The Defense of Prayer (Ephesians 6:10-20)

The Defense of Prayer (Ephesians 6:10-20)

The story goes that Clarence Jordan, a mid-20^th century Baptist minister, Bible translator, and desegregationist, was given a tour of a church building just after a major building program had completed. One variant of this story claims the church could seat several hundred, just in the choir loft. Everything was made of the finest wood. The brass altar ware gleamed in the sun as light streamed into the sanctuary through stained glass windows. The building was honeycombed with classrooms, offices, and meeting parlors galore. At the end of the tour, while showing Jordan the fountains on the front law, with a grand wave up to the steeple, they pointed to the new gold cross high atop the building. “Dr. Jordan, that cross alone cost us $10,000.”

Jordan looked up at the cross, looked back at his hosts and said, “You know, there was a time when crosses were free”.

Go back to the New Testament era, and you will find Clarence Jordan was recalling a history of what happened to those early followers of Jesus. The early Church knew the cross less as a cherished symbol of faith and more a chilling sign of what Rome did to its detractors. The Palestine of the New Testament was under Roman occupation, and Rome kept its imperial might constantly on display. Until Constantine declared Christianity the empire’s religion in the fourth century (and that was not necessarily the best thing that happened to Christianity either), the early centuries of the church were times lived in fear of reprisal, persecution, or uneasy periods of toleration. Rome lived by the sword and made sure anyone who posed a threat was reminded that if you could not live by Rome’s sword, it was not going to be Rome who died by the sword.

So why does the Epistle to the Ephesians outfit words of encouragement to the faithful at Ephesus in Roman military terms and dress? The early verses (10-13) sound like a call to arms, Paul serving as a general, marshalling the troops. Then he describes the Christian as one dressed ready for combat in the unmistakable outfit of the Roman solider at the ready. Ephesians 6:10-20 sounds a bit less under the influence of Jesus and more echo of Roman propaganda. He claims the same mission objective as Rome: to proclaim a gospel of peace.

Now, wait a second, Rome had a “gospel of peace”? Rome had a prevailing self-image of its imperial might: Pax Romana (peace to all Romans). The empire declared peace to all, whether its peoples liked it or not. Underneath the politics, there was a theology at work. Rome set for doctrine: the gods favor Rome, and indeed, its ruler is of the gods himself. With its belief in Christ as the Son of the God, Christianity was at immediate odds with Rome. As John Dominic Cross and Jonathan Reed, two New Testament scholars, observe, “Caesar and Jesus were both destined for divine Sonship”. Rome and the Christians had two stories directly in conflict, and the question is posed: Which story will early Christians follow? Casear or Christ?

The key to Paul’s seemingly curious appropriation of Roman militaristic imagery is found in the person who writes the epistle. The voice of the general calling to arms, the one describing the attire of the mission at hand, is trapped in captivity, weighed down by manacles. Paul calls himself “an ambassador in chains”. What sort of fool thinks he can take on Rome, especially while under lock and key?

Back in my college days, I performed in a number of university theatre productions. I particularly liked the years when the director, the late great Larry Peters, may he rest in peace, would select a musical as part of the production season. I arrived back for my junior year to discover the season included “The Man from LaMancha”, a musical based on the story of Don Quixote. In fact, I got cast in a supporting role: Sancho, the sidekick, a comic relief type character in the play.

The story of Don Quixote revolves around an old man’s delusion that he is a great knight with a fine steed and a mission to chase giants, rescue maidens, and other generally chivalrous duties. In reality, he rides a tired old horse, and wears rusty armor. He tilts at windmills, thinking them giants, and most others think him mad.

The university theatre rehearsed the production on a very tight schedule. The duress of trying to learn lines, lyrics, and staging was quite high. Our sets were not finished until dress rehearsal. Our orchestra of volunteer musicians was not ready until the final week of rehearsals. It was a recipe for disaster, yet each night, as the company grew frantic with increasingly more last minute details, I found myself looking forward to each night’s rehearsal. Playing Sancho, I spent a lot of time on the stage at the side of Don Quixote. As the actor grew more into the part, I began to lose myself in the play, becoming the faithful sidekick to the hero and admiring the charisma of Don Quixote as he picked himself up again and again, disaster after disaster on his errant knight’s quest. Sancho could not help but love and admire the old man and followed him along the way. What seemed a disaster was a bold story of uncommon hope and courage.

