First Presbyterian Church
Wichita Falls, Texas
June 19, 2011
THE GREAT ANNOUNCEMENT
Isaac Butterworth
Matthew 28:16-20 (NIV)
16 Then the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go. 17 When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. 18 Then Jesus came to them and said, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. 19 Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, 20 and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”
When I was a kid, we used to play a game called ‘King of the Hill.’ Everyone would get together and choose some place to be the ‘hill.’ Sometimes, we were lucky enough to have a dirt mound to play on, but not very often. It might be a bed or a sofa, unless, of course, our parents got ‘wise’ to what we were doing. It could be porch or some other elevated surface. Anyway, the higher the ‘hill,’ the better.
And once we had the place, whatever it happened to be, someone would position himself on it, and he would be ‘king of the hill.’ The rest of us, of course, would do our best to push him or pull on him until we could get him off the ‘hill.’ Then one of us would take his place…only to have the others try to take our place. As you can imagine, no one remained ‘king’ for long. There was always someone else willing to use force to gain command of the ‘hill.’
When you think about it, there’s something parabolic in this child’s game. Power is a prized possession, and its appeal asserts itself at every level of life. When we hear names like Mit Romney and Tim Pawlenty on the evening news, or Michelle Bachmann and Sarah Palin, we’re witnessing the bid for power at the highest levels of American life.
But jockeying for position is not limited to the race for public office. The workplace, too, has its own version of ‘politics.’ In fact, no place seems exempt from the effort to gain personal advantage by seizing control or seeking influence. Even the home can become an arena in which people try to gain power over each other. Children vie for their parents’ approval, siblings argue over the distribution of the estate, and husbands and wives often sabotage each other to see who will be ‘king’ or ‘queen’ of their particular ‘hill.’
And that’s not all. The human heart, too, is a field of conquest. Who or what will control our affections? Who or what will determine our desires? Who or what will claim our allegiance?
There are many suitors to the heart, it seems, but when we look more closely, there might really be only two. One is the true husband of our heart, our Savior and Lord, Jesus Christ. He is our rightful King. But we are set against acknowledging him. Like children at play, simulating violent overthrow, we imagine ourselves to be ‘king of the hill.’
And that is the other ‘suitor’ of the heart: the self. Jesus announces, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me,’ and we declare, ‘Not this little part of earth! No way! I’m in control here!’
The passage we read from Matthew today is often referred to as the Great Commission, and many of us can probably recite it from memory: ‘Therefore go and make disciples of all nations….’ That’s verse 19, but did you notice? When we read it, we didn’t start with verse 19; we started with verse 16, which gives us the setting for Jesus’ ‘great commission.’ We find Jesus’ disciples together on a mountain in Galilee – I might call it a hill, if you will permit me to do that. And they see Jesus, the risen Lord. And he is on top of the hill.
And that’s where he should be, right? After all, ‘all authority in heaven and on earth’ has been given to him, and he is ‘king of the hill.’ He is the rightful King of every hill, of every nation, of every heart. Is this not true?
And some of the disciples acknowledge this. ‘They worshiped him,’ Matthew says. The most common word for ‘worship’ in the New Testament – and the one used here – means to kiss the hand of a superior. ‘From this hand,’ the gesture says, ‘I receive my life and all that is good, and, because of this, I am your willing servant.’ That’s what most of the disciples do. They worship Jesus.
But notice: ‘some doubted.’ This word, too, suggests a picture of sorts. It portrays a person – someone like you or me – standing before two options, not knowing which one to choose. The word is used only twice by Matthew: here and in chapter 14, where Peter is walking on the water but becomes afraid and begins to sink. And, as Jesus reaches out to save him, he asks him, ‘Why did you doubt?’
But we do, don’t we? Any one of us might at some time wonder whether the way of Jesus is the way we should take. We may hesitate because we are asked to believe that he is the only way, and that may seem somewhat narrow-minded. Or it may be because we are asked to believe in the miraculous, and that may not seem to stand up to scientific evidence.
But I want to propose to you the idea that when we ‘doubt’ that Jesus is the way – whatever the apparent reason – behind it is another, more profound reason. And it is this: that we resist the thought of yielding the ‘hill’ to him. We hesitate at the point of giving our allegiance to Jesus – why? – because it means surrendering allegiance to the self.
Jesus claims ‘all authority in heaven and on earth,’ and I plant my wimpy flag in the soil of my dissent, and I announce that I am king of my hill. Little though it be, it is my domain, not his.
And yet, the greatest mercy of all is the triumph of Jesus over the tiny kingdom of our heart. We have already said that he is the rightful King of every hill, even yours and mine. But I suspect that we will not ‘buy it,’ at least, not until he disarms our willful resistance, until he subdues our contrary heart.
The Great Commission, Michael Horton says, begins with the ‘great announcement.’ It announces that ‘all authority in heaven and on earth’ has been placed in the hands of Jesus. Not in our hands. Not even in the hands of the most powerful people on earth. But in Jesus’ hands. I admit it doesn’t look like it. To all appearances, Jesus has been marginalized, maybe even neutralized. Princes and kings and heads of state; they are the ones – aren’t they? – that wield the power. Jesus seems to have so little effect where it counts.
Unless, in his mercy, you have known his conquest of your soul. Unless, to your great benefit, he has wrested you off your little ‘hill’ and become king in your place. What would you trade for that? Would all the power in world seduce you away from his rule in your heart? Would even the little control you imagine you have over your tiny domain – would it be enough to draw you away?
We are bold to make the great announcement that Jesus is Lord, that ‘all authority in heaven and on earth’ are his – no matter what appearances may be. And, in obedience to him, we baptize in his name – as we do this morning. And, as we do, there is every possibility that Christ just might lay claim to your heart, extending over your life the canopy of his grace – as he does the life of little Ady today.
You may or may not be able to accept this now. But the tiny ‘hill’ over which you rule: it is way more vulnerable to overthrow than you can imagine. Defending it will only exhaust you. And, even if you are able to hold out to the end, what will you have? And, whatever it is, will it be enough?
Christ is presented before you. You have two choices: to worship or to doubt. To doubt is to be paralyzed by the fear of making a mistake. But the reality is: Each of us must ultimately choose a way of life. We must at some point commit ourselves to something or someone as the center around which we will build our existence. If not Jesus, then who or what? Everyone lives by some kind of guiding story about what is true or not true, what is of value or of no value.
If you yield to Christ your meager realm – if you fly the white flag of surrender over the dominion of your heart – your life will become yours in a way you never dreamed. The truth is: when he rules, you are free.
