Flannel Graphs, Bunnies, Peeps, and Corpses
I can still remember the pictures that my Sunday School teacher put on the flannel graph on Easter Sunday. We watched with delight as she stuck a donkey to the fabric. Then she placed Jesus on the donkey to ride into Jerusalem. She lined his path with leafy branches and cloaks reminding us how the people shouted “Hosanna!” as Jesus rode into Jerusalem as the king. The scene quickly changed as she cleared the canvas and stuck three crosses to the board to teach us about Jesus’s death. Finally, she dazzled our imaginations as she put an image of a tomb with a large stone covering it before rolling away the stone to reveal that the tomb was empty. Jesus had risen from the dead.
I’m thankful for those Sunday School classes. It is not insignificant than I can remember the Easter lessons to this day. There are, however, some lessons I don’t remember. I don’t remember the flannel graph lesson depicting the Jesus of Psalm 110. I don’t remember the images of king Jesus crushing his enemies under his feet (Ps. 110:1). I don’t remember the teacher pointing to the graph and saying, “Now children, these corpses are the dead bodies that will fill the nations when Jesus comes to conquer them as a warrior priest-king. Now go have your cookie and be sure to tell your parents what you learned today.” I don’t remember those lessons because they never happened. Sunday school curriculum writers didn’t want to make children tremble.
Yet Easter is a bit of a terrifying holiday if we are honest. Instead of recognizing Easter for what it is, our secular culture turns our gaze away from a bloody cross and empty tomb and offers us chocolate eggs, cute little bunnies, and disgustingly sweet Peeps as an alternative. Apparently, the true meaning of Easter is not as marketable to children as candy is—even if I am still confused about why anyone would want Peeps. Easter is about death and resurrection. Jesus the Messiah was stapled to a Roman cross after being scourged by a Roman whip and impaled by a crown of thorns. Covered in blood from head to toe, stripped naked, and nailed to a cross, Jesus was not a pretty sight to see. The cross was horrifying. Parents would have turned their children’s faces away, and understandably so. But it isn’t just the cross that is terrifying. The resurrection can be too, depending on one’s relation to the empty tomb. A man who has conquered death and claims Lordship over heaven and earth cannot be ignored. Trust him and receive the joy of living under his righteous rule in an eternal kingdom. Oppose him and face the coming day of his wrath.
The Hope of a Warrior Priest-King
An Old Testament text like Psalm 110 gives us a more biblically robust understanding of Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Psalm 110 is about the triumph of the Davidic Messiah. He is a king whom Yahweh appoints to the highest throne in the universe. He will sit at God’s right hand mediating God’s power and authority over the earth until Yahweh makes all his enemies a footstool for his feet (Ps. 110:1). This Messiah not only holds the office of kingship, but he also receives a permanent priesthood after the order of Melchizedek (Ps. 110:4). Melchizedek was the ancient priest-king of Salem (later identified with Jerusalem, cf. Ps. 76:2) who brought Abram bread and wine after Abram’s victory over a coalition of kings (Gen. 14:18). He blessed Abram and Abram’s God as “God Most High.” Melchizedek recognized that Abram’s military success belonged ultimately to God. It was God who fought for Abram, delivering Abram’s enemies into his hand (Gen. 14:19–20).
Reflecting on Genesis 14, David realized that Abram’s military success over kings of the earth and Melchizedek’s priestly ministry would come together in the Messiah, David’s greater Son. Psalm 110 anticipates a priest-king from Jerusalem who will lead a holy war against God’s enemies (Ps. 110:2–3). He will shatter kings on the day of his wrath and fill the nations with corpses (Ps. 110:5–6). He will conquer spiritual forces of evil as he shatters “the head”—an allusion to the serpent-crushing promise of Genesis 3:15—over the broad earth (Ps. 110:6; the ESV translates the word as “chiefs”). He will bless the children of Abraham as a priest after the order of Melchizedek (Ps. 110:4).
Psalm 110 and Holy Week
What does a Melchizedekian priesthood and the Messiah’s holy war have to do with good Friday and Easter Sunday? Jesus appealed to Psalm 110:1 twice during holy week (Mk. 12:36; 14:62). After riding into Jerusalem on a donkey as the Son of David (Mk. 11:9–10), cleansing the temple (Mk. 11:15–19), and refuting the religious authorities (Mk. 11:27–12:34), Jesus confounded his opponents by appealing to Psalm 110:
And as Jesus taught in the temple, he said, “How can the scribes say that the Christ is the son of David? David himself, in the Holy Spirit, declared, “‘The Lord said to my Lord, “Sit at my right hand, until I put your enemies under your feet.”’ David himself calls him Lord. So how is he his son?” And the great throng heard him gladly. (Mk. 12:35–37)
Clearly the Messiah would not be just another king in the line of Davidic kings. He would not be another Solomon, for something greater than Solomon is here (Matt. 12:42). Jesus’s use of Psalm 110:1 in the confines of the temple is a statement about his own identity. He is the priest-king who will rule the nations. He is David’s greater Son and David’s Lord. Indeed, what was hidden from the religious authorities is clear to the reader at this point in the narrative: David’s Son and David’s Lord is David’s God.