So, what are we to make of Paul’s bold claims and the competing claims to divine Sonship between Caesar and Jesus. Crossan and Reed observe, “Although Caesar accepted [the claim of divine Sonship] as domination, Jesus accepted it as crucifixion” (Excavating Paul, 230).

In the midst of the New Testament, a clash of worlds and words is underway. Who is the divine power of the universe? (Rome or the God of Jesus?) Which gospel of peace do you take as “gospel”? To which kingdom do you claim your citizenship? First century questions of Christ and empire likewise challenge us today. Are you a citizen of this kingdom (whatever kingdom/nation-state you are located in or possess residential rights) or the kingdom the New Testament claims at hand and yet to come? If you find these questions difficult to answer, welcome to the task of reading the New Testament and living in the “here and now”. The gospels, epistles, and other New Testament writings will ask you questions of “empire” not easily answered.

I find Ephesians remarkable reading. Paul writes under house arrest, enjoying some privilege as a Roman citizen, but not much more than that. The chains on him are a constant reminder of the “powers that be” and their authority. Why is he so optimistic? Isn’t it time to break out the harmonica and sing the jailhouse blues?

Just as Jordan slyly tweaks churches with $10,000 crosses to show off, just as Don Quixote steels himself for noble duty in rusty armor, Paul calls the Christian to arms with a gospel rooted in peace. Paul evokes Rome’s might with the intent to undermine that sort of might. Ched Meyers, a New Testament scholar and activist, claims Ephesians is “the nonviolent call to arms” (Ambassadors of Reconciliation, Vol. I., Orbis, 2009). How can you wage anything close to a victorious battle when you are carrying just concepts? How effective is a person dressed in words going to be? Listen again: Paul says, dress with a belt of truth, a breastplate of righteousness, sandals able to carry the bearer far with the gospel of peace, a shield of faith, a helmet of salvation, and a sword that is “the Spirit, the word of God”? If you were a Roman guard serving as a censor to whatever letters went out of the prisoner’s house, you probably laughed yourself silly reading this. Quotations probably were read at the annual guards’ dinner as comic relief. Who does Paul think he is?

Paul believed that there were greater battles for the Christian to engage with powers greater than Rome. Ephesians speaks of Christians being called at the ready for battles with the evils within Creation itself. Life under Rome was just the surface of the problems at hand. Underneath the human realm lurked the forces of evil. Interpreters differ about how to explain such things, but good Christian theology is aware that the world is messed up, and humans (individuals and empire alike) only pull some of the strings. The “powers that be” take on many forms, yet the result is the same: they challenge God and God’s faithful and cause no end of misery and brokenness.

Richard B. Hays observes,
The weapons that are to be employed against these cosmic powers are not to be forged with steel by any human technology; instead, the war is to be fought with prayer (Ephesians 6:18) and with the renewed character of the holy community. (The Moral Vision of the New Testament, HarperSF, p. 65).

Paul calls the Ephesians to arms, though not ways dependent on violence to do their duty. To take your beliefs and the call to prayer sounds flimsy. How can you win with prayer? It sounds more like wishful thinking, yet recall the stories of the faithful, especially Christians who we call “saints”. Over the years, those who have kept the church’s witness alive through preaching, leading, and prophetic action, often at great personal challenge or at the cost of their very lives, would say down to a person that their work could not have happened without their strong belief in Christ and their ongoing practice of prayer. As Richard Hays observes, if the community of Jesus’ followers wishes to be ready, we will have to make ourselves ready. To persevere, you cannot go into the hurting world without your faith. Otherwise, you will not be able to stand ready.

Consider Clarence Jordan, who after he visited the church with the $10,000 cross got in his pickup and headed back home to Americus, Georgia where he lived with others on the Koinonia Farm. Life was difficult: the KKK arrived in the middle of the night to harass. Few local businesses wanted to risk being seen doing business with Jordan. Local authorities (civic and sadly church alike) said or did little overly supportive of Koinonia’s effort to live out racial reconciliation. How did they survive? It took that early morning prayer to face the rest of the day. It took that time in the discipline of Bible study. It took the prayers of supporters across the nation.

In a day where some folks built grand shrines to the $10,000 cross, Koinonia Farm was a “demonstration plot” where the gospel of peace could take root and grow. It might have looked like a ragged bunch of simple farmhouse buildings, owned by folks who felt constantly under the foot of oppression. Actually, it was boot camp for people to learn how to herald the Empire of the Divine Son and the gospel of peace. In such places, one learns how to believe in the One for whom domineering power is curiously unattractive, the One whose authority has been always declared by the most seemingly vulnerable, foolish, and ill suited of people.