Almighty!

“I do not think it means what you think it means.”

Last week, I wrote about God’s mightiness in traditional terms, which the Bible talks about as displays of God’s “right hand.”  But there is another dimension to divine power, what some would call God’s “left hand.” 

Fans will note the source of the epigraph above: Princess Bride, the 1987 romantic comedy.
In the movie, Sicilian boss Vizzini repeatedly describes events as “inconceivable.” After Vizzini attempts to cut a rope the Dread Pirate Roberts is climbing, he exclaims that it was inconceivable that the pirate did not fall. To this, swordsman Inigo Montoya replies, “You keep using that word; I do not think it means what you think it means.”

Every week in worship, for decades now, I’ve been in traditions where we begin the Nicene Creed with, “I believe in God the Father, almighty….”

I do not think almighty means what we think it means.  

We get understandably confused in part because of what follows: “…maker of heaven and earth, and of all things visible and invisible.”

And in part because of acts ascribed to God in the Old Testament: God created the universe out of nothing. And destroyed the earth with a forty-day deluge.  And sent not one, not two, but ten severe catastrophes on Pharaoh.  And raised up nations to humiliate Israel and drive it into captivity.  And so on and so forth.  God is pictured as one who can get things done on an epic scale.

And then there are the movies—another source of confusion about power.  We’re talking superhero movies–Star Wars, Hunger Games, and so forth, where evil is always and only defeated by superior displays of violence and, well, power. That’s. All. Mighty. 

But it isn’t, is it? It struts around with a proud chest and massive biceps, but all this has nothing to do with might or power.  It’s as impressive as a fireworks display: when all is said and done, and all the explosions have faded, there’s just a lot of smoke in the air. 

To be sure, when we say God gets things done, that he is sufficiently powerful to accomplish anything he wills, we’re sometimes confused about the things he wants mostly to get done and how he actually goes about getting them done.  

So, when it comes to humankind, what exactly does God want to get done?  There are lots of ways of putting this.  Here is one: 

With all wisdom and insight he has made known to us the mystery of his will, according to his good pleasure that he set forth in Christ, as a plan for the fullness of time, to gather up all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth. (Eph. 1:8-10)

Here’s another:

…he chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless before him in love. He destined us for adoption as his children through Jesus Christ, according to the good pleasure of his will…. (Eph. 1:4-5) 

But there was a problem: 

…you were dead in your transgressions and sin, in which you used to live when you followed the ways of this world and of the ruler of the kingdom of the air, the spirit who is now at work in those who are disobedient. (Eph. 2:1-2)

And what exactly did God do to overcome the greatest, most vicious and powerful enemies of humankind– sin and death?

[Christ] being in very nature  God,    did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage;

rather, he made himself nothing    by taking the very nature of a servant,    being made in human likeness.And being found in appearance as a man,    he humbled himself    by becoming obedient to death—        even death on a cross! (Phil 2:6-8)

 Or as Paul puts it in Ephesians:

… because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved. And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus. (Eph. 2:4-6)

Our most fearsome enemies—and those God is most concerned to destroy—were defeated not by a display of unimaginable might, as we tend to think of might.  The display of unmitigated power, power that is almighty and invincible, was Christ dying on a cross. No strong-arming his enemies.  No A-bomb pyrotechnics. Just a weak, bleeding, despondent victim hanging on a cross. 

To be sure, Christ was raised from the dead, and thus raises us up.  But notice how quiet, subtle, and unbelievable was his resurrection.  Again, no swagger, no fireworks or explosions. Just waking up and walking out of the tomb.  It was so unspectacular his closest companions could hardly recognize him.  Even after spending forty days with them in his resurrected body, when he called them to himself for the last time, “When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted” (Matt. 28:17)

So yes, God is almighty, but not ultimately as we normally think of power.  The classic skeptic’s jest, “Is God so powerful that he could create a rock he couldn’t lift?” is absurd at many points.  God doesn’t really care about that kind of power, because that kind of power does nothing to accomplish what he most ardently wills to accomplish. 

Equally absurd are the other skeptical rants: “If God is so powerful, why does he allow evil to fester?”  “Why didn’t he stop the Holocaust?”  And so forth. 

Well, God is not interested in swooping in and solving our problems with magic and pyrotechnics.  That’s not his M.O.  At least not anymore.  He is depicted as such in the Old Testament especially, but since the Cross, he no longer seems interested in using force to display his power. 

Last week I noted,

When the biblical writers reach for a metaphor of divine power, they talk about God’s “right hand.” The Psalmist proclaims that the Lord will save his anointed “with the saving might of his right hand” (Ps. 20:5 ESV), and the author of Exodus says, “Your right hand, O Lord, glorious in power, your right hand, O Lord, shatters the enemy” (Ex 15:6 ESV). 

I also noted the Gospels’ snapshots of God’s right hand. We see this especially in the Gospel of Mark, where Jesus displays divine power in one incident after another.  He stills a storm. He casts out demons.  He heals the blind and the lame.  And so forth.  Up until Holy Week, it’s one spectacular display of power after another. 

During Holy Week, his right arm goes numb.  He does nothing to defend or bolster the fear and weariness of the disciples, just telling them to stay awake and pray.  He does nothing to defend himself.  He submits passively to the evil forces that seek to overwhelm him.

We do not understand this until Matthew writes his Gospel, where Jesus starts his ministry with a “sermon” that reveals another order of power.  The poor in spirit, the meek, the mourning, the hungry, the persecuted—these are  the ones who are blessed and who receive the Kingdom.  They are instructed to refuse revenge, turn the other cheek, and submit to injustice.  And he puts right-hand power in its place: 

“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. Many will say to me on that day, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name and in your name drive out demons and in your name perform many miracles?’ Then I will tell them plainly, ‘I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!’” (Mt. 7:21-23)

 The will of the Father, as he has just been teaching, is a love that absorbs evil with patience and long-suffering rather than seeking to destroy it with dynamite. Like Jesus on the Cross. 

So how do we understand this paradox, a God who evidently uses displays of dramatic power with his right hand, and one with his left hand uses the soft power of suffering? 

Here’s one way to think of it.  It has to do with God’s patient revelation of himself.  As noted last week, in the Old Testament, we see the power of his right hand in the many stupendous moments of salvation history, from the creation of the world,  to the deliverance from Egypt, and to the exile into Babylon.  We see it again in Jesus’ early ministry, where creation, the demons, and all manner of sickness submit to his word. 

And then, as I suggest, that sort of thing more or less stops at Holy Week.  Yes, there is the resurrection, but it is a quiet, ambiguous display of power. You have Pentecost, and a few other miracles in the Acts of the Apostles. And throughout history, there is the occasional extraordinary display of God’s power in healings and deliverances.  But given the long sweep of history, very, very seldom do such things happen.  And even then, they are done in such a way that it’s not exactly clear whether it’s a miracle or a coincidence. 

The idea I roll around in my little head is that the era of right-hand divine power is over, and that we’re in the era of left-hand power, where the most important enemies of humankind are being overcome not by strong-arm tactics but with patience and long-suffering and, well, love. 

And yet that creates new problems for how we should then live in a world where might makes right.  I’ll outline that conundrum next week. 

Grace and peace, 

Mark

Image iStock. Kevin Schreiber