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A Brief Commentary on Colossians

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Rembrandt van Rijn, Saint Paul

Over the past few weeks I’ve been teaching an online course on Paul’s letter to the Colossians. As we’ve gone through the letter, I’ve also been noting on social media some insights gained from studying Colossians. It occurred to me at some point that these form a kind of short-hand commentary on the letter. Here are those social media posts, making for A Brief Commentary on Colossians.

Scholars debate whether Paul actually wrote Colossians (Col 1:1), mostly on theological grounds. Pseudonymous writings were known in the ancient world, a devoted disciple writing in their mentor’s name.

I have doubts about other Pauline letters, but I believe Paul directly authorized Colossians.

Colossians—like most of Paul’s letters—begins with an extended prayer (Col 1:3ff.). Typically these prayers merge into a theologically rich section, which forms the basis for practical exhortations.

A helpful pattern: prayerful theologizing lived out practically. Faith lived out in love.

“God-Lord-Spirit” (e.g. Col 1:3-8) is Paul’s incipient trinitarianism—not the full-blown version of later orthodoxy, but a helpful triad for describing God and God’s work in the world.

God the Father works through our Lord Jesus Christ by the Holy Spirit. We come to God through Jesus by the Spirit.

“Faith-Hope-Love” (e.g. Col 1:3-5) is Paul’s triad of core Christian virtues.

“Faith” = trust in God + allegiance to God’s ways

“Hope” = future-focused faith, grounded in Jesus’ resurrection from the dead

“Love” = love in the way of Jesus: self-giving, other-lifting, compassion-in-action

Paul’s prayers (e.g. Col 1:3ff.) are saturated with gratitude. Joyful thanksgiving is a hallmark of Christian prayer.

Yes, we also lament—and so did Paul. But more often than not, our prayers should be marked by humble, joy-filled gratitude for the people in our lives and all that God has given us.

“The word of truth” in Col 1:5 is not the Bible. It’s “the gospel,” the text says, the orally proclaimed message about Jesus. This is true of nearly all “word of x” language in the NT, including “word of God.”

The story of Jesus is God’s good-news word to the world. The Bible bears witness to this.

The fruit of the gospel, the fruit of the Spirit’s work in response to the good news about Jesus, is faith, hope, and love in the way of Jesus (Col 1:3-8).

The seed of the word is planted in the soil of our hearts, and if the soil is good it bears much fruit (Mark 4:20).

Four common themes in Paul’s prayers (e.g. Col 1:3ff.):
1) Gratitude for the other, for their faith, hope, and/or love.
2) For the knowledge of God’s will to be fruitful in doing God’s will.
3) For strength to endure hardships with joyful thanksgiving.
4) For growth in love for one another.

What’s in our prayers?

“From the day you heard the gospel and truly comprehended the grace of God” (Col 1:6).

What a wonderful description of a come-to-Jesus moment! Hearing the good-news story of Jesus and fully grasping the amazing grace of God—and being utterly transformed in the encounter.

Paul makes much of his “co-workers” like Epaphras (Col 1:7), faithful men and women who shared with Paul in bringing the good news of Jesus to the world. Contrary to our imagined lone-ranger image of Paul (like Rembrandt’s famous painting, above), he depended on others, working in community.

Knowledge of God and God’s will is never given by God so we can appear clever or wise in the eyes of others. These are given by God to make us fruitful in good works, the works of faith and hope and love—works which are often unseen by others (Col 1:9-10).

God has “rescued us from the power of shadows and transferred us into the kingdom of God’s beloved Son” (Col 1:14).

In other words, we’ve experienced a profound change in lordship: formerly slaves to evil powers, now committed followers of Jesus and his way of love leading to justice and peace.

Col 1:15-20 is highly poetic, and may be from an early Christian hymn (see also 1 Cor 8:6 and Phil 2:6-11). I love the idea of early Jesus-followers gathering in Ephesus or Colossae, their croaky dawn voices singing off-key, “Praise be Jesus the Christ, the image of the invisible God…”

Jesus is “the image of the invisible God” (Col 1:15). No one has ever seen God in God’s fullness, but when we look to Jesus we see God as God is—faithful, compassionate, merciful, working through weakness, walking in love.

