'Tis all my business here below
Commentary
Object:
One day, Paul tells us, every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord. This is not that day.
On the contrary, you and I live within a society that is characterized by a smaller percentage of people who proclaim faith in Christ than a generation ago and a culture in which Jesus is not politically correct. Faith in Jesus is perceived as too sectarian, for it leaves out or even offends too many people in our pluralistic culture. You may express faith in God at your own risk, for that is subject to ridicule from the aggressive secularists of our day. But faith in Jesus crosses a line into offense.
This is the context in which you and I rise to preach on Christ the King Sunday. And within that cultural context, it may be the most demanding theme assigned to us during the liturgical year. For this is arguably the day with the most inescapably high Christology.
Yet we dare not slink into our pulpits, embarrassed and apologetic for what we are about to say. Rather, we rush with bold excitement to the opportunity, for if what we say is true then it is the most important thing in the world for our people to hear... for all people to hear.
One batter goes to the plate, petrified by fear of failure. He is sorry that it is his turn at bat, for he is so afraid that he will strike out. Another batter of equal ability steps to the plate with dreams of knocking one out of the park. He is eager for the opportunity to take his cuts.
Which one is more likely to succeed?
Just so, when I preach about Christ I must not enter the pulpit saddled with fear of either offense or failure. Let me, rather, see the opportunity that is at hand. I get to preach truth to a people who are surrounded by falsehood. I get to say what people do not often get to hear. And perhaps, by God’s grace, I will knock it out of the park.
Jeremiah 23:1-6
Our first picture of Christ this week is an oblique one. It must be, for it comes from five centuries before Jesus was born. Yet it anticipates Christ, and there is something uniquely revealing about a foreshadowing.
When on a long family trip in the car, we are attentive to the signs that let us know a favorite restaurant can be found at an exit 20 miles down the road. The sign in advance of the restaurant itself helps us anticipate and be prepared. We know it’s coming, and we’re ready for the exit.
This, then, was a part of the role of the Old Testament prophets when it came to the subject of the messiah. He was not here yet, but his coming was promised. It was an assurance that the provision of God was a few miles down the road, and the signs in advance should have helped to prepare the people for him when he came.
In the case of our excerpt from Jeremiah 23, the good prospect for the future comes out of an unhappiness in the present. That in itself is a testament to the grace of God: that a judgment message gives birth to a messianic promise. The present problem is the inadequacy of Judah’s leaders.
In an extended metaphor, we are struck by the awful incongruity between the calling of shepherds and the performance of some shepherds. And those failed shepherds, we discover, are the human leaders. While their responsibility and privilege is to guide, provide for, and protect God’s people, they are guilty instead of scattering and destroying that sacred flock.
Coming out of that failure are three promises from God, each one designed to rectify the situation. First, the irresponsible leaders will be punished. Second, the Lord himself will gather his scattered sheep back together again. And third, the Lord will provide better leadership.
That promise of better leaders manifests itself in two ways. The one is plural, the other singular. “I will raise up shepherds over them,” the Lord says, while describing these future shepherds’ better care. But then he also promises “I will raise up for David a righteous Branch, and he shall reign as king...” We understand the first promise to be about commendable but ordinary human leaders performing their assigned duties. We recognize the second promise, however, to be of a higher order.
The reference to David, of course, suggests someone top-drawer. And we know from the larger context of Old Testament prophecies how David’s name and line came to be associated with the messiah. Meanwhile, this promised king is associated with wisdom, justice, righteousness, salvation, and safety. All the boxes have been checked, you see. It is a perfect picture. And it will require, therefore, a perfect King.
Colossians 1:11-20
As we noted in the Old Testament lection, where this passage begins and where it ends are quite different, yet the transition is telling. The Old Testament prophecy began with a lament over the inadequate leaders of God’s people and turned into a magnificent promise of the messiah. This excerpt from early in Paul’s letter to the Colossians, meanwhile, begins with Paul’s prayer for the people and ends with a majestic expression of the person and work of Christ.
The move is not abrupt. Rather, it follows a train of thought that is quite lovely. Paul’s prayer for the people leads him to express what God has done and will do in their lives. Any talk of what God has done and will do, of course, naturally leads to the subject of Christ. And so Paul concludes this section with a stately declaration of who and what Jesus is.
This handful of verses is so brief when compared with the magisterial volumes that theologians have written about Christology. On the other hand, those volumes are themselves a kind of tribute to these verses -- for contemporary theologians require thousands of pages to explain what the apostle expresses in a few dozen words.
