Then he will speak to them in his wrath, and terrify them in his fury, saying, “I have set my king on Zion, my holy hill.” ~ Psalm 2:5-6
Jesus’s throne was a cross. His coming was unexpected—he was born innocent, helpless, in need of pacifying. His going, too, was unexpected—he was innocent, seemingly helpless, and, as the Jewish crowd would have seen it, his death pacified a serious threat. Not at all what a “warrior king” would have allowed: this mockery and derision, with no word of self-defense. No, the only word of defense spoken was on behalf of the very ones who tied him to his throne: Lord, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.
A true leader would have fought back. A true leader would have taken a last stand. A true leader would have rallied his troops in a convention hall press conference, not a small, hidden-away dinner party characterized by meager rations of bread and wine and talk of betrayal. And when this apparent leader finally got public recognition as “king,” it was with a jeering, hastily scribbled plaque and a crown of thorns. There will be no throne bearers, they said; he will carry it himself, to the top of the hill, where he will be crucified with two others—this so-called authority, among common criminals. What kind of power is this, he whose struggleless capture fulfilled a mere bounty of three hundred dollars?
This is the offense of the cross; this is the offense of Jesus:
Birth in a musty stable, hidden away from the world; burial by stealth in an empty cluster of rocks.
Consecration in a dirty river among a random throng of everyday people; coronation on a cursed tree.
A victory cup of sour wine; a war cry of forgiveness— They do not know what they are doing.
Not just the absence of glory and grandeur, but the presence of dirt and ridicule and shame.
Which of us wants a shepherd like this? Forget about revenge—turn the other cheek so it too might be slapped. Forget about recognition—those who are last get first prize. And don’t even think about riches—in this king’s realm, a camel will sooner crawl through the pedestrian gate, nose to the dust, before the wealthy will enter that same courtyard. And when they do manage to enter, in some apparent architectural engineering error, their coins won’t fit. (The two copper ones, however, somehow do.)
And the practical manifestation of this sort of leadership is anything but attractive to us, who from birth are told and shown and witness for ourselves very different measures of what it means to lead and be led:
Capitulation—surrender—means “losing.”
Strength is physical.
Beauty is outward.
Results of “success” are visible and immediate.
It’s not attractive to invite everyone—literally everyone—because there can’t be an “in crowd” without an “out crowd,” and whether we can admit it to ourselves or not, our sense of “belonging” is often dangerously dependent on the unspoken necessity that someone else does not (belong, that is). Because if everyone is “in,” what makes me special? If everyone has, then in our zero-sum world, I have not.
The offense of Jesus is rest. The offense of Jesus is trust. The offense of the cross is surrender, and it necessitates a totally different way of thinking than the zero-sum mentality we are so quick to adapt in this world. It necessitates REDEFINITIONS—of “success,” of “beauty,” of “belonging.” And perhaps of all things we could give up in this life as we seek to come, follow him, giving up definitions may just be the hardest.
The offense of the cross is falling off the cliff of the world and everything we thought we knew, because there is a net at the bottom of the ravine that catches and holds us, and with us the meaning of life, joy, success, beauty, belonging. New definitions, but the price is a death. A big leap. A come, follow me, and don’t keep your hand on the plow. Don’t look back.
What kind of leader is that? And what kind of philosophy—“Give up everything and you’ll get everything”? Offensive, when we realize that even “everything” needs redefining.
Offensive, when we realize the only thing we need to offer to “belong” is our heart.
Offensive, when we understand that our murderous neighbor could offer the same—broken and bleeding and murderous as it is—and still have a place at the table…right next to us.
Offensive, when we see that there is no pot of gold, ticket to fame, book deals, or influencer status at the bottom of the ravine we’ve jumped into, nothing hidden in the lifesaving net that says, “Aha! See? You only had to follow me and now you will truly have everything you left there at the top of the cliff.”
Offensive, when we realize that “leave it behind” really means “leave it behind.”
Those cliff-things aren’t intrinsically bad, but the offense of the cross is that they don’t define “Good.” The offense is that we must jump lower to understand what is higher. Redefinitions—what is great becomes small; what is small becomes great.
And from down below, caught safely in the net, those cliff-things, should they come to us, are now blessings, not necessities. To “have not” is not to lack, because the offense of the cross says that we already have everything. The offense of the cross is that from the cliff it looks crazy, but from the net it is freeing.
The offense of Jesus is not that we look up towards some high mountain to gaze upon “the holy hill,” but that we see the hill at the bottom of the ravine, and we ourselves are welcome there—us and quite literally everyone willing to jump.
Jumping down to be raised up.
Leaving behind to move ahead.
Redefining to be redefined.
It’s clear it will hurt. The offense is that it’s not just talk. But to follow a leader who didn’t just pave the way but is the way—that changes everything. The net is secured.
Offensive from above, yes, but from a position of having jumped and now resting within the net’s woven cords of grace, it all becomes the least offensive thing in the world. Offense becomes liberation, and redefining becomes a returning—a returning to and a revealing of the life of freedom we were first born to live.
~ S.B., Jan. 1, 2024
Come, follow me.
~ Jesus
YAGM Mexico team cross, Aug. 2023
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