Theme: On this Christ the King Sunday, we remember how Jesus, “the King of the Jews,” wants to be Jesus, “the King of hearts” in each of our lives.
The Word-Made-Flesh . .. Exegesis of Luke 23:33-43
Today is “Christ the King Sunday.” The Sunday before Advent begins its four week count-down to the crib of the infant Jesus. In the church’s liturgical calendar this is the Sunday we celebrate Christ’s divine kingship, his ruling authority over all of creation. Then we try not to get whiplash as we turn the other direction and prepare for the coming of Christ, not as King but as kid, a helpless, fragile, babbling baby.
This oxymoronic contrast is heightened even more by the gospel text selected to best demonstrate how Christ is King-—Luke’s account of the horrid crucifixion scene on Golgotha. It is as Jesus hangs on the cross and faces his own death that his divine kingship is revealed to the world. Christ is King not because he saves himself but because his sacrificial love restores and redeems the whole of creation.
This week’s gospel text opens at the place where Jesus’ crucifixion will take place. Luke refers to this placed simply as “The Skull,” omitting the Semitic “Golgotha” added by the other gospel writers. Crucifixion was the most torturous form of execution ever invented, performed by the Roman authorities in very public areas, ensuring that as many people would witness the gruesome power of the state. This slow, agonizing death by eventual asphyxiation was a formidable advertisement against breaking the civil laws of the land.
Luke portrays Jesus response to his own crucifixion as a proclamation of forgiveness. All those involved in killing him are ignorant of what they are doing, Jesus insists, and deserving of divine forgiveness. It is Jesus himself who best embodies his own directive (6:27-28): “pray for those who abuse you.” The cluelessness of his crucifiers is further demonstrated by the casting of lots for his clothing. This detail matches that found in Psalm 22:8, and demonstrates Jesus’ complete humiliation before his persecutors. In the Psalm the unjustly accused is vindicated by God, even as Jesus’ own death will be redeemed for the redemption of the world.
In v.35 Luke begins carefully parsing his witnesses into distinctly different groups.
1) “The people,” the undistinguished “laos” are first skimmed off the top. The “people” do not defend Jesus, but neither do they actively participate in mocking and deriding the crucified man before them.
2) Not so “the rulers” who “sneered” or “scoffed” at Jesus, vocalizing their contempt. The term Luke uses for their mocking, “ekmykterizo,” is the same Luke used in 116:14 to describe the attitude of the Pharisees towards Jesus. Theses leaders taunt Jesus, asking why if has “saved others” he is now apparently incapable of saving himself. This is the first of three “save yourself” insults thrown at Jesus while he hangs on the cross (vs 36, 39). The leaders follow up their question by mockingly invoking the title “the Christ of God, the Chosen One” (“christos tou theou, ho eklekto”). This is the title that had been announced both by Peter at his confession and at the event of the Transfiguration. Here it is delivered by those who “know not what they do.”
3) The second insult comes from the soldiers—-another elite group. They “also mocked him” and then, recalling the image from Psalm 68:22 (“In my thirst they gave me vinegar to drink . . ..”), offer Jesus “oxos,” a sour vinegary wine (see Numbers 6:3). Again, the insult is followed by a challenge to Jesus to “save yourself,” if indeed he is “the king of the Jews” (v.37).
This cry becomes the “epigraphe” that is nailed above Jesus’ cross, declaring in Greek, Latin, and Hebrew that “This is the King of the Jews.” Not all translations retain the notation that this title was etched over Jesus’ head in all three of the learned languages of the day. In John’s gospel (19:19) Pilate himself (one of Luke’s “leaders”?) is credited with writing and affixing this placard. There are other ancient references to such “epigraphe” being attached to executed criminals (Suetonius, “Life of Caligula,” 32:2).
If this sign were perceived as a denouncement instead of a declaration of truth, it could have served several purposes. Pilate would have the written “proof” that he had not judged Jesus simply to appease the mob, but that he had a legitimate legal reason to declare Jesus a traitor and criminal worthy of a death sentence. This sign could also have appealed to the Jewish authorities: how ridiculous would Jesus appear to the Jewish community when he wore the title of “king” only as he hung crucified on a cross.
The final insult and challenge to Jesus comes from one of the two other convicted criminals hanging next to him. For the third time Jesus is identified as “the Christ” by those viewing him on the cross. For the third time he is taunted to “save yourself.” The condemned man, one of those who knows “not what they do,” even includes himself and the other condemned man in Jesus’ sphere of saving power—“save yourself and us.”
The one voice that defends Jesus comes from the third cross. The second criminal lambasts the first, reminding him that “you are under the same sentence.” This “sentence,” “krima,” may also be interpreted as “judgment,” suggesting the second criminal may be thinking of God’s eternal judgment, not the state’s death sentence. This judgment of death is wrong, the second criminal declares, for Jesus “has done nothing wrong” (v.41).
In Luke’s gospel only demoniacs or those seeking healing ever address Jesus by name. Yet here this second criminal asks, “Jesus, remember me.” Furthermore he asks Jesus to remember him when he comes into his “kingdom.” Only a “king” has a “kingdom.” The condemned man’s affirmation of Jesus’ kingship stands in solitary contrast to the mocking tones of the other witnesses around the cross.
