Sermon: The Theology of the Cross (Mark 12:38-44)

11/10/2024

When I was reading these two texts side by side, of Jesus denouncing the Pharisees and the widow’s offering, I couldn’t help but think of my dear friend Martin Luther, and an idea that he popularized, the Theology of the Cross. 

In our first text we have scribes that Brother Martin would call ‘theologians of glory.’ They have their long robes, and like to be greeted with respect in the marketplace. They want to have the best seats at worship, and be given places of honor at banquets. They get paid well, and make sure that everyone calls them by their title. Some days I’m similar to these theologians of glory. I like to see lots of little numbers next to my name when one of my videos does well. I like to get nice gifts from congregation members who treat me with respect. I like it when I’m sitting with someone, and they introduce me to their friend, ‘oh friend, this is our new pastor, Pastor Paul.’ And I get to puff out my chest and feel so good about myself. It’s easy to let it go to your head. To think that my job is about making me look good, rather than preaching the gospel message. 

Brother Martin’s admonition for these theologians of glory was this: following God is not about increasing your power. Following God is not about racking up titles, gifts, and honor. It’s not about making me look divine, or giving myself fame. These are all the things that theologians of glory seek. They demand that others call them by their title. They insist on gifts. They think that following Jesus means a plush throne for them to rule from. They enrich themselves at the expense of others. They grab onto the suit coat of anyone who is ascending to power, hoping that they might be taken up, kissing whatever ring they might have to, bending whatever morality they might have for a tidbit of glory. 

Jesus warns us of these theologians of glory. Martin Luther warns us of these theologians of glory. And I myself see the same temptation within me. 

A theology of the cross, however, preaches something different entirely. A poor woman goes into the treasury of the temple, and gives her two coins. Imagine a widow in our church, so committed to the mission of Christ that she gives two dollars, money she could well use to feed herself. Instead, she gives that to God, hoping that it might be put to some use. 

This is not a stewardship sermon. I am not calling you to be like the widow because she was generous. I’m calling us to be like the widow because she clung to the cross. In the face of her own suffering, she chose to cling to God. In her poverty, she has clung to the one thing that she can trust, a God who is willing to be crucified on her behalf. She was a theologian of the cross, one whose witness to the gospel cost her dearly. 

Brother Martin faced a lucrative path. If he had just gone along with the doctrine of the time, he would have had a mostly comfortable life. He would have had his needs taken care of, and would have accumulated much honor and glory. He could have gone quite far in the Catholic church, he was very smart and determined. But he saw injustice, and spoke out. This nearly cost him his life. After he spoke out about the corruption of the Catholic church he was excommunicated, and the Emperor of Germany declared Martin Luther an outlaw, requiring his arrest. The Emperor also made it a crime to feed or shelter Martin Luther, and permitted anyone to kill Martin Luther without legal consequence. 

All this, because he insisted that it was God’s grace that saved us. Not our own doing, not any declaration from kings or rulers, but God’s grace in itself. This period is when he wrote about theologians of glory, and theologians of the cross. 

Some 500 years later a Lutheran pastor would take these words to heart. Dietrich Bonhoeffer was much like Luther, smart, well liked, earning a doctorate in theology at a very young age. He could have had a very comfortable life. But Dietrich was living in Germany in the 1930s, and said some very true words to a powerful man. He was a thorn in the side of the Nazi regime, refusing to flee and refusing to be silent. As such, he was executed by the state. In fact, while others at his camp were freed, he was ordered to be hung, just a few days before Allied forces captured the camp and liberated the remaining prisoners. When Bonhoeffer was alive he said ‘when Christ calls us, he bids us to come and die.’ A theologian of glory could never utter such a phrase. Only someone freed by God’s grace can spit in the face of death itself. 

For some of you this may seem a bit melodramatic. For some of you it might seem like I’m dodging reality by not being more specific in my criticisms. I will tell you my queer friends are terrified right now. I have two friends of mine who are rushing forward with their wedding because they think their right to marry might be taken away. Going forward, I will do my best to lift up their stories without being accusatory. If I don’t preach about God’s love for the marginalized, I fear I will betray my ordination vows. I will become a theologian of glory, rather than a theologian of the cross. May God be with me, and all of us gathered. Amen.