2/1/26 Sermon

As we listen now to the Gospel according to Luke, it helps to know where we’re at in the story.

This scene takes place on the night everything begins to fall apart. The Last Supper is over. The prayers have grown heavier. The hour is late, and the pressure is real.

What we’re about to hear is not a teaching or a parable. It’s a moment. A moment of fear and exhaustion. A moment when power closes in, when violence feels justified, and when the temptation to respond in kind is very real.

Pay attention not only to what happens to Jesus in this passage, but to what Jesus refuses to let happen within him—and within his followers. Notice where prayer shows up, where fear takes hold, and how Jesus responds when the situation turns dangerous.

Listen now for the Word of God as it comes to us from Luke, chapter 22, verses 39 through 53.

Jesus left and made his way to the Mount of Olives, as was his custom, and the disciples followed him. When he arrived, he said to them, “Pray that you won’t give in to temptation.” He withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, knelt down, and prayed. He said, “Father, if it’s your will, take this cup of suffering away from me. However, not my will but your will must be done.” Then a heavenly angel appeared to him and strengthened him. He was in anguish and prayed even more earnestly. His sweat became like drops of blood falling on the ground. When he got up from praying, he went to the disciples. He found them asleep, overcome by grief. He said to them, “Why are you sleeping? Get up and pray so that you won’t give in to temptation.”

While Jesus was still speaking, a crowd appeared, and the one called Judas, one of the Twelve, was leading them. He approached Jesus to kiss him.

Jesus said to him, “Judas, would you betray the Human One with a kiss?”

When those around him recognized what was about to happen, they said, “Lord, should we fight with our swords?” One of them struck the high priest’s servant, cutting off his right ear.

Jesus responded, “Stop! No more of this!” He touched the slave’s ear and healed him.

Then Jesus said to the chief priests, the officers of the temple guard, and the elders who had come to get him, “Have you come with swords and clubs to arrest me, as though I were a thief? Day after day I was with you in the temple, but you didn’t arrest me. But this is your time, when darkness rules.”

WORD OF LORD

These are strange texts to be talking about today. They aren’t the lectionary readings other churches are using this morning. Many congregations are rightly focused on the Beatitudes, or that beautiful passage from Micah where the prophet reminds us that the Lord requires us to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God. I’ll be honest — I could have preached that sermon in my sleep. And it would’ve been a good one.

It’s also a little strange to hear two Gospel readings in the same service. So yes, we’re doing things a bit differently this morning. But these texts were chosen very intentionally, and for very specific reasons. Because right now, they’re challenging my faith. They’re pressing on me. They’re forcing me to take a hard and honest look at what I believe and how those beliefs show up in the way I move through the world. And my hope this morning isn’t that we walk away with easy answers. It’s that you’ll walk with me as I try to let Scripture shape my faith rather than bending Scripture to fit what I already think.

The past few months I’ve been wrestling with a question about justice.  I haven’t been wrestling with  whether or not injustice exists. I think we’re all pretty clear on that.  We may disagree on where the injustice lies which is fine and I think we need to honor that and make space for it.  But, the question that keeps gnawing at me is what does faithfulness look like toward the people who help injustice function.  What do we do, how do we respond, can we love people who participate in and perpetuate systems that help injustice flourish?  How do we treat people who are complicit in things that dehumanize others whether by choice or fear or obedience?

It’s one thing to talk about it in the abstract - to say we oppose a system - that’s kind of nebulous. But its another thing when there’s a face or a uniform or a job or name to it.  If you allow me a moment of confession up here.  I find it really easy to hate a group. I find it a lot harder to hate a person.  But what happens is I sometimes lose that distinction between a group and a person if that makes sense…   

So I took that confession to the text. Because if this is really about discipleship, then I don’t get to just have an opinion about it. I have to bring it to Jesus and let Jesus do whatever Jesus is going to do to it. Questions about discipleship and faithfulness are answered by watching Jesus and what scripture shows us Jesus doing.

And so Luke doesn’t give us an idea. Luke gives us a scene.

Jesus goes out “as usual” to the Mount of Olives. That line matters. This isn’t a dramatic new spiritual practice he tries in a crisis. This is his rhythm. When pressure rises, he prays. When the world gets loud, he goes quiet. When the hour turns dark, he doesn’t reach for control. He reaches for God.

And notice what he says to the disciples: “Pray that you won’t give in to temptation.” Not, “Pray that you’ll win.” Not, “Pray that you’ll come out on top.” Not, “Pray that you’re proven right.”  “Pray that you won’t give in to temptation.” Which tells us something: the real threat in this moment isn’t just what’s happening TO them. It’s about what could happen IN them.

Then Luke tells us Jesus is in agony. Real agony. Not metaphorical. He is sweating. He is pleading. He’s basically saying, “If there’s any other way to do this, I’m all ears.” And then—this is the part that always gets me—he gets up from prayer and finds the disciples asleep. Not because they don’t care. Luke says they’re “overcome by grief.” They’re tapped out. They can’t stay awake in the moment they need to be awake.

And then it happens: Judas shows up. A crowd shows up. The gears of power start turning. And in that moment, the disciples do what most of us would probably do. Somebody asks, “Lord, should we fight with the sword?” And before Jesus can even answer, somebody swings.

And for a split second, it feels… reasonable. Understandable. Maybe even faithful. Because isn’t this what you do when the powerful come to take someone you love? Isn’t this what courage looks like when there’s a crowd and weapons and the whole thing is going sideways?

But Jesus responds in a way that I don’t think any of us would naturally respond. He doesn’t say, “Aim better next time.” He doesn’t say, “He had it coming.” He doesn’t say, “this is the cost of being on the right side.” He says, “Enough of this.” And he touches the wounded man and heals him.

I honestly struggle with that. Jesus heals the person who is part of the arresting force. He heals the one caught up in the machinery that is coming to crush him. And then he allows himself to be taken anyway knowing what’s going to happen to him.

And I think Luke is showing us something here that we don’t want to see. Jesus isn’t just resisting what’s happening out there. He’s resisting what it could do in here. He’s refusing to let violence — especially justified violence — shape his spirit. He’s refusing to let the darkness reproduce itself through his own people.

Which is why, right after he heals this guy, he says to them: “This is your time, and the power of darkness rules.” He names it. He doesn’t deny what’s happening. He doesn’t call it fine. He doesn’t excuse it. He names it as darkness. But he refuses to let that darkness set the terms of his response.

And that’s where this text starts pressing on me. Because it suggests that there is a temptation that comes with righteous anger. A temptation that comes with being on the right side of an issue. A temptation to let opposition turn into hatred. To let resistance turn into dehumanization. To let the struggle for justice become permission to become something we were never meant to be.

And as if Luke isn’t unsettling enough, Matthew refuses to let us stay there.

Because Matthew gives us a very different scene earlier in Jesus’ ministry. No torches. No swords. No arrest. Just a conversation. A Roman centurion comes to Jesus and asks for help. And before we can get our bearings, Jesus says yes.

That alone should stop us. This is not a neutral character. This is an officer of the occupying army. This is someone whose uniform represents violence, oppression, and control. This is someone who benefits from a system that keeps other people afraid. And Jesus doesn’t interrogate him. He doesn’t make him resign first. He doesn’t demand a statement. He doesn’t say, “We’ll talk after Rome collapses.”

The centurion simply says, “Only say the word.” He recognizes authority when he sees it. And Jesus responds by praising his faith publicly. “I haven’t found faith like this in Israel.” That’s not sentimental. That’s disruptive. Think about how shocking that is. The man ushering in a new kingdom praises the faith of an agent of Empire…

And what Matthew is doing here is the same thing Luke does later in Gethsemane. Jesus refuses to collapse a person into the system they serve. He sees the machinery clearly. He names the harm. But he still treats the person standing in front of him as human - capable of trust, capable of compassion, capable of faith.

And I think this is where my question gets sharper, not easier. Because Jesus doesn’t just heal the wounded ear in the moment of violence. He heals the servant of a Roman officer in a moment of calm. He does it when there’s time to think. When there’s time to object. When there’s time to draw lines.

And in both cases, Jesus seems more concerned with what kind of people his followers are becoming than with whether the world is ready to change.

Which means the question for us isn’t whether injustice should be resisted. It should. The question is whether our resistance will be shaped by fear and hatred or by the kind of love that can look power in the face and still refuse to dehumanize the person standing there. And I can tell you from my personal experience, this is wonderful to believe and extremely difficult to live out in real life.

And where I find Jesus really challenging me personally these days is that Jesus is asking me a very difficult question to answer.  He’s asking what kind of people are we becoming while we resist what’s wrong.  He’s asking whether our opposition to injustice is shaping us toward life or if it’s slowly hollowing us out.  He’s asking whether our anger, however justified, is being disciplined by love or whether it’s deciding for us what counts as human.

Jesus names the darkness. He doesn’t let us off the hook.  He doesn’t excuse it or say someone is just doing their job or simply following orders. He still opposes the unjust system and the dehumanizing practices. But he’s refusing to allow his battle of injustice determine the condition of his soul. And he doesn’t let his followers who are oppressed become oppressors.

And I don’t know how to do that cleanly. I don’t know how to do it without failing sometimes. I don’t know how to do it without prayer, without interruption, without Jesus repeatedly saying to me, “Enough of this.”

But I do know this: if our resistance costs us our capacity to love, then it’s costing us too much.

So maybe faithfulness right now looks less like having the right answers, and more like staying awake. Praying so we don’t give in to temptation. Watching our own hearts as closely as we watch the world. Refusing to let hatred do the work that empire already started.

That’s not easy.
It’s not popular.
But it might just be how the cross shapes us into disciples.

Amen