The Lies Kings Tell

(And What Would Happen If One Proved True)
a sermon on John 18.33-37 by David C. Mauldin Westminster Presbyterian Church, Mobile, Alabama

Today is Christ the King Sunday. Christ the King hasn’t caught on yet as a day people look forward to celebrating, but it is still relatively new and maybe it will. It is, in fact, the most recent of all the days on the church calendar. The Catholics started it in 1925. Protestants didn’t begin to do anything with it until the 1970s. And I think Presbyterians have only been working with it for the last 20 years.

I like it, though, and I hope it sticks around. This for two reasons: One, Jesus Christ is our faith. He is Christianity. Everything that makes our religion, our lives, worthwhile goes straight back to him. The church calendar is about him. The various holy days throughout the year commemorate key events in his life. Starting with anticipation in Advent, then his birth at Christmas, and so on. Christ the King is a good way to sum up the story of Jesus. After all, if we think about the promises that came before him, many of them were about a king. Jesus is the promised Messiah, which is a fancy Hebrew word for King. At his birth the magi honored him as a king and gave him gifts worthy of a king. Throughout his ministry, Jesus preached the Kingdom of God. He entered Jerusalem at the beginning of Holy Week as a king, and his followers hailed him as such. When he died on the cross, what sign hung above him to indicate his crime? “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.” His resurrection and ascension are his coronation to heavenly glory. He lives and reigns. Someday he will return as he promised to assert his royal power and set the world right. So you see, the whole church year teems with reminders that Jesus Christ is the King. Christ the King Sunday is a good way to sum all that up.

Reason number two is better still. We ought to enjoy celebrating Christ the King because we need a king so badly. We need a true king to set the world right, to establish peace and justice. To do in real life all those things that kings claim to do but never get right. Kings always come to power amid crisis. That is, dynasties are founded amid crisis. Later kings may inherit the title, but a king arises in the first place because his people have a problem, and they need a savior.

Think of Saul and David in the Bible. Israel wants a king because the Philistines harass and threaten them. Israel needs a man to lead them. Saul does this, but David is far more effective against Israel’s enemies, and he gains more power than Saul had and establishes a dynasty. Judas Maccabeus and his brothers, who led a successful Jewish revolt about 200 years before Christ, established a dynasty. The Jews were suffering under oppressive pagan rule. Antiochus IV of Syria tried to stamp out the Jewish faith. The Maccabees led the revolt, and gained a throne. Think of Julius Caesar. He was not technically a king, but in everything but name. He transformed Rome from a Republic ruled by many into an Empire ruled by one man. How? Well, pirates were a problem, and when they gave him authority, he handled it. Then the provinces were a problem, they gave him authority, and he handled it. On and on it went, until one day they realized he had acquired too much authority and killed him. But it was too late. The damage had been done. His heirs would fight for the right to supreme authority.

That’s the way it is with kings. In theory they rule benevolently. The king establishes and maintains peace, order, justice, and prosperity. In return, his subjects serve him. That’s theory anyway. Reality is always something different. The problem is, kings are finite and sinful human beings, and power corrupts. On one hand, the job is usually too big. Even the best of kings can only establish proximate justice. The worst of kings are not worth mentioning. Yet even the worst of kings claim to be serving the cause of goodness. “God has given me power,” the usual claim goes, “so that I can make our people free or happy or prosperous or glorious or whatever.” Hitler made that claim all the time. Alas, even a good king is destined to fall short, although a good king is preferable to a bad one. A bad one falls far short. What we need is a true king, a real king, a king who not only thinks he is telling the truth, but actually is telling the truth, when he makes the claims that all kings make. We need a Savior. The world is a mess, and even with democracy and amazing technology and vast knowledge, we are unable to set things right. We can approximate peace, justice, and all the rest; but we are far, far short of where we feel deep in our bones that we ought to be. Why can’t we get rid of war, poverty, disease, and crime? Why do those who are supposed to be part of the solution so often prove to be part of the problem? I know it is too much to hope for—as unrealistic as the silliest fantasy—but what if there were someone who could put the world right? Christianity says there is. If you are a Christian, you believe that, and so you might want to celebrate that fact once in a while.

Jesus is not like other kings. The main point of this sermon is that Jesus is the true king, and all the other kings in history—good or bad—are merely cheap imitations. Jesus actually does what all the rest claim, but fail to do. One good way to figure out what Jesus means when he calls himself “king” is to consider how is like other kings and how he is different.

How is Jesus like other kings? We have already hit two of the most important points: Kings always claim they have a right to rule. Most point in some way to God. And that’s understandable. If you found yourself to be a king, you might also believe it was not an accident. Jesus points to his Father. “All authority in heaven and on earth,” Jesus says as he gives the Great Commission, “has been given to me.” The Father sent him … for a reason. As I said, all kings say they have been given power for a reason: the good of the people or something. They may not believe it themselves, and they may not act that way, but that’s the propaganda. Jesus’ purpose is vast: to save the world. He must reconcile humanity to God and renew all creation to its proper glory.