We are created in the image of God (Gen 1:27)—Jesus *is* the image of God (Col 1:15).

This means we who follow Jesus are being re-created in the image of Jesus (Col 3:10-11)—becoming more and more like him in his way of being, his way of living in the world.

Jesus— “all things have been created through him and for him” (Col 1:16). Jesus is the embodiment of divine wisdom, through which God created and sustains all things (Prov 8:22-31). If we want to know what divine wisdom looks like, look to Jesus: pure, peaceable, gentle, merciful… (Jas 3:17).

For the Apostle Paul, the powers of this world are both “visible and invisible” (Col 1:16)—material and spiritual, human and non-human, personal and impersonal. They are humans with power. They are powerful systems and structures. They are the spirit that animates and compels these powers.

The powers of this world—human, systemic, spiritual—were created by God (Col 1:16). When good, we are called to participate with them, using power to serve. When evil, we are called to resist them, nonviolently. Either way, we trust in God’s ultimate reconciliation of these powers (Col 1:20).

Jesus is “the head of the body, the church” (Col 1:18). He is the source of the church’s life, the guiding authority over the church. The church is called to live out the life of Jesus, to continue his reconciling mission in the world (Luke 4:18-19; 19:10; Acts 10:36).

Jesus is both the “firstborn of all creation” and the “firstborn from the dead” (Col 1:15, 18). “Firstborn” is not emphasizing his origins, but his status—in both God’s original creation and God’s new creation, Jesus is Lord, having “first place in everything.”

In Jesus “all the fullness (of God) dwells” (Col 1:19). Everything that is God is found in Jesus. All God’s transcendence-in-immanence, all God’s power-in-weakness, all God’s majesty-in-humility, all God’s sovereignty-in-service, all God’s holiness-in-mercy, all God’s faithfulness-in-love.

Through Jesus “God was pleased to reconcile to God’s self all things” (Col 1:20). This was Jesus’ mission, and he continues this mission through the church and by God’s Spirit in the world. All things—every person, everything in creation—will be renewed, brought to wholeness and harmony!

In Jesus God has reconciled all things, “making peace through the blood of his cross” (Col 1:20). This isn’t penal substitutionary atonement—it’s Christus victor, Jesus through his bloody crucifixion at the hands of the world’s powers disarming these powers and triumphing over them (Col 2:14-15).

Paul uses strong language to describe the way Gentiles live: “hostile in mind, doing evil deeds” (Col 1:21). There’s surely hyperbole here, common early Jewish rhetoric, but it highlights a reality for all of us: we all have habits of harm which can enslave us, from which we need to be liberated.

We who are in Christ are “holy and blameless and irreproachable”—as long as we “continue securely established and steadfast in the faith” (Col 1:22-23). Throughout the NT Christian faith is portrayed as an ongoing journey, growing in our trust in God and our commitment to Jesus’ way of love.

In what sense has the gospel already “been proclaimed to every creature under heaven” (Col 1:23)? Through Jesus’ resurrection from the dead and his exaltation to God’s right hand: these are God’s public declaration of the defeat of sin and death, and of Jesus as Lord over all evil powers.

If “the gospel has been proclaimed to every creature under heaven” (Col 1:23) then all God’s creatures can proclaim the good news back to us—if we have eyes to see and ears to hear.

“God was pleased to reconcile to God’s self all things”; the gospel “has been proclaimed to every creature under heaven” (Col 1:20, 23). The good-news story of Jesus has profound implications for everything God has created, and we as Christians are called to live into the restoration of creation.

Paul on his sufferings: “In my flesh I am completing what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions” (Col 1:24). This is not that Jesus didn’t suffer enough on the cross; it’s that our co-suffering love with and for others is an extension of Jesus’ co-suffering love with and for the world.

Paul is realistic about physical suffering: he calls it a “groaning” with creation and the Spirit, even a “messenger of Satan” (Rom 8; 2 Cor 12). Yet Paul chooses to rejoice in suffering (e.g. Col 1:24) because, even though it’s not from God, God can work through it to bring about God’s good purpose (Rom 8:28-30).

For Paul “the word of God” is not the Bible—it’s the gospel, the good-news story of Jesus. In Col 1:25 it’s specifically the good news that this gospel brings to Gentiles: the “mystery” of how, through Jesus, God has brought us into the people of God, widening the circle of God’s saving mercy.

“Christ in you, the hope of glory” (Col 1:27)—a Pauline gospel summary. We who are “in Christ” have Christ “in us,” Christ’s very Spirit. This gives us “the hope of glory”—the assurance that one day we will fully reflect Christ’s glory, the fullness of Jesus’ character, as children of God (Rom 8).

“So that we may present everyone mature in Christ” (Col 1:28)—this is Paul’s ministry goal for individual people. Being increasingly shaped into the image of Christ, the character of Jesus—his way of faith, his way of love.

“I want their hearts to be encouraged and united in love” (Col 2:2)—this is Paul’s ministry goal for communities of faith. “Encouraging” them—building them up—so that they are “united in love”—not united in particular beliefs, but in following Jesus’ way of love.

In Jesus Christ “are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge” (Col 2:3). This doesn’t mean there is no knowledge outside of Christ. Rather, it means that in Christ we find the wisdom and knowledge that most matters in life—how to live a life of faith, hope, and love.

“Though I am absent in body, yet I am with you in spirit” (Col 2:5). We’ve all experienced this, the sense of being with someone in spirit even when we can’t be there in person. Paul’s words, though, hold an ambiguity that deepens this for fellow Christians—”I am with you in spirit/the Spirit.”

“Christ Jesus the Lord” (Col 2:6)—two early Christian confessions rolled into one.

Jesus is the Christ, the Messiah, the one who brings about God’s reign of justice and peace and life on earth.

Jesus is Lord, the one who holds our ultimate allegiance, above all other powers of this age.

As Christians we “receive” Jesus as Christ and Lord (Col 2:6)—we gladly welcome him as Christ and Lord, and we learn the traditional Christian teaching about him as Christ and Lord.

This is the same way in which we continue to “walk” in Jesus—as our Messiah and our Lord.

The Christian life is “walking in Jesus” as Christ and Lord—walking with Jesus, walking in his way of life (Col 2:6). We never get beyond this—spiritual maturity is about walking more closely with Jesus, more closely reflecting his character, his motives, his desires.

No, Paul is not against “philosophy” in general (Col 2:8)—he shows evidence of being familiar with, and using, some of the philosophy of his day. Here he’s probably speaking against a kind of “sophistry,” using clever but false arguments, or beautifully sounding but ultimately meaningless rhetoric.

“In Jesus the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily” (Col 2:9). Everything that God is, is found in Jesus. All God’s transcendence-in-immanence, all God’s power-in-weakness, all God’s majesty-in-humility, all God’s sovereignty-in-service, all God’s holiness-in-mercy, all God’s faithfulness-in-love.

For the Apostle Paul, Christians are those who have been crucified with Jesus (dying to our self-focused desires), buried with him (symbolized in baptism), and raised from the dead with him (sharing in his life of faith, hope, and love) (Col 2:12).

In Christ God has “forgiven us all our trespasses” (Col 2:13). This might seem irresponsible of God, not keeping us accountable. But God has also given us God’s Spirit, who works in us a life of repentance from our habits of harm, and a life of faith and love in the way of Jesus.

In crucifying Jesus the powers-that-be thought they were disarming Jesus, publicly humiliating him, triumphing over him. In a surprising twist, however, through the cross—stamped with the approval of his resurrection by God—Jesus has actually done these things to the powers of this age (Col 2:15).

