But Jesus can. And does.

I like Superman. When it comes to those Marvel superpowers, if you had a superpower, what would it be, and more importantly, what ‘righteous’ thing would you use it for?

Most imagine themselves wielding it for good – to rescue the weak, confront injustice, bring peace. Some would use it to be invisible in the Elders’ or the managers’ meeting! That desire, though, for righteousness is telling. It reveals something deep within us; the ache for a world made right, for wrongs to be judged and wounds to be healed.

That’s why figures like Batman capture the imagination. No superhuman strength. No alien origin. Just a man, marked by tragedy, fiercely determined to impose justice on a lawless city. He’s disciplined, strategic, and committed. But for all his commitment, his version of justice remains tragically thin. He confronts evil but cannot cure it. He brings order but not peace. He punishes but never redeems.

He’s the best we can imagine without divine intervention – and it’s seriously not enough.

Now consider Jesus Christ. No mask. No Spiderman tech. No vengeance. Yet He faces and enters the darkness with a power unlike anything Gotham has ever known. Colossians 1:15-17 says, “He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. For by him all things were created… and in him all things hold together.”

He is not reacting to evil; He came to destroy the work of the evil one and free those held captive. If there were superheroes, the fact would always be that they owe everything – their presence and powers – to the Son of God who created the cosmos and holds every atom in place. And yet Jesus chose to enter into our broken world – not to crush sinners, but to save them. His mission was not crime-fighting. It was reconciliation.

Batman’s limited strength is fuelled by pain, but Jesus’ strength flows from divine love. He was perfectly devoted – to His Father’s will and to the full, unambiguous redemption of the lost. And His justice goes further than any human ideal. It doesn’t just judge sin – it deals with it. Conquers it. Overwhelms and removes it.

At the cross, we see raw justice and mercy meet. The innocent takes the place of the guilty. It’s topsy-turvy. Wrath is poured out, not on the rebels, but on the Redeemer, on the one sent to help, intervene – deliver.. Colossians 1:19-20 puts it clearly, “In him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things… making peace by the blood of his cross.”
God likes the word ‘all’.

This isn’t just moral symbolism – it’s pure, breathtaking cosmic victory. Jesus doesn’t negotiate with darkness. He defeats it. Colossians 2:13-15 presses on,
“And you, who were dead in your trespasses… God made alive together with him… He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them in him.”

Batman can’t raise the dead. At times of conflict, sometimes he can barely rise from the floor! He can’t disarm the spiritual forces of evil, can’t cleanse guilt or transform the human heart, but Jesus can – and has and does so magnificently – the true champion and victor of Heaven. Not through fear or force, but through sacrifice.

He doesn’t retreat to the Batcave after a long night’s work. He reigns, risen and victorious, seated at the right hand of the Father, surrounded by Cherubim, Seraphim, Ophanim, Archangels, Mights, Thrones, Powers and Dominions, countless angels, and a vast, vast number of the redeemed of the Lord, praising and worshipping 24/7. His justice restores. His mercy saves. His kingdom will have no end. Ever.

So we don’t need a masked vigilante with pointy ears. We need a Risen Lord.

And we have One.

His name is Jesus. Devoted to the Father’s will, righteousness, justice, lavish grace and mercy, He is sovereign, all-sufficient…

Don’t.

“And do you seek great things for yourself? Seek them not, for behold, I am bringing disaster upon all flesh, declares the Lord. But I will give you your life as a prize of war in all places to which you may go.” (Jeremiah 45:5, ESV)

This will be a short one, so let’s get straight to it…

Jeremiah’s right-hand man, friend, companion and scribe, Baruch, wasn’t a prophet, but he stood close to one. He stayed close to Jeremiah through rejection, collapse and judgement, writing down the words, carrying the scrolls, enduring the cost. Somewhere along the line, it started to matter to him. He wanted it known that he was involved, that his name was on the work.

God saw that, and He spoke plainly, “Do you seek great things for yourself? Seek them not.”

There are moments in my own life and ministry that I regret – moments when it mattered too much that I was seen. That it was clear I had a part in what was done. That my name was mentioned, my effort acknowledged. And here’s the truth; those moments are always short-lived. God has a way of removing His endorsement when we start building our own kingdoms. The fruit may last a little while, but the weight of His presence doesn’t. He won’t compete for glory.

Jeremiah had a difficult task. Hearing God speak about someone so close to him, and then telling it ‘as it is’ without sugar-coating, was a remarkable demonstration of Jeremiah’s devotion, character, faith and obedience. Prophetic words for those who are close to us are often difficult. We know their circumstances, their ‘dreams’ or aspirations, and unless you are a bit of a strange friend, you are biased towards them for their good, success and well-being. Jeremiah drops the mic for us here, and says ‘think about this’ it can be done.

Baruch’s ambition wasn’t evil on the surface. It likely grew out of long-suffering, hard service and weariness. That’s often how it starts – a slow shift from “Lord, use me” to “Lord, don’t forget I was useful.” But in a world under judgement, self-importance becomes dangerous ground. God was tearing down nations through Jeremiah’s ministry. Baruch was trying to build a reputation. The two don’t mix. Oil and water.

And we’re not immune either. We talk about calling, influence, platform – but underneath, the same old craving can sit there, quiet but hungry. A desire not just to serve, but to be seen. To be known as the one who served. That’s the line Baruch crossed, and the one we cross more often than we’d like to admit.

God doesn’t leave Baruch with a rebuke alone though. He gives him something better: “I will give you your life as a prize of war.” Not greatness. Not prominence. Life. Preserved by the mercy of God when judgement falls on everyone else.

This isn’t God giving Baruch less, it’s God giving Baruch what matters most.

Jesus said much the same. He told His disciples that the greatest would be the one who serves (Matthew 23:11). He rebuked their obsession with position, especially as to who would have the best rise and recline chair next to Jesus in front of the hundreds of thousands gathered around the throne in the age to come. And then He showed them what He meant – by washing their feet, by walking to the cross, by refusing to take hold of glory before the time.

Jesus didn’t need to prove Himself. He was already secure in the Father’s will. And that’s the difference. When we know we are already secure in Christ, we don’t need to fight to be noticed. When we’ve died with Him, we’ve got nothing left to prove.

Others have walked that same path. Moses turned away from Egypt’s status. John the Baptist said, “He must increase, I must decrease.” Paul called all his old achievements rubbish compared to knowing Christ. That’s not poetic, charismatic fluffy language. That’s clarity.

And when the Spirit works in us, He produces the same clarity. He reminds us that self-made kingdoms collapse. That applause fades. That being seen is never the goal. Christ is. Faithfulness is. Eternity is. It’s a clear warning: don’t chase self-importance in a world under judgement. Don’t spend your life trying to be known. It won’t hold. It doesn’t last. But it’s also a deep reassurance: if you are Christ’s, your life is already hidden with Him. It is secure. And He gives it back to you not as a wage, but as a prize. Not because you earned it, but because He is merciful.

If or when we slip into the same pattern as Baruch, let’s not stay there. Confess the need to be seen. Let it die. And get back to the quiet work of gospel faithfulness, wherever He’s placed you. In the end, the only name that matters is not mine. It’s not yours. It’s His.