Authority
Summary
In this opening sermon of the Movement series, Matt Crummy explores a word that many of us instinctively distrust: authority. Drawing from Matthew 28 and the famous image of The Treachery of Images, he invites us to consider how easily we confuse distorted images of authority—coercion, control, manipulation—with the real thing. In contrast, the risen Jesus meets a group of hesitant, doubting disciples not with force or pressure, but with nearness, presence, and a steady kind of authority that heals and invites.
Rather than demanding certainty or performance, Jesus shares his authority and sends his followers into the world with a simple, lived rhythm: show up, draw near, listen, and go. This sermon reframes the Great Commission not as pressure to achieve, but as participation in the life of Jesus—an authority grounded in love, legitimacy, and relationship. For anyone carrying wounds or skepticism around authority, this is an invitation to rediscover it as something that frees rather than constrains.
Questions for reflection
When you hear the word authority, what images or experiences immediately come to mind?
How have false or distorted forms of authority (coercion, manipulation, control) shaped your expectations of God?
What stands out to you about how Jesus exercises authority in Matthew 28?
Do you resonate more with worship or doubt—or both? What does that reveal about your current faith?
What would it look like for you to “show up” more intentionally in your relationship with Jesus and others?
Where might Jesus be inviting you to draw near, even without having everything figured out?
What voices or influences currently hold authority in your life—and are they worthy of imitation?
How does Jesus’ authority differ from the authority structures you see in culture (work, politics, media, etc.)?
In what ways are you tempted to rely on persuasion or control instead of trust and presence?
What is one concrete step you can take this week to live out the rhythm: show up, draw near, listen, go?
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Before we get into the passage, I want to show you a piece of art. I'm going to do this two times in the series, so here's the first one.
It's by René Magritte. It's called The Treachery of Images. It's a simple painting of a pipe, and underneath it — almost like a caption — Magritte writes in French: "This is not a pipe."
At first, it just feels like a joke, because of course it's a pipe. But then you realize what he's actually doing. He's saying: no, really, this isn't a pipe. It's an image of a pipe. It's a representation, a sign that points to a reality — but it isn't the thing itself. Magritte's point, of course, is not really about pipes. It's about how easily we confuse appearances with reality — how often we live inside images, not just in art, but in everyday life.
We do this with things like success, security, identity. And maybe even with authority. We have images of these things, because for many of us a word like authority is hard to define. Maybe it doesn't call to mind something steady or trustworthy. Instead, we picture images — the image of a religious authority who used control, or an authority figure wielding power, or propaganda on one side and marketing on the other.
What I want to suggest today is that the passage we just read from Matthew's gospel is an invitation to stop relating to authority as an image — and to encounter what's real. The risen Jesus, coming near to hesitant worshipers, inviting them into his shared life. His authority, it turns out, is true and good and beautiful.
A New Series: Movement
With that as our backdrop, we're starting a new series today called Movement — on the life of Jesus, and how his life moves in us, through us, and out into the world.
Over the next few weeks, we're going to look at:
Presence — Jesus with us and among us, and our own presence to God and one another
Formation — how grace trains us into a different kind of human life
Renewal — how that formed life spills outward toward our neighbors, the city, the world
Following that, during Lent, we'll explore practices for living these things — making room for the life of Jesus who is already active and at work.
But we're starting today with that word I already mentioned — the one that perhaps makes you feel uncomfortable, that maybe evokes a lot of emotions. Authority.
That discomfort might be because you've seen religious authority used for control, shame, or fear — a kind of leadership that needs you to feel small in order to feel secure. Maybe you've experienced this at the hands of a family member. Maybe that's your reality today. Or maybe your instincts, heavily shaped by the modern world, tell you that authority is always either power or propaganda — force on one side, manipulation on the other.
Either way, authority can feel like the opposite of freedom.
So let me be clear about what I'm not asking of you today. I'm not asking you to become less thoughtful, less honest, or less human. I'm asking you to look to Jesus rather than to lesser, fallible, so-called authorities.
Let's pray, and then we'll get into it.
Prayer
God, we thank you that you are good. Thank you that you created the world in love, and that we sit here today in that love. God, you are powerful, but you are also kind. You are enormous and yet somehow intimately acquainted with every detail. You pay attention to our lives, and even now you are present with us. Fill this time with what's true. Show yourself to us, both today and forever. We pray this in Jesus' name. Amen.
The Scene on the Mountain
The apostle Matthew ends his gospel with a scene where the disciples meet up with the risen Christ. And Matthew admits they were not exactly a confident group. He says they worshiped — and they doubted. But then Jesus comes toward them and says something. And what he says is not a threat. It's not manipulative. It's not a guilt trip. He has a kind of authority that's different — one that heals, steadies, and invites into shared life.
