Dwelling in Dissonance: When We Stand in the Crowd
John 19:1–16a
Introduction: Entering the Dissonance
There are moments in life when things feel clear and uncomplicated, when we can quickly say who is right and who is wrong. From a distance it is easy to imagine that we would have acted with courage and conviction. We picture ourselves standing on the right side and refusing to go along with what is wrong. But there are other moments, and these are often the more honest ones, where the lines are not nearly so clear. When we sit with them long enough, we begin to recognize something uncomfortable. We are not entirely innocent, but neither are we entirely guilty. We are not always the ones speaking up, and what we call neutrality may sometimes be closer to complicity. These are difficult places to dwell because they expose a dissonance within us. Under pressure, when fear rises or when the cost becomes real, we are not always who we hoped we would be. And yet it is precisely into that space that John 19 draws us. This passage is not simply a record of what happened to Jesus. It is a mirror held up to the human heart, inviting us to consider not only what others did, but where do we ourselves are standing in the crowd?
Entering the Text: The Scene Unfolds
John tells the passion story in a way that slows everything down, lingering over details as if he does not want us to rush past what is happening. Jesus is no longer teaching or healing. He is being handed over and questioned before the authorities and the crowd. Pilate appears uneasy, caught between his sense that something is not quite right and the pressure he feels from those around him. He declares more than once that he finds no basis for a charge, yet he does not act on that conviction. The soldiers turn Jesus’ suffering into a spectacle. They dress him in a robe, place a crown of thorns on his head, and strike him. The religious leaders press forward with determination. And the crowd gathers. In the midst of all this, Jesus remains largely silent. He receives what is done to him and stands before them as Pilate presents him with the words, “Behold the Man.” That phrase, translated Ecce Homo in the Latin Vulgate, through the centuries has inspired works by artists like Caravaggio and Ciseri. Christians have lingered here, allowing this moment in the passion story to ask them: where are you standing?
The Tension Between Complicity and Innocence
Our instinct is to assign blame. We want to locate the guilt so that we can distance ourselves from it. We might point to Pilate, who had the authority to stop what was happening and chose not to. We might look to the religious leaders and recognize their role in driving the process forward. Or we might focus on the crowd, whose voices rise with the cry, “Crucify him.” And yet, as we look more closely, responsibility is not neatly contained. Pilate hesitates and still gives in. The leaders act with conviction, but their conviction is entangled with fear and self-interest. The soldiers carry out their orders, intensifying the cruelty. The crowd participates in different ways, some shouting, some watching, some uncertain but unwilling to step forward. What emerges is not a simple picture of good and evil divided between clear sides, but a web where the lines between innocence and complicity blur. This is what makes the passage so unsettling, because it resonates with our own experience. We know what it is to be part of systems we did not create, yet not resist. We know what it is to remain silent when speaking would cost us something. It is easy to imagine ourselves as the one who would stand apart from the crowd. It is much harder to admit that we often remain within it, telling ourselves we are not responsible while quietly participating all the same.
The Tension Between Power and Powerlessness
Pilate appears to hold power, yet his actions reveal how constrained he feels by the expectations of the crowd and the consequences of making the wrong decision. The religious leaders seem powerful, yet their urgency reveals anxiety about maintaining control. The soldiers exercise power over Jesus’ body, yet they are part of a larger system. And then there is Jesus, who appears entirely powerless. He is struck, mocked, and moved at the will of others. And yet, when Pilate insists on his authority, Jesus responds, “You would have no power over me if it were not given to you from above.” In that moment, the categories shift. The one who appears powerless is the one who remains grounded and free. Those who appear powerful are shaped by fear and forces they cannot fully control. This challenges our assumptions. We often believe that if we had more power, we would act more faithfully, and when we feel powerless we excuse ourselves. But this passage suggests that both can become places where fear shapes our decisions, where we either cling to control or retreat into passivity, drifting from the way of Jesus.
The Tension Between The Crowd and the Christ
As the scene continues, the lens pulls back to the crowd. Some voices rise loudly, calling for Jesus’ death, while others remain silent, troubled, or uncertain. As so often happens, it is the loudest voices that carry the moment. The cry, “We have no king but Caesar,” reveals how far things have shifted. For a people shaped by the conviction that God alone is king, this is not simply a compromise but a reversal.
