Gospel for Nov. 25, 2007 : Luke 23:33-43
Whether we refer to this day traditionally, “Christ the King” or, expansively, “The Reign of Christ,” we have to be careful. Any word we choose to describe Jesus or define his purpose is full of meaning drawn from our knowledge of the word and our experience with it. We may insist Jesus is a king like no other, and his reign is unlike any rule known on earth. We're still using other kings and other dominions as standards of comparison.
Throughout the Gospels, we see Jesus resisting any attempt to define himself. He rarely accepted a name or a title. He silenced anyone who figured out his full name. In Luke's account of his dialogue with Pilate, Jesus won't say yes or no to the name “Son of God.” He says, “You say that I am.” (22:70) He called himself, “Son of Man,” the human one, recalling a surprising revelation in a prophetic vision.
Jesus reserves the right to reveal who he is. If we respond to that revelation in ways we understand, we should allow him to define our words. If he lets us call him King and declare his reign, then we have to let his definitions become the standard by which we measure all rule and authority on earth.
We tend to romanticize monarchs. We think of the Queen within the frame of the pomp and circumstance that still surround constitutional monarchy. We still image kings and queens through the eyes of childhood, constructing fairy-tale castles. When Jesus says, “My kingdom is not of this world,” we imagine heaven as a safe, walled kingdom further away than memory and no more real.
The Lectionary gives us just a taste of the Passion narrative from Luke. We can't hear one episode of the story without the echoes of the rest of the story. The crux of our reading is the ironic inscription, “This is the King of the Jews.” We read that sign just after we hear Jesus mocked in his apparent failure to act like a king. Jesus doesn't respond when they call him Messiah or King, or when they put that sign bearing the charge against him over his head.
What does he do? He acts with authority while the agents of imperial rule nail him to a cross. He invokes God's forgiveness on his executioners and all who are complicit in the injustice he so confidently accepts. After he's mocked with spoken and written words, he pardons a justly convicted criminal and grants entrance into paradise, his royal estate. His grace and favour flow, but not to anyone we would say deserves them. As he dies, the sun can't shine. God's dwelling on earth can't stand. (vv.44, 45) No one can take his life away from him. When he dies he surrenders himself to God. (v.46)
This is the One who rules from the cross. We rush to raise him, send him to heaven, and enthrone him there in romance and wishful thinking. We'll allow him “spiritual” authority over us, but we won't agree on what that means or how it works. For this one day, at least, let's leave him on the cross. We'll see him reigning, though not in any way we'll understand at first. Let him define words like “Christ,” “King,” and “reign”—words we use so carelessly.
Then let's look at the people who have authority over us. Look at the ways we use the power our privileged position in this world gives us. Do they bear comparing with the One who rules from the cross?