So if the concept of authority has been damaged for you, I want you to know: you're not disqualified from this text. In fact, you might be exactly the kind of person Matthew has in mind.
Let's go to the mountain.
"Then the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go." — Matthew 28:16
By this point in the story, Jesus has been crucified, buried, resurrected, and has appeared to the women and to the disciples and to a whole host of others. He tells the disciples to meet him on a mountain in Galilee — and so they do.
They show up. But honestly — what were they expecting?
I don't know what I would be expecting at that point, given everything that had just happened. But I can imagine their minds going to wild places. They had just experienced something absolutely shattering — a series of shattering events. Everything they understood to be true was eroding: about themselves, about Israel, about God, about life and death, about reality itself. Jesus had been healing and calling people to repentance — including religious leaders. He had touched the untouchable. He had spoken to the outcasts. He had confronted every earthly authority. He had even defeated death.
And the disciples are still getting their heads around all of this. Their rabbi, their friend, came back to life. So what would you expect Jesus to say on this mountain? I can almost imagine them thinking: okay, now he's going to take off his human body suit and reveal himself to be some kind of all-powerful divine being — like a buff genie from Aladdin. Or maybe he'd show up with a multi-level marketing opportunity, revealing himself to be just another religious grifter?
In short: is the authority we've seen in the life of Jesus real? Is he legit, or is he counterfeit? They experienced it, they saw it — but now what?
Maybe you've asked yourself those same questions. Is any of this just a story happening out there somewhere? What does a movement of God really look like?
That's what we're going to explore over the next four weeks. Today, we're examining it through the lens of authority.
Worship and Doubt
"When they saw him, they worshiped him, but some doubted." — Matthew 28:17
Jesus appears to them. They see him. They worship. But they also doubt.
New Testament scholar Keith Reeves makes a compelling argument that this verse can actually be understood as: the entire group worshiped, and the entire group had some hesitation. Understandable, given everything that was happening. Matthew seems to include himself in this group — which is interesting, and consistent with how he tends to write. Throughout his gospel, Matthew often depicts the group as a character. You see it in the feeding of the five thousand, the walking on water — over and over, the group functions as a single character in the story.
But what about the doubt? What does that mean?
Let's flip back to an earlier story in Matthew's gospel — chapter 14, the famous scene of Jesus walking on water.
"Shortly before dawn, Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. 'It's a ghost,' they said, and cried out in fear. But Jesus immediately said to them, 'Take courage. It is I. Don't be afraid.' 'Lord, if it's you,' Peter replied, 'tell me to come to you on the water.' 'Come,' he said. Then Peter got out of the boat, walked on the water, and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid. Beginning to sink, he cried out, 'Lord, save me!' Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. 'You of little faith,' he said, 'why did you doubt?' And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down. Then those who were in the boat worshiped him, saying, 'Truly you are the Son of God.'"
Reeves argues that for Matthew, doubt is not complete disbelief. Peter's initial action and his cry — "Lord, save me" — implies faith. He believes Jesus can save him. But it's imperfect faith, little faith — one that wavers in the face of trials. Peter initially trusts, but when the reality of the waves confronts him, his faith gives way to fear. And Reeves thinks Peter's actions here are in some way representative of the disciples as a whole.
There's this mysterious connection between doubt and worship that Matthew establishes throughout his gospel. Even seeing the resurrected Jesus does not eliminate the possibility of doubt — and I hope that gives you some encouragement.
Little faith. But Jesus doesn't rebuke the disciples for their doubt in Matthew 28. He commissions them to make disciples of all nations and gives them the assurance of his presence.
So a few questions worth sitting with:
Do you believe in a version of Jesus who would reach out his hand to someone who was drowning, even if it was their own fault? Do you believe in a version of Jesus who would receive worship even when your faith is small? Do you believe in a Jesus who is both authoritative and merciful — and that those two ideas are perfectly united in the same person?
What I'm really asking is: are you still willing to cry out, Lord, save me? Are you willing to acknowledge that level of authority in Jesus?
All Authority
"And Jesus came to them and said, 'All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.'" — Matthew 28:18
That's quite a statement. I can't imagine something much bolder. If I said that, it would be absurd. But Jesus says it.
Maybe the word authority makes you uneasy enough. But all authority?
For some, that's a source of stability and peace. For others — myself included — it can feel like a lot. Of course, it all depends on what authority actually means, and who's claiming to have it.
Imagine you come to a large, busy intersection and the traffic lights are out. Maybe it's snowing and slippery — maybe this happened to you recently. People inch forward in their cars, looking back and forth through the snowflakes. Maybe someone tries to take charge — honking, waving. Maybe somebody gets aggressive, and others freeze. And of course, this being the Midwest, this can take a very long time. Pack snacks. Be prepared.