As we linger here, we recognize something of ourselves. There are moments when we are drawn toward the louder voices, defined more by what we oppose than by what we are for. And there are moments when we step back into silence, convincing ourselves it is not our place to speak, even when we sense something is not right. What lies beneath both responses is often the same force, the fear of what it might cost us. And so the question is not only whether we would have shouted “Crucify him,” but whether we can recognize how fear continues to shape our participation in the world around us.
The Gospel Beneath the Story
If we are honest about where we stand, this exposes something deeper. The issue is not simply making better choices or trying harder to be courageous. The deeper issue lies within the human heart, where fear, self-protection, and the desire for control shape how we respond. If the call is simply to be more like Jesus, we are left with an example we cannot live up to. But the gospel offers more than an example. It offers hope. Jesus does not stand apart from the brokenness of the world. He enters fully into it. He allows himself to be handed over, misunderstood, rejected, and condemned. He stands where all the threads of human failure converge, and he bears the weight of it without turning away.
In doing so, he reveals a love that meets us not in our innocence, but in our complicity. Our hope does not rest on our ability to step out of the crowd on our own, but on the reality that Christ has entered that very space and is transforming us from within.
Conclusion: Dwelling in the Dissonance
We are not called to resolve these tensions quickly or pretend they do not exist. We are invited to dwell within them, to become a people who are honest about our own complicity, attentive to the suffering around us, and committed to following Christ in the midst of a complex world. And as we do, we trust that we are not alone. The One who once stood silently before Pilate still stands with us, guiding us and shaping us. And to trust that even here, in the dissonance, Christ is present with us and his peace surrounds us.
Renew: We All Have Different Gifts
Introduction: The Gift That Was Not a Gift
Have you ever gotten a gift you could not wait to open, because you just had to know what was inside? We just had Christmas, and it took me back to when I was a child at my grandparents’ house. There were presents everywhere, and one in particular was from my Uncle Dan. Now, what I can tell you about my uncle is that he’s a jokester. I picked up the present from him, and it was incredibly light—so light it felt like there was almost nothing in it. I remember thinking, What is it? Is there a card in here? Is there money? Of course, the kids were anxious: When are we opening presents? When is it time? And then finally it was time. I ripped the wrapping paper open and inside… was nothing. At first, I was confused. Maybe it slipped out? But no. With his quirky sense of humour, my uncle decided his present to me was going to be “a surprise”: a box with nothing in it. I think I did get another gift from him that was real, but I still call that the gift that was not a gift. And if we’re honest, I think there are moments in life when we can feel a little bit like that ourselves. We look at other people in the church, or our church looks at another church down the road—and we quietly wonder: Do I have anything to offer? Did I get nothing? Do we have anything meaningful to contribute? Those questions don’t only show up once. They show up at different stages of life, but in different forms.
The Human Journey: From Trying Everything to Staying Safe
When we’re kids, we’ll seemingly try almost anything. There’s an innocent joy in it because we’re not afraid of not knowing what we’re doing. We just jump in. At our house, we have a drum kit in the garage. My boys will say, “Dad, teach me how to play.” Now, I’ve never taught drums before, but everybody knows the jingle to George of the Jungle, right? So we get going: dun dun dun dun dun… And after about my one-minute drum lesson, four boys can make a racket for a couple of hours! There’s a lot of banging and not very much music—but there is joy. Because when you’re young, you’re not embarrassed by being a beginner. And that ability to learn when you’re young—that’s a gift. Over time, it can mature into competence, proficiency, even excellence. But then we move into adolescence, and something changes. Suddenly, we’re very aware that other eyes are on us. The freedom to look foolish starts to disappear. If I brought a drum kit up and said, “Who wants to learn in front of everyone?” most of us wouldn’t jump up with confidence. We might tap the stick a couple of times and say, “Pastor, that’s enough for me.” And then, as adults, many of us settle into what I call the zone of competence. We learn what we do well, and we stay there because it’s safe. We don’t want to take risks. We don’t want to look foolish. This reminds me of a scene from the movie Hitch. There’s an accountant who’s getting ready for his first date with the girl of his dreams, and they’re supposed to go dancing. He doesn’t know how to dance at all—he’s doing strange stuff, trying to impress. And his dating coach finally says, in effect: “Stop trying so hard. Just stay “in the pocket”. Just sway. Don’t go crazy.” And honestly, that’s how a lot of us live as adults. Stay safe. Stick with what we know. But if you live long enough, another shift comes. Capacity changes. Health challenges come. Energy ebbs and flows. Things that used to be easy require more effort, take more time, or might not even be possible anymore. And then a new version of the same question surfaces: Do I still have value even if I can’t do what I used to do?
