Texts: Daniel 7.9-10,13,14 & John 18.33-37
A
few weeks ago, on All Saints Sunday, we considered the story of the raising of
Lazurus. You might recall my point that all
the complex imagery of Scripture relating to heaven is just that – imagery. It’s an attempt to describe metaphorically
something that our little brains can never truly grasp – the awe and wonder of
the Kingdom of Heaven. The raising of
Lazurus, however, we can relate to. It’s an event which is rooted in our plane of
existence. We can see the rock of the
tomb, we can imagine the smell of the rotting corpse, and we can wonder at Jesus’s
power over death.
Today’s
scripture readings offer us a similar contrast.
On the one hand, the prophet Daniel has a vision of God, portrayed as an
Ancient One with hair as white as wool, seated on a throne of fire. The Ancient One gives dominion and glory and
kingship to ‘one like a human being’ – meaning the Messiah, the Christ, the
Saviour. Daniel imagines that all
peoples, nations and languages should serve him. It’s a fantastic vision – but it’s all
imaginary. It’s designed to inspire us,
and to encourage us to keep pressing on with the task of bringing God’s Kingdom
fully into being on earth. It’s designed
to fill us with confidence that one day God’s kingdom will truly come, on earth
as it is in heaven.
Like
the language of many portions of Scripture, this passage is written by a
prophet who gets a glimpse of God…but who then tries to describe him in the language
of human beings. Daniel was a civil
servant in the Babylonian court. So he resorts
to language about thrones and dominations, about power and authority. He colludes with earthly systems of government,
and imagines that the Kingdom of which Christ is King will simply be a bigger,
more powerful, more dominant force.
But,
as with the story of Lazurus, three weeks ago, John’s gospel offers us a rather
different glimpse of what ‘Christ the King’ is really like. This is no heavenly superman, coming on the
clouds of heaven to be given power and authority over all nations and peoples
and tongues. John, instead, offers us a
broken and beaten messiah, on his knees before a living symbol of worldly
power, Pontius Pilate. Jesus before the
Imperial Throne is denuded, stripped of all authority, and willingly
surrendering his power to control what happens next.
Throughout
John’s Gospel, Jesus steadfastly resists calling himself a King of
anything. He prefers to use Daniel’s
phrase ‘a son of man’ to describe himself in humble terms – something he does
12 times in the Gospel. But now, before
the throne, naked and beaten….now he finally acknowledges his Kingship. ‘My Kingdom’, he says, ‘is not of this world’.
If
we do not grasp this fact, we miss the entire point of Jesus. He did not come to Earth in order to
establish a new system of earthly power.
He did not come with armies and weapons to beat humanity into
obedience. He came in humility, and with
love and healing, to draw humanity towards him through love. When we sing and proclaim that ‘Christ is
King’ – on this Sunday of all Sundays – we do not imagine some heavenly army
swooping down with flaming swords to establish a world Government. There will be no winged angels with machine
guns on the corners of our streets, enforcing heavenly rule!
The
God we worship is the God who comes to us in a manger as a helpless baby. He’s the God without a home, who submits to
being beaten, stripped and hung on an Imperial instrument of torture. Even his
mighty resurrection is only witnessed by a small number of his most dedicated
followers. Can you imagine what an earthly
politician would do if he rose from the dead?
Can you imagine the press conferences?
Can you imagine the hoohah?!
Jesus, by contrast, appears in locked rooms, and walks unseen beside his
Disciples. Even his resurrection is
accomplished humbly, sacrificially, meekly.
Our
God doesn’t hold political rallies, or send armies, or collude with any of the
ways that human being exercise power.
Our God’s power is discovered in weakness, in frailty, in humility and
in sacrifice. Our God doesn’t use the
coercive language of politics, of division, of setting up one group of people
against another. He speaks the only
language he knows: the language of inclusive,
sacrificial love.
What
does this mean for us - as people who call ourselves subjects of Christ the
King? It surely means that we, too, are
called to lives of self-sacrifice, humility and love. We are citizens of heaven, and we pray daily
for God’s Kingdom to come and God’s will to be done. If we are serious
about that prayer, if we truly mean
what we pray, then this should be made visible and present in the
quality of the lives we lead. Our lives
should reflect the values, and the practices of the one we call our King, our
Master and our Lord.
Any
sermon which does not cause us to re-evaluate our own behaviour is, to be
frank, a waste of time for the preacher and the congregation. And so, I’m going to dare, right now, to
challenge you. I invite you to ponder
how you deploy the gifts and talents
that you have been given in the
service of Christ the King.
Are
your relationships with others characterised
by humility, sacrifice and love? How do
you spend your days: these brief flashes of eternity you have been given? Are they days spent in the advancement of the
Kingdom, in serving and loving others?
How do you spend your financial resources? Do you use them to collude with human notions
of material happiness? How much will you
spend on frippery and flim-flam, this Christmas; compared to how much you will give
to others in need, or to the work of God’s church? Do you
invest in the illusory promises of earthly power, consumerism and politics? Or, do
you invest your resources in the advancing Kingdom of Love?
For,
how we spend our time, how we deploy our talents, how we spend our money –
these are the markers, these are the signs of whether we truly mean what we
pray. These are the performance indicators of the people who
dare to call ourselves the subjects of Christ the King. Amen.
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