“So you are a king?”
Christ the King; November 26, 2006
John 18:33-37
Pilate’s question is a good one and you can imagine him asking it now. Where do we put the emphasis in the question?
“So you are a king?” When Pilate asks the question the first time, Jesus responds by asking another question. That is typical of Jesus, always trying to turn the tables. Ask him a direct question and he refuses a direct answer; rather, he wants you to make a decision about him, based on what you know. Imagine you are an attorney cross-examining a witness – in this case, the defendant – and he doesn’t exactly answer the question you asked. You get impatient: So you are a king?
“So you are a king?” Three years on the road without a steady income have not exactly left Jesus looking particularly regal; he’s just spent a sleepless night being examined by the Sanhedrin and has bruises to show for it. He’s obviously a peasant from peasant stock; who would believe he is a king? Fast-forward beyond what Pilate sees in front of him: the world sees Jesus executed for sedition. The Man on the Cross is not a highly aristocratic figure; the only crown he ever wears is made of plaited thorns, designed to result in blood pouring down his face. This is a king?
“So you are a king?” Are you admitting then to the charge of sedition? If you claim to be a king and the Emperor has not acknowledged your claim, then you are guilty as charged. What sort of wild claims will you make for yourself? The claim of a peasant carpenter become a wandering preacher to be King is perhaps less crazy than his claim of a kingdom that is not from this world. In any event, what Jesus says about himself continues to evade a direct answer and to force Pilate and you and me to make a decision about what he does say. Are you a king or aren’t you?
“So you are a king?” Prophet we can believe; we expect prophets to look hungry and unkempt. We perhaps could even believe priest, since the clergy is, after all, rather odd. But king? Who would follow you? You state that if you were an ordinary sort of king then your followers would take up weapons to defend you, but they have all run into hiding since your arrest. Go back to preaching, Jesus, and leave government to those who understand how to acquire and use power. You, a king?
Christians make two outrageous claims that deserve consideration today. It is still up to you and me to decide what to do about those claims. One claim is that Christ is King: in an absolute sense, ruler of the Cosmos. The other claim is that Christ is our King: he has the right to give orders and expect us to follow them. In both cases, keep in mind the image of a scruffy peasant enthroned on a Cross and wearing a crown of plaited thorns.
I decided to pick different hymns for Christ the King this year than the ones we sang last year, so we’re not singing “Crown Him with Many Crowns” today. Still, I expect most of you know it, or at least would recognize it if we were singing it. It includes these marvelous lines:
Crown Him the Lord of years, The Potentate of time;
Creator of the rolling spheres, Ineffably sublime. (Matthew Bridges, 1851)
Now remember: we sing this about a crucified carpenter. What’s the deal? Time for some theology.
Ever since human beings have become aware of a Power greater than ourselves, we have tried to understand the nature of that Power. The most ancient religious traditions have grasped a sense of multiple powers, of many gods playing against each other, although sometimes they are multiple representations of a single underlying Being. Jewish thought burst on the scene with faith in a single, unifying God, a solitary creating Power. Christianity has taken elements of both strains to describe God as a single Power but with three personalities that are a unitary Being but in relationship to one another. One of these personalities, the Word by which the universe was made, has come to earth in the person of Jesus of Nazareth: a crucified carpenter, to be sure, but not just a crucified carpenter.
It is impossible to comprehend, really – believe me, I have tried – but it makes a certain kind of sense. If the universe came into being some 13 or 14 billion years ago out a singularity in which the Creator said, “Let there be light,” then could not that creative Word become a part of the Creation? It is logical to me that the Word enters creation as a human being. Whether the Word has been only a human being, or has also been a Vorlon and a Vulcan and a Minbari and a Ferengi, is impossible to say as of now. We claim that the Word by which the world was made has set aside the glory of eternity in order to become a part of that world; the cosmos continues to hold together and have its coherence in that Word. Jesus crucified and raised from the dead is the Word of God come through the abyss of death which awaits us all and restored to eternal glory, blazing the way to eternal glory. Since the world was made by him and holds together in him and he is the way for creatures to come to eternal glory, he is in an absolute sense King of the Cosmos.
Thus Christ is in truth King of all, even of those who are not aware that he is their King. Karl Barth points out that Christians have no advantage over others except this: we know that Christ is our Lord and theirs as well. All have access to the Father, but Christians know Who it is that provides that access to the Father (Church Dogmatics III.4; Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1961; p. 102). To acknowledge Christ as King, therefore, aligns you with the way God has made the cosmos; knowing and following the King puts you in harmony with God and with the universe God has made.
Remember that in this weird trial of Jesus he doesn’t answer any of Pilate’s questions directly, but seems to keep pushing the burden back onto Pilate. “Are you a king?” “That’s for you to say,” is the response, and Jesus looks out from the page of the Bible and makes the same response to you and me. What do you say? Is Jesus your King?
Be careful how you answer that question, because if you say, “Yes,” then you are turning over to him the right to give you orders. Jesus is not a modern sort of King, attending ribbon-cuttings and welcoming the Ambassador from Central Umbalia. He gives orders and expects his followers to obey them. That’s when it is important to remember that his throne is a cross and his crown is made of thorns. Following this King is not a recipe for power, wealth and fame. Following this King means attention to the poor, the hungry, and the lonely and it means resolving conflicts by means other than blowing up the enemy. Jesus says his kingdom is not from this world, but it is certainly in this world because he expects you and me to obey him now, and not just give lip service to his high ideals and then go on behaving just like everyone else around us.
Now I feel it is time for a story. The hymn we’re going to sing after the sermon (“The Head that Once Was Crowned with Thorns”) is sung to the tune ST. MAGNUS. In September Kathleen and I kept encountering dedications to St. Magnus when we were sailing the North Atlantic. In particular I remember the ruins of a Cathedral of St. Magnus in Kirkjubøur, Faroe Islands, where it was claimed there is a relic of the Saint embedded in the altar wall. Who was Saint Magnus?
Magnus and his cousin Hakon were joint earls of the Orkney Islan ds in the early twelfth century. Having two earls ruling together was not working very well, especially since Hakon was a warrior-sort and Magnus was peace-loving. They decided to settle the matter of the governance of the Orkneys by meeting on the island of Egilsay. Each man was to come with only two ships and then attend the meeting with only two retainers. Magnus and his two ships arrived first the evening before the meeting; he and his two retainers went ashore. Then they saw Hakon arrive with eight ships fully manned for battle. Knowing he was betrayed, Magnus went into the little church on Egilsay with his retainers to spend the night in prayer.
The next day Magnus and his two retainers met his cousin who was backed by an army. Without going into details of the event, you should know that as it ended Magnus bowed his head, signed himself with the cross, and met the axe stroke full on the head. Although Hakon became Earl and had the earthly rule of the Orkney Islands, soon after the people proclaimed Magnus a saint. A cathedral dedicated to him was raised at Kirkwall, where his remains were interred and where they remain today. So the question is: although both claimed to be Christians, which one behaved more like a follower of Christ the King?
Is this crucified carpenter a King? Jesus turns the question back on the one who asks it: “What do you say?”
Robert A. Keefer
Westminster Presbyterian Church
Clarinda, Iowa