In the Spring of 1967 a new ride opened at Disneyland in California. Guests would enter a darkened entryway, passing through a turnstile, before stepping onto a small boat rowed with benches. The ride would take riders through the adventurous and treacherous world of The Pirates of the Caribbean. Nearly forty years later, this attraction was put on the big screen with the opening of the film The Pirates of the Caribbean, which showcased the pirate captain Jack Sparrow as the protagonist. Jack Sparrow is an eccentric, wild, sword-fighting character. He is a character that is based on a type or genre of characters in books and movies called the “swashbuckler.”
A swashbuckler is a genre of European adventure literature that focuses on a heroic protagonist stock character who is skilled in swordplay, acrobatics, guile and chivalrous ideals. A ‘swashbuckler’ protagonist is heroic, daring, and idealistic: he rescues damsels in distress, protects the downtrodden, and uses duels to defend his honor or that of a lady or to avenge a comrade. Swashbucklers would often engage in daring and romantic adventures with bravado or flamboyance. His opponent is typically characterized as a dastardly villain. While the hero may face down a number of henchmen to the villain during a story, the climax is a dramatic one-on-one sword battle between the protagonist and the villain.
Or, more simply, a swashbuckler is “a swaggering swordsman, soldier, or adventurer; daredevil.”
Here’s why I bring this up: I think we can tend to have a swashbuckling sense of Christian discipleship, ministry, and mission. We have a sense of fighting a heroic, noble battle. And if not, we may still envision the Christian mission as a battle and a fight such we might even settle for a vision not of a swashbuckler but of a bruiser, a hit man, a brawler, an unrefined fighter who’s willing to punch someone’s lights out. In other words, we can default to a posture like Peter. When Judas thought to destroy Jesus for a sack of silver, he came with a posse of Roman and Jewish leaders. While Judas thought he would destroy Jesus for the sack of silver, Peter thought he would defend Jesus with the sword.
Then Simon Peter, who had a sword, drew it, struck the high priest’s servant, and cut off his right ear. (The servant’s name was Malchus.) At that, Jesus said to Peter, “Put your sword away! Am I not to drink the cup the Father has given me?” (John 18:10-11)
I think those who want to be faithful to Jesus are always tempted to grab the sword to defend him. In other words, we try to do the Lord’s work in the world’s way. So in light of that temptation, I want to talk about some ways we’re tempted to grab the sword, what happens when we do, and then consider what it means to put the sword away.
We’re Often Tempted to Grab the Sword
We’re often tempted toward a swashbuckling or aggressive Christianity, in which we try to get stuff done for Jesus in ways that actually betray the witness of Jesus. We value action over consideration. We think work matters more than worship. I think we see this in Luke’s account of this story:
While he was still speaking, suddenly a mob came, and one of the Twelve named Judas was leading them. He came near Jesus to kiss him, but Jesus said to him, “Judas, are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?” When those around him saw what was going to happen, they asked, “Lord, should we strike with the sword?” Then one of them struck the high priest’s servant and cut off his right ear.
(Luke 22:47-50)
They ask the Lord, as they should have done, but they didn’t wait for an answer. They assumed they knew the mind of Christ, but they actually opposed his purpose. We can do this. We can pray and then not wait for the answer. We assume working is more important and effective than waiting. We value being assertive and proactive. My sense is, though, that we will get to heaven and grab some coffee with Christians through the ages, and they will pat our hands, saying, “Oh bless your little hearts, you American Christians, always thinking you can plan and produce and strategize so much.”
In his wonderful classic piece, “The Lord’s Work in the Lord’s Way,” Francis Schaeffer says:
Under the leadership of Moses and Joshua, the Jews marched when the ark marched and they stood still when the ark stood still. They did not rush ahead if God did not order the ark (which represented Himself) to be moved. Sometimes they stayed in one place for long periods. We Christians, individually and corporately, must learn to wait like this. Tongues of fire are not for us if we are so busy doing the clever thing that we never wait quietly to find out whether the ark of the Lord has gone ahead or stayed.