Paul never denounces Jews for keeping kosher or observing Sabbath—he himself was an observant Jew. Rather, his point in Col 2 etc. is that Gentiles do not need to become Jews in order to be part of the messianic people of God—for both Jewish and Gentile Christians, the “fullness” is found in Jesus.

For Paul, the “world” and the “flesh” (e.g. Col 2:20-23) are the collective and individual manifestations respectively of living a self-focused life not centered on Jesus’ way of faith, hope, and love. In their extremes, they can reflect either rigid rule-keeping or wild self-indulgence.

Christians often equate “worldly” with selfish indulgence or rampant immorality. But in Col 2:20-23 Paul describes rigid rule-keeping as equally “of the world.” Legalism is just as worldly as licentiousness. The way of Jesus is neither of these extremes.

It’s something fundamentalisms don’t get: a way of life based on prohibitions cannot actually bring about holiness. This has “an appearance of wisdom” but it fails to deal with the root of the problem: our deeply ingrained habits of harm (Col 2:20-23). We need the Spirit. We need Jesus’ way of love.

For Paul, heaven is not a place we go after we die; it is the realm of God now, where God is most fully present (“the things above,” Col 3:1). In Christian eschatology, heaven comes down to earth; we long for God’s reign to come on earth as it is in heaven—and one day it will (Matt 6:10; Rev 21-22).

Don’t get me wrong. Paul does speak about “life after death,” but it’s not about being “in heaven.” It’s about being “with Christ” (Phil 1:23), “with the Lord” (2 Cor 5:8)—with Jesus. The ultimate goal is the resurrection of the body, living within a renewed creation (Rom 8:18-30).

If heaven/ “the things above” is where God is most fully present, “earthly” things are those which do not reflect God’s presence (Col 3:2, 5). These are not our basic human desires, which are good; they are those harmful or excessive desires we nurture, and the actions that come from them.

For Paul, “sexual immorality” (Col 3:5) refers to harmful or excessive sexual desires, attitudes, and actions: lust, promiscuity, infidelity, idolatry, exploitation, violence. Note: this has nothing to do with sexual orientation, and nothing to do with loving and committed same-sex marriages.

Paul says that greed is a form of idolatry (Col 3:5). A desire to accumulate wealth or power is akin to worshiping another god, one who commands our allegiance—and demands that we sacrifice others along the way. We cannot serve both God and Mammon (Matt 6:24).

Anger is not in itself sin— “Be angry but do not sin,” Eph 4:26 says. But not all anger is righteous, and even righteous anger can fester into rage or malice (Col 3:8). This—harmful or excessive anger—we must guard against, for it does not bring about the righteousness or justice of God (Jas 1:20).

For Christians, “Christ is all and in all” (Col 3:11). “Christ is all”—Jesus is our Messiah and Lord, in whom we find all we need for a life of faith and hope and love. And “Christ is in all”—by the Spirit the risen Jesus is in and among all followers of Jesus, with us to the end of the age.

In our baptism—and day by day throughout the Christian life—we are remade into the image of God, that is, the image of Jesus (Col 3:9-11; see 1:15). In this renewal of God’s image, there is no distinction along lines of ethnicity, culture, language, religious expression, gender, social status…

In our baptism—and day by day throughout the Christian life—we commit to putting off habits of harm and putting on holy habits of love: compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, patience, forbearance, and forgiveness (Col 3:12-14). This is like putting on Jesus, clothing ourselves in his character.

Love in the way of Jesus is the virtue that “binds together” all other Christian virtues (Col 3:14). It is “the more excellent way” (1 Cor 12:31). It is the greatest of the abiding virtues of faith, hope, and love (13:13). “Faith working through love” is “the only thing that matters” (Gal 5:6).

Love in the way of Jesus is the purpose of freedom for the Christian (Gal 5:13). This—loving our neighbour as if their needs were our own—sums up the entire Torah (Rom 13:8-10; Gal 5:14). It is the first of the fruit of God’s Spirit in our lives (Gal 5:22).

“Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, and walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us” (Eph 5:1-2).

