John 18: 33-37
Look! He is coming with the clouds; every eye will see Him.
Good morning on what the Church calls Christ the King Sunday. The UCC, most likely in an attempt to degenderize the name, refers to this day as “Reign of Christ”, but that misses the point entirely. It is not about Christ’s reign. It is about Jesus, Himself.
Today’s Gospel tells us a familiar story, or so it seems, but it is somehow different from what we hear on Palm Sunday. It sounds like Jesus’ trial before Pilate, but where are the crowds yelling for His blood and crying out “crucify Him”?” What we have here, is the difference between John’s Gospel, and the Synoptic Gospels, Matthew, Mark and Luke. Yes, this is the “trial” of Jesus, but John tells the story differently.
To begin with, the setting is vastly different from the Synoptics. The time of day is most likely between 4 AM and 6 AM on the morning before the beginning of Passover, which starts at sundown. This is the day the priests will sacrifice a huge number of lambs and throw them on the fires as offerings. It is a daylong process, and it must begin early, so that all the Jews will have their lamb for the Passover feast. But before the priests begin this daylong chore, they have something else, someone else to deal with – Jesus
Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?”
This is not a public trial before an unruly mob. Pilate has had to leave his office, most likely to speak to the Jewish priests. We gather he has been outside because Jesus is obviously inside the headquarters, and Pilate must go back inside to speak to Him. The priests have delivered Jesus to Pilate, who has no doubt decided to keep Jesus where no one can see Him, a form of preventive crowd control. If no one sees Him, there won’t be a gathering mob. But, on the day of Passover preparation, the priests cannot defile themselves by entering Pilate’s headquarters, so they have remained outside. By the time our Gospel reading begins, they may have already left. Slaying of the lambs begins at first light, so they don’t have time to hang around and wait. As our Gospel reading opens, Pilate has come back from listening to them, to again speak to Jesus.
And he asks Jesus, “Are you the King of the Jews?”
A seemingly harmless rabbi, Jesus of Nazareth, has been hauled before him as a crucial threat to the existence of the Roman Empire — a rival king — and to Pilate, this makes no sense at all. Pilate is mystified. What is going on? Here he is, tasked with deciding what to do with a very popular rabi, but one who has obviously fallen afoul of the Jewish priestly hierarchy, who claim He is some sort of revolutionary rival to Herod. Pilate is well aware of the influence and power of the priests, but he also knows how popular Jesus is, so he’s doing the best he can to figure out the truth, or, at the very least, a plan of action.
“King of the Jews”. What does this mean to Pilate?
Ancient monarchs were very different from those in our own day: Modern queens and kings serve as hereditary symbols of national unity - figureheads. The king is the country personified, he speaks for the nation and represents the nation, but his power is purely symbolic. This kind of kingship would have sounded ridiculously bizarre to a first-century Roman like Pilate
For the Romans, to be king really meant one thing: you have the power to force others to submit to your will. You command armies, wage wars. So, when Pilate asks Jesus if He is a king, he is asking: Do you really have legions of troops at your command? Are you really planning to overthrow the power of Rome?
And Jesus understands the logic of Pilate’s question perfectly: He says, “My Kingdom is not of this world.” And He clarifies this by saying in essence, if my kingdom were of this world, my disciples would be staging a jailbreak, a coup, or a bloody riot in the streets, but instead, here I am, alone, powerless, at the mercy of Roman Law… or so it seems.
Pilate asked him, “So you are a king?”
But Jesus doesn’t deny His kingship. Jesus doesn’t deny that He could, in fact, overthrow the Roman Empire or, for that matter, all the kingdoms of the earth. He simply says, “You say that I am a king.”
We know that Jesus is not merely powerful, He is the source of all power, the Alpha and the Omega, God the Son incarnate. Why is Jesus so nonconfrontational? Oh, we say we know the answer, but do we? In this day and age, when there are wars and famines and pandemics, why does God not step in with all power and glory and might and set things right? How often have we heard someone say, after a disaster – where was God when it happened? Where was Jesus “when He was needed?” We need only look back to His trial.
Why did He allow the Romans to arrest Him, to beat and humiliate Him? Why does He allow the crucifixion to happen? And in answering these questions, we can also clear our confusion over why, instead of the wrath of God falling on those we perceive to be our enemies, we are called to listen for that still small voice that speaks to us in our hearts, to have faith in that which does not manifest itself in violent retribution, but in love.
Soren Kierkegaard, one of my husband’s favourite authors, told a story: Once upon a time, there lived a great king. The whole country was his and he held all the power. He could elevate any commoner to a life of wealth and ease or condemn whole cities to destruction with a snap of his fingers. It was the custom of the country that, once every few years, the king would travel through all the land, inspecting every city, town, and village.
It was a great and terrible day when his vast armada of coaches would roar through a village. All the houses would be newly painted, the village hung with garlands of flowers, and all the villagers, decked in their most beautiful garments, would kneel by the sides of the roads all day, awaiting his approach.
While traveling through one village, the king spied a peasant woman out the window of his coach. He bid his driver stop, and the king stood stock still, just staring. Despite her poverty and rough appearance, she was the most noble woman that he had ever seen, and this bachelor king knew that he had found his queen.
The king began to leave the coach to kneel down in the street before her and ask her to be his wife, but he suddenly realized that he was in a pickle; no matter how she felt about him, she was certain to say yes to his proposal – not because she loved him – but because he could satisfy her every material desire, or destroy her whole village with a word.
The king realized that this woman could fear him or seek to gain from him, but that she could never love him, for love is not the product of a bribe or a threat, but is a gift that must be given freely. So, the king shut the carriage door and said, “Drive on!” with the new knowledge that no one would ever love him.
That night, the king had what we might call an “ah hah” moment! Upon returning to the castle, he went up to his chamber, he took off his heavy golden crown, laid aside his finely made sword, removed his ermine robes, and put on the old potato sack of a beggar.
Taking neither money nor dagger, the king crept out of the castle by night to walk all the way back to the village. His plan was to arrive at the woman’s cottage door helpless, destitute, and hungry. He would beg for shelter, beg for a crust of bread, and eventually open his heart to her, for only in his weakness and poverty could she genuinely fall in love with him.
And so it is with Christ the King. Earthly kings of Jesus’ day, like tyrants of today, held absolute power. They organized armies and defended what they saw as theirs against those they saw as their enemies. But God is not a tyrant. God is a lover, one who seeks us with compassion, great longing, and deep love. God does not raise up armies, but instead gives Himself to be slaughtered for us.
Martin Luther, speaking of the Church, of all of us, summed it up thus:
From heaven, He came and sought her, To be His holy bride, With His own blood He bought her [away from sin] And for her life He died.
According to John, just like all the Passover lambs, Jesus is condemned at first light. He is crucified, not on Passover, but with the lambs, a full, perfect and sufficient sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction, for the sins of the whole world – for us.
Let us pray:
Lord Jesus Christ, source of every blessing, we offer You our hearts. Help us to be loyal and true to You and to those who love and trust us. Make us humble, patient, pure and obedient to your will. May Your love radiate from us and be distributed through our actions to all we meet, to both friend and stranger, the loveable and seemingly unlovable. Help us to love others as You love us, remembering always Your sacrifice for us all. All this we ask trusting in You. Amen.
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