Paul’s phrases are dense and packed with meaning. In so little space, he articulates the relationship of Christ to God, to creation, to the church, and to us. As such, you and I could easily embark on a four-part sermon series just to try to do justice to these categories that Paul introduces.
Based on my own years of local church ministry, I have a hunch that one of these four areas is the least developed in most folks’ Christology. They could have a more profound and thoughtful understanding of the other three, of course, but the relationship of Christ to creation is probably the least familiar of the four. And my hunch is that it is least familiar because it is the least overtly religious.
Folks are more likely and accustomed to hear in church about the relationship between Christ and God, Christ and the church, and Christ and believers. That is all within the expected repertoire of religious instruction. But when we start talking about creation, then we seem to have moved out of the purview of the church and into secular territory. It’s at this point that our Christology extends beyond its prescribed boundaries and trespasses into territory that our culture thinks should be free of such sectarian claims.
Yet Paul makes dramatic claims about this subject. First, that creation is a most comprehensive term: the apostle makes sure that we understand everything is included. Second, that Christ was instrumental in the creation of all things. Third, that all things were not only created by him but for him. Fourth, that Christ is the great unifier, inasmuch as “in him all things hold together.” And finally, Christ is also the universal redeemer, for “through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things.”
When we try to unpack the apostle Paul’s claims about Jesus Christ, we will find ourselves using terms like primacy and supremacy, sufficiency and singularity. The same words that are hyperbole when used about anyone else fall short when using them about Christ. But such is the nature of our high calling on Christ the King Sunday.
Luke 23:33-43
We noted at the top that this week’s theme forces the issue of Christology. What do we believe about Jesus? What do our people believe about him? And this familiar scene from the gospel of Luke is particularly helpful in this endeavor, for it is features a juxtaposition of people who do and do not know who Jesus is.
Consider these phrases of uncertainty about Jesus that are part of the narrative. “If he is the Messiah of God...” “If you are the king of the Jews...” “Are you the Messiah?” Jesus was surrounded by ignorance. And he still is today, of course, as so many multitudes have unanswered questions about him or uncertain guesses about who he may be or may have been. Perhaps the most poignant expression of that ignorance comes in Jesus’ own prayer: “they do not know what they are doing.”
In addition to the expressed uncertainty, there is also mistaken identity. Luke reports the confident but errant sign above Jesus on the cross: “There was also an inscription over him, ‘This is the King of the Jews.’ ” This misapprehension about Jesus was common, to be sure, ranging from the visiting magi (Matthew 2:2) to the inquiring Pilate (John 18:33). It was a narrow understanding of Jesus and what he came to do, yet that misunderstanding was publicly posted as the charge against him. And it was not the last time that someone has confidently and publicly declared a misunderstanding about him.
Neither ignorance nor heresy have been exhausted, of course. People around us continue not to understand the truth about Jesus, while still others confidently publish and proclaim untruth about him. These factors combine to make your role this Sunday all the more essential.
The character in the story who is our great ally in this Sunday’s mission is an unlikely one. He is without name and without earthly accomplishment or distinction. All that we might otherwise know about him is that he was a first-century Palestinian criminal whose behavior had warranted the death penalty. Beyond that, however, we also discover him to be a man of extraordinary faith.
He is one of two men being crucified on either side of Jesus. The other, it seems, has joined in the taunting directed at Jesus from below the cross. Taunting, of course, was an expected ingredient in the slow, public torture that was crucifixion. And the pain and anger this man was no doubt feeling made him a natural participant in the cruelty.
The exemplary criminal, meanwhile, was surely in as much pain, yet not as much confusion. He managed to see things clearly, even when all that was visible pointed in a different direction. That is, of course, one of the hallmarks of faith. And the first expression of that remarkable faith was a word of correction to his counterpart.
“Do you not fear God,” he called out to the taunting other, “since you are under the same sentence of condemnation?” At first blush, of course, it is precisely that sentence of condemnation that might make the angry criminal feel free to vent. After all, what more could be done to him? What else did he have to fear?
God. He ought still and always to fear God. And so the faithful one reasons it out: “We indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” It is a concise but grand assessment of what is right and what is wrong at that moment. Their executions were right; Jesus’ was wrong. Whatever taunting they received was right; the taunting the one criminal directed at Jesus was wrong. Jesus’ life was right; theirs were wrong.