The Core Truth: Gifts Are Given by Grace
This is where Romans 12 speaks with such clarity. Paul writes: “We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us” (Romans 12:6). Paul doesn’t say we have different gifts according to our personality, although our personality plays a role in how our gifts express themselves. He doesn’t say we have gifts according to our education, although education can sharpen some gifts. He doesn’t say we have gifts according to our stage of life. He says we have gifts according to grace. Which means wherever I am today—however different today is from the past—God has placed something into my hands as a gift of grace. It’s not earned. It’s not something I achieved. It is given. And that means that whatever we have, it is not nothing. So the question isn’t whether I have something to offer. The question is whether I will place what God has given me before him.
A Picture of Many Gifts: Not a Spreadsheet, but a Body
When Paul lists gifts in Romans 12:6–8, he isn’t trying to give me a spreadsheet of every possible spiritual gift that exists. He lists seven gifts here, but the point isn’t that this is the complete list. The point is that the body of Christ has a diversity of gifts, and those gifts are meant to strengthen the whole church.
So whatever God has placed in my hands, the call is to use it for the good of the body:
- Prophecy is speaking God’s truth with courage and clarity.
- Service is meeting real needs with practical love.
- Teaching is helping people understand and apply God’s Word.
- Encouragement is strengthening hearts that are weary or afraid.
- Giving is sharing resources with an open hand and pure motives.
- Leadership is guiding people with vision and responsibility.
- Mercy is moving toward suffering with compassion.
And the beauty is that no one person carries all the gifts. That’s by design. The point isn’t that I have every gift. The point is, as we discussed last week, that the body has what it needs.
Gratitude for a Congregation’s Gift of Service
One of the things I’ve learned over the past year at First Mennonite is that our congregation has a remarkable gift of service. As I’ve gotten to know our people, I’ve been blown away by how many have spent significant time—months and in some cases years of their life—serving others in practical ways: doing missions overseas in places like Africa and Asia, doing voluntary service with the urban poor in Chicago, serving in education on an Indigenous reserve in the southern United States. Those practical expressions live out something deeply Christlike. They are not flashy gifts. They are not “stage” gifts. But they are profound gifts. They show what it looks like to follow Jesus with hands and feet.
The Invitation: Don’t Despise, Don’t Overlook, Don’t Refuse
As we move through different phases of life, we have an ongoing opportunity to keep offering our gifts back to God—whatever they look like now. Instead of leading, I might need to learn how to follow. Instead of always serving, I might need to be willing to receive the service of others. Instead of being the one who shows mercy, I might need to let someone show mercy to me. Receiving from Christ through the gifts of someone else is not weakness. It is the body of Christ functioning the way it was designed to function. Jesus washed his disciples’ feet. Love is not only something I give—it is something I receive.
So here’s the invitation I want to leave with you: don’t despise the gifts God has blessed you with. Don’t overlook the gifts God has blessed others with. And don’t refuse to allow God to serve you through the gifts of someone else. Because together, we belong to one body, and together we can serve one another as we walk with Jesus and become more and more like him each day. Amen.
Renew: We Belong to One Another
January 18th, 2026
Introduction: Two Patterns, Two Kingdoms
Romans 12:2 sets a clear contrast before us: on the one hand, there is “the pattern of this world.” On the other hand, there is the kingdom of Jesus. And one of the clearest signs that my mind is being renewed is this: the kingdom of Jesus is marked by humility. So, when I am growing in humility, I am leaning into Jesus kingdom. Let’s take some time to consider what humility is and is not.
