“Reign Down Your Love” – Nov 21, 2010
November 21, 2010
Scripture: Luke 23: 33-43
When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.” And they cast lots to divide his clothing. And the people stood by, watching; but the leaders scoffed at him, saying, “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!” The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine, and saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” There was also an inscription over him, “This is the King of the Jews.” One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” 40But 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.” He replied, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
Sermon: Reign Down Your Love
by Rev. Doreen Oughton
Today is the last Sunday of the liturgical, or church, year. The church calendar begins with Advent, which starts next week, so today, in a way, is our the church’s new year’s eve. What do we usually do on New Year’s eve? We celebrate, we reflect on the past year, and we anticipate the year ahead, whether through resolutions or goal-setting. Since 1925, the last Sunday of the church year has been set apart to celebrate, and what we celebrate is the reason that we exist as a church, that we recognize Jesus Christ as our Lord and sovereign. It used to be called Christ the King day, but now it is Reign of Christ day. So on this New Year’s eve day, I invite you to celebrate this with me, and to reflect on what this really means to us in our lives as Christians.
I must admit that I am glad that the name of the celebration was changed. There is something about calling Christ my king that chafes just a bit. Perhaps it is my feminist bias, but the imagery of kingship causes me to put up my guard. As we talked about with the children, kingship, or queenship, generally involves being wealthy – having lots of beautiful things – gold and jewels and fine clothes. It involves having people defer to you, admire you, look up to you, bow down to you and do your bidding. It involves command, making and enforcing the rules, even calling armies. You might say that sovereignty involves possessions, prestige and power.
I wonder if it is not just my feminism that stirs a reaction to this set up, but also my patriotism. When the American colonists rebelled against England, they rebelled against the crown, against the monarchy, against the notion that accidents of birth lineage allow only certain people to have possessions, prestige and power, while others are ordained by their lineage to poverty and powerlessness. And while I have to confess that the idea of having possessions, prestige and power for myself is indeed something I’ve fantasized about, I try to grow the part of myself that is more egalitarian, that believes in shared possessions and power, and mutual respect. And so I generally try to avoid kingdom images, even changing the word kingdom to kindom, and talk instead about community, self-giving and justice.
But the readings recommended for this celebration are so captivating, so contrary to what one would expect, that they compel us to really consider what it means to be subjects of Christ the king. They are not readings about Jesus sitting on a throne at the right hand of the Father, not about having nations serve as his footstool, not about smiting enemies of his throne. We have instead the responsive reading from Colossians that reminds us that Jesus was before all things, is the head of the church, and has power, but it is power for patience, power for peace, power to hold things together, power to reconcile. It is the same message in the reading from Luke 1, in which Zecchariah, father of John the Baptist, sings to the newborn that he will prepare the way for Jesus, that he will offer hope to the people, showing the light of salvation. It is a light that casts out the shadows of sin, a light of mercy, a light that illuminates a path to peace.
And finally we have the reading about the death of Jesus on the cross. How completely mind-boggling. Who would look for a king on a cross, hanging there to die a humiliating death, hanging there between two other criminals, utterly powerless. No possessions, with the little bit that he did own becoming the prize for the winner of a game amongst the guards. And prestige? No, there is no one there bowing down before him. He has been betrayed and denied and abandoned by his closest companions, and now he is being mocked and ridiculed by leaders of his own faith, by the soldiers, and even by one of the criminals. And what are they mocking him about? His kingship. Their method of taunting hearkens back to the temptations Jesus faced from Satan during his 40 days of prayer in the desert – “prove to us that you are king.” If you are the king, the messiah, then prove it by saving yourself. And the criminal adds his request that Jesus save him from death as well. The Romans nail the inscription right onto the cross and you can hear the disdain, as well as the warning – this, this is the king of the Jews. Someone dares to declare a new kind of kingdom, and this, this is what happens.
How many of us, if we had been there watching, if we had been convinced that Jesus had indeed come to save us, would be wishing in our hearts for proof – wishing that he would prove his power by getting right down off that cross. Get down off that cross, maybe kick a few butts, and show them who is boss, show them that he really is here by the will of God. Wouldn’t we?
I remember the television series Kung Fu, with its spiritual hero, the peaceful monk who tried to help people, bringing justice and peace. But there was resistance to his efforts, and he ended up always having to use his martial arts, it always resulted in violence. We have trouble conceiving that violence can be met with anything but violence. Sure, we might agree that when a person has power, he or she doesn’t have to actually use it much. When others are convinced that you have power, you don’t need to prove anything. But when others are not convinced, well, of course the way to convince them is to use it, full on. That will clear up any doubts or misconceptions.