“The peace of Christ” can be inward peace, peace with one another, peace with God, peace within creation. It’s a full shalom.

In Col 3:15, the focus is on peace with one another: “the peace of Christ” is to “rule” or “judge” among us, being the determining factor among us as church communities.

“The word of Christ”: the gospel, the good-news story of Jesus. “Dwell”: make a home in. “You”: a collective plural. “Richly”: abundantly, in fullness.

“Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly”: Let the good-news story of Jesus make itself fully at home among you as a community (Col 3:16).

How does the good-news story of Jesus make itself at home among us? Through our teaching and our worship (Col 3:16). As with believers individually, so with the church collectively—we never move beyond the gospel, we never move beyond Jesus, but maturity is a deepening of life in Jesus (Col 2:6-7).

“Do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus”: do everything as if you were an envoy of Jesus, specially commissioned by him (Col 3:17). That’s a daunting task! But it is our calling as followers of Jesus: to be as Jesus to the world, especially in the way we love.

“Giving thanks to the Father” (Col 1:12). “Abounding in thanksgiving” (2:7). “Be thankful” (3:15). “Giving thanks to God the Father through Jesus” (3:17). “Devote yourselves to prayer, in thanksgiving” (4:2).

Gratitude—and the basic contentment that comes with it—is essential to the Christian life.

Col 3:18-4:1 is a “household code,” similar to the better known one in Eph 5:22-6:9. How should we read these for today?

Household codes, following Aristotle’s example, reinforced patriarchal norms to maintain order and stability in society. In following household codes, the early Christians were reassuring the powers-that-be that Christianity was not a threat to the social order.

Why was this needed? Because Christianity *was* a threat to the social order. After all, Jesus is Lord, not Caesar. And all that “brother/sister” language for fellow believers, and not promoting marriage, de-centered the biological family. The first Christians were not about “family values.”

(By the way, for more on that idea—that the earliest Christians were not “family values”—see my blog post here.)

Yet even the Pauline household codes pushed against the patriarchy: according to Col and Eph, the patriarch of the household had significant obligations to household members, outlined using Christian language of love and equity, reflecting Jesus’ Lordship.

Ephesians’ household code begins by calling on all Christians—including patriarchs—to “submit to one another out of reverence for Christ” (Eph 5:21). Both refer to one of Paul’s axioms: “There is no partiality with God”—God views all people on equal footing (Eph 6:9; Col 3:25).

So how should we read these for today? Christians should always be pushing toward greater equity and egalitarianism. Always. These household codes show us how the early Christians strove to do that, pushing against patriarchal norms even while, at times, having to live within them.

Christians must work against human enslavement, in all its forms. Yet Paul’s words to Christian slaves in his day are good words for all of us as Christians in our work: “Whatever task you do, work as for the Lord and not for humans. You serve the Lord Christ” (Col 3:23-24).

“There is no partiality” with God (Col 3:25); this is one of Paul’s axioms (Rom 2:11; Gal 2:6; Eph 6:9). God regards each person equally, through the eyes of love, regardless of their ethnicity, culture, religion, gender, age, socio-economic status—or any other social distinction we might make.

“Devote yourselves to prayer, with thanksgiving” (Col 4:2).

“Persevere in prayer” (Rom 12:12).

“Pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances” (1 Thess 5:17-18).

Regular, persistent prayer—with thanksgiving—is a fundamental reality of the Christian life. It’s the air we breathe.

I’ll say it again: for Paul “the word” is not the Bible—it’s the gospel, the good-news story of Jesus, “the mystery of Christ” (Col 4:3). As Christians may we all—through our words and through our deeds—”reveal” this mystery clearly (4:4).

Christians: “Conduct yourselves wisely toward outsiders… Let your speech always be gracious” (Col 4:5-6).

I’ll say it again for those in the back of the social media room: Christians are called to let our speech always be gracious toward those who are not Christians.

Gracious. Always.