And then this remarkable, anonymous, guilty man turns himself to Jesus. “Remember me,” he requests, “when you come into your kingdom.” What an extraordinary thing to say to a man who is, at that very moment, being executed.
Who is more helpless than a naked man, hanging, nailed in place? Who is less regal than a man being crucified? And who is less promising to remember anything, let alone reign over some future kingdom, than a man who is about to die? The criminal’s words belong early in the Palm Sunday procession, not late in the Good Friday execution. Yet they are the words of astonishing faith.
The faithful criminal stands in contrast to the taunting one. More than that, he stands in contrast to the religious leaders, who knew not what they did. And he stands as an example for us and our people this Sunday as we proclaim the truth of who Jesus is.
Application
If you are, say, in your late 40s or older, then you probably remember a time when the cultural environment was quite different for the preaching of the gospel. And for every ten years that you add to your age, the difference you recall is even more stark. What was once welcome and applauded is now widely ridiculed and vigorously opposed.
Yet while this circumstance is relatively new for us, it is not really new. We recall that two millennia ago Peter and John were passionately warned not to speak anymore in the name of Jesus. And 300 years ago, Charles Wesley gave expression to the sort of boldness that is required of us this day: “Thee I shall constantly proclaim, though earth and hell oppose; bold to confess thy glorious name before a world of foes.”
So it is that we proclaim the truth that is both unwelcome and longed for, both resisted and needed. It is the truth about Jesus. And this week’s passages combine to give us an approach.
In Jeremiah, we have a historical context that gives way to a timeless message. The ordinary human resources of this world will always prove inadequate. Human love, human forgiveness, human justice, human wisdom will always be found wanting. If our hopes are pinned to human leaders, human institutions, and human endeavors, we will inevitably come away disappointed. And so we must turn to the righteous Branch that God has raised up.
In Luke, we have a portrait of the circumstance in every generation. A variety of people all look at the same Jesus, but they do not all see the same thing. The religious leaders saw him, but they did not recognize him. The Roman soldiers, Pilate, the mocking crowds, the taunting criminal -- none of them understood. Just one man on a neighboring cross looked at Jesus and recognized a royalty, a victory, and a grace that were true but hardly visible to the naked eye.
And in Colossians, we have the full expression. Do you wonder about Jesus? Do you want to know who he is? Do you want to recognize him for all that he is? Then let the apostle Paul tell you all about him!
In the end, we turn again to Charles Wesley for a reminder of our mission this Sunday: “His only righteousness I show, his saving truth proclaim; ’tis all my business here below to cry, ‘Behold the Lamb!’ ”
Alternative Application
Colossians 1:11-20. “All Kinds of Power” In English, we might reasonably find some form of the word “power” five different times in this passage. In the original Greek, however, Paul employs three or four different words to explore the recurring theme. And it is a recurring theme for Paul here.
We are introduced to it from the outset when he writes: “May you be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power.” The noun that the NRSV renders “strength” is dunamis, which is related to our English word “dynamite,” and which is often translated “power.” Meanwhile, the verb that we read as “be made strong” is dunamoo, a cognate of dunamis. It is as though Paul is saying “May you be powered with power.”
Of course, we know that all power has to come from somewhere, and Paul knows it too. He identifies the source: “that comes from his glorious power.” Here the underlying Greek word is kratas. In addition to “power,” this Greek noun can be translated “dominion” (see, for example, 1 Timothy 6:16; 1 Peter 4:11; Revelation 1:6). This is a different dimension of power, you see, than just a flexed muscle. This is the brand of power that suggests being in charge, being in control.
That leads us, in turn, to Paul’s first statement about our salvation. He says that God “has rescued us from the power of darkness.” Here the underlying Greek word that we translate as “power” is exousia, which can mean “authority” or “domain.” We see, then, the contrast that is established by the theme. We were formerly under one power, but now we are powered with power that comes from a different power. Or, to put it in less of a Peter Piper way, we have gone from being under a power to being empowered. This corresponds, you see, to our saving “transfer” from one dominion to another.
Finally, when Paul describes the absolute supremacy of Christ above all things, he makes a list that includes “thrones or dominions or rulers or powers.” The “powers” employs the noun exousia again. And we see how naturally it fits within the context of that verse.
In the end, the passage that juxtaposes all kinds of power reveals that not all powers are equal. Instead, the lordship of Christ trumps every other power, authority, and domain. There is no competition. And it is by his power that we are set free from what was our past and empowered for the present and future.
