Have you seen the crucified God? ~ John 14:8-11

 

In John 14, Philip asks Jesus the question humanity has been fighting over forever: What is God like? What does God want? What does God think? About me? About them? About the world?

And honestly, Philip’s request is understandable. Because God can seem so elusive – not just for unbelievers but even devout Christians. Christians have claimed God endorses everything under the sun: empires and revolutions, crusades and conquests, vengeance and violence. One person says God is angry. Another says God is compassionate. One says God demands blood. Another says God forgives freely. One says God chooses sides. Another says God loves everyone.

Even within the Bible itself, we encounter portraits that appear radically different from one another. Want a warrior God? You’ll find one. A tribal God? You can have one. A God of peace, he’s there too. Vindictive? Yep. Compassionate? For sure. A God who hates what we hate and loves who we love, we can find that too. Sometimes the Bible’s revelation functions less like a window and more like a mirror. It reveals God—yes!—but also the hearts of the people who wrote it and read it and the God that they wanted.

So Philip offers the right request: “Show us the Father.” And Jesus gives the most revolutionary answer: “Philip… have I been with you so long and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father.”

This is one of the most radical claims ever uttered. Jesus doesn’t say: “I can point you toward God.” He doesn’t say: “Here is a book. Now believe EVERY word.” He says: “If you have seen me, you’ve seen God.” Not “part” of God. Not “one side” of God. Not “God on a good day.” Jesus essentially tells Philip: “I am exactly what God is like.” The writer of Hebrews understood Jesus. They wrote: “The Son is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being . . . “(Hebrews 1:3). And Paul will echo the same truth saying that the fullness of God was in Jesus (Col. 1:19, 2:9).

And this is where Christianity becomes either astonishingly beautiful and mysterious or deeply troubling and offensive. Because Jesus reveals a God unlike the gods we usually imagine. The gods of humanity tend to rule through coercion. Jesus rules through compassion. The gods of empire kill their enemies. Jesus forgives his enemies. The gods of power crush the weak. Jesus washes feet. The gods of religion demand sacrifice. Jesus becomes the sacrifice and forgives the ones who kill him.

Jesus’ statement means that the clearest picture of God is not seen in raw displays of omni-powers (omnipotence, omniscience, omnipresence), but in Christ crucified. This is the scandal. We wish to see God’s sovereignty in unstoppable power. Jesus reveals God’s power in unstoppable love. We want to see the Lion who devours. But when we look, Jesus reveals the Lamb who is slain. The New Testament insists that the crucified Christ is “the very icon of the invisible God.” Not partially. Fully. The cross is not the moment where Jesus saves us from God. The cross is the truest moment where Jesus reveals who God actually is. What God really wants. Sometimes we’ve been so worried about trying to prove that Jesus is God we forgot the equally scandalous idea that God is like Jesus.

And Jesus crucified shows us what God looks like when humanity does its worst. Not retaliation. Not annihilation. But self-giving, co-suffering, forgiving love – that can’t ultimately be killed. And if Jesus crucified and risen is the fullest revelation of God, then we must wrestle honestly with what that means. It means we cannot appeal to some “other” God hidden behind Jesus. We cannot say: “Yes, Jesus is loving, but God Himself is harsher.” Jesus will not allow that separation. “The Father is in me.” “If you have seen me, you have seen the Father.” This changes everything. Because many people secretly carry a divided image of God. Jesus is kind. But the Father is severe. Jesus forgives. But God is angry. In this entire series, we’ve watched Jesus completely dismantle that dualistic framework.

According to Jesus, there is no hidden God lurking behind Him. There is no dark side of God concealed behind the back of Christ. God is like Jesus. God has always been like Jesus. There has never been a time when God was not like Jesus. In God there is no unChristlikeness. That is in part why the doctrine of the Trinity came into being.

And this is why the crucified Jesus becomes the interpretive center for who God is. Not religious triumphalism. Not moral purity. Not violence baptized in God language. But the forgiving God who surrenders. The self-emptying God who submits to being pushed around. The enemy-loving God who would rather die for His killers than destroy them.