The ends of Paul’s letters are often skipped over, but in some ways they’re the most interesting parts (e.g. Col 4:7-18). It’s there that we learn about Paul’s coworkers and we get a window onto his closest relationships. We can even glimpse God at work behind the scenes of the NT.

“Onesimus, the faithful and beloved brother, who is one of you” (Col 4:9). This is the same Onesimus who is the runaway slave from Philemon, for whom Paul in that letter advocates. He is to be received “no longer as a slave but more than a slave, a beloved brother” (Philmn 16).

The Colossians have received instructions about “Mark the cousin of Barnabas”; they are to welcome him if he comes (Col 4:10). This is the same Mark that Paul didn’t want to bring along on his second missionary journey (Acts 15:36-39). A reconciliation behind the scenes of the New Testament.

“My coworkers for the kingdom of God” (Col 4:11). As Christians, this is what we are called to be and to do: working together in Jesus’ way of love to see God’s reign come on earth as it is in heaven, God’s reign of true justice and lasting peace and flourishing life for all people.

“Luke, the beloved physician” (Col 4:14). This is the traditional author of the third Gospel and the Acts of the Apostles. We have no solid way of confirming this, but there’s also no good reason to doubt this tradition.

“Nympha and the church in her house” (Col 4:15). Women served as patrons, deacons, teachers, and even apostles in the early church (see Rom 16:1-7). However we understand prohibitions against women having authority (e.g. 1 Tim 2:12), in practice women had much authority—and should still have.

Paul wrote a letter to the Laodiceans, yet we don’t have such a letter (Col 4:16). Was this lost? Or was it, perhaps, the letter to Philemon, or to the Ephesians? Regardless, we know of at least two other letters Paul wrote which have been lost to us, to the Corinthians (see 1 Cor 5:9; 2 Cor 2:3-4).

“I, Paul, write this greeting with my own hand” (Col 4:18). Common practice: hire a scribe to prepare the papyrus and ink, take notes, and write out the letter. The author, then—if able—would write a short greeting in their hand. In Gal 6:11 Paul contrasts his large writing with that of the scribe.

“Grace be with you” (Col 4:18). Paul normally ends his letters with a benediction such as this, often longer. “Grace” is Paul’s shorthand for the unearned gifts of God, given to us in Jesus, given through the presence of the Spirit.

Grace be with you, my friends.

© Michael W. Pahl

Christ Our Crucified King

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Christ the “King.”

The “kingdom” of God.

I wonder if we’re too used to these words, “king” and “kingdom.” They don’t unnerve us quite the way they should. They should be deeply unsettling.

After all, “kings” are absolute rulers. Each one is a single chain in a dynasty of absolute rulers. They rule over a “kingdom,” a geographical area inhabited by their subjects. The language of “king” and “kingdom” evokes power and privilege: servants at their beck and call, armies under their command, courtiers seeking their favour, their word the law of the land.

And kings have not had a good track record through history, especially not in ancient history. Their kingdoms have, by and large, been oppressive and unjust for all but those at the very top of the social pyramid, those closest to the king. Kingdoms are hierarchies of the strictest order, patriarchies of the strongest kind.

With ancient kings and kingdoms we’re a million miles away from Queen Elizabeth II, a million light-years from a representative democracy like Canada.

And it was into this jarring world of “kings” and “kingdoms” that Jesus came—and turned things on their head. Because Jesus was no ordinary king, and his kingdom no ordinary kingdom.

No king would be born in a barn, attended by the local riff-raff. But Jesus was.

No king would grow up in near-poverty, in a no-name village on the way to nowhere. But Jesus did.

No king would be heralded by a camel-hide-wearing, insect-eating, power-denouncing prophet. But Jesus was.

No king would choose both political insiders and political revolutionaries as his dinner guests, sharing bread and cup with them at his table. But Jesus did.

No king would heal sick peasants for free, or cure the daughter of foreign woman, or the servant of an enemy soldier. But Jesus did.

No king would promise their kingdom to the poor and oppressed and warn off the wealthy and powerful. But Jesus did.