On the contrary, you and I live within a society that is characterized by a smaller percentage of people who proclaim faith in Christ than a generation ago and a culture in which Jesus is not politically correct. Faith in Jesus is perceived as too sectarian, for it leaves out or even offends too many people in our pluralistic culture. You may express faith in God at your own risk, for that is subject to ridicule from the aggressive secularists of our day. But faith in Jesus crosses a line into offense.
This is the context in which you and I rise to preach on Christ the King Sunday. And within that cultural context, it may be the most demanding theme assigned to us during the liturgical year. For this is arguably the day with the most inescapably high Christology.
Yet we dare not slink into our pulpits, embarrassed and apologetic for what we are about to say. Rather, we rush with bold excitement to the opportunity, for if what we say is true then it is the most important thing in the world for our people to hear... for all people to hear.
One batter goes to the plate, petrified by fear of failure. He is sorry that it is his turn at bat, for he is so afraid that he will strike out. Another batter of equal ability steps to the plate with dreams of knocking one out of the park. He is eager for the opportunity to take his cuts.
Which one is more likely to succeed?
Just so, when I preach about Christ I must not enter the pulpit saddled with fear of either offense or failure. Let me, rather, see the opportunity that is at hand. I get to preach truth to a people who are surrounded by falsehood. I get to say what people do not often get to hear. And perhaps, by God’s grace, I will knock it out of the park.
Jeremiah 23:1-6
Our first picture of Christ this week is an oblique one. It must be, for it comes from five centuries before Jesus was born. Yet it anticipates Christ, and there is something uniquely revealing about a foreshadowing.
When on a long family trip in the car, we are attentive to the signs that let us know a favorite restaurant can be found at an exit 20 miles down the road. The sign in advance of the restaurant itself helps us anticipate and be prepared. We know it’s coming, and we’re ready for the exit.
This, then, was a part of the role of the Old Testament prophets when it came to the subject of the messiah. He was not here yet, but his coming was promised. It was an assurance that the provision of God was a few miles down the road, and the signs in advance should have helped to prepare the people for him when he came.
In the case of our excerpt from Jeremiah 23, the good prospect for the future comes out of an unhappiness in the present. That in itself is a testament to the grace of God: that a judgment message gives birth to a messianic promise. The present problem is the inadequacy of Judah’s leaders.
In an extended metaphor, we are struck by the awful incongruity between the calling of shepherds and the performance of some shepherds. And those failed shepherds, we discover, are the human leaders. While their responsibility and privilege is to guide, provide for, and protect God’s people, they are guilty instead of scattering and destroying that sacred flock.
Coming out of that failure are three promises from God, each one designed to rectify the situation. First, the irresponsible leaders will be punished. Second, the Lord himself will gather his scattered sheep back together again. And third, the Lord will provide better leadership.
That promise of better leaders manifests itself in two ways. The one is plural, the other singular. “I will raise up shepherds over them,” the Lord says, while describing these future shepherds’ better care. But then he also promises “I will raise up for David a righteous Branch, and he shall reign as king...” We understand the first promise to be about commendable but ordinary human leaders performing their assigned duties. We recognize the second promise, however, to be of a higher order.
The reference to David, of course, suggests someone top-drawer. And we know from the larger context of Old Testament prophecies how David’s name and line came to be associated with the messiah. Meanwhile, this promised king is associated with wisdom, justice, righteousness, salvation, and safety. All the boxes have been checked, you see. It is a perfect picture. And it will require, therefore, a perfect King.
Colossians 1:11-20
As we noted in the Old Testament lection, where this passage begins and where it ends are quite different, yet the transition is telling. The Old Testament prophecy began with a lament over the inadequate leaders of God’s people and turned into a magnificent promise of the messiah. This excerpt from early in Paul’s letter to the Colossians, meanwhile, begins with Paul’s prayer for the people and ends with a majestic expression of the person and work of Christ.
The move is not abrupt. Rather, it follows a train of thought that is quite lovely. Paul’s prayer for the people leads him to express what God has done and will do in their lives. Any talk of what God has done and will do, of course, naturally leads to the subject of Christ. And so Paul concludes this section with a stately declaration of who and what Jesus is.
This handful of verses is so brief when compared with the magisterial volumes that theologians have written about Christology. On the other hand, those volumes are themselves a kind of tribute to these verses -- for contemporary theologians require thousands of pages to explain what the apostle expresses in a few dozen words.