And if all this is true, it raises a difficult question: What do we do with unChristlike images of God, especially from the Bible? As Christians, we must deeply honor the Bible. But we do not worship the Bible or merely believe in everything one might find in it. We worship the God revealed in Christ. The Bible is the inspired witness that leads us to Jesus. And Jesus taught that he was the person and story that Scriptures aims to tell and serve (John 5:39-40; Luke 24:25-27). The Scriptures bear witness to Christ. But Christ is the Word that bears witness to God.

Make no mistake. Jesus will not let us get away from our Bibles. His most often asked question was, “Have you not read?” So to be a follower of Jesus demands that we engage with Scripture but always and only as that which bears witness to Jesus. C.S. Lewis says it this way: “It is Christ himself, not the Bible, who is the true word of God. The Bible, read in the right spirit and with the right guidance of good teachers, will bring us to him.” Perhaps here’s a helpful analogy offered by Brian Zahnd: “What John’s prologue says of John the Baptist, we can say about the Bible: ‘There was a book sent from God that we call the Bible. The Bible came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all might believe. The Bible itself is not the light; it came only as a witness to the light.’ This is not a low view of Scripture but a high view of Christ.”

And Jesus, the Word of God, stands before us and says: “If you want to know what God is like, don’t simply listen to my words, look at my works.” Look at the One touching lepers. Look at the One forgiving adulterers. Look at the One welcoming children. Look at the One eating with sinners. Look at the One weeping over Jerusalem. Look at the One carrying a cross. Look at the One praying forgiveness over His executioners. Look at me and behold your God.

So where does this leave us? It leaves us with a choice. Will we continue creating God in our image? Or will we allow Jesus to reveal God to us? Will we believe every vision of God offered in the Bible? Or will we interpret everything through Jesus? Because according to Jesus, the final and fullest revelation of God is not a book dropped from heaven but is best encountered through a flesh-and-blood person.

So, because of who Jesus is, what Jesus said, and what Jesus did, we refuse to read the Bible as a flat text where every word has equal authority. Rather, we understand that Jesus is the pinnacle of revelation and every word of Scripture must finally submit to him. Jesus himself reveals that not every word of Scripture aligns with the living Word of God. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus will say, “You have heard it said (quoting Scripture), but I say to you . . . “ (Matthew 5). That’s not tweaking Scripture – it’s a correction. Yes, Jesus corrected the Bible, including words in the Bible formally ascribed to God. So if Jesus is the truest revelation of God and the true Word of God the formula is simple: Read the Bible – carefully, thoughtfully, honestly, prayerfully. When anything in the Bible disagrees with Jesus and who he reveals God to be, listen to Jesus. In Matthew 17, when Moses, who represents the Law, and Elijah, who represents the Prophets, appear with Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration, they represent the whole of the Old Testament witness. And Peter wishes to equally celebrate all three. And what does God say? “This is my Son. Listen to him” (Matthew 17:5). The Law and the Prophets point to Jesus and bow to Jesus. Never use them to correct him. He’s the Word of God.

So when we ask: “What is God like?” The answer Christians give is not a philosophical abstraction and not simply any verse from the Bible. It is Jesus. Jesus healing. Jesus teaching. Jesus forgiving. Jesus welcoming. Jesus suffering. Jesus crucified. Jesus risen. This is God, according to Jesus.

And if that is true— then the deepest reality in the universe, the best view of God, is not wrath. Not fear. Not domination. It looks like this. And that, friends, is utterly scandalous and incredibly beautiful. Behold the crucified God.

 

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A Punching Widow & Black-Eyed Judge: Why prayer doesn’t need us to get God right, but it helps. ~ Luke 18:1-8

 

According to Jesus, prayer can be an honest to God problem. Not that we don’t do it—but that we suffer from misunderstandings about who we’re praying to. We offer prayers that beg or bargain and somewhere, understandably, they turn toxic. So we get tired. We stop—not always with our words, but with something deeper in us – our hearts. And Jesus reveals that it’s not simply a discipline problem. It’s a God problem and a heart problem.

Because the way we see God shapes the way we pray—or whether we pray at all. If God feels distant, prayer becomes performance. If God seems reluctant, prayer turns into negotiation. If God appears harsh, prayer slowly dies. So people may keep saying prayers—but lose their heart.

