“Form Follows Function”
Philippians 2:5-11
a sermon preached March 28, 2010
One of my favorite characters in a novel or movie is Howard Roark of Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead. Ironically it was a best-selling novel in 1943. It is ironic not only because it was rejected by 12 publishers but because it is about a character and a subject that flies in the face of everything common and therefore easy. We do not usually like to purchase those things that call us common or point out our flaws so distinctly. But in this bestseller, society is nothing more than herded cattle. The story’s protagonist however, is anything but cattle; he is the archetypal cowboy—though in fact an architect by trade. Howard Roark may seem individualistic or even a loner but being an individual is not his quest. His quest makes him stand out from the crowd. His vision is not only artistic but acutely personal and as such it touches every facet of his brilliant life. He is not afraid to be alone or different or even shunned and misunderstood. But he is concerned about being wrong, or rather, about doing it right. He is certain of his quest and will fulfill it, however modestly society dictates, without wavering.
Howard Roark is an architect who will not recreate things of the past or design so-called modern buildings that are adorned with ancient facades so as to make them acceptable to the public and to critics. He refuses to give the public what it wants and instead gives them what they need, through they do not yet know and may never understand their need. His designs are crisp and true and completely new; they stand out like the drawings of an adult compared to a child. He has no equal and there are few who understand him.
Ayn Rand may indeed have been writing about Frank Lloyd Wright or she may have been writing about an idealized, even romantic notion of what man could be. I like to think she was talking about the model man who had broken free of tradition, the shape of what the human spirit could look like if it became what it was meant to be instead of what it had always been.
With that thought it mind, I would like to shift gears and leave Howard Roark behind us. He is not perfect; far from it. And he would not have us follow him or try to be like him if he even existed. But there was a maxim within the story that made him who he was, that made his building what they were. If we pull that maxim (the title of this sermon) into view, we see another character emerge—one we can and should follow and one who said, “Follow me.” His life was one that stood out, was individual, unparalleled, new, decisive, and passionate. More movies have been made about him, more books written, and more buildings designed than for any other being. Justly so.
What makes Jesus Christ so unusual is not that he is God or man or even God and man. It is not his teachings of themselves or his manner of life or his times. The beauty and the allure of Jesus for me is that the the form of his life followed its function so purely. Yes, Jesus was God and he could have called down 10,000 or so angels to straighten out the human mess by scorching the earth with the fire of divine wrath. But his function on earth urged him to give up his divinity for awhile, and take the form of a servant instead of a god. He could easily have taken the powerful form of any Roman deity and had followers in the millions. But his function was not to mimic the old ways; his task was to lead us into new life. Because his function was so well defined, the form of his life followed.
Jesus did not come to earth to be a good teacher, a moral guide, a lesser deity in a Trinitarian panoply, a political revolutionary, or any of the many molds men have tried to make him fit. Jesus came to be a servant of the Almighty God, one who would lead us back into the company of his Father God. And so, Jesus did not found schools, though tens of thousands of schools have been dedicated to him. He did not publish a rule book though countless books about his teachings have been written. He did not aspire to be God but emptied himself of divinity, though he has been exalted and given a name that will bring every knee low and cause every tongue to confess that he is God.
This is overlooked because of our English translations. The word kurios used here in verse 11 and elsewhere in the New Testament is the same word used in the Old Testament when the penmen were endeavoring to be reverent. In the Septuagint, that great Greek copy of the Old Testament scriptures that was the Apostles’ Bible and even Jesus’, they would not write out the name of God, Yahweh. Instead, they wrote the Greek word Kurios or Kyrios, a word that translates as “Lord” but means “one that exercises supernatural authority over mankind.” Over 5,700 times Kurios is substituted for Yahweh (or more accurately for YHWH). This practice is carried over into the New Testament and is seen here juxtaposed: the idea of Jesus emptying himself of divinity in verse seven and being extolled as God in verse 11. But Jesus did not come here to be a powerful and compelling god.
Jesus could also have set up a new human form of government and demanded civil obedience but he did not because it was not his function, though some like to think that there is at least one form of government that is supposed to be godly. Those whose lives are wrapped up in this pretense of a Christian government are lost to an exercise of futility. One may try to live right and govern rightly but life is not ultimately about either morality of government. Life is about following Jesus. But where? The “where to” is the function that the form of Jesus’ life took shape around.
Everything about Jesus’ life was about showing us the Father, showing us the way to his Father, and finally making a way for us to God our Father. The form of Jesus’ life followed this function with each step of his short life. Were it not so, we would have a world government today that follows Jesus. This is what the devil tempted him with in the wilderness when he said he could have all the kingdoms of the world if he would just bow to Satan’s will instead of his Father’s plan to save us. But Jesus’ life had a function, a purpose, and he would follow it no matter what form that function dictated. Were it not so, we would have a religion of power that serves his needs instead of a way of life that serves the needs of others. This is what the devil tempted him with when he said make these stones become bread. But the form of Jesus’ life shows the way that leads to the Father and not to self. Were it not so, we would have an unreal, Utopian sort of world where nothing can hurt us and nothing ever goes wrong. This is what the devil tempted Jesus with when he said throw yourself off the pinnacle of the Temple and God will have his angels bear you up. But the purpose of Jesus was not to test his Father’s love but to show us that love through a form of life that loved us most completely.
And so Jesus came to die because form follows function in the life of the Savior. Jesus’ life and thus, his death follow the form of God’s love. For no other reason did he die. He did not die for the mob wish. He did not die for the Pax Romana. He did not die to shame us for killing a good man or a moral guide. He died because of a Father’s love. He died because it was his purpose that in dying death would die. And so, for the believer, death is not dying; it is to live forever in the fellowship and love of God.
Have this mind, this attitude, this function in your own life.