"#notmyking": Sermon for Christ the King Sunday
Sermon for Sunday 20 November 2016
Christ the King Sunday
Lutheran Church of the Redeemer,
Jerusalem
The Rev. Carrie Ballenger Smith
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Grace and peace to you from God our
Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.
I’d like to
start this sermon with an important question:
 |
| Signs of Christmas in Jerusalem |
Is it too
soon to spend Sunday afternoon watching Christmas movies?
What about
Christmas music? Too soon?
And what about
the Christmas tree—approximately when is too early to assemble and decorate it,
without seeming ridiculous?
I’m asking for
a friend…
The truth
is, this year I’m more than ready for a little Christmas.
I’m ready
for some light shining in this darkness.
I’m ready
for the hopeful expectation of good things about to be born, instead of the
gloom and doom about the apocalypse to come.
I’m ready
for Mary and Joseph, and the star, and the little town of Bethlehem.
I’m ready
for sweet baby Jesus, so full of potential, so full of hope, so full of love
for this broken world!
But of
course, it’s not Christmas yet.
It’s not
even Advent yet.
In today’s
Scripture readings, we aren’t in Bethlehem, we’re in Jerusalem. Jesus is not in
the manger, but is at Calvary. Advent begins in just a few days, and Christmas
will be here and gone before we know it…but before we kneel with the wise men
at the manger, today we are invited to spend some time kneeling at the foot of
the cross.
If this
juxtaposition of death and impending birth seems strange, consider that most
Orthodox icons of the incarnation show the infant Jesus wrapped in what could be
either “swaddling clothes” or a death shroud. Jesus and the Virgin Mary are
often pictured sitting in a cave which could be interpreted either his
birthplace or his resting place. This is a subtle but powerful reminder that
our faith is not just a Christmas faith. We may prefer the baby Jesus, meek and
mild, but we can never forget that this same baby’s life of preaching,
teaching, and healing leads him to the cross and to the tomb.
This is the
reason that on the last Sunday of the church year, Christ the King Sunday, we hear
an account of the crucifixion. As we wrap up another year and look toward the
next, we are invited to contemplate the nature of the one we call Lord and
Savior. Who is this Jesus, whose birthday is our favorite holiday? Who is this
Jesus, whose life has inspired us for two thousand years? Who is this Jesus we
call King, and exactly what kind of “king” can be found on a cross?
I recently heard
a radio report about a company that will take the entirety of your online
presence—everything you have ever Instagrammed, Tweeted, or posted on Facebook—and
will compile it into a social media “autobiography” when you die. Because, of
course, if you didn’t share it on social media, it didn’t happen! A reporter
paid for this special service and asked to have her so-called “autobiography”
prepared, in video form, which she then watched in a room full of other people.
Her review of the experience was, in a word, “disturbing.” Having your entire
life distilled into the sum of your photos, tweets, and shares, is enough to
give one pause. And what about your very last social media contribution? Do you
really want to be remembered for that last angry tweet? Or for that last cat
photo you just couldn’t help sharing? (All cat photos are worth sharing, by the
way.)
What can
anyone really know about you from your last words, online or in real life?
In this
morning’s Gospel text, from the 23rd chapter of the Gospel according
to Luke, we don’t hear Jesus’ very last words. But what we
do hear in this account of the crucifixion are some of Jesus’ last words to a human being. We hear how Jesus was
nailed to a cross, and hanging next to him were condemned criminals: One on his
right, and one on his left.
As it is
written:
One of the
criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, “Are you not the
Messiah? Save yourself and us!” But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not
fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed
have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds,
but this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you
come into your kingdom.”
And Jesus replied:
“Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
“Today, you
will be with me in Paradise.”
Imagine the
joy these words must have given the dying man next to Jesus.
Imagine the
comfort these words must have given him in his time of agony.
Imagine the
love, and the divine strength Jesus must have possessed, to utter such words of
hope and healing to another dying man, even as he also was suffering greatly.
So, what can
we know of Jesus from these last words? What kind of king is he?
We know everything:
We know Jesus
is the king of healing and wholeness, able to soothe the soul of a dying man
with a few words.
We know
Jesus is the king of aggravating authorities, denying them even the
satisfaction of putting an end to a prisoner, as he offered that same prisoner life
and liberation with him in Paradise.
We know Jesus
is the king of mercy, as he did not use his last breaths to utter curses upon
those who had tortured him, but instead uttered words of grace and forgiveness
to a confessed criminal.
We know Jesus
is the king of love—not for himself, but for others—for he chose not to save
himself, but in great love emptied himself of divine power in order to save our
broken world.
Needless to
say, it is difficult for the world to comprehend a king like this. For what has the
world taught us about kings? Kings are born of royal lineage. Kings live in
fortresses. Kings travel with a security detail. Kings live a world apart,
untouched by the cares of regular people, much less criminals.
Kings do not get crucified.
So it is
really quite something to profess:
My king was
born of an unwed mother.
My king’s
first bed was in a stable.
My king is
condemned by religious authorities.
My king is
publicly mocked.
My king is a
death row prisoner.
My king is
killed by the empire.
My king
rules by love and not by might.
It’s a
scandal to say such things, especially in this time when world leaders can
ascend to seats of power through domination, through exclusion, and even
through mocking and ridiculing all who are different.
In the wake
of the recent US election, some protestors have adopted the slogan “#notmypresident”.
I have mixed feelings about the use of this phrase, especially since my country
endured eight years of folks saying nearly the same about our last president,
merely for the color of his skin. But it occurs to me that when we proclaim
Christ as King over our lives, we are necessarily proclaiming others as
#notmyking. When we proclaim Christ as king, we are making a political statement:
If Christ is
love, then hatred is #notmyking
If Christ is
mercy, then violence is #notmyking
If Christ is
truth, then lies are #notmyking
If Christ is
of one being with the Father, Creator of all my fellow humans, then racism is
#notmyking, sexism is #notmyking, homophobia is #notmyking, anti-Semitism is
#notmyking, Islamophobia is #notmyking.
If Christ is
my King—the same Christ who spoke words of mercy, healing, and welcome to a
confessed criminal in his dying moments—then any and all powers and
principalities who stand against the Gospel values of love, mercy, forgiveness,
equality, diversity, living together, non-violence, and reconciliation—these are
#notmyking, #notmyjesus, #notmyguidinglight, #notmyhope, and #notgoingtochangethewayItreatmyneighbor!
It’s interesting
to note that Pope Pius XI instituted the feast of Christ the King in 1925 in
response to the rise of fascism in Europe. In that precarious time—not all too
different from our own—he called upon Christians to remember what kind of God
they serve, and how the reign of Christ is fundamentally different from the
fascist values spreading across the world. In his encyclical of 11 December
1925, in which he established the observance of Christ the King Sunday, Pope
Pius quoted Cyril of Alexandria, saying:
“Christ has dominion over all
creatures, a dominion not seized by violence nor usurped, but his by essence
and by nature."
“Jesus,
remember me when you come into your kingdom,” said the dying man.
“Truly, I
tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
Dear sisters
and brothers, as we begin our Advent journey together next week, making our way
with Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem, let us remember these words of grace and
mercy, and the one who spoke them. This is the king whose birth we await. This
is the king we follow and serve. This is the king of our lives, and of the
world—a king who can be neither elected nor impeached, neither inaugurated nor
deposed. A king whose love surpasses all understanding. A king who welcomes all
who repent and believe into his kingdom—even confessed criminals. Even our
neighbors with whom we disagree! Even us.
May the
peace of God which passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds in
Christ Jesus. Amen.
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