The Pull of Power

In light of the elections yesterday, I ask you, dear reader, to consider what the leaders of our country face every day: the struggles they confront and the difficulties they face. No matter which political party you identify with, whether you are excited about the possibilities of the next four years or are considering moving to Canada, I beg you to pause for a moment and remember what really matters, both in this life and the next. 

This is sermon I wrote about a year and a half ago for my church's youth Sunday (first, don't let that dissuade you if you don't believe), and I think its themes are still relevant, especially in light of the last few months' events. I hope my point is clear. But mostly, I hope we can all re-learn (because we seem to have lost this ability in the last few years) to respect each other, no matter our political stances or beliefs, whether we agree or disagree.

Power. 

Think about the word and all of its burdensome implications just for a moment. Let its syllables roll through your mind; let it fill your very being, uninhibitedly, for just a moment. You can feel it in your veins, can’t you? That slow, tingling feeling that begins in the tips of your fingers, then tickles its way up your arms, works its way into your veins, fuels your adrenaline, and slowly, persistently, and surely ensnares your heart. So many people get a rush from this feeling, as history so blatantly reflects, and it still continues to blow my mind that such a feeling has dominated countless, irreversible actions and altered the lives of so many people, and will continue to do so until the Messiah returns.

            

Power’s prominence is evident in the passage of the apostle John, when Jesus is sentenced to the ultimate suffering, the ultimate humiliation, what I consider to be one of the greatest acts of cruelty, one that is still too great to wrap my mind around: crucifixion. Pilate confronts the high priests, saying:

“Here is this man!”

As soon as the chief priests saw him, they shouted, “Crucify, crucify!” 

(Can’t you see them, anger blurring their eyes, sun-tanned fists hurled in the air, longing to bring their supposed “justice?”)

But Pilate answered, “You take him and crucify him. As for me, I have no basis for a charge against him.”

The Jews insisted, “We have a law, and according to that law he must die, because he claimed to be the Son of God.”

           
Their Messiah has come; their deliverer, their Savior, come to die so that they might live an eternal life, and they claim that this amazing man must die because of their Law? One might be flabbergasted now, reading these hateful words, but in reality, is their fear and anger incomprehensible? How many of us could honestly tell ourselves that, in that moment, we would have done anything but betray the Son of God, not condemn him, but show Him the love that he persistently shows us? I know I wouldn’t have, and there is no point lying to myself about it: I can be a coward. Ironically, the one thing in this world that makes me truly cowardly is not fear, anxiety, of anything of that nature. It is power. Once it’s obtained, often worked for, it seems impossible to let it go.

            

Four summers ago, I was blessed enough to be provided the opportunity to travel all the way to South Africa to go hunting with my wonderful father. We were planning to hunt, and I was there to employ my love of photography to capture every aspect of the trip. At the second location we visited, after a little bit of persuasion, it was my turn to hunt. My animal of choice was a kudu: an animal that my dad would jokingly say later I chose because of the sheer largesse of its magnificent horns.

Once our professional hunter selected the poor beast for me to shoot, the pursuit began. Looking back on it all, the whole situation seems rather absurd: me quietly leaping from the side of the car, whispered, urgent instructions by my high-strung professional hunter, crawling through dirt into a ditch, and a flat three seconds maximum to align the cross hairs and make my mark. The shot was unlike anything I had ever heard. Oh, I’ve been hunting several times, so the sound is really not new to me, but the fact that something literally exploded because of my delicate “squeeze” of a touch nearly knocked me off of my feet. The kick of the gun didn’t hurt for that part, either.

This shot echoed unlike anything I have ever experienced in my young adult life. It sizzled like a firecracker, only to be outdone by the shouts of glee erupting from both the professional hunter and my dad. Unnoticed by either of them, however, was not a look of shock as they might have assumed at the time, but instead an ironic triumphant feeling mingling with the bitter aftertaste of horror. The horror was not strictly caused by what I had just done: hunting does not bother me. Instead, my first, intense feeling was that tingling of the senses, ensnaring of my heart: power. Horror only came later because I realized that I actually liked this raw force, this passion and overwhelming intensity that flowed through my veins.

I had no idea what I could do with it, but hours later the reasons why men and women cling to power more than any of their worldly possessions suddenly became crystal-clear. Power is invigorating, plain and simple. It’s addictive. Its consequences are nowhere near as simple as that. It is, no doubt, what consumed the minds of the high priests when Pilate was showing Jesus to them, and they screamed, “Crucify, crucify!” The Messiah they had been hoping for, dreaming of, had finally arrived, and they got a man riding humbly in to the city on the back of a donkey, when they wanted and thought they needed a valiant man, conquering their battles and obliterating those who had wronged the Jewish people. I’m sure that disappointment was unbearable, but then when they realized that everything, every part of their being was to go to God, there was no way they could relinquish their hold on that, as well. It ultimately meant giving their power to God.

It is the ultimate surrender. Surrender: another word with negative connotations, of course, often implies weakness and failure, just as the Jews might have seen when their Savior was not a belligerent conqueror. I can empathize with their hesitance about giving up their power: it means losing control, surrendering everything to one being, which is no easy task. The rewards, however, are incomparable to the superficial rewards given by the world. This feeling of surrender is unfound joy, better than any tingling in the fingertips or rush of adrenaline: it’s pure, unadulterated, and completely indescribable. Speaking from blessed experience, this feeling is all consuming, more invigorating than anything ever imagined. It truly is a light unto my soul, a lamp unto my feet. It may seem strange, but this joy makes glow with a radiance that can only come from the knowledge that I dedicate my life to a loving, caring, and amazing God. Think about surrender for just one moment. Surrender yourself to God, and let the joy guide you closer to Him. Feel it in your veins, helping your heart beat with purpose and peace. Let it consume you. If you remember anything from this, remember this one word, and let it bring you comfort instead of fear: surrender.