A king would ride into the capital on a warhorse, armor gleaming and armies marching—not on a lowly donkey followed by religious pilgrims, like Jesus did.

A king would demand an audience with the powers-that-be and exact vengeance for his shameful suffering—not stand bloodied before them in dignified silence, exposing their injustice for all to see, like Jesus did.

Velazquez - Christ CrucifiedA king would be enthroned on a grand dais in pomp and ceremony—not lifted up on an executioner’s cross in darkness and storm, like Jesus was.

Jesus was no ordinary king, and his kingdom no ordinary kingdom.

We’ve seen this already in our previous text from Luke’s Gospel—God’s Messiah, the King of the Jews, dying on a Roman cross, making promises of paradise to a condemned criminal. But we also see it in the opening chapter of the Apostle Paul’s letter to the Colossians.

Here Paul talks about God’s kingdom this way:

God’s kingdom is the “kingdom of his beloved Son.” That sounds like ancient patriarchy—men holding all the cards in the game of life. But Paul’s point is to use these words to recall Jesus’ baptism—“You are my beloved Son, with whom I am well-pleased.” Which means Paul’s point is to use these words to bring to mind all those ancient promises about Israel’s Messiah—Jesus is the true “Son of God,” the “Messiah,” the one who will bring about God’s kingdom on earth.

God’s kingdom is a “kingdom of light.” It is here on earth—make no mistake about it. But it’s not about a geographical location. God’s kingdom is “not of this world”: it is from beyond this world of darkness and death. But it is coming “on earth just as it already is in heaven”: God’s kingdom brings heaven to earth.

Wherever the light touches—this is where God reigns. Wherever oppressive evil is banished—this is God’s kingdom. Wherever life blooms in the midst of inevitable death—this is God, reigning from his throne.

Wherever God’s will is done—this is God’s kingdom. Wherever daily bread is provided for all—this is God’s kingdom. Wherever sins are forgiven, both “us” and “them”—this is God’s kingdom. Wherever people are delivered from the time of trial, wherever people are protected from evil—there God is, reigning as king.

All this and more is what Paul means when he says that God “has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son.”

God’s kingdom is also a “kingdom for all creation.” All things, Paul repeats, all things have been created in Jesus and through Jesus and for Jesus. All things are sustained in Jesus, held together in him. All things, all things are reconciled to God through Jesus. All things: visible and invisible, both on earth and in the heavens. All things.

And so God’s kingdom is a “kingdom of reconciliation.” Paul’s words here don’t just mean, “There’s no more fighting.” When Paul speaks here of Christ “reconciling” and “making peace,” he speaks of restoring something broken back to a harmonious whole. All is justice. All is life. All is peace. Shalom.

And so this reconciling work of God overturns the human hierarchies of this world, whether based on gender or race or wealth or status. There’s a reason why the New Testament says that we will “reign with Christ”—the fulfillment of God’s kingdom is a communal reign, all of us gathered together around Jesus, fulfilling the promise of being created in God’s image. And this communal reign has already started: “in Christ,” Paul says, “there is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female.”

Remember, Jesus is no ordinary king, and his kingdom no ordinary kingdom.

Excerpted from my sermon at Morden Mennonite Church on November 20, 2016, for Christ the King Sunday. Image: Velázquez, “Christ Crucified.” Cross-posted from http://www.mordenmennonitechurch.wordpress.com. © Michael W. Pahl.

(Re-)Imagining Worship

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It’s interesting that the New Testament never gives a detailed description of exactly what went on when the first Jesus-followers gathered together to worship. There’s no divinely inspired “order of service.”

The closing worship service at Mennonite Arts Weekend 2016, Cincinnati, Ohio. Photo by Cara Hummel. Sure, we get some glimpses of early Christian worship here and there: some snippets in the book of Acts, some clues in the New Testament letters. But nowhere in the New Testament do we get a really detailed description of what a “worship service” looked like for the first Christians.

Probably it was different in every place.