Paul’s phrases are dense and packed with meaning. In so little space, he articulates the relationship of Christ to God, to creation, to the church, and to us. As such, you and I could easily embark on a four-part sermon series just to try to do justice to these categories that Paul introduces.
Based on my own years of local church ministry, I have a hunch that one of these four areas is the least developed in most folks’ Christology. They could have a more profound and thoughtful understanding of the other three, of course, but the relationship of Christ to creation is probably the least familiar of the four. And my hunch is that it is least familiar because it is the least overtly religious.
Folks are more likely and accustomed to hear in church about the relationship between Christ and God, Christ and the church, and Christ and believers. That is all within the expected repertoire of religious instruction. But when we start talking about creation, then we seem to have moved out of the purview of the church and into secular territory. It’s at this point that our Christology extends beyond its prescribed boundaries and trespasses into territory that our culture thinks should be free of such sectarian claims.
Yet Paul makes dramatic claims about this subject. First, that creation is a most comprehensive term: the apostle makes sure that we understand everything is included. Second, that Christ was instrumental in the creation of all things. Third, that all things were not only created by him but for him. Fourth, that Christ is the great unifier, inasmuch as “in him all things hold together.” And finally, Christ is also the universal redeemer, for “through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things.”
When we try to unpack the apostle Paul’s claims about Jesus Christ, we will find ourselves using terms like primacy and supremacy, sufficiency and singularity. The same words that are hyperbole when used about anyone else fall short when using them about Christ. But such is the nature of our high calling on Christ the King Sunday.
Luke 23:33-43
We noted at the top that this week’s theme forces the issue of Christology. What do we believe about Jesus? What do our people believe about him? And this familiar scene from the gospel of Luke is particularly helpful in this endeavor, for it is features a juxtaposition of people who do and do not know who Jesus is.
Consider these phrases of uncertainty about Jesus that are part of the narrative. “If he is the Messiah of God...” “If you are the king of the Jews...” “Are you the Messiah?” Jesus was surrounded by ignorance. And he still is today, of course, as so many multitudes have unanswered questions about him or uncertain guesses about who he may be or may have been. Perhaps the most poignant expression of that ignorance comes in Jesus’ own prayer: “they do not know what they are doing.”
In addition to the expressed uncertainty, there is also mistaken identity. Luke reports the confident but errant sign above Jesus on the cross: “There was also an inscription over him, ‘This is the King of the Jews.’ ” This misapprehension about Jesus was common, to be sure, ranging from the visiting magi (Matthew 2:2) to the inquiring Pilate (John 18:33). It was a narrow understanding of Jesus and what he came to do, yet that misunderstanding was publicly posted as the charge against him. And it was not the last time that someone has confidently and publicly declared a misunderstanding about him.
Neither ignorance nor heresy have been exhausted, of course. People around us continue not to understand the truth about Jesus, while still others confidently publish and proclaim untruth about him. These factors combine to make your role this Sunday all the more essential.
The character in the story who is our great ally in this Sunday’s mission is an unlikely one. He is without name and without earthly accomplishment or distinction. All that we might otherwise know about him is that he was a first-century Palestinian criminal whose behavior had warranted the death penalty. Beyond that, however, we also discover him to be a man of extraordinary faith.
He is one of two men being crucified on either side of Jesus. The other, it seems, has joined in the taunting directed at Jesus from below the cross. Taunting, of course, was an expected ingredient in the slow, public torture that was crucifixion. And the pain and anger this man was no doubt feeling made him a natural participant in the cruelty.
The exemplary criminal, meanwhile, was surely in as much pain, yet not as much confusion. He managed to see things clearly, even when all that was visible pointed in a different direction. That is, of course, one of the hallmarks of faith. And the first expression of that remarkable faith was a word of correction to his counterpart.
“Do you not fear God,” he called out to the taunting other, “since you are under the same sentence of condemnation?” At first blush, of course, it is precisely that sentence of condemnation that might make the angry criminal feel free to vent. After all, what more could be done to him? What else did he have to fear?
God. He ought still and always to fear God. And so the faithful one reasons it out: “We indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” It is a concise but grand assessment of what is right and what is wrong at that moment. Their executions were right; Jesus’ was wrong. Whatever taunting they received was right; the taunting the one criminal directed at Jesus was wrong. Jesus’ life was right; theirs were wrong.
