so strong that Oneness is the only possible result of those relationships.

This kind of authority doesn’t win wars, or even arguments. It doesn’t quell uprisings. It doesn’t teach people a lesson. It doesn’t punish people for their wrongs. And thank God for that. 

Because we would surely be on the losing side of the war or the argument or the uprising. We would surely not learn our lesson and more often then not be on the business side of the punishment.

But we do have authority. All authority, in heaven and on earth. It has been given to Jesus, and he is with us always. And he has sent us to all nations to make disciples.

Now is the time to make disciples of this nation. Not by condemning sinfulness, but by extending forgiveness. Not by judging one another, but by transforming hearts and minds. Not by demanding confession, but by demonstrating God’s love in the way we live and speak and care for one another. We will make disciples not by destroying what we think is racist or oppressive or evil, but by doing the much harder, complicated, and enduring task of dismantling it. We will make disciples not by dehumanizing each other but by loving one another as God loves us.

This is our hill. Where we choose whom we will worship and serve. Each choice offers a form of authority. But they are very different forms. Worshiping and serving God may leave us betrayed and beaten. It may take us through hell and back. We may lose friends along the way. But it is the greater authority. And it is ours for the giving.

Thanks be to God. Amen.