The Cross And The Empire

“Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself…” — Philippians 2:5-7

“Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect.” — Mark Twain.

Many years ago, I had the chance to visit the Colosseum in Rome and to take a guided tour of the spectacular ruins that remain.  

I was struck by how small it was in comparison to the modern versions that exist in nearly every major city in the U.S.  for college and professional sports teams.  But even so, it wasn't hard to imagine how large it loomed in Roman life. 

The guide discussed the games held at the Colosseum in ancient times — violent, extravagant, and bloodthirsty.  She mentioned that for a time, many Christians were executed there, fed to wild beasts, slaughtered by gladiators, and died horribly at the hands of the Empire. 

At one point, we stood in front of a large cross that had been hung inside the Colosseum, placed there by Pope John Paul II as a memorial to all the Christian martyrs who had died for their faith. 

As I stood in front of that cross, I thought about how none of those martyrs could have ever imagined in their last terrifying moments that one day the very symbol of the Christian faith would be erected in that place.  

Sadly, once Christianity became the religion of the Empire, it didn't take long before it was co-opted into the aims of the Empire, which would later result in new forms of resistance from the Reformation to German Christians who defied the Nazis, and even down to our own time.  

Every generation must decide how it will use its power. The world teaches us to grasp it, defend it, wield it for our own advantage. But the way of Jesus subverts that instinct entirely. At the very heart of our faith stands not a throne, but a cross.

The Cross exposes the emptiness of empire—the systems, both ancient and modern, that promise safety through domination, greatness through exclusion, victory through fear. 

Rome believed it could maintain order through military and political power, that violence could silence dissent, and that money could buy allegiances.  It used the symbol of a cross to strike fear in the hearts of those who would resist the aims of the Empire.  It did its best to co-opt religious leaders to do its bidding.  

But the cross of Christ became the moment where the empire’s logic unraveled. Love absorbed the worst the world could give—and rose again.

To follow Jesus in the shadow of empire is to choose humility over image, mercy over control. It is to measure success not by how many obey us, but by how many we serve. It means resisting the seductive pull to baptize power with religious language, as though influence were the same thing as faithfulness.

When the Church forgets this, it becomes just another empire with different trappings.  But when we remember, we rediscover the radical center of the gospel—that God’s victory came through surrender, not supremacy.

Jesus’ kingdom doesn’t advance through force. It moves quietly through compassion, justice, and truth-telling. It is built not by those who win but by those who love, even when love costs them something.

To stand at the foot of the cross is to see the world as it really is—and to glimpse the world as it could be.

Prayer:
Crucified Christ,
teach us to see through the illusions of power.
Keep us near the cross,
where victory looks like love and strength looks like surrender.
Give us the courage to follow You into humility,
and the wisdom to trust that Your kingdom still comes.
Amen.

Reflection Questions:

1. Where do you see “empire thinking” shaping faith or community today?

2. How might humility become a form of resistance to the world’s power games?

3. What does it mean for you personally to stand at the foot of the cross?