Jewish Christians in Jerusalem likely modeled their worship meetings after the synagogue service they were familiar with: Scripture readings, a sermon, singing psalms, prayers. Gentile Christians in Corinth may have modeled their gatherings after religious banquets or society meetings: religious rites, speeches, a shared meal.

The “worship services” in churches planted by Paul in Turkey or Greece probably looked very different from the regular meetings in churches planted by Thomas in India or Philip in Africa—different languages, different music, different food and dress, and, of course, different kinds of people.

In fact, the Bible provides quite a diverse list of the sorts of things that God’s people did when they got together to worship, from the ancestors of Israel all the way through to the earliest Christians:

  • telling stories, reciting poetry, chanting psalms;
  • loud cymbals, drums, and horns; soft harps and lyres; no instruments at all;
  • responsive reading, antiphonal singing, dramatic re-enactments, visual art;
  • kneeling, standing, clapping, dancing, eating, drinking;
  • confessing sins, receiving forgiveness, blessing one another;
  • hearing Scripture, teaching the faith, affirming the faith, proclaiming good news, encouraging one another;
  • praying, praising, thanking, silence.

And then there’s the diverse worship history of the church. Beautiful sacred spaces, from large cathedrals to small parish churches. Stained glass, exquisite art, imposing sculpture. Gorgeous cantatas, plainsong chants, simple hymns, well-known carols.

In our own Mennonite tradition, there has been everything from simple unison singing to full-throated four-part harmony, from plain furnishings to elaborate quilting, from the basic hymns-prayers-Scripture-sermon format to intricate services incorporating ancient liturgies from other traditions.

And beyond our Mennonite tradition, beyond the Western history of the church, there’s a whole world of worship out there from across the globe, from every language and culture and tribe and nation.

We can tend to think that there’s only ever been one way the church has worshiped, or that there’s an obvious “best way” to worship God when we gather together, but clearly that’s not the case. It’s never been the case.

And, in fact, it’s not really healthy for us to get stuck in a rut in our worship, always and only doing everything the same way. There’s a reason the Psalms exhort us multiple times to “sing to the Lord a new song.” It’s because a willingness to try new ways of worshiping is like a willingness to explore new ways of thinking about God or to work out new ways of following Jesus—it is evidence of an authentic faith, a faith that is vibrant and growing and very much alive.

All this is what I mean when I say we need to develop a “liturgical imagination.” We need, to use Paul’s words in Colossians, always to remain grounded in the gospel of Jesus Christ, letting the “word of Christ” dwell among us richly in our teaching and preaching, our singing and music, every “word and deed” of our collective worship. But we need to continually re-imagine what this all looks like.

And we have no shortage of resources to work with. We have the examples of worship throughout the biblical writings. We have models of worship throughout the church’s history and from around the world. And we have rich resources among us a congregation, creative gifts in preaching, teaching, storytelling, poetry, music, visual art, tactile art, culinary art, drama, dance, and so much more.

I wonder: how might God’s Spirit prompt us to “sing a new song” in our worship together, to try out new “words and deeds,” fresh ways of worshiping God?

But “developing a liturgical imagination” is more than just the people up in the front leading us in trying out some new things. Each one of us needs to use our imagination in participating in worship.

When we walk into the sanctuary every Sunday morning we all need to be ready to use our God-given imagination, using our imagination to enter into whole new worlds of worship.

Using our imagination to enter the world of the songwriter when we sing their words. Using our imagination to enter into the world of the biblical author when we read their words. Using our imagination to enter into the world of the worship leader or preacher when we hear their words.

Using our imagination to enter into the presence of God here on earth as it is in heaven.

And in this way, as we teach and sing the gospel of Jesus Christ to each other before God, letting the “word of Christ dwell among us richly,” we can come to believe with ever-increasing faith that we are God’s “holy and beloved” children, “chosen by God” to be more and more like Jesus.

Adapted from a sermon preached at Morden Mennonite Church on October 23, 2016, part of a sermon series called “Stirring Our Imagination.” Cross-posted from http://www.mordenmennonitechurch.wordpress.com. © Michael W. Pahl.