Sermon – Power in Empire versus Witness of God

(I preached this sermon at Christ Lutheran Church in Harrisburg, PA on Sunday, March 8, 2026. It was in response to John 18:12-27)

Today’s scripture takes place in two places at the same time.

Inside a house, Jesus is being interrogated. Outside in the courtyard, Peter is standing by a fire trying not to be noticed.

Inside, Jesus stands before Annas, part of the powerful priestly family connected to Caiaphas. Outside, Peter stands in the cold.

Inside, Jesus is questioned by powerful religious authorities. Outside, Peter is questioned by servants and guards.

And the contrast between these two scenes could not be sharper.

Jesus is calm. Peter is afraid.

Jesus speaks openly. Peter denies even knowing him.

Jesus tells the truth even when it costs him. Peter tries to protect himself.

It is a deeply human story.

Because if we are honest, we recognize Peter.

Earlier that night Peter had tried to defend Jesus. When soldiers came to arrest him, Peter drew a sword.  He cut the ear off the temple slave.  

Violence felt courageous in that moment. But now the sword is gone.

Now Peter stands in the dark with nothing but his voice. And suddenly courage becomes much harder.

Because it is easy to fight. It is easy to kill.

It is much harder to stand vulnerable and unarmed.

It is easy to create enemies. It is easy to divide the world into “us” and “them.” Because once someone becomes “them,” cruelty becomes easier. Dehumanization makes violence simple.

But it is far more difficult to look at someone you fear or despise and see the image of God in them. It is harder still to recognize something even more unsettling: that the same capacity for violence and cruelty that we condemn in others also lives inside us.

Peter discovers something about himself that night. Fear is powerful.

But something deeper is happening here than Peter’s fear.

This moment is a clash between two very different ways of organizing the world.

One is what the Bible often calls empire. The other is the kingdom of God that Jesus embodies.

When we hear the word empire, we might think of political powers like the Roman Empire, which ruled the world in Jesus’ time through military force and conquest.

But in the Bible, empire is more than a government. Empire is a worldview.

Empire has its own creed. Three beliefs sit at the center of it.

The first belief is this: Might makes right.

This is not simply the idea that power determines truth. It is the belief that truth does not matter if you can force compliance. Power becomes the ability to make people obey. Truth becomes whatever those in power say it is.

The second belief is this: Only the strong survive.

Compassion is dismissed as weakness. Vulnerability is treated like failure. But beneath this belief is something deeper. It is the illusion that strength can defeat inevitability. That if you gather enough power, enough wealth, enough weapons, you can outrun aging. You can outrun decline. You can outrun death itself.

Empire is built on the quiet terror that death gets the final word. And so, empire tries to use death to its own advantage.

The third belief is this: The ends justify the means.

Once that belief takes hold, everything becomes disposable. Truth becomes disposable. Reason becomes disposable. People become disposable. Entire communities become disposable.

Anything that stands in the way of power can be sacrificed. Because in the creed of empire, the goal is always control.

Empires rely on three fragile things. Control. Fear. And compliance.

But that system is far more fragile than it appears.

Empire is a little bit like the man behind the curtain in Wizard of Oz.

A loud voice. Flashing lights. Smoke. A frightening image meant to intimidate everyone watching.

But when the curtain is pulled back, the whole thing turns out to be a fragile illusion. A performance. A fraud that depends on people believing the spectacle.

Because the moment people stop believing the illusion, the power begins to crumble.

And that brings us to something we need to name honestly today.

There is a movement in our own time that tries to wrap empire in the language of faith. It is called Christian nationalism.

Christian nationalism claims to defend Christianity. But what it actually does is try to turn Christianity into a tool of political domination. It attempts to force compliance. It tries to merge the cross with state power. And when that happens, the gospel becomes distorted.

Christian nationalism is not simply another political ideology. It is a theological problem. It is a heresy. It is blasphemy. Because it replaces the crucified Christ with the idol of power.

And like every empire before it, it is dangerous. It is destructive. And ultimately, it will fail.

That, strangely enough, is part of the good news. Because every empire eventually collapses.

But the kingdom of God keeps rising.

Now notice something else remarkable in the story.

Jesus is not alone.

When the high priest questions him, Jesus says something surprising.

“I have spoken openly to the world.” “I have taught in synagogues and in the temple.” “I have said nothing in secret.” “Ask those who heard me.”

Ask the witnesses.

In other words, the truth of Jesus’ life already lives in other people. The truth is carried by witnesses. And that is still true today.

We are those witnesses. We have stories to tell about where we have seen Christ at work. Right here. In this neighborhood.  At Christ Lutheran Church.

Because the love that Jesus embodies is not just persistent love. It is the embodied love of God. It is stubborn. It is uncompromising.

God’s love does not disappear when things become difficult. It shows up even more clearly in the hardest moments. In all its vulnerability. In all its courage.

God’s love is what changes people. God’s love is what changes communities. God’s love is what changes systems.

And throughout history, that love has brought down empires.

You can see it in 1989 during the Tiananmen Square protests, when a man stood in front of a line of tanks carrying nothing but shopping bags.

You can see it when civil rights marchers crossed the Edmund Pettus Bridge 61 years ago yesterday and faced violence without returning violence. That witness helped lead to the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

You can see it right here in Allison Hill.

Just this week at our clinic, nurses worked with a young woman going through detox. They stayed with her. They helped her. And they were able to get her into a rehabilitation program so she could begin again.

That is the love of Christ. Not domination. Not cruelty. But stubbornly faithful love.

And there is one more piece of good news in this story.

Peter fails. Three times he denies Jesus.

Fear wins that night. But that is not the end of Peter’s story.

Because the grace of Jesus is stronger than human failure.

Later in the Gospel of John, beside another charcoal fire, Jesus will look at Peter and ask him three questions. “Do you love me?” Three times Peter answers. Three times Jesus restores him.

Failure is real. But failure is not final.

And that matters because every character in this story lives somewhere inside us.

We all carry a little bit of Annas. The desire to control.

We all carry a little bit of the guard. The instinct to strike when we feel threatened.

We all carry a little bit of Peter. Faith mixed with fear. Courage mixed with cowardice.

But because of Christ, something else lives in us too. The courage of Jesus. The courage to tell the truth. The courage to refuse cruelty. The courage to believe another world is possible.

And that courage does not come from pretending the world is fine. It comes from seeing the world as it really is and still choosing love.

When the world tells you that cruelty is normal…

remember this:

Cruelty has never had the final word.

When the world tells you that fear must rule…

remember this:

Fear has never built the kingdom of God.

When the world tells you that love is too weak to change anything…

remember this:

Love has already outlived every empire.

The Roman Empire looked permanent. It fell.

Segregation looked permanent. It fell.

Every empire believes it will last forever. Every single one eventually collapses.

But the kingdom of God keeps rising.

Quietly. Patiently. Through witnesses. Through ordinary people. Through communities like this one. Right here in Allison Hill.

The truth does not need violence to survive.

The truth only needs witnesses.

And by the grace of God—

the world still has them.

And some of them are sitting right here.

Thanks be to God.