But Jesus wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t satisfy anyone’s need for proof of his power. His understanding of what it meant to rule God’s people is completely opposite of our understanding. He spent his whole life removed from the traps of possessions, prestige and power. He worked relentlessly with his followers to help them detach from these things. He urged people to sell everything they had and give the money to the poor, he sent his apostles out to preach the good news with nothing but the clothes on their backs. When they argued about who was the greatest, who would sit in seats of glory beside him, he let them know that his mission, and theirs likewise, was to serve and to sacrifice. He washed their feet. When people wanted to worship him, he pointed them to God. Only God is good, he said.
And in the face of violence and mockery against his mission, the mission he named early in his ministry, “to bring good news to the poor, proclaim release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free,” he only asked that God forgive them, all of them. No violence, no kung fu moves. He didn’t even go out in a blaze of glory. He just hung there, suffering and dying, extending mercy and compassion, trusting that God would bring the promised salvation through his suffering and dying. Jesus declared victory right there on the cross, promising the criminal with vision a place in Paradise with him. This man, later in Christian tradition called Dismas, could imagine what the other criminal could not – a salvation other than his own continued earthly existence.
Jesus calls us to imagine such a thing. Jesus wants us to imagine a kingdom of heaven that is not about possessions, prestige or power. Jesus wants us not just to imagine it, but to live in it, here and now, today, just like he told Dismas. He is not going to come down and kick butt to show people who is in charge. He is not expecting us even to worship him. He wants us instead to follow him. The coming of the kingdom is not just a regime change, not just replacing one king for another. It is not the change in the ruler that matters, it is the change in the realm. It is the kingdom that matters, not the king. He wants us to have different kinds of relationships in the kindom of heaven, relationships not based on possessions, prestige or power, but on patience, peace and forgiveness. Can we fathom that? Can we see that the kingdom has come and live in it, or are we fooled by all the violence around us? Are we instead just waiting for the second coming, and then we will follow Jesus for real? Or can we, with Jesus, declare victory even in the midst of violence? Can we set our feet on such a firm foundation, one established by Jesus’ victory over violence, over scapegoating, over fear and hatred through nothing but his love and mercy and forgiveness? If we can, then we can move confidently to follow Jesus now. We can adopt his mission to bring good news to the poor, proclaim release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to declare the year of the Lord’s favor.
We are free beings. We are given the right and responsibility to make choices about our allegiances. We are citizens of this earthly world, a world that doesn’t look as if Christ was victorious. It is a world rife with violence and oppression, a world that still glorifies possessions, prestige and power. A world whose values still mock the man on the cross, – this is the king? But perhaps we can choose to see instead with the eyes of Dismas, to believe that there has already been an inbreaking of the kingdom of heaven into this world, that it really did come with Jesus Christ. We can take actions that spread his realm, actions that offer peace and forgiveness and mercy. It seems like the perfect time to let you know about the need for support of Dismas Family Farm, a home for homeless former prisoners transitioning to our communities in central Massachusetts, a farm in Oakham. The farm relies solely on the strength of community support – especially the fellowship created around the dinner table when church groups break bread with the residents. Is this a ministry you might be interested in supporting, or one we could support together? This is but one way to say, “Yes, I believe in the victory of Christ, and I will follow him.” There are so many other ways to bring peace and forgiveness and mercy, so many ways to live in the kindom. Let’s help each other find them and claim them.
I’d like to close with a poem by Steve Garnaas-Holmes:
What kind of king might this be, naked and in agony; defeated and vulnerable, without a land or an army, without dignity or power?
What kind of king is he, who will not save himself, who will allow scoundrels to take the life right out of him, and spend himself for the unworthy?
What Realm does he rule, and what is his law, and how will he enforce it? How will he provide for his people and defend his land? What manner of king might this be?
He is the King of Forgiveness, and his grace is supreme. He imposes his imperial mercy upon all who are broken and in need. He establishes forgiveness with absolute power; it is a law that no one can break.
He is my king, the little man who is shamed and abused and remains unalterably kind. Even the greatest force cannot prevail against his mighty gentleness.
He is my king, the King of Forgiveness. I bow to him, and I will obey his command, and I will follow him into life. May it be so.
