“The Truth About Kings
Reign of Christ Sunday
NOvember 21, 2021
Revelation 1:4-8
John 18:33-37
Children’s Message: When Jesus wears a ‘crayon.’
The other day, I was telling my friend Jeremy a fairy tale. I told Jeremy how the King wore a fancy outfit and on top of his head was a big crown. But Jeremy didn’t hear the word “crown;” He heard the word “crayon.” When you listen to those words: “crown,” “crayon,” they do sound a lot alike. Jeremy and I had a fun time laughing about the King with a crayon on his head.
On the church calendar, today is the Celebration of Christ the King Sunday. And yes, as I say those words, I am now picturing Jesus with a big, ole crayon on His head. But you know, I think Jesus prefers crayons over crowns.
Throughout time, kings have been seen as bossy, sitting around telling their people what they can and cannot do, wanting to have all the power to themselves.
In our Bible story today, we are reminded that Jesus is not bossy. Jesus is not interested in sitting around. Jesus is more interested in going around. Jesus came to empower each of us to be preachers–to empower us to share God’s love, to help each other. Jesus does NOT wear a crown. No, Jesus works with us; Jesus works through us; Jesus puts the crayons in our hands and frees us to create with Him, frees us to make the world a more beautiful place.
During today’s sermon, I invite you to create a picture of the kind of world you think God wants for us.
Message:
There are two words in this passage that I believe are typically misunderstood. The first is the word ‘king.’ Pilate asks Jesus twice if he considers himself a king. And Jesus responds, essentially, by saying, “You keep saying that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”
So, Jesus tries to clarify for Pilate. He says that his kingdom isn’t from this world. It doesn’t operate the way the world’s kingdoms operate. He says, “If I were YOUR kind of king, this conversation would unfold very differently.” Because the kingdoms of this world use power and violence to ensure peace. That’s essentially how Pax Romana—the Peace of Rome—was achieved. As long as you kept everyone submissive, there was peace. Or, at least, an absence of uprising; and absence of war. But there was no justice.
The world’s way of creating and maintaining nations is to establish leadership and respect based on fear—fear of going to prison, fear of being fired, fear of losing your home or your freedom, fear of going into debt. And when someone does something wrong, there is punitive justice. Revenge. Jesus says, “If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over.” If my kingdom operated from this world, I would be rescued and avenged. If I operated the way Caesar operates, the way nations operate, I would insist on my own way instead of allowing myself to be arrested. Tried. Killed.
Jesus bumps up against the powers of this world and challenges them to show their hand—to display their true colors—the ugliness underneath the mask of peace.
For much of church history, sadly, Christians have behaved exactly as Rome did—colonizing native lands, enslaving people, oppressing people, killing people—all in the name of God. The Church relied on fear to keep people in their place—fear of hell, fear of purgatory, fear of being kicked out of the church. But especially fear of God. We still do that—using the Bible as a weapon and God’s wrath as a jail sentence.
But I wonder, what would it look like to exemplify Jesus’ kingdom? The kingdom of peace and justice? A kingdom that hopes instead of fears; that helps instead of hurts; that offers grace rather than punishment and doesn’t demand obedience but love. What would that kind of kingdom look like among us? Perhaps that’s why so many contemporary theologians and liturgists have replaced the word ‘kingdom’ with ‘kin-dom.’ Kingdom brings with it the idea of someone at the top, meting out judgments and taking from those beneath him. Kin-dom is loaded with the imagery of relationship and interdependence—a world in which all are valued. A world in which trust is not undermined.
And trust, it seems, is a very rare thing these days. Relationships and kinship are rare—especially among opposing people. We assume, at the drop of a hat, that trouble is a-brewing, that someone is up to no good, that those in authority have only their own best interest in mind. And sadly, that is proved again and again.
I wonder how the events of the protest in Wisconsin would have played out different, if only… If only the police officer hadn’t assumed Jacob Blake was going to attack him with a knife and shoot him, but there’s more to it than that. If only protests in Kenosha hadn’t become destructive, but maybe we don’t have the whole story. If only Kyle Rittenhouse hadn’t decided to show up with a rifle. If only protesters hadn’t seen him and attacked. If only he hadn’t shot back. If only we didn’t assume the worst of one another. But perhaps, if only people didn’t do ugly things to lose that trust.
My God, we’re a mess. And how can we learn to trust one another if we don’t live in Truth? That’s the second term that trips my trigger in this passage. Jesus tells Pilate that his kingdom isn’t from this world, but it is FOR this world—it is for the purpose of revealing the truth. And those who are of the truth listen to his voice. And Pilate asks what we’ve all been asking, “What is truth?”
What is not in the Scripture, but given John’s repetitive nature with this phrase, is what I imagine is Jesus’ response: “Come and see.” When he called the disciples, he said, “Come and see.” The woman at the well tells the people of her village to “Come and see.” And when he arrives after Lazarus dies, a man tells him to “Come and see” where they laid him. So, when Pilate asks, “What is truth?” I imagine Jesus saying, “Come and see.” Watch me. See me. LOOK at me.
Because, just like the word ‘king,’ ‘truth’ doesn’t mean what we think it means. When we seek truth, what we’re typically seeking are facts. Documentation. Information. Reasons. Seeking truth in the mess at Kenosha is simply a matter of looking for someone to blame. Was it Rittenhouse? Was it the protesters? Was it the police? Who was to blame so that we can mete out our punishment? What is the truth?
But God’s Truth is so much bigger than the truth of this world. God’s Truth doesn’t seek someone to blame. It seeks to reveal sinfulness in all of us, and set us free. Because blame leads to shame; and shame causes us to hide our true selves. And that works against God’s Truth. Truth, instead, is about shining light in the dark places; it’s about creating a safe space for us to be fully ourselves; it’s about being able to admit the reality of our past without condemning ourselves or each other. That is Truth. And it’s oh so difficult. Because that kind of Truth requires trust—trust in a love that will not betray us or leave us when the Truth comes to light.
But we can trust God in all of this ugliness because God chose us—God chose the cross instead of the sword; God chose death instead of vengeance; God chose forgiveness instead of condemnation. Jesus exemplified a kingliness that is other-worldly and a Truth that is faithful. And these things offer us hope that what we experience in this world is not the only way; that we can stand before the truth of our past without shame; and that we can be part of creating a future that bears witness to God’s reign over all creation.
Pastor Tobi White
Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church
Lincoln, NE
