SermonStudio

Theme For The Day
Jesus Christ is King -- but not the sort of king the world expects.

Old Testament Lesson
2 Samuel 23:1-7
The Last Words Of David

At the end of 2 Samuel are found several appendices. This poem, known as "the last words of David," is the shorter of two poems. The one that immediately precedes it is known as "David's Song of Thanksgiving" (22:1-51). It has undoubtedly been chosen by the lectionary committee for Christ The King Sunday because of the royal theology it expresses concerning Jesus' ancestor, David. If Christians revere Christ as King, then this depiction of David -- the prototypical king who receives favor from God -- surely has something important to say. Such a king is inspired: "The spirit of the Lord speaks through me, his word is upon my tongue" (v. 2). His rule demonstrates principles of justice, as well as devotion to God: "One who rules over people justly, ruling in the fear of God, is like the light of morning ..." (vv. 3-4a). This kingship is founded upon an "everlasting covenant" (berith olam -- v. 5). The godless, on the other hand: "... are all like thorns that are thrown away; for they cannot be picked up with the hand; to touch them one uses an iron bar or the shaft of a spear, and they are entirely consumed in fire on the spot" (v. 6).

Alternate Old Testament Lesson
Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14
Coming On The Clouds Of Heaven

Continuing to report on his visionary experience, the author shifts from frightening portrayals of fantastic beasts (representing Israel's enemies), to display a powerful, transcendent figure: an Ancient One (known to readers of the King James Version as "the Ancient of Days"). This is a divine figure on a fiery throne: "... his clothing was white as snow, and the hair of his head like pure wool; his throne was fiery flames, and its wheels were burning fire. A stream of fire issued and flowed out from his presence" (vv. 9-10). There has been considerable discussion of the detail that places wheels on the throne; some have thought this imagery is borrowed from Greek mythology, the image of Helios, the sun god. It is also possible that this imagery comes from the fiery wheels within wheels of Ezekiel's vision (Ezekiel 1:15-21), or from the chariot of fire that appears as Elijah is taken up into heaven (2 Kings 2:11). A vast court of retainers surrounds the throne, as "the books are opened" (presumably, books related the last judgment).

In verses omitted by the lectionary, one of the beasts from the previous vision is put to death in the presence of this royal figure. Then, another royal figure enters the scene: "I saw one like a human being coming with the clouds of heaven. And he came to the Ancient One and was presented before him. To him was given dominion and glory and kingship ..." (vv. 13-14a). This one's kingdom will be forever. The literal translation of "one like a human being" (v. 13) is "one like a son of man." The term "son of man" has a rich and complex history that is too detailed to review here. It has strong links to the visions of Ezekiel (which also likely provide some of the imagery associated with the Ancient of Days). In Ezekiel, the phrase often refers to the prophet himself, but by the time of Daniel, an interpretation seems to have arisen that treats the "son of man" as a separate, eschatological figure. This is the way Jesus himself most often uses the term -- although it is not always clear how explicitly Jesus may use the term to refer to himself.

New Testament Lesson
Revelation 1:4b-8
"He Is Coming With the Clouds; Every Eye Will See Him"

Again, for Christ The King Sunday, a text has been chosen that depicts the triumphant arrival of a divine, kingly figure. The first several verses of this passage are greetings to the seven churches, opening the book in a standard epistolary form. Then, words are shared from what is possibly a contemporary Christian hymn, depicting the triumphant return of Christ: "Look! He is coming with the clouds; every eye will see him, even those who pierced him; and on his account all the tribes of the earth will wail" (v. 7). "I am the Alpha and the Omega," says God (v. 8) -- a line that, much later in the book, will be voiced by Jesus himself (21:6 and 22:13).

The Gospel
John 18:33-37
"My Kingdom Is Not From This World"

This short segment of Jesus' trial before Pilate is out of season as far as the larger narrative is concerned, but has been chosen for this day because of what Jesus has to say about himself and kingship. Pilate flatly asks him about the title that others have ascribed to him: "Are you the King of the Jews?" Jesus responds with a question, asking Pilate if he came up with this on his own, or if he heard it from others. When Pilate asks him what he has done that has led him to be dragged in for trial, Jesus does not directly answer the procurator's question, but declares, "My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here" (v. 36). When Pilate asks him once again if he is a king, Jesus again replies obliquely: "You say that I am a king ..." (v. 37). In general, John portrays Pilate as something of a weakling, rather than an active conspirator -- let alone the principal actor -- in the condemnation and death of Jesus. There is every reason to think that John portrayed Pilate in a somewhat more favorable fashion, in order not to offend the Roman authorities, who had begun -- by the time he was writing -- to persecute the Christians. John shifted more of the blame to the high priest and his court, which by the time of his writing had already been annihilated by the Romans anyway.