Too often though we want the sword of the crown instead of the shackles leading to the cross. We’re often tempted to grab the sword, to get our stuff done, to make something of ourselves.
Some Ways We’re Tempted to Grab the Sword
There are as many temptations to grab the sword and do the Lord’s work in the world’s way as there are things to do.
In politics, we’re tempted toward partisanship and choosing the lesser of two evils rather than refusing to choose evil at all.
In culture, we’re tempted to cling tightly to power and privilege and only stand with the marginalized insofar as it doesn’t threaten those things.
In finances, we’re tempted to focus on accruing wealth and assets rather than on generosity and giving away what God has entrusted to us. We think that there’s no way we can tithe 10% of our total income and still have the margin to live our best life.
In family, instead of consecrating our kids, we’re tempted to either ignore our kids for the sake of our own success or to idolize our kids for the sake of their success. We’re tempted to want them to be healthy and wealthy, but to ignore the cultivating of godliness, virtue, and wisdom.
In ministry, we’re tempted to assume that the Lord’s will is “bigger, better, faster, more,” when it might actually be smaller, humbler, slower, less.
Schaeffer continues, evocatively:
Imagine the Devil or a demon entering your room right now. You have a sword by your side; so when you see him you rush at him and stab him. But the sword passes straight through and doesn’t faze him! The most awesome modern weapon you could think of could not destroy him. Whenever we do the Lord’s work in the flesh, our strokes “pass right through” because we do not battle earthly forces; the battle is spiritual and requires spiritual weapons.
Peter had a good goal and a good motive. He wanted to defend Jesus. But he didn’t understand Jesus’s purpose or Jesus’s pathway to get to that purpose. Grabbing the sword often pursues a good goal with good motives, but in the wrong way. Grabbing the sword leads to unintended consequences. Grabbing the sword denies the power of God. Grabbing the sword ignores the dark chapters in the gospel-story. Grabbing the sword hurts real people with real names (“the servant’s name was Malchus”).
Thankfully Jesus can and does redeem our failures when we grab the sword. “But Jesus responded, ‘No more of this!’ And touching his ear, he healed him” (Luke 22:51). Like I heard it said recently, “When Jesus put a call on your life he already took your stupidity into account.”
How should we put away the sword?
I think the means of grace God has embedded into the Christian life are the solution to the problems of swashbuckling Christianity. Word and sacrament, or, as we say at our church, wholehearted worship, authentic community, and joyful mission. When we’re humbled in worship, we tend to find the limits of our own swashbuckling tendencies. Swashbuckling tends to dissolve when we’re united in community with people who are different than we are (we talk at our church about a community of people who are old and young, black and white and brown, rich and poor and middle-class, Republican and Democrat and Independent).
Swashbuckling Christianity must give way to cross-bearing Christianity
We need to lay down the sword so that we can take up the cross.
We need to lay down the sword of the world so that we can take up the sword of the Word.
One of the great recent story arcs of a movement from a swashbuckling persona to a self-sacrificing servant of others is Iron Man in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. The selfish Tony Stark develops from the first Iron Man movie in 2008 to a true servant of the world in the last Avengers movie in 2019. His trademark swagger, “I am Iron Man,” gets turned on his head as the mad Titan Thanos attempts to snap half the universe to ash with the six Infinity Stones in his massive gauntlet.
“I am inevitable,” Thanos boasts to Tony Stark with a snap in the climactic final battle.
But the snap is nothing but a clink. The camera pans back to Tony, who holds up his hand with a gauntlet of his own, bejeweled with all six Infinity Stones.
“And I…”—Tony gasps from his exposed and bloodied face—“am… Iron Man.”
He snaps and he saves the universe, but the cost is his own life, his swashbuckling selfishness having given way to self-sacrifice.
So also, the way of the cross, the way of Jesus, isn’t defined primarily by its willingness to win (for self or for others) but to lose for others. To die so that they might live. To put your life on the altar.
Put down the sword. Pick up the cross.