Other ways Jesus is like any other king: All kings demand allegiance. This is why Christians were persecuted so severely in ancient Rome. Caesar claimed to be Lord. Christians said Jesus is Lord and refused to worship Caesar. Christians have always been willing to serve a legitimate government, so long as it is understood that God and God’s laws stand above whatever government it is—whether a monarchy or a democracy or anything else. Many governments persecute because they find this unacceptable: the state should command our highest allegiance, they believe. And yet it cannot. This was the point of the Confessing Church Movement in Germany in the 1930s. Those pastors and church leaders refused to let Hitler take the place of Jesus Christ in the church. Christ would judge him, not the other way around. All kings demand allegiance. They claim the souls as well as the bodies of their subjects—which is one reason this country was founded as a democracy. Our founding fathers believed no man had a right to make that claim … well, almost no man. Jesus certainly makes this claim. He demands nothing less than our complete obedience and love. Kings always want the love of their people. Most are willing to settle for respect or fear. Jesus is not. He wants our love. And he has a better claim to it than any of the imitation kings.

Finally, no king tolerates a rival. The history of kings is an endless cycle of getting rid of anyone who might take the throne away. Herod, for example, not only slaughtered the children of Bethlehem but also killed most of his own immediate family. And honestly, he is fairly typical. After all, a king cannot be too careful. Everybody wants to rule the world, and a king always has someone breathing down his neck. Of course, Jesus does not, because he is God and his authority comes from the Father. Also his kingdom is a different kind of kingdom and his power is not like the power of other kings. We’ll come to that in a moment. Jesus is not afraid of losing his throne, although he has plenty of rivals. Anyone or anything that demands the ultimate allegiance of even one human being is a rival to Christ. But having, as he does, all authority in heaven and on earth, he is worried about us, not himself. Yet he too tolerates no divided loyalties. How often did he say it? “You cannot serve both God and wealth.” “If you want to be my follower, you must deny yourself and take up a cross.” “To follow me you must be willing to give up family, security, honor—everything.”

So in some ways Jesus is like most kings. He demands our love and allegiance. He claims a right to rule. He promises his rule will be a blessing. He promises to establish peace, justice, and goodness. He uses the word “king” and “kingdom” so that we can understand all this. We need all the help understanding we can get, because in many ways his idea of kingship and kingdom differs radically from anything else the world has seen.

Pilate interrogates Jesus. It is unlikely Pilate cared anything about Jesus or whether he got justice. But something bothered Pilate. The authorities in Jerusalem had brought Jesus to Pilate and said, “You ought to nail this guy to a cross and kill him. He is claiming to be a king, and you know how Caesar feels about that.” Pilate wondered, “What is their real motive?” Anyone claiming to be a king is either deranged, in which case they would not have bothered bringing him to Pilate, or he is a dangerous revolutionary, in which case the Jewish authorities might have supported him or quietly ignored him, but they would not have handed him over to Pilate. Their own people would not have taken that well. So the reason they gave was not the real one. What then was it? Pilate hoped to figure it out by talking to Jesus? He didn’t find what he was looking for.

He asked Jesus, “Are you a king?” And after exchanging some words, Jesus got down to the point, “Yes, I am. But my kingdom is not from this world.” This is so important. If you get nothing else out of this sermon, you need to know this. Jesus does not say, as many translations have it, “My kingdom is not of this world,” as if Jesus’ kingdom were in heaven and who cares what happens in this world. That mistranslation has been a useful fiction as earthly kings and rulers have claimed Christ rules heaven and so I can do what I want down here. What Jesus really says, according to the original Greek of John’s gospel is: “my kingdom is not ek tou kosmou—from this world.” That is, it is not like anything Pilate had seen before. Pilate knew all about kings and kingdoms. Every Roman governor did, all too well. Jesus presented him with something different, something not from this world. Jesus explained that if his kingdom were from this world then his followers would be acting the way a king’s loyal subjects always do when their king is threatened. They would be fighting. That was Peter’s initial reaction with his sword in the garden of Gethsemane, but Jesus had told him to put it away.

Jesus kingdom is not from this world, but it certainly is for this world. Jesus says as much in the Great Commission, “in heaven and on earth.” Jesus prayed this in the Lord’s Prayer, “on earth as it is in heaven.” The job the Father sent Jesus to do is bigger than rescuing a few souls from the shipwreck and carrying them off to heaven. Jesus claims all things for God. Earth as well as heaven. The material creation as well as the spiritual. God created it all. God wants it all. Jesus ultimately will renew all creation. When earth is set right, heaven and earth will be joined together, as they are at the end of the Book of the Revelation and God will rule over all. The hymn “O for a Thousand Tongues to Sing” gets this right: “Jesus who died shall be satisfied, and heaven and earth be one.”

Jesus’ kingdom is not from this world. What makes it so different? The main difference is what he understands power to be and how he uses it. Kings get their authority through force or the threat of force. They kill for it. Jesus died for it. Like other kings, his kingdom was founded on bloodshed, but uniquely in his case, the blood was his own. That sign hung on the cross makes a profound point. Not only is Jesus the king, this is how he rules. John’s gospel more than the others highlights this. In Mark, Jesus dies in agony. In Luke he suffers but forgives. In Matthew his suffering effects the fulfillment of ancient promