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John 18:28-40 · Jesus Before Pilate
Christ, Our King
John 18:33-37
Sermon
by Thomas C. Willadsen
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Today is the last day of the church year. The church year starts four Sundays before Christmas, so next week when I wish you all a happy new year, I hope to get a better response than blank stares. The last Sunday of the church is called both “Christ the King” Sunday, and “Reign of Christ” Sunday. This festival goes all the way back to 1925, when Pope Pius XI added it to the calendar. It was set as the last Sunday of the church year in 1970. When I learned this I was a little surprised. I love looking into the history of our traditions and practices; I love learning about their origins and finding out why we do things the way we’ve always done them. But this is a new tradition. This is a holy day that has been set as the last Sunday of the church year during my lifetime!

The surprising things to me about the addition of Christ the King/ Reign of Christ Sunday to the calendar is that it came in an age when many, perhaps most, countries have elected, not dynastic governments. Perhaps this day was added to reacquaint Christians with being subjects. Looking at the long view of history, it’s probable that most Christians through the ages have lived under kings, queens, and other kinds of non- elected rulers. But for us Americans who fought a revolution to drive out dynastic government, who built into our constitution the prohibition against bestowing titles — seriously, in the 1920s some people objected to calling Babe Ruth “the Sultan of Swat” and Benny Goodman “the King of Swing,” a decade later — because no royal titles!

No Title of Nobility shall be granted by the United States: And no Person holding any Office of Profit or Trust under them, shall, without the Consent of the Congress, accept of any present, Emolument, Office, or Title, of any kind whatever, from any King, Prince, or foreign State.[US Constitution, Article VIII, Sec. IX, Clause XIII]

The office of king is, well, foreign to Americans. It is outside our experience in the way that shepherds are outside our experience. We read about shepherds all the time in the Bible, but have you ever met one?

Our experience with royalty is what we hear about the British royal family, but what does Queen Elizabeth do? She’s surrounded by guards and traditions, and she lives in castles — oh, and she’s surrounded by photographers; her children and her grandchildren are of immense interest, even to people in other nations. Anyone who’s visited an American supermarket in the last forty years and looked at the magazines — admit it, you read the headlines! — would think the British royals rule us.

Seriously, what does the queen do? I’m asking two questions, neither of which I know the answer to: does Queen Elizabeth work? and also what is the nature of her power and authority? Can she create laws, can she veto legislation? Declare holidays? Declare war? I simply don’t know. I do know this: her husband is not a king; he’s a prince. A man does not become king in British tradition by marrying a queen, though women who marry kings become queens. It doesn’t seem fair to me, somehow, but it’s their tradition, their government, not mine.

What we know about kings is that they rule over particular pieces of ground, and have control over the people who live there. The saying, “A man’s home is his castle,” means that individuals rule over their homes in the same way that kings rule over nations. Kings have subjects. Nations have citizens, churches have members (although sometimes we slip and call them “giving units”) but kings have subjects, and subjects are under the control of kings.

That brings me to the lessons from John’s gospel, part of Jesus’ trial before Pilate. Every time I come across this passage I remember David Bowie playing Pilate in “The Last Temptation of Christ.” Bowie’s Pilate was icily indifferent as he cooed, “So, you are a king.” The Last Temptation of Christ, directed by Martin Scorsese (1988; New York: Universal Pictures), DVD. He was aloof and disinterested in the film, but on closer reading I have to say I think the film got this scene wrong, it set the wrong tone. The contrast between Christ and Pilate was one of self-sufficiency and insecurity.

Pilate first appeared early in the morning of Jesus’ arrest. The Jewish authorities brought Jesus to Pilate. (I need to clarify here that it was the Jewish authorities who were acting against Jesus. The gospel of John is often lazy in saying merely, “the Jews,” as though all Jews everywhere are somehow responsible for the crucifixion. The seed of anti-Semitism can be replanted every time someone reads John’s gospel and a few other New Testament texts without appreciating this distinction. John’s gospel was certainly set in a context very different from ours, when John was being written Christianity was a sect within Judaism, [so the disputes like family feuds we find in John.]) Pilate asked, “What accusation do you bring against this man?” and the answer was, “If this man were not a criminal we wouldn’t bring him to you.” John 18: 29-30 (NRSV). There’s nothing like not answering the question that has been asked— and that’s nothing like answering the question that had been asked! Pilate correctly pointed out that there were Jewish courts in which to try people guilty of transgressing religious law. But those bringing Jesus pointed out that only Rome had the power to execute a criminal. Now think about this, Pilate didn’t know what the charge against Jesus was, just that those bringing Jesus before him believed Jesus had committed a capital offense. Somehow, the text doesn’t say how, Pilate learned that the charge against Jesus was that he claimed to be king.

It was in the exchange between Pilate and Jesus that the contrast between the two leaders, and their two kingdoms, became clear. Jesus was direct and transparent saying that his kingdom was not of this world. He said that his subjects were those who recognized truth. So his kingdom was not over a piece of land, rather it was over the hearts and minds of those who were brave enough to follow him. If his kingdom was like Pilate’s, his followers would have been waging war — and many of Jesus’ followers wanted to wage war, expecting the Messiah to lead that war — to drive the Roman occupiers out of their country. Many were disappointed that Jesus didn’t start an uprising, that he wasn’t a revolutionary, that the movement had prompted many people to follow him but wouldn’t bring a change of government. This is the truth Jesus mentioned at the end of his conversation before Pilate, to which Pilate famously asked, “What is truth?” But then Pilate left Jesus and reported to the Jewish authorities, “I find no case against him.” John 18:38 (NRSV). Apparently King Pilate was not threatened by King Jesus who claimed his kingdom was not of this world.

(A little Christmas foreshadowing here: Herod was totally afraid of a king, even a baby king, being born in his realm.)

Pilate offered to release Jesus, as was the custom of the Roman occupiers. One prisoner got released from custody every Passover. The Jewish authorities chose Barabbas, a failed revolutionary. Jesus was flogged, then Pilate again told the authorities that he found no case against Jesus. He presented Jesus to them a third time and said, “Crucify him yourselves, I find no case against him.” John 19:6 (NRSV). But they pointed out that according to their law, anyone who claimed to be God’s son must be killed. At this, finally, Pilate was afraid. He tried even more urgently to not have Jesus crucified, but the crowd yelled even louder. They pitted Pilate’s fear of God against his ambition, saying, “If you release this man you are no friend of the emperor.” John 19:12 (NRSV). The authorities did not seem troubled at all because the name Barabbas means, “son of the father” …hmm.

It’s fascinating, this powerful ruler was fearful of one whose authority was not from this world. Pilate, in my opinion, got a glimpse of who Jesus was and what Jesus had come to do, but simply couldn’t move much beyond his narrow, earthly understanding. And the more he tried to make others responsible for Christ’s execution, the more eagerly the authorities proclaimed their allegiance to the emperor as well as to taking the responsibility on themselves.

To put this struggle in regal or authoritative terms, the more Pilate abdicated, the more the authorities sought to enthrone themselves as loyal subjects of the great and mighty emperor to whom their loyalty was unwavering.

What can this collision between two kings and two kingdoms mean to us today? Jesus said that no one can serve two masters — he was speaking of God and wealth at that point, but he could have been speaking about many of ways we divide our loyalty. Whom should we put on the throne? To whom should we give our loyalty? In the paper recently, I saw this ad for computer software and DVD programs about astronomy. I thought at first it was for telescopes — it caught my eye because of the words, “Prove to your kids they’re not the center of the universe.” There was a man and a boy, presumably father and son, looking into the night sky with a telescope on a tripod.[1]

I love astronomy. I love looking up into the night sky. Anytime there’s an eclipse, aurora display, comet, super moon, or anything else unusual in the sky, I want to see it and want my family to see it with me. The psalms tell us the heavens declare the glory of God, and their vastness and beauty can teach us a proper humility. They can make us feel small, and in our feeling small we might even come face-to- face with a reality that we ignore in our day-to-day lives: We’re not in charge. We believe we are powerful, autonomous beings, able to plan and control — if not world events at least our little corners of the world, our spheres of influence — our families, those with whom we work, our personal space — but looking up into the vastness of the heavens makes us stop and wonder. Pilate wasn’t a guy who stopped and wondered much. But he did when he spoke to Jesus. In that conversation we saw how closely wonder and fear were linked. Stopping and wondering — whether prompted by gazing at the sky, marveling at God’s love for humanity displayed on the cross or cherishing the embrace of someone we love — helps us to see that we are not the center of the universe, that we don’t belong on the throne, but one more powerful and gentle than us does.

I’ll never forget a moment when I got a glimpse of my place in the kingdom where Christ rules. I was standing under a starry sky, feeling that I had somehow been lifted into the air because the stars were all around me and I was so tiny. I looked straight up and suddenly realized that though I am a tiny, tiny part of the universe, there was nothing that separated me from God. I could look straight up into heaven and I did, for a long, long time. I didn’t need to be king then, because I knew the difference between being an insignificant part of an infinite universe and being a tiny, treasure, beloved part of God’s kingdom.

I admit it’s a daily struggle to keep Christ on the throne in my heart; it’s where he belongs and it’s how I can best live as his loyal subject.

Amen.

 

1. Image courtesy of Starry Night, www.StarryNight.com

 

CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Gratitude on the prairie: cycle B sermons for Proper 18-Thanksgiving based on the gospel texts, by Thomas C. Willadsen