1) Humility is not thinking of yourself more highly than you ought
Paul warns us against the kind of pride that quietly convinces me I’m more important than I really am. Pride is especially dangerous because it can make a person blind to reality. Have you heard the story of MacArthur Wheeler? He is a great example of this. One day, he and his friend Clifton Earl Johnson got it into their heads that lemon juice could make a person invisible to security cameras, sort of like invisible ink. So Wheeler rubbed lemon juice all over his face and took a Polaroid photo to “test” if it would work. But the photo didn’t develop properly, and when it came out, his face wasn’t visible. He took that as proof: “It works!” With that “evidence” in hand, they went out and robbed two banks in the Philadelphia area, genuinely confident the cameras wouldn’t record them—only to be arrested shortly afterward, because, as you know, lemon juice does not make anyone invisible.
It’s funny to laugh at the absurdity of their actions, but the pattern of this world tempts me to overestimate myself too: to assume that if I feel sure, I must be right; if I feel important, I must be the center. But renewal produces a different posture. Humility says, “Lord, I’m not the measure of all things. I’m a creature, not the Creator.” It’s not thinking less of myself; it’s thinking of oneself accurately, with sober judgment.
2) Humility is recognizing the gifts God has blessed others with
Romans 12 reminds us that one body has many members, and not every member has the same function. A renewed mind can celebrate gifts that are not my own. Whereas pride feels threatened by someone else’s strength. Humility can honestly say, “That’s not my gift—but I’m grateful God gave it to you.”
Back in December, I stopped by at Life Restoration Church’s Christmas outreach (the Nigerian congregation that meets in our building Sunday afternoons) and saw the joy they had during their time together—right down to that giant Christmas tree cake that seemed taller than some of the children. I remember thinking: “These folks know how to have fun!” And that is not a trivial thing. Joy and welcome are gifts God uses to open hearts to the gospel.
Humility recognizes: God has blessed others with gifts I may not have, and I don’t need to feel diminished by that. The point is not that I have every gift; rather the point is that the body has what it needs.
3) Humility is recognizing that in Christ we belong to one another
Romans 12:5 brings it home: “in Christ… we form one body, and each member belongs to all the others.” For years, I mostly heard Romans 12 applied to individuals within a single local church, but I’ve come to see something larger, too: local congregations—though many—belong to the one body of Christ. Unity is the work of the Holy Spirit, and humility sounds like this: “Your church is not my competitor. Your success is not my threat. Your need is not my inconvenience. In Christ, we belong to one another.”
Conclusion: The “God Factor” in Our Unity
When I started pastoring at First Mennonite Church last year, I noticed that our facility had surplus capacity, and I prayed for wisdom, asking the Lord to make clear what we should do. But I didn’t tell anyone, as some things belong in the prayer closet.
Then one day at the office, I received a phone call from a strange man, named Pastor Kingsely, who had a church that had been renting space but was now looking for a new place to gather for worship. Then, as the Church Council, we brought this request to our congregation, and we found minutes from a congregational meeting back in the summer of 2024 where there had been a directive to search for a congregation to share our worship space with—even though follow up to find another congregation had taken place.
Three different moments: each “in Christ” overseen by a God who orders the details of our lives! Pastor Kingsley later told me that when he found out Life Restoration would need a new gathering place, many people were asking, “Where are we going to gather?” But he committed it to prayer, trusting the Lord would provide.
One day, he saw our brick building in the neighbourhood, thought, “I’m not familiar with Mennonites,” but felt prompted by the Holy Spirit to call and inquire. Months later, after everything had been approved by our congregation and they had been worshipping in our building for some time, I asked Pastor Kingsley, “How many places did you call before you called us?” He said, “Just one.” Wow—the Lord saw each of our needs and answered our prayers by bringing us together.
There are moments like this where you realize that belonging to one another is something we get to participate in, but “in Christ” also means there is a God factor at work, a unity Jesus creates that we cannot manufacture. Today,
Bringing Our Needs to the Lord in Prayer
You might be facing challenges that feel overwhelming. You might be praying prayers that feel unanswered. I want to affirm for you today that we serve a God who knows exactly what you are facing, and who has the power—sometimes through one phone call, one conversation, one providential moment—to meet the need of his people.
So let’s believe that together today. Let’s resist the pattern of this world because the kingdom of Jesus is marked by humility: not thinking of ourselves more highly than we ought, but instead recognizing the gifts God has blessed others with, and living as people who truly belong to one another in Christ.
Let us pray: Lord Jesus, renew our minds. Conform us into the image of Christ. Make us one. Amen.
