John 18:33-37
I am reading a fascinating book by
Madeline Miller called Circe, which
tells the story of that nymph and witch who famously detains Odysseus on his
journey home after the Trojan War and
turns his men into pigs. It’s a compelling read, narrated by Circe herself. And
it’s terrible; literally, filled with terror. The various gods and goddesses
who enter the story embody so much malice and cruelty. What matters to them is
asserting their power over others, often with horrific results. And at one
point, Circe says this:
Mortals
had their own stories, after all, of what happened to those who mixed with
gods. An ill-timed glance, a foot set in an impropitious spot, such things
could bring death and woe upon their families for a dozen generations.
It
was like a great chain of fear, I thought. Zeus at the top and my father [Helios]
just behind. Then Zeus’ siblings and children, then my uncles, and on down
through all the ranks of river-gods and brine-lords and Furies and Winds and
Graces, until it came to the bottom where we sat, nymphs and mortals, each
eyeing the other.
A great chain of fear. Such
mythological characters emerged from the depths of the human psyche, and down
through the ages human society has too often mirrored them. For many people,
power is the ultimate currency, specifically the power to dominate others and
impose your will upon them. And what better way to do that than by terrifying
them? How many emperors, kings, queens, czars, chieftains, premieres, and
presidents have ruled through fear? The so-called Pax Romana, the “peace” which
the Roman Empire imposed, was purchased at a horrible price: countless
thousands of people slaughtered and crucified, whole populations beaten into
submission through brutal force and sheer terror. And the Roman governor
Pontius Pilate represents all of that: we know he massacred Jews in the Temple
itself. He had no qualms about using such violence. The emperor ruled him
through fear, and so he ruled Judea in the same way.
It’s the only kind of power he
recognizes, so we can’t really be surprised when he asks Jesus, incredulously, Are you the King of the Jews? There is
no way that such a powerless and defenseless man could ever be a king in
Pilate’s eyes. How can anyone reign without the use of force and fear? But
Jesus completely rejects such a vision of ruling: My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world,
my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over. But
they’re not: that is not how power works in my kingdom. That is not how I
exercise lordship.
Pilate didn’t get it, but this morning, I
don’t care whether Pilate got it. I don’t care whether the priests and
Pharisees got it. I care whether we get it, and I mean, really get it. It’s
easy to toss those terms “king” and “kingdom” around like fairy tale language:
“Long ago and far away . . .” But what we celebrate on this final Sunday in the
church year, the Feast of Christ the King, has immediate and life-changing
implications for all of us.
Jesus d0es not rule through fear. Despite
centuries of bad theology and poor preaching, despite the church’s terrible
tendency to threaten everyone with hellfire and damnation, that is not how
Jesus rules. That doesn’t mean that human beings don’t have moments of awe and
fear in the presence of the divine: of course we do — God is holy and awesome,
but it is the awesomeness of love and utter goodness that we experience in such
moments. Jesus does not seek to terrorize anyone. He wants to reign in our
lives through the power of love and love alone.
That means this. Jesus Christ says to
each one of us: “I see you. I see your beauty and your desire for goodness. I
see all the things that delight you. And I see how you struggle. I see all your
sadness and your anger, all your frustration and your fear. And I see where you
are broken, weak, and sinful. I know everything about you. And I love you. I
love you unconditionally and forever. I will forgive you and I will heal you; I
will comfort you and strengthen you. I will show you the wonders my love can
do, and I will never, ever give up until you are filled with the Spirit of God
and experience the full and joyful life of my kingdom.” And when we fail or
forget, when we put ourselves into the hell of rage, resentment, or fear, he
will just keep coming back with the same relentless message of acceptance, mercy,
and love.
And when we let ourselves experience
that, we will see that Jesus Christ is
the King of kings and Lord of lords because we will see his power at work. This
is not academic for me: I know how true it is. I am a very flawed and imperfect
follower, but Christ has delivered me from the hell of self-condemnation and
despair. Time and time again he has set me free from anger and frustration, and
enabled me to love when I just didn’t think I could. I can have the crappiest
day and fall flat on my face, but when I turn to him he just loves me and lifts
me up. It’s not that he doesn’t care about our sins: he sees them clearly and
wants us to see them as well. But always, always, always, his desire is not to
condemn us but to help us and to heal us. He is a King who will do anything he
has to do to lead his people, all God’s people, into true and lasting
happiness. And because this is so, I bow to him as my Lord. Not because I fear
him, but because I love him.
I don’t know what your relationship with
Jesus is. I know that Christ reveals himself to people in many different ways.
What Christ needs to do in my life may be very different from what Christ needs
to do in your life. But Christ wants to reign in all our lives, not to dominate
us but to liberate us from all that holds us back from being truly alive. If
you have not welcomed Christ as your Lord and King, I invite you to do so. then see for yourself what his power, the
power of love, can really do. Enter his kingdom and see for yourself what his power,
the power of love, can really do.
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