Jesus’ response verifies all that the condemned man has said. “Paradise” means “divine garden,” which brings us back to Genesis and takes us forward to an eschatological rebirth of creation. Although he hangs on the cross, Jesus confirms both his presence and his authority in the new, redeemed reality that is to come.
Come Alive to The Living Word:
The Word-Made-Flesh Dwells Among Us. . . . .
Call any “customer assistance” line lately? You immediately get fed to the lions of the loop . . .. the answering machine loop, where the first choice you are offered is whether you want your instructions to come in English or Spanish. Of course the instructions for requesting English are given in English, while the instructions for requesting Spanish are given in Spanish. Press “one” for English. . . . Para instructions en espanol oprima el numero dos. It would be ridiculous for the language choice options to all be offered in only one language. It would defeat the purpose of trying to communicate with the caller in their own language.
The same logic is suggested by the sign, the “epigraphe,” hung over Jesus as he hung on the cross. According to Luke “This is the King of the Jews” was written in Greek, in Latin, and in Hebrew—-the three world languages, the languages of power and learning in the first century.
But who was this declaration really aimed at? Have you ever wondered about that?
Although warning signs apparently were tacked up over executed criminals, it is unlikely mere words offered any greater deterrent to potential criminals than the dead body on display. Even the notion that the would-be thieves, murderers, and rabble rousers of the first-century were literate in any language stretches the imagination.
But what if it was not to the common, uneducated crowd that Pilate displayed the sign proclaiming of the crucified Jesus, “This is the King of the Jews.”
What if Pilate wasn’t trying to justify himself for the state-sponsored murder of a mob-chosen victim?
What if Pilate wasn’t trying to woo favor with the Jewish establishment with a sign showing his concern for their spiritual sensitivities?
What if, instead, Pilate was preaching Christianity’s first sermon? “Jesus, the King of the Jews.”
What if Plate was reciting the earliest Christian creed? “Jesus, the King of the Jews.”
The statement of truth is the foremost burden of a sermon. And Christianity’s first sermon tells the truth about “truth.” It also gives a thoughtful answer to an earlier question: “What is truth?”
When Jesus was brought before Pilate by members of the Sanhedrin, Jesus first was accused of inciting civil unrest by urging people not to pay their taxes. Jesus then was accused of proclaiming himself “Messiah, a king” (Luke 23:2). It is Pilate himself who restructures the accusers’ testimony into his own question, “Are you the king of the Jews?” (Luke 23:3).
Jesus’ response is enigmatic, an affirmation not of his own identity but of the accuracy of Pilate’s words: “You are saying it.”
Pilate finally crumpled under the pressure from the three-pronged demand for Jesus’ blood: 1) from the Sanhedrin; 2) from Herod; and 3) from the mob. But Pilate never veered from his original perception of Jesus. Pilate knew the accusations against Jesus were groundless. Pilate knew the verdict of death was an injustice.
Yet while the gruesome sentence was being carried out he managed to assert the truth about Jesus’ identity as he knew it: “This is the King of the Jews.”
The sign announces The Truth in Hebrew to the Jews who condemned Jesus, The Truth in Latin to the Roman authorities who sentenced Jesus, The Truth in Greek to the learned citizens who demanded Jesus’ blood.
Pilate includes himself in this list of those who are guilty. No hand-washing ritual (Matthew 27:25) could sluice the truth from Pilate’s heart. That the sign declaring the truth about Jesus is not pleasing to others is made explicit in John’s gospel. Christianity’s sermon got a harsh review. The Jewish authorities complain about its message, chastising Pilate for writing it. Pilate’s retort is as affirming, yet as enigmatic, as Jesus’ own defense before his accusers: “What I have written, I have written” (John 19:22).
In John 8:32 as Jesus is addressing an uncomprehending crowd he challenges them to become his disciples for then they “will know the truth and the truth will make you free.”
What is the truth that we must know to be free?
It’s not the truth of some doctrine, or some body of knowledge.
The truth is Jesus himself.
The uniqueness of Christianity’s understanding of truth is the subject of Christianity’s first sermon. When I say the word “Truth,” what comes to your mind? Let’s try it right now. Close your eyes. I say “truth.” What immediately pops into your mind’s eye?
I guarantee you that for most of you what comes to mind first is an objective statement, a set of principles, a proposition, a philosophy.
NOT!
That’s not Christianity. That’s Islam. That’s Confucianism. That’s Judaism. When I say “truth” the first thing that should come to your mind is a person: Jesus the Christ, the Messiah. For Christians truth is a person, not a proposition.
One of the first speeches I memorized was the Gettysburg Address: “Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.” As Americans, we are “dedicated to a proposition.” As Christians, we are NOT dedicated to a proposition. We are dedicated to a person.
Do you think Jesus died on the cross to give us a proposition? Okay . . . which proposition was it?
Jesus died on the cross NOT to dedicate us to a proposition, but to restore us to a right relationship with God. And God is so much more than an orthodox proposition.
God did not send us a proposition . . . God sent us a person.
God did not send us more rules and regulations . . . God sent us a redeemer.
God did not send us a statement (I get enough statements every month, I don’t need another one) . . . God sent us a Savior.
Jesus is The Way.
Jesus is The Truth.
Jesus is The Life.
In John 3:21 a little verb leaps out and grabs me by the throat: “Those who DO what is true come to the light.” Want to know “the truth?” Want to come into the light? Then participate in the life of Christ. DO and BE Jesus, the one who is the truth. Truth is as alive as Jesus is, because Jesus is The Truth. Truth is not some dormant creed or dominant proposition. Truth is a person who calls us into relationship of DOING and BEING Jesus, and in DOING and BEING Jesus we are healed of our broken relationships with God, with ourselves, with each other, and with the earth.
Pilate got it right: Pilate was the first postmodern . . . as well as the first preacher. There is this stereotype of postmoderns as people who want to wring the neck of truth. Don’t you believe it. There is a huge hunger and thirst for truth out there among our postmodern kids, and Pilate’s question of Jesus “What is truth?” reflects that postmodern hunger for truth.
Notice Pilate is staring Jesus in the eye when he asks him: “What is truth?”
But Pilate eventually figured it out. At the end. He even put up a billboard to show that he “got it” right. High on a hill, he had something inscribed for all to see. In fact, he was so confident of his answer to the question of “What is truth?” that he had his answer translated into Greek, the language of trade and commerce, Latin, the linga franca of the day, and Hebrew. In other words, his answer to the question “What is truth?” was a global answer that applied to the whole earth.
And his answer was this: “Jesus, King of the Jews.”
Jesus is the Truth . . . not just the truth about God, but more accurately the truth of what it means to be fully human.
Jesus is the live Truth. And Jesus calls us his followers to be live truths to the world.
Be a living truth this week. Go . . . BE Jesus and DO Jesus out there in the world this week.
Illustrations
The 17th century English poet John Donne put it like this:
On a huge hill,
Cragged and steep, Truth stands, and he that will
Reach her, about must, and about must go.
--“Hymn to God My Father in My Sickness,”
Know the motto of the Dominican order? “Truth”
If you want an example of the postmodern hunger for truth, check out the 40th anniversary issue of “This Magazine.” Here is a quote from their PR announcing this issue and bannering its significance. When asked “What is THE idea whose time has come,” the majority of respondents said that the quest for truth, or the philosophical task of rehabilitating truth, was the major challenge of the 21st century:
On the occasion of our 40th birthday, This Magazine asked 40 past and 20 present contributors and some distinguished guests for a big idea whose time has come. Some particularly inspired folks contributed more than one idea; sadly we couldn’t include helmets for drivers (J.B. MacKinnon) or deep-fried butter sticks (Ivan E. Coyote), but what is here represents an incredible array, with ideas as diverse and individual as the people who contributed them. (With illustrations by Graham Roumieu)
Which is probably another way of saying that the idea whose time has come is philosophy, understanding by that much-abused word what Jonathan Lear calls conceptual therapy: not making ourselves feel better by means of concepts, but subjecting our concepts to therapeutic investigation. That’s an idea whose time has always already come, has come again and again, forever and ever, world without end.
Or, if you want to hear the authentic voice is a “postmodern” who is coming to terms with the truth about truth, I quote from one of my precocious students at Drew Seminary, Youth Minister Mark Karris, who wrote this meditation on “Absolute Truth” in the process of his question for an answer to Pilate’s question:
Oh absolute truth (Scripture) I thought you were there to comfort me, You made me feel safe and secure. You were a weapon in my hand to argue with, to oppress, to shame and to guilt. Oh the deleterious effects of truth, you have hurt others but oh how good I felt. You gave me power and control and now you have abandoned me. I thought we were in love but you have disappeared. I thought you were my God but you have deserted me. I am but a fool. How I trusted you. Now in what am I to put my trust? I am in despair, woe is me, what I thought was real was just a mirage, what I thought was true was just a myth, an evanescent vapor of, what I thought was divine. Then something more real came and rescued me. I should say someone, for it was not a thing or a proposition but a person or I shall describe as romantically personable. He was called Truth, He rescued me from the pit of despair, not with words but with a touch, a touch so magnificent, so splendiferous, so majestic, in a way that words cannot describe. I now know that I want to know nothing except Truth, truth not on a page but Truth as a person. You are my mysterious iconoclast. I don’t know Truth completely but I feel like I am learning more and more who Truth is as we interact and fellowship. I now speak a foreign language of love, a language that I cannot share in words but a language uttered by my spirit, the innermost part of my being. There is a dance, there is a friendship, there is reciprocity of love, Truth and I. It was hard at first, I wanted the control, I wanted the power, I wanted to be safe and comforted with truth (small t) but now I place my faith in my great Romancer, who is Truth, who has all control and power. Truth, continue to ravish me. Thrash my pride and arrogance to the ground. Truth, Who can box you in? Who can control you? No one!!!! Burn away what is not of You, Help me to Love you Truth. Continue to set me free as I have been already! –by Mark Karris