And that’s the problem Jesus is trying to address in Luke 18. Because if we get God wrong, we won’t just struggle to pray—we’ll stop trusting. We’ll start protecting. We’ll begin to harden. So Jesus tells a weird and clever story—not about spiritual heroes, but about two deeply flawed people—to confront the way we imagine God, the way we approach prayer, and what’s really going on inside of us. Our prayers are not always calm or composed. Sometimes they’re raw, impatient, even desperate. And Jesus doesn’t dismiss that or disqualify us. He lovingly meets us there.

This is not a rosy theology but an honest one. A theology that invites us to bring our real selves before a God who is really good—not to perform, not to pretend, but to pray – from wherever we’re at. Because in the end, this parable isn’t just about persistence. It’s about seeing clearly—who God really is, who God really isn’t, and who we really are—so that our prayers become not polished words, but honest encounters and open doorways. So that we learn to pray and not lose heart, Jesus shows us:

You don’t need to be like her —because God is not like him.

Jesus tells us about two characters: An aggressive widow. And a wicked judge. The widow comes again and again, pleading for justice. Or does she? Because the Greek isn’t the standard word for “justice” [dikaiosyne]. It’s a more fraught word - ekdikeō often meaning vindication or vengeance. It carries a negative edge and was something that Paul, in Romans 12:19, commands us not to do: “Do not take [ekdikeō] revenge . . . ”

So she is neither passive nor positive. She’s aggressive. Violent. Vengeful. And Jesus says the judge finally gives in because he fears what she might do. What does the judge fear? The NET says that the judge worries that she will “wear me out” but the word is a boxing term meaning to punch someone in the face, literally give a black eye [hupópiazó, a compound word from hypó, "under" and ōps, "eye"]. It signals physical assault and not angry words. This is not a sweet story about gentle, grandmotherly persistence. This is a story about someone who is threatening, hostile, and fed up. She’s desperate. I know this pain and fear – do you?

And the judge? He’s even worse. He doesn’t care about God. He doesn’t care about people. He’s indifferent, detached, “unjust.” And yet—Jesus notes, due to her aggressiveness, even he gives in. And here’s the point Jesus seems to make:

You don’t need to be like the widow because God is not like judge. You don’t need to demand out of fear or frustration, to threaten God or beg God’s mercy. It’s okay. God is good. Imagine that you were over at someone’s house who had little kids. And their 6-year-old comes in from outside asking for something to eat and the parent says, “What do you say?” And the kid responds by falling on the floor, in utter desperation, groveling and begging for something to eat, which can feel either overly dramatic, for sure. But if the parent responds, “Now that’s better.”  You’d think that’s dysfunctional at best or actual child abuse at its worst. You’ll lose your heart with that God. Let that sink in. God is not like that. God is not indifferent. God is not reluctant. God is not someone you have to wear down, threaten, or manipulate. You don’t have to punch God in the eye to be heard or receive.

According to Jesus, as we’ve seen, God is more like:

• A Father who runs toward all his children
• A gentle seed sower and bird feeder who gives generously.
• A shepherd who goes after the lost

So what does this reveal? Theology matters. What you believe about God will shape how you pray.

If you believe God is distant—you’ll manipulate.
If you believe God is harsh—you’ll hide or fight.
If you believe God is unjust—you’ll despair.

And those beliefs are painful, abusive, hurtful. But don’t lose heart, Jesus says, for God is truly good. Prayer is not a battle to win. It’s a relationship to enter. Not a way to beg. But a relationship of trust with a God who is ever-loving.

But what if you are like the widow and offer a black-eye prayer?

Because if we’re honest, there are moments when we feel or act like the widow. Moments when we’re re angry, when we’re bruised, when we want revenge—and maybe blood. We want things made right and we also want our enemies hurt. We want wrongs repaid and someone else to pay for them. And we bring that anger to God. We’re messy people with mixed motives, twisted intentions, and sometimes problematic prayers. And Jesus encourages us – don’t lose heart, “Pray anyway.” Jesus wants us to know who God truly is but he also doesn’t make getting God right necessary to talk to God or receive God’s love. If you are bruised or bruising, God still doesn’t demand that you pray better.

Sometimes our prayers are not calm or polished. They’re raw. They’re sharp. They’re full of questions. And here’s the critical truth: God can handle our punches. God is not an unjust judge – and Jesus is clear on that. But notice that Jesus never says that the widow is wrong or wicked. He passes no moral judgment or psychological critique. In fact, in Jesus, God does something astonishing. God doesn’t strike back or threaten in return. God allows Himself to be struck by us. Not just threatened with a black eye— but beaten, mocked, crucified. God mercifully receives our pain. He does not pass it on but opens his arms wide.

