You? [Proper 29B: Christ the King - John 18:33-37]
The Rt. Rev. Jeremiah Williamson
John 18:33-37
You?
Christ Church, Deposit
The king was exactly where you
would expect to find him. He was
standing in the halls of power, in a palace, talking with the local governor –
the conversation taking place on the way to his dressing room. Soon, at the conclusion of the brief, but
grave, dialogue, the kind powerful people have, the king would don the royal
garments: a purple robe and a crown for his head. And then, stand, as kings do, before the
gathered crowds.
That is both exactly what happens
in this Gospel and yet not what happens at all.
Because in this case, the king in our story is a condemned peasant.
Pilate, the local governor, was a
busy man. And now he is also an annoyed
man. It was bad enough that he was
assigned to govern a population that refused to worship the Emperor. Now there was a contingent at his gate asking
him to personally accommodate their religious peculiarities – and were doing
so, according to John’s Gospel, early in the morning. His uninvited guests drag him out of bed – and
also out of his house. Rather than meet
him in his office, they need Pilate to come outside because they refuse to
enter his home. Because even stepping
into his home would, they claim, defile them.
Not a good start – to the day or to the conversation.
But the unhappy accommodation is
not over, these religious leaders want him, Pilate, to kill their nemesis. For a moment it appears that Pilate has
reached his limit. He got out of bed for
them. He left his home for them. But Pilate was not interested in killing for
them. He tells them, “Do it
yourselves.” But yet again, religious
restrictions are getting in the way; they cannot do it. John’s Gospel tells us these particular
religious authorities were hung up on the letter, though clearly not the
spirit, of the law, which did not permit them to directly execute. Indirectly seemed OK to them. And so, an exasperated Pilate adds yet
another task to his list.
When Jesus walked in, Pilate
noticed immediately that the man before him did not look the part; he did not
look like a king. For starters he was obviously
a peasant, an itinerant preacher, a homeless healer. In short, he was poor. Vast resources would be required to conquer
Rome. Or at least sophisticated military
might. And he did not appear to be a
mighty warrior, either. Jesus’ unremarkable
face was still slightly swollen from a recent blow. The charge was treason but it seemed
far-fetched. And so Pilate asked what he
was supposed to ask, “Are you the King
of the Jews?”
Pontius Pilate was the prefect of
the Roman province of Judea, the regional governor. According to
Jewish sources, he was “’inflexible, a blend of self-will and relentlessness,’
[a ruler] whose administration was marked with briberies, insults, robberies…,
frequent executions without trial, and endless savage ferocity.”[1] His
territory was a backwater filled with occupied people who refused to worship
the gods of the Empire. And he ruled them as a tyrant.
And so, he didn’t mind killing
Jesus. He had no soft spot for this
peasant. And if this man did intend to
challenge the Emperor, Pilate was dutifully and happily willing to end his
treason with a cross. It’s just that Pilate
couldn’t see it. And so, as Jesus walks
in, Pilate is confused and asks Jesus, “You?”
Pilate is not persuaded by the
accusation of treason. Generally disinterested
in the case, he was going to release Jesus, but still he was cruel enough to
have Jesus roughed up on his way out. It
seems his plan was to have this seemingly delusional man before him flogged,
beaten, and released. Because, in the
eyes of this governor, Jesus is no threat to the power of the empire. In the eyes of Pilate, Jesus is a joke – one
that he is happy to dress up in purple robes and twisted thorns. But Pilate wasn’t about to waste a cross on
him.
It's just that the crowd
insisted. They wanted crucifixion. And Pilate didn’t have strong feelings about
this situation or the accused. And
certainly didn’t mind hanging one more cross if it bumped up his approval rating.
However, according to John’s
Gospel, there was, somewhere in the back of Pilate’s mind, a hint of fear,
birthed by a speck of doubt. His mind
was entertaining a “what if…” “What if this
Jesus really is a king?” It made him,
for a moment, question the cross. But before
he could change his mind, he was confronted with the furious demands of Empire;
the bullying speech of a powerful system, “If you release this man, you are no
friend of the emperor. Everyone who
claims to be a king sets himself against the emperor.” And the Emperor of the Empire must always be
satisfied.
For a moment, Pilate felt the fear
of God. But it was quickly overshadowed
by another fear: the fear of the political machine. On Good Friday, the Empire demanded
blood. On Good Friday, the people chose
their king. And it was not Jesus.
Jesus never was willing to play
the part. He could have; he had plenty
of opportunities. On a different day,
when Jesus was making them bread and healing their sick, health and wealth, the
crowds tried to make him king. Long
before that, the devil had dangled the kingdoms of the world before his very
eyes. But Jesus was never willing to do
what it takes to seize and keep power in this violent world.
And that felt like an implication
– of the system and of those, like Pilate, who served the system. Because it was. And the implication felt like a threat. Because it is. The way of Christ the King is a persistent
threat to the empires of this world and to their emperors. Christ the King does not play by our twisted rules
or bow to our rulers; his kingdom is not from this world. It is alien to us. And history tells us that people tend to hate
what they do not understand.
And so, then and now, this world
meets his peace with violence. And his kindness
with cruelty. And his abundant
generosity with greed. And his mercy
with a cross. Christ the King preached
the Beatitudes and they were dismissed.
He came as the Magnificat and was banned. Jesus came to transform this world with love
and found that we prefer the might of political power to the gentle power of
love.
Christ the King has taken a lot of
losses throughout history. But has not
lost hope. Still he stands before us, in
purple robe, with twisted crown, wearing the wounds this world inflicted, and
asks that we pledge our allegiance to a crucified king and walk with him, walk with
Jesus, on the revolutionary, world-changing way of love.
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