The anti-dote to unjust justice
Sermon on John 18:33-37
Grace to you and peace from him who is and who was and who is to come, and from the seven spirits who are before his throne, and from Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth. (Revelations 1, 4b-5a)
It’s an uncertain time. It feels weirdly stable and unstable at the same time. A pandemic lingered on for years, finally there is a sense of new opportunity and future in the air and not just a deadly virus. At least for some. Scientist have found new ways to treat viruses and hygiene has improved. The future looks golden, with sparkling dresses and music everywhere and the sound of trains and cars, connecting people all over the world. That’s the overall picture. It’s a pretty one. One we want to frame and look at 100 years later even. To remember the freedom. The radical words of love and community. The opportunity for people to be who they are. No matter whether that is gender conform or not. Women smoking and drinking, wearing pants and short hair, driving around in their cars. Women attending university, going to football games, dancing through the night. Men caring about mental health, offering and doing therapy. Men loving men, women loving women. A time to remember. A progressive time in so many ways.
Also, a growingly secular society. Where people question church dogmas and look for God in nature and music. Where many question how a God can exist in a world with that much pain and inequality. Where the experience of a world of war leads to atheism and hopelessness. Where the church has trouble answering people’s existential questions and leaves them with hungering for something else. Where some want militarism to end forever. And some cannot see any different way.
Where one part of the world starts dreaming of a world where everything is shared and forgets that Sin is a huge part of human nature. And so, that part of the world runs into its own kind of militarism and dictatorship while wanting to unite the poor and give prosperity to all. To them, power is evil. And power is strongly connected with the church to them. Something, they actually got right. The sin of the church was (and often still is) to cling to worldly powers. So, they reject the church, they reject their faith and their God.
A time of contrasts. A polarized time.
While one group celebrates diversity and the freedom to be the body you are. While some come up with amazing ideas of how to build communal living spaces and affordable housing and how to be democratic, another group roams the streets. Mostly white men, while their wives lobby from their homes and raise the children. Groups of mostly young white men march around, insult everyone whom they consider to be different. Those people hate diversity. But because that’s not a catchy phrase, they say they hate Jews and Communists and Muslims and Black people and immigrants. Those white supremacists call for the Aryan race to rule the world. They come up with scientific reasons for why white skin is better. They find a struggling church just too willing to stand with them.
They freely walk around with guns claiming to defend themselves or their race or their culture or their country or all of the above. Sometimes, they overdo it even in the eyes of the otherwise sympathizing police. Then, they have to go to jail for a little while. Where they have time to work on their image as a martyr for the good cause and build up their group of supporters. Often, their trials become more of a stand for white supremacy than for justice for all. A great opportunity to be heard by even more people. Some even take the time and write books in jail that unveil all of their hateful ideas to anyone who is willing to read it. Yet, years later, most everyone will still claim that they didn’t know any of that. That no one could have foreseen any of the bloodshed and destruction and war.
They walk around with self-esteem and a sense of righteousness. Knowing that they most likely won’t be condemned for their threatening behavior. Because people will call those groups vigilantes (which implies that they keep vigil over something more precious than anything else). And they will call their behavior honorable or at least in accordance with the law. Which doesn’t mean it’s right. It just means that the laws are in favor of them. People will call them heroes if they win, or martyrs if they die or end in jail. While calling the groups protesting that behavior, rioters.
And while all of this sounds too current, and you might be wondering by now when I am going to stop that political talk and start preaching, bear with me. It’s a different time I am talking about here. I am describing the situation in 1925. A polarized time when Pope Pius XI established Christ the King Sunday. As an anti-dose to the secularism in the west, to the rise of communism in the Soviet Union, and as a medicine against the rising fascism in Italy and Spain and Germany. There was no such thing as a Christ the King Sunday in our church calendar before 1925. Not because there was no need before but because nobody named the need as clearly as Pope Pius XI.
It could also be called the “Antifa-Sunday”. The Sunday opposing all worldly powers claiming the right to rule over our souls and to lead us into destroying others and ourselves. Not with even stronger force though. But with the scripture that depicts Jesus in his worst kingly moment. At his physical and emotional worst. Arrested, harassed, hungry, abandoned, sleep-deprived, questioned by Pontius Pilate, known for his cruelty. Our king Jesus Christ as a falsely accused criminal. A man of color dying for the sins of others. Who chooses humility, surrender, brokenness, and loss over any kind of glory in the world.
For what it’s worth, Jesus doesn’t even verify the claim that he is indeed a king. All he does is use Pilates’ language trying to help him understand better what Jesus is about. “My kingdom is not from this world.” A way of fully confusing poor Pilate. And so, Pilate doubles down on Jesus, insisting on getting his own question answered. “Are you the king?” Spoiler alert: At no time will Jesus really answer.
It’s as if Jesus is saying: “Man, you are asking the wrong question. It’s not important whether I am a king or not. It’s important what that would imply for my people and for the world. And, honestly, king language might not be too helpful here, because everyone will then think in old frameworks, and I need open minds and hearts for a new way of living and being in this world. But then, ok, Pilate, I will use king language so that you may get at least a glimpse of my powers that are beyond your imagination.”
Eventually, Jesus gives Pilate a hint, what would be the right topic to talk about. Not about power per se. But about truth. “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” Which is a great invitation for Pilate to ask about the story of Jesus’ life. Of course, Pilate is too self-centered to get it. As the story evolves, Pilate will ask Jesus: “What is truth!” And Jesus will remain quiet. And just look at Pilate. As an embodied witness to the truth. To not just hear about Jesus’ experiences and teaching. But to look at it. To see the scars in his skin, the blisters on his feet from long journeys, the tiredness and hope in his eyes, and the great love for everyone he encounters. Even for Pilate. Just, that Pilate can’t see that. The power he thinks he has and the powers he serves have closed his heart to see the truth. The people outside of his palace hold part of that power. The crowd calling for Jesus’ death. Or the riot. In Greek, that is the same word. In our English translation, it depends on what we as theologians think is a justifiable crowd. And what isn’t.
Thank God, we know it anyway. Because we have the many stories in our Gospels telling us what kind of a person Jesus was, what he taught, how he lived, whom he loved. How he defined his kingship. As a servant of all. As the love and star of the world. As an anti-dote to all trying to seize power, trying to rule the world, trying to define who is worthy, and who isn’t.
This Sunday reminds us that knowing Christ means to know Christ as King. In his very own definition of that kingship. And in his power that rejects any other power claiming ownership over our souls and bodies. And when looking at Jesus’ life today, we also get a stern reminder: That what’s legally right might not be just.
Because I am sure that Pilate’s defenders would have easily been able to say that Jesus was guilty beyond reasonable doubt. Yet, we know that that is simply a lie.
“To him who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood, and made us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father, to him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.” (Revelations 1, 5b-6)