When the shared signal breaks down, we default to either coercion — asserting ourselves — or persuasion — negotiating every little move with hand signals. Either way, there's creeping anxiety. Who's in charge here? It's not that people suddenly become evil at the intersection. It's that the shared thing that quietly coordinated everyone has failed, and no one knows how to fill that gap.
What Authority Is Not: Hannah Arendt
The philosopher Hannah Arendt — whom I love quoting — is helpful here, because she argues something similar has happened to our broader understanding of authority. We've lost clear, shared experiences of what authority is supposed to be, so we keep reaching for substitutes.
Before she tries to describe authority in its proper form, she starts by defining what it is not — so we stop confusing it with other things. She makes two main points that I want to work through today. (She has a whole book on this, if you want to read it.)
First: authority is not coercion.
Arendt writes: "Authority precludes the use of external means of coercion; where force is used, authority itself has failed."
What she means is this: coercion can produce compliance, but it can't produce what authority actually depends on — recognized legitimacy. Her logic here is that the moment you reach for external force — threat, punishment, even violence — you've already admitted the relationship is no longer being held by trust or any shared acknowledgment of what's right. Force might still get an outcome, but it's the outcome of power, not authority.
And isn't that at least part of what we're seeing in the tragic breakdown of trust between communities and institutions in so many of our public spheres? There has been — and continues to be — a deep erosion of recognized legitimacy.
One clarifying note: not all coercion is bad, and I think you'll follow me here. Coercion — using some sort of external constraint to prevent harm — can be morally justified when it's limited, accountable, and protective. A parent grabbing a toddler's arm before they run into the street, or buckling a squirming child into a car seat. These are examples of legitimate coercive power. But they are less images of authority than they are of power — and that's Arendt's point.
Second: authority is not persuasion.
This one hits closer to home for someone like me who works in marketing. I need to hear this.
Authority is not endless argument or PR. Arendt even goes further than I might and says it is "incompatible with persuasion." What she means is that persuasion belongs to a world of equals — it presupposes equality and works through argument. When we're trying to persuade someone of something, we're operating in a different mode than authority entirely. Her framework isn't "I won the debate, so you must comply." That's not how authority works. Authority is when we see and recognize a legitimate ordering — so that action can happen without coercion or constant negotiation.
When everything has to be argued into existence, authority is not the primary thing operating. The relationship is being governed by debate rather than shared recognition of what is true.
To wrap up Arendt: for her, authority is about recognized legitimacy — an ordering that people can accept as right, which can even elicit obedience without force or constant argument.
I'll add one qualifier: not all persuasion is bad. Arendt is simply pointing out that authority is not the primary factor at work when persuasion is the main mode. The Apostle Paul talks about both being persuaded and persuading others — but as you're beginning to see, the X factor in this passage is the authority of Jesus, which wasn't Arendt's frame. That changes the equation somewhat. But I still think she's brilliant and helpful.
Cassandra Nelson
Cassandra Nelson — who writes for Comment magazine — wrote an essay on this. She put it this way:
"Authority properly executed doesn't make anyone do anything. The means of coercion is not external, but internal — perhaps in the same way that one's conscience compels one, and submitting to it involves no loss of freedom."
What Authority Do You Live Under?
So where does that leave us? Here's a question worth bringing into the new year:
What — or whom — do you ascribe authority to in your life?
That's a foundational question, and it's why it's where Jesus begins in Matthew 28. Real authority is guidance we can't safely ignore. It is received freely — compelled from within, needing neither force nor manipulation — because it rests on recognized legitimacy and a source beyond the self.
Jesus doesn't seize authority by force. He doesn't market himself. He comes near. He walks with people. His authority steadies hesitant worshipers into his shared life. He moves toward us, and we reciprocate freely. Jesus has what I'd call a legitimating authority — displayed in love, presence, and courage. He reveals his authority in how he lives.
Four Responses
So what can we learn from this passage? I want to give you four brief things. We'll go much deeper into presence, formation, and renewal in the coming weeks — but here's the shape of it.
1. Show up.
Be there for each other, for real. Admit mistakes and shortcomings — you're not always going to get this right. You'll forget important things. You'll say something hurtful you regret. You'll misunderstand someone. But try again, in love, to love again and again.
The first act of discipleship we see on the mountain in Matthew 28 isn't heroism. It's simply that they showed up. It's presence. They went to the mountain to meet with Jesus. That's beautiful. It's inspiring. And it's challenging.
They were there for God, and they were there for each other — without knowing what was about to happen. Before Jesus sends them anywhere, he gathers them somewhere. They had no idea how much they were going to need that gathering. How much they were going to need each other in the years to come. Their trials had genuinely just begun.
2. Draw near.
When they arrive, everything is not smooth sailing. Let's keep reading:
"When they saw him, they worshiped him, but some doubted."