Jesus’s appeal to Psalm 110:1 made the great throng hear him gladly, but it also made others mad. In fact, it was Jesus’s self-referential use of Psalm 110 at his trial that sealed his fate. The chief priests, elders, and scribes concocted a kangaroo court (Mark 14:53–65). They brought Jesus before the high priest to sentence him. The irony of course is that Jesus is the true high priest even though he is the one in the dock. After false accusations failed to stick, the high priest asked Jesus plainly, “Are you the Son of the Blessed?” Jesus’s answer is nothing short of breathtaking: “I am, and you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power, and coming in the clouds of heaven” (Mark 14:62).
In an economy of words, Jesus brought together two major Old Testament messianic texts: Psalm 110 and Daniel 7. Both texts refer to a human figure who receives power to reign over the nations as God’s vicegerent. In Psalm 110:1, the Davidic king enters God’s throne room to take his seat next to Yahweh—this is the very “right hand of Power” in Mark 14:62. In Daniel 7, Daniel sees one like the Son of Man who ascends in a cloud to heaven to receive dominion and glory and a kingdom that will never fade away (Dan. 7:13–14). While some interpreters see Jesus’s answer to the high priest as a reference to his second coming, Psalm 110:1 and Daniel 7:13–14 are not about the Messiah’s descent to earth, but his ascent to God’s throne room. Jesus, in other words, appealed to Psalm 110:1 and Daniel 7 to establish his Messiahship and point to the coming day of his enthronement in heaven. What we learn in the rest of the passion narrative is that the path to glory is by way of the cross. The true priest must first offer a sacrifice. Death first, then resurrection, then ascension. The verdict of Jesus’s trial is clear for those who have eyes to see: Jesus is the true priest and king. The high priest handed Jesus over to crucifixion not knowing that his death would fulfill his mission. Jesus’s death would bring Israel’s priesthood and old covenant sacrifices to an end. A better priest from the line of David offering a better sacrifice had come.
Psalm 110 and the Meaning of Easter
The New Testament consistently depicts the fulfillment of Psalm 110:1 in the resurrection and ascension of Christ. On the day of Pentecost, Peter preached that the hope of Psalm 110:1 has now been realized in the risen and reigning Christ (Acts 2:34–35). David never ascended to heaven, but David’s Lord did after his resurrection from the dead. The man they crucified has become both “Lord and Christ” (Acts 2:36).
The author of Hebrews shows us that the fulfillment of Psalm 110:1 depends on Christ’s sufficient self-sacrifice: “After making purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high” (Heb. 1:3; 10:12; emphasis mine). Jesus’s death brought the old covenant’s institution of priesthood and its sacrifices to an end (Heb. 9:11–28; 10:11–18). David seems to have anticipated the dissolution of the Levitical priesthood when he wrote that the Messiah would be a priest forever after the order of Melchizedek (Ps. 110:4). Jesus obtained this permanent priesthood on the basis of an indestructible life (Heb. 7:16). That is, he rose from the dead never to die again and therefore holds a permanent priesthood by which he is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him since he always lives to make intercession for them (Heb. 7:24–25). By conquering death and Satan through his propitiatory sacrifice, Jesus’s holy war has already begun (Heb. 2:14-18; cf. Ps. 110:6), but it will not be complete until he returns. As certain as the tomb is empty, he will come again to save those eagerly waiting for him while making his enemies a footstool for his feet (Heb. 9:28).
Sometimes It Causes Me to Tremble
The old African American hymn “Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?” invites us to place ourselves at the scene of the cross by asking us a series of questions:
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?
Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?
The response to each of the questions is the same: “Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.” The answer of course makes sense when we consider the horror of the cross. Yet some versions of the hymn end not with Good Friday but Easter Sunday by posing one final question:
“Were you there when God raised him from the tomb?”
Perhaps surprising to some, the response to this question is the same response to the previous questions—a response that is often missing from our Easter Sunday School lessons and worship services: “Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.”
A text like Psalm 110 can help us understand why the resurrection of Christ might make someone tremble like the women who first encountered the empty tomb (Mark 16:8). Psalm 110 points us to a savior who has all authority in heaven and on earth. He rose from the dead and took his seat at God’s right hand on the highest throne in the universe. He obtained his priesthood by the power of an indestructible life. He has conquered sin, Satan, and death. He rules the nations now and, one day, he will come again to judge the living and the dead.
We need not shield our children from the Jesus of Psalm 110 for it helps them—and the rest of us—to understand the full scope of his ministry. It reminds us that while Jesus is gentle and lowly, he is also risen and reigning in power. He is powerful to save his people to the uttermost, and he is powerful to judge the ends of the earth. Evil will not endure forever. Christ is indeed over all. And yes, sometimes it causes me to tremble.
