November 21, 2010

We have come to the end of the liturgical year. We have also, in the gospel reading come to the end of Jesus’ long journey to Jerusalem. We have reached the culmination of both of those journeys and today, we hear again the words we heard last Spring on Palm Sunday when the whole of Luke’s passion narrative was read. The power and emotion of the passion narrative is such that it is difficult to pay attention to the details of the story in the midst of the overwhelming emotions of that important day.

One might think it rather odd to close the church year with this particular gospel reading, the account of Jesus’ death. Particularly odd, perhaps, given that the last Sunday of the liturgical year is known as Christ the King. That title conjures up images of majesty and power. The hymns we sing reinforce such images on a day like this. And for us at Grace, each time we worship, our eyes are drawn to the wooden Christus Rex, Christ the King that hangs from the ceiling behind me. Although it shows an image of Christ on the cross, the Christ who is depicted is not in agony, but rather is triumphant, having vanquished his enemies.

The gospel tells a very different story. Jesus is on the cross and the inscription on it, the charge leveled against him and for which he was executed—King of the Jews. But a crucifixion has very little to do with power and majesty. Instead, we think of Jesus on the cross as weak and powerless.

Luke’s story of Jesus’ crucifixion diverges markedly from the story told by Mark and Matthew. The question is not whether one version is closer to the truth or not—none of the gospel writers were present at the scene. What’s important is what each writer is trying to convey by telling the story in the unique way they do. Only Luke includes the interchange between Jesus and the two robbers. Only Luke has Jesus say, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” In Luke as well, the centurion who oversees the execution says, “Truly this man was innocent.” This contrasts with the confession that Jesus was the Son of God, as Mark and Matthew have it.

Luke tells the story in this way to underscore several of the themes he has emphasized throughout his gospel and in the Book of Acts as well, which he wrote in conjunction with the gospel. One of those themes has to do with forgiveness of sins. Repeatedly in the gospel, more often than in either Matthew or Mark, Jesus forgives the sins of those he encounters. It’s not just that Jesus hangs out with bad guys or demands repentance. Rather, to sin, in the ancient world was to be profoundly outside of the community. By forgiving sins, Jesus is restoring people to community, especially those, who by definition were sinners and excluded.

The second important theme for Luke is that this new Christian community of which he writes presents no threat to the Roman Empire. Time and again in the gospel and in Acts, Luke underscores the point that these Christians, no matter what they might be accused of, hold no desires of overthrowing Rome. Thus the centurion’s words, “Truly this man was innocent” are meant to stress that Jesus was not guilty of the crime with which he was charged—namely inciting revolt against Rome.

Typically, when we hear today’s gospel, we put ourselves in the shoes of bystanders who know what’s going on. The story of the crucifixion is so familiar to us, its meaning for our lives and for the world so often repeated, that to hear the story with fresh ears is exceedingly difficult. Jesus is crucified, by Romans and by Jews either because they think his talk of the kingdom of God constitutes some sort of political and military threat to the Roman Empire or because he challenges the religious power of the Jewish leadership.

In such a reading, the Romans, and perhaps the Jewish leaders got it wrong because they didn’t quite understand that Jesus’ kingdom was not in the here and now, it was the Kingdom of Heaven, as Matthew puts it, an internal, spiritual kingdom to which we all have access whatever our political affiliation. There is some truth in that view, but it misses the point.

There are two dramatic statements in today’s gospel. On the one hand there is the kingship to which the soldiers and the onlookers refer when they mock Jesus, telling him to save himself, and when they ridicule him for the inscription, or charge laid against him “King of the Jews.” On the other hand, there is the kingdom to which the one criminal refers when he pleads with Jesus, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

While the irony of the soldiers’ mocking of Jesus is clear, one wonders about what Luke, or the criminal might have meant by these words. What kingdom is possessed by a man dying on the cross? Luke’s gospel presses that question. It is a question we must ask ourselves as well.

The answer to that question is clear. The image of someone, his body broken, scourged, mocked, crumpled on a cross in a hideous crucifixion, is also the image of Christ the King. But lest we are tempted to say, “Christ’s kingship is not of this world” we need to remember one thing. Jesus was crucified because he was a king. He was crucified because the Romans did perceive him as a threat to their rule. Jesus’ kingdom may be of a very different sort than the Roman Empire, but it is a kingdom nonetheless.

To proclaim Christ as King is to proclaim the reign of God. But no matter how seductive all the trappings of earthly kingship and power might be, in the end, the reign of God is just what Jesus said it was, a community in which there is radical love and the King comes among us as one who serves. The reign proclaimed by Jesus Christ does present a challenge to the powers and principalities of this world. It proclaims that what matters is not wealth or power or success, but rather “the least of these,” the poor and the oppressed, the destitute and downcast. And it proclaims that Christ’s kingdom comes not in a blaze of glory or the destruction of its enemies, but in love and peace.

We humans lack imagination. When we attempt to think about the power and majesty of God in Christ, we fall back to imagery that is thousands of years old, imagery that draws on millennia of violence, power, and emphasizes the rich trappings of monarchy rather than the poverty in which most humans have lived. Today of course, to talk about kings and queens is almost meaningless; they are no more important than any other celebrity, and like other celebrities, what chiefly interests us are their lifestyles, their wealth, and their fame.

What we don’t see are the ways in which such imagery creates a certain attitude in us. Pomp and majesty are not just about the splendor and power of the ruler. They are also intended to keep the rest of us in our place. The trappings of empire are with us still. Did you know that most of the vestments we clergy wear have their origins in the costumes of the Roman imperial classes? The Roman Empire is with us still.

Jesus beckons to us with the promise of a different kingdom, a reign that begins not in power and majesty, but in a manger in Bethlehem. In one sense, it ended on Calvary. But in another way, Calvary is the clearest expression of Christ’s kingship. He rules, not by coercion or force, but by self-giving love.

To confess Christ as King is to confess, above all, that our primary allegiance and commitment is to God in heaven, not to anything in this world, whether it be a nation, our family, fame or fortune. To confess Christ as king, means that we seek to live as he lived, to give ourselves in service to human and to our fellow humans. To confess Christ as king commits us to seeking to realize his values, his message, his love in the world. Only then can we, with the criminal on the cross, plead, “Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.”