We need to normalize this. Discipleship is not certainty first, worship later. This is not: faithful Christians on one side, skeptics on the other. In a real Christian community, it's a mix — and there will always be people in different places. Honestly, I feel like a mix halfway through a single day.
The theologian Torsten Löfstedt makes a strong case that the word translated doubt here likely means something closer to hesitate — being of two minds about what to do in a moment, not necessarily uncertainty about who Jesus is, but more like: what's going on? What's coming next? And I think that's pretty understandable. You've probably never felt that, but I feel it all the time.
My encouragement is not to wait for a perfect resolution to all of your inner tensions before you choose to follow Jesus. That day will likely not come. Remember: Jesus chose to entrust the gospel to this group — this people filled with doubt. He did this on purpose. And Matthew felt so accepted and so loved by Jesus that he could record their doubt openly, without shame.
3. Listen.
True authority is the settled reality that the world is held by Jesus — and therefore we don't have to be held by fear or hurry or image management or the need to have all the answers. Isn't that a relief?
Remember: if force is required, in some way authority has failed and only power remains. Jesus is extraordinarily powerful — the very definition of power — but he uses it perfectly. What I'm saying is that authority specifically is no longer the primary operating factor when force has to be deployed. And if manipulation is required, authority is clearly already lacking.
But Jesus' authority is recognized because it's legitimate. It's revealed in the kind of person he is. We give authority to those we find worthy of imitation. Think of it this way: if you're a budding songwriter totally inspired by Taylor Swift, you'll set out to study her. You'll listen to her music, you'll mimic her phrasing, you might even try to dress like her. (I would not have the body for that. I'll just say that.) In doing so, even unconsciously, you've given her a kind of authority in your life. You want to be like Tay. The disciples find Jesus' authority compelling because his life is compelling. Isn't that why you're a Christian? At least, I hope so. It's why I am.
4. Go.
What happens next is that Jesus does something that changes the whole tone. He shares his authority. He moves toward the disciples and invites them to join him in his way.
"Then Jesus came to them — of all people, these doubters — and said, 'All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.'"
Do you see how much dignity there is in that? He doesn't say, Prove yourselves first. He says, You have everything you need. Now go.
This is going to be a total life change for these disciples. He's handing them the baton of faith. He's teaching them to teach others how to walk with Jesus and pass the baton on again — not by domination, but by apprenticeship. It's a different picture of authority entirely.
I love how it's framed at the end of Titus 2:
"For the grace of God has appeared that offers salvation to all people. It teaches us to say no to ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright, and godly lives in this present age, while we wait for the blessed hope — the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us to redeem us from all wickedness and to purify for himself a people that are his very own, eager to do what is good."
This is an authority of grace. Grace isn't only about forgiveness — it also trains us. It makes us people eager for good. It has a formative power that is a true experience of freedom — not a counterfeit. We'll get much more into this in the coming weeks.
Back to the Painting
Let me close by returning to Magritte's pipe.
This is not a pipe. And it isn't. It's a warning: don't confuse the image with the reality.
I think that's a gift to us, because many of us have been hurt by images of authority — authority that looked confident but was actually coercive; authority that sounded spiritual but was actually manipulative; authority that demanded obedience but didn't actually deserve trust. And perhaps you've concluded that authority itself is the problem.
But Matthew gives us something sturdier than an image. He gives us the presence of the resurrected God-man, Jesus. A group of disciples show up, they worship, they hesitate — and then Jesus does what he always does. He draws near.
That's the difference. Jesus doesn't build authority through pressure. He doesn't need to market himself into credibility. He comes close to his friends, he speaks from the settled reality of who he is, and then he shares his life. I am with you always is the way he puts it.
Don't confuse his love and kindness with weakness. If you've drawn that conclusion, I think it's rooted in a misunderstanding of true power — one that cares more about appearance than substance. That, too, is a false image. That is also not a pipe.
So if you're carrying wounds from authority — you're not disqualified. You're exactly the kind of person this passage makes room for.
This year, don't try to manufacture certainty. Just take one small step: show up to Jesus, not as a performance, but as openness. Show up for each other. Draw near. Listen. And then with him and each other — go.
True authority doesn't shrink you. It frees you. It steadies you into a way of life, and it sends you — not alone, not under pressure, but accompanied — into the world.
Prayer
God, we thank you that you are with us. You are Emmanuel — God with us. Thank you that you came to earth in humility, that you walked the walk and talked the talk, that you displayed your authority to be legitimate. God, I confess I still don't always love that word. Sometimes it weirds me out. But I'm thankful that you redefine it — that you defined it in the first place, and that anything else is a fleeting image, somehow counterfeit. God, I pray you work in our hearts this year to see you for who you really are, and to prepare us for good works. We thank you and we love you, Jesus. In Jesus' name, Amen.