Across the Gospels, we see this clearly: God absorbs our violence—and responds with mercy. So even when our prayers are mixed. Even when our motives are tangled. Even when our words are raw and our theology rough. God does not respond with rejection or retribution. God responds with overflowing grace. Not giving us what our anger might demand— but giving us what love desires for us. Because God is not unjust. And even when we breathe vindictiveness, don’t lose heart, God holds us in love.

Because what if you’re the adversary?

But this messy story gets even messier. Because there is another character in the story that’s easy to overlook: The adversary. The one the widow is crying out against. And this is where the parable becomes deeply uncomfortable. Because what if—at times— we are not the widow – but the problem she is praying against? What if we are the object of vengeful prayers and we even deserve it? What if the ones praying are Palestinian Christians in Gaza who cry out for vindication against genocide while we do nothing? What if the widows are Christians in Iran who long for freedom and pray against being bombed to hell? What if the widow is a brother or sister of color, frustrated by centuries of white-privilege and racial hostility, who achingly prays understandably threatening prayers? Now Jesus has already told us that God is good but what does he mean when he tells his audience, “Listen to what the unrighteous judge says! Won’t God give vindication to his chosen ones, who cry out to him and quickly? Is this a dangerous threat? What if, friends, we aren’t so much being threatened by God but being enlisted by this prayer – to cease what we’re doing, to join with God’s own Spirit, in order to become the swift justice of God. What if we are lovingly being warned so that we don’t experience the natural collateral and terrible consequences of our own adversarial injustice?

It’s striking that Jesus tells a parable about prayer, violence and revenge, and ends with a question about faith. “When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?” Not just belief. Not just prayer. But faith lived out – now - in the real world.

Faith is prayerful trust in God and prayerful intention toward others to figure out “justice” “on the earth.” It’s arguing. It’s debating. It’s feeling unsure, or angry, maybe even violent.  It’s asking who is God? What is just – in this moment? How should I pray? Who am I? Where am I in this story – in my world – on this planet? What does “quickly” mean or look like? Faith takes responsibility. Faith listens when others cry out. Faith prayerfully seeks God. Faith is self-aware.  Faith refuses to lose heart. And this is where the parable stops being abstract. It becomes concrete. Present. Urgent. Because there are still voices crying with pain on the earth: “Grant us vindication. Grant us justice.” And the question is not only: Will God hear their pain quickly?  But also: Will we?

Because for Jesus, the two questions are inseparable. Praying to God isn’t some attempt at begging or bargaining with an unjust judge. Nor is prayer our escape from the world and its very real demands. Prayer is engagement with it. Faith is not just what we say in private. It is how we live in public with grief, or joy, in fear, through pain, in the face of injustice. And Jesus doesn’t so much judge you for the appropriateness of your prayers but he does demand an integrity to act in concert with your prayers.  

To pray for justice is to ask: “God, make me just.” To pray for justice is to ask God to act and also to ask: “Where are you calling me to act?” This is what Jesus means by “faith on the earth.” Not perfect faith. Not flawless faith. But lived faith now. Faith that wrestles. Faith that listens. Faith that moves. Faith that prays.

So, according to Jesus: God is not the unjust judge. God is good. Attentive. Compassionate. Faithful. And we? We are complicated.

Sometimes the widow—crying out for a kind of justice and often tinged with pain, with hurt, with anger, with vengeance against others and a God who must be begged, beaten, or bought.

Sometimes the adversary—failing to see others clearly, perhaps the subject of someone’s violent prayer, perhaps participating, willingly or not, in the harm of others.

And yet— God meets us in all of those places. Not with indifference. Not with avoidance. But with a love that is stronger than our confusion and deeper than our pain.

So here is the question Jesus leaves us with: “When I return, will I find faith on the earth?” Will He find:

• People who pray honestly?
• People who trust deeply?
• People who justly act out their prayers?

Will He find that in us? Not perfectly. But truly. Because this is the invitation:

To become people who pray honestly, who trust boldly, and who pray with integrity BECAUSE God is NOT unjust— so that when Christ returns, faith will not be missing from the earth. It will be visible in us because we know a God who is good and we have not lost our heart. Amen.