Preaching Possibilities

Today we end the Christian year, according to tradition, with the day known as Christ The King. This day is a relative newcomer to the liturgical calendar. It's only been around since 1925, when Pope Pius XI introduced it to the Roman Catholic church, as a challenge to the totalitarian governments of the right and the left that were at that time gradually growing strong in Europe. To would-be dictators -- like Hitler and Mussolini and Stalin -- the message of Christ the King was meant to be that the State does not rule supreme, exercising absolute authority over the hearts and minds of the people. One day, as it says in Philippians, "every knee shall bow and every tongue confess ... that Jesus Christ is Lord...." Only Christ is supreme king over all. Later, as we Protestants went through the process of devising a common lectionary that was ecumenically connected with what other churches were doing, we adopted the Catholic holiday for our own.

When Jesus stood on trial, before Pilate, it was a similar sort of confrontation: the kingdom of God versus the kingdoms of this world. Our text today is from the Gospel of John, and reflects John's outlook that Pilate was not so much responsible for Jesus' death, as a weak ruler who permitted the Jewish authorities to engineer it. In reality, Pilate was an absolute ruler, and did indeed have everything to say about the life and death of Jesus. When he asks Jesus, "Are you the king of the Jews," it is very much an encounter between government at its most raw and authoritarian, and a man who symbolizes a higher authority.

A traveler pulls his car up beside a farmhouse in rural Maine. On the front porch, in a rocking chair, sits an old Mainer: flannel shirt, khakis, baseball cap, L.L. Bean duck shoes on his feet. "How do I get to Boston?" the traveler shouts out.

"Can't get theyah from heeyah," replies the old Mainer.

"Well, what about this road by your house?" the tourist asks. "Where does it go?"

"I've lived heeyah seventy yeeahs," replies the old farmer, "and I've nevah seen this road go anywheyah!" And on it goes, the typical "downeast" dialogue -- the native Mainer playing the out-of-towner for a fool.

Jesus' encounter with Pilate contains a similar miscommunication -- although one that is not at all comical. The two of them engage in a dialogue about the meaning of the word "king." And, like the tourist and the downeaster from Maine, the two of them seem to mean two completely different things by the word. In much the same way, Jesus and Pilate are talking right past each other.

Who is this Pontius Pilate? Every time we say the Apostles' Creed, we mention his name: the only human name -- with the exception of Mary, Jesus' mother -- that appears in the Creed. He's a minor character, though, in the great parade of events recorded in the New Testament. Jesus' appearance before him is but one, fleeting chapter in the Passion narrative: a brief, bureaucratic stopover on Jesus' one, horrible day in the Roman justice system -- a day that begins with a sleepless night, and ends on a cross.

The early church thought it important to mention Pilate's name in the Creed: not because Pilate himself is such a leading character, but because of what he symbolizes. Pilate is the Roman governor: the sole representative of the Emperor to the province of Judea. Scholars think the Apostles' Creed was written in Rome, by a church under persecution. The early Christians' view -- the view from the catacombs (those subterranean burial vaults where Christians lived and worshiped in hiding) -- was one that very much took in the emperor. To this little band of persecuted believers, it was important to remember that Jesus, too, had his brush with imperial authority.

It happens that we know a few things about Pontius Pilate, from historians of the day. There's a good deal more written about him, in fact, than there is about Jesus -- who's mentioned only once, in passing, in any history book other than the Bible. When Pilate brought Roman Legions to Jerusalem for the first time, he told the soldiers they could bring their regimental standards with them -- even though they were topped with busts of the emperor, whom the soldiers revered as a god. To the Jews, of course, this was a horrendous provocation; their second commandment allowed no "graven images."

Pilate was well aware of the insult he was dealing to the people, so he had the standards carried in at night. This ignited a massive protest the next morning, that very nearly ended in a bloodbath; disaster was averted only after Pilate backed down -- and this only after Jewish protesters had lain on the ground, and bared their throats to the swords of his soldiers. So Pilate was tough -- but also very much a political animal.

He could also be stubborn. There was another incident, in which he had mounted gold shields, with the emperor's name on them, on the walls of his residence in Jerusalem. This, too, led to a near-riot -- but Pilate held firm, refusing to take down the shields. Finally, the Jewish leaders wrote to the emperor himself, who personally ordered Pilate to take them down.

Pilate could also be utterly ruthless. There was another time when he had looted the temple treasury, to pay for the construction of an aqueduct. This incited another demonstration: but this time, Pilate had Roman soldiers, dressed as Jews, infiltrate the crowd. At a pre-arranged signal, the soldiers pulled out clubs and beat the protesters, some of them nearly to the point of death.

Pilate served in Jerusalem for ten years, altogether: the second-longest tenure of any Roman governor of that troublesome province. Clearly, the emperor regarded Pilate as a success. By the time Jesus is dragged before him, arms bound, eyes bleary from lack of sleep, Pilate has nothing to worry about. He has clearly established himself as the emperor's right-hand-man in Judea -- he has absolute power of life and death over all the emperor's subjects.

"So," the governor begins, looking Jesus in the eye, "are you the king of the Jews?" It's a flippant question, the first gambit in the interrogator's game. Jesus' answer reveals to Pilate something of why the priests and scribes are so upset with him. It is a singularly bold answer. This Jesus has the audacity to answer the emperor's official agent with a question: "Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?"

"Who's on trial here, anyway?" Pilate wonders to himself, with a touch of amusement. He shoots back: "I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?"

"My kingdom," Jesus replies, "is not from this world. If it were, my followers would be fighting your soldiers, even now. My kingdom is not from here."

Like the old Maine farmer and the fresh-faced tourist up from Boston, the two of them talk, they look each other in the eye, they appear to follow the conventions of conversation: but they never really communicate. They never connect, in any meaningful way. "Two ships passing in the night," as the saying goes. "You can't get there from here."

You can't get to where Jesus is, from where Pilate is -- or vice-versa. They come from different worlds, those two: and it's more than just a matter of Jew vesus Roman, or church versus state, or rich versus poor. Jesus' reign asking is not fundamentally about human power: it is about divine power, and that power is not yet revealed. The book of Revelation promises that, one day, it will be. But for now, we Christians must live under the rule of civil authorities -- most of whom are, we trust, more fair and just than the ruthless Pilate -- and await the day when the truly just and benevolent rule of Jesus Christ will be established through all the earth.

Prayer For The Day

Great God, who has given us hearts with which to honor all that is good and blessed and perfect: May our days always be filled with praise for the King of kings and the Lord of lords, the Lamb who sits upon the throne, the one who is Alpha and the Omega of our lives: even Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.

To Illustrate

The Thanksgiving holiday we are about to celebrate began with a band of desperately hungry, deeply religious people -- they called themselves pilgrims, remember, not just colonists -- and their heartfelt gratitude to God, for simple survival. It didn't become an official national holiday until the time of the Civil War: when President Lincoln answered the call for a day of prayer and solemn reflection. Just listen to what Lincoln had to say to the nation, in his Thanksgiving proclamation. It's an extremely revealing statement for any politician to make (although of course Lincoln -- with a deep-seated religious faith that not only salted campaign rhetoric, but powerfully informed his actions -- was no typical politician):

... we have forgotten God. We have forgotten the gracious hand which preserved us in peace, and multiplied and enriched and strengthened us. And we have vainly imagined in the deceitfulness of our hearts that all these blessings were produced by some superior wisdom and virtue of our own. Intoxicated with unbroken success, we have become too self-sufficient to feel the necessity of redeeming and preserving grace -- too proud to pray to the God that made us. It has seemed to me fit and proper that God should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged, as with one heart and one voice, by the whole American people.

***


In the Disney animated film, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, there is a scene that depicts a raucous Parisian street festival. On that day, everything is topsy-turvy, sings Clopin, the narrator-jester. At that festival, they crown the king of fools, who is actually the ugliest, most hideous person there. Why do they crown the least likely person, sings Clopin? Why, because everything is topsy-turvy! A king becomes a clown and a clown becomes a king. The one they crown that day is Quasimodo, the gentle hunchback who rings the bells at Notre Dame Cathedral.

It is a topsy-turvy act, a reversal -- but no more topsy-turvy than for God to enter the world as the son of a humble Galilean artisan and his peasant wife. Throughout his ministry, Jesus demonstrates a remarkable concern for "the least of these" -- topsy-turvy thinking again! When he returns on the clouds of heaven, it will be the biggest reversal of all.

***


Leonardo da Vinci knew the centrality of Christ. The vanishing point of his painting of the Last Supper -- the point at which all lines converge -- is the face of Jesus. All the lines of the painting point to him, with mathematical precision. Art experts have been able to identify many forgeries of this painting, simply by measuring the lines and determining that the figure of Jesus was not precisely in the center.

***


In Jordan some years ago, there was a terrible tragedy in which two Israeli schoolgirls, playing in a park known as the "Island of Peace" in the middle of the Jordan River between their country and Jordan, were shot by a deranged Jordanian soldier. It quickly became apparent that this was an isolated incident caused by mental illness, and an international incident was swiftly averted. And there the story could well have ended.

Except for Jordan's King Hussein. Hearing of the incident, the king left his throne, left his palace, left even his own country, and traveled to the humble homes of the families of the slain Israeli girls. Entering each house, the king fell down on his knees. He bowed before the grieving parents. Then he looked up into their eyes and said, "I beg you, forgive me, forgive me. Your daughter is like my daughter, your loss is my loss. May God help you to bear your pain."

That day, ironically, it was a Muslim king who gave the world just a small glimpse of what a Christlike king is like.

***


There's a story told about George VI, King of England during the Second World War. During the darkest hours of the Battle of Britain, fears mounted that the king and the royal family might not be safe in London. They could be injured, even killed, in a bombing raid. Quietly, and without publicity, the palace staff made secret plans to transport the king and his family to safety in Canada, should the need arise.

Yet despite the urgings of his advisors, George refused to leave his fellow Britons in their darkest hour. Shortly afterward, an incident was reported in a London newspaper, in which the king was inspecting a bombed-out neighborhood. While he was walking through the rubble, an elderly man came up to him and said: "You, here, in the midst of this. You are indeed a good king."

That is what a good king does. A good king lives the life of his people.