And then this remarkable, anonymous, guilty man turns himself to Jesus. “Remember me,” he requests, “when you come into your kingdom.” What an extraordinary thing to say to a man who is, at that very moment, being executed.
Who is more helpless than a naked man, hanging, nailed in place? Who is less regal than a man being crucified? And who is less promising to remember anything, let alone reign over some future kingdom, than a man who is about to die? The criminal’s words belong early in the Palm Sunday procession, not late in the Good Friday execution. Yet they are the words of astonishing faith.
The faithful criminal stands in contrast to the taunting one. More than that, he stands in contrast to the religious leaders, who knew not what they did. And he stands as an example for us and our people this Sunday as we proclaim the truth of who Jesus is.
Application
If you are, say, in your late 40s or older, then you probably remember a time when the cultural environment was quite different for the preaching of the gospel. And for every ten years that you add to your age, the difference you recall is even more stark. What was once welcome and applauded is now widely ridiculed and vigorously opposed.
Yet while this circumstance is relatively new for us, it is not really new. We recall that two millennia ago Peter and John were passionately warned not to speak anymore in the name of Jesus. And 300 years ago, Charles Wesley gave expression to the sort of boldness that is required of us this day: “Thee I shall constantly proclaim, though earth and hell oppose; bold to confess thy glorious name before a world of foes.”
So it is that we proclaim the truth that is both unwelcome and longed for, both resisted and needed. It is the truth about Jesus. And this week’s passages combine to give us an approach.
In Jeremiah, we have a historical context that gives way to a timeless message. The ordinary human resources of this world will always prove inadequate. Human love, human forgiveness, human justice, human wisdom will always be found wanting. If our hopes are pinned to human leaders, human institutions, and human endeavors, we will inevitably come away disappointed. And so we must turn to the righteous Branch that God has raised up.
In Luke, we have a portrait of the circumstance in every generation. A variety of people all look at the same Jesus, but they do not all see the same thing. The religious leaders saw him, but they did not recognize him. The Roman soldiers, Pilate, the mocking crowds, the taunting criminal -- none of them understood. Just one man on a neighboring cross looked at Jesus and recognized a royalty, a victory, and a grace that were true but hardly visible to the naked eye.
And in Colossians, we have the full expression. Do you wonder about Jesus? Do you want to know who he is? Do you want to recognize him for all that he is? Then let the apostle Paul tell you all about him!
In the end, we turn again to Charles Wesley for a reminder of our mission this Sunday: “His only righteousness I show, his saving truth proclaim; ’tis all my business here below to cry, ‘Behold the Lamb!’ ”
Alternative Application
Colossians 1:11-20. “All Kinds of Power” In English, we might reasonably find some form of the word “power” five different times in this passage. In the original Greek, however, Paul employs three or four different words to explore the recurring theme. And it is a recurring theme for Paul here.
We are introduced to it from the outset when he writes: “May you be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power.” The noun that the NRSV renders “strength” is dunamis, which is related to our English word “dynamite,” and which is often translated “power.” Meanwhile, the verb that we read as “be made strong” is dunamoo, a cognate of dunamis. It is as though Paul is saying “May you be powered with power.”
Of course, we know that all power has to come from somewhere, and Paul knows it too. He identifies the source: “that comes from his glorious power.” Here the underlying Greek word is kratas. In addition to “power,” this Greek noun can be translated “dominion” (see, for example, 1 Timothy 6:16; 1 Peter 4:11; Revelation 1:6). This is a different dimension of power, you see, than just a flexed muscle. This is the brand of power that suggests being in charge, being in control.
That leads us, in turn, to Paul’s first statement about our salvation. He says that God “has rescued us from the power of darkness.” Here the underlying Greek word that we translate as “power” is exousia, which can mean “authority” or “domain.” We see, then, the contrast that is established by the theme. We were formerly under one power, but now we are powered with power that comes from a different power. Or, to put it in less of a Peter Piper way, we have gone from being under a power to being empowered. This corresponds, you see, to our saving “transfer” from one dominion to another.
Finally, when Paul describes the absolute supremacy of Christ above all things, he makes a list that includes “thrones or dominions or rulers or powers.” The “powers” employs the noun exousia again. And we see how naturally it fits within the context of that verse.
In the end, the passage that juxtaposes all kinds of power reveals that not all powers are equal. Instead, the lordship of Christ trumps every other power, authority, and domain. There is no competition. And it is by his power that we are set free from what was our past and empowered for the present and future.
