After prepared remarks on Friday in the White House briefing room regarding the evacuations from Afghanistan, the President answered several questions by journalists. He said,
One question was whether or not the Afghan forces we trained up would stay and fight in their own civil war they had going on. No one — I shouldn’t say “no one” — the consensus was that it was highly unlikely that in 11 days they’d collapse and fall, and the leader of Afghanistan would flee the country. …But the…overwhelming consensus was that…they were not going to collapse. The Afghan forces, they were not going to leave. They were not going to just abandon and then put down their arms and take off. So, that’s what’s happened.[1]
I’m not going to join the ranks of armchair experts who quickly turned from opining on infectious disease to assessing foreign military strength through the rearview mirror. I heard and read the news like the rest of you, but in my mind it was filtered through the passage from Ephesians we just heard.
“Put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil,” it says there. I have issues with the language of “spiritual warfare,” mainly because too often, in history as well as in our own day, the struggle against “spiritual forces of evil” turned into violent actions against fellow human beings; we children of Adam and Eve are just not very reliable when it comes to differentiating between ideas and the people who hold them. But the language and images of combat are part of our tradition, and so we have to deal with them, even if it’s just to keep them from fulfilling the worst of their potential.
“Put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.” I suspect that the words “armor” and “devil” draw the most attention in this sentence, and both invite all kinds of intriguing associations that can keep our minds occupied for a while. But the word I want to draw your attention to is much humbler, much less likely to tickle the imagination. It’s the word “to stand.” Perhaps some of you learned early in Sunday school about the belt, the breastplate, the shield, the helmet and all the rest; they are memorable, much more memorable than the simple fact that, according to Ephesians 6, all of this gear is meant to help you stand and not fall, or run, or hide. So you would stand tall because you are somebody. So you would stand up and be counted. So you would stand for something worthy. Three times the humble word “to stand” is repeated in this brief passage from Ephesians, so clearly it meant a great deal to the apostle. “Put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. Stand therefore. Stand firm.”
Some scholars compare this passage to a military leader’s speech before the big battle. Most of us may never have heard one in person, but we’ve certainly seen them in movies. The battle speech is geared to fortify and motivate the troops to face the clash with courage, to stand shoulder to shoulder, shield by shield, boot by boot. To hold the line. To move as one.
“To stand firm,” according to Walter Wink, has the sense of drawing up a military formation for combat. And the apostle uses this kind of language to talk about the mission of the church in the world. “Stand firm!” he shouts across the field.
The overwhelming consensus, according to the President, was that the Afghan forces were not going to collapse; that they were not going to leave; that they were not going to just abandon and then put down their arms and take off.
But the assumption may have been that they knew what they were supposed to fight for, and that they thought it was worth putting their lives on the line for it, and that they trusted their leaders. And perhaps all of those assumptions were simply wrong.
In Ephesians, the apostle reminds the church that because of Jesus’ death and resurrection, the whole world, all of creation, is no longer what it used to be; that it has been irreversibly transformed at its core. Because of the cross, the world is no longer in the grip of the forces and powers opposed to God—economic, political, and social forces that can do much good, but somehow, always and everywhere, also contribute to developments that do not serve the flourishing of life. Some might call this the law of unintended consequences, but theologians look at it as sinful human impulses being translated from personal relationships into institutions, systems and structures that in turn shape human beings. And the bold claim made in Ephesians and elsewhere in the New Testament, is that God in Christ has broken the power of these rulers, authorities, cosmic powers, and spiritual forces. God raised Christ from the dead and seated him at the right hand of God in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the age to come.[2] In other words, Jesus, and along with him the love and compassion and the challenging teachings we encounter in him, has been raised far above the human institutions, systems and structures that put him to death, and therefore it is no longer they, but Jesus who determines what becomes of God’s good creation.
“God has made known to us the mystery of his will,” the apostle declares, “according to his good pleasure that he set forth in Christ, as a plan for the fullness of time, to gather up all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth.”[3] All things brought together in Christ, all things brought from fragmentation to wholeness, including a new humanity: where only division, alienation, and hostility have reigned for so long, Christ is our peace.[4] Why then does the author urge us toward the end of the letter to put on the whole armor of God? What is the battle supposed to be about when the war apparently has already been won?
Much of the language in our passage goes back to the prophet Isaiah; it was taken up and further shaped in texts like this one from the book of Wisdom, written just a few decades before Ephesians was composed:
The Lord will take his zeal as his whole armor,
and will arm all creation to repel his enemies;
he will put on righteousness as a breastplate,
and wear impartial justice as a helmet;
he will take holiness as an invincible shield,
and sharpen stern wrath for a sword,
and creation will join with him to fight against his frenzied foes.
Shafts of lightning will fly with true aim,
and will leap from the clouds to the target, as from a well-drawn bow,
and hailstones full of wrath will be hurled as from a catapult;
the water of the sea will rage against them,
and rivers will relentlessly overwhelm them;
a mighty wind will rise against them,
and like a tempest it will winnow them away.[5]
This author envisions the Lord arming all creation to join the fight against his frenzied foes. And this is where an important difference comes to the fore: The author of Ephesians presents us with an image of believers standing as fully armed infantry soldiers, drawing flaming arrows from all sides, and standing firm, holding the line. Brian Peterson writes, “The imagery used here is armor for violent battle; however, the strength advocated is not the might of armies, but the world-reconciling power of God embodied in the cross of Christ.”[6] He makes an important point, but there’s more going on here. The entire armor is defensive: breastplate, helmet, shield. The only offensive piece of equipment is the sword, and it is described as the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. The only weapon believers carry is their proclamation. And what kind of combat boots are given out at the Lord’s arsenal?
“As shoes for your feet put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace.” That is the purpose of the entire campaign: to live and proclaim the world-reconciling power of God embodied in the cross of Christ. Christ has defeated the rulers, powers, and authorities in the heavenly places, but the good news of his victory must still be proclaimed. And “anyone who does so,” writes Pheme Perkins, “can expect to enter the arena against all the personal and social forces that resist transformation by the Word of God.”[7]
The proclamation of a world rooted and grounded in love is offensive to many powers, but stand firm. Hold the line. Dietrich Bonhoeffer stood firm on following Christ and no other. Martin Luther King, Jr. stood firm on nonviolence. Margaret Sanger, the twentieth-century suffragette, stood firm on women’s rights. Nelson Mandela stood firm against apartheid. John Lewis stood firm on voting rights. Oscar Romero stood firm on honoring the dignity of the poor and marginalized. All of them stood firm against injustice.[8] All of them stood firm on love becoming more tangible and real in our life together.
In Ephesians 6:11 we are told to “put on” the whole armor of God so that we may be able to stand firm. That same verb is used earlier in the letter in 4:24, where we are told to clothe ourselves with the new self, created according to the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness. That parallel reminds us that the church’s spiritual armor has little to do with adopting a more bellicose language or attitude. Our spiritual armor is nothing other than living the new life we have been given in Christ, rooted and grounded in the love he has revealed. And to do so even now, during these challenging and confusing times. To stand firm and live each day rooted and grounded in the love of God.
[1] https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/speeches-remarks/2021/08/20/remarks-by-president-biden-on-evacuations-in-afghanistan/
[2] See Ephesians 1:20-21
[3] Ephesians 1:9-10
[4] See Ephesians 2:14-16
[5] Wisdom 5:17-23; see also Isaiah 59:15-19
[6] Brian Peterson https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-21-2/commentary-on-ephesians-610-20-4
[7] Pheme Perkins, Ephesians, NIB, 464.
[8] See Archie Smith, Jr., Feasting, Year B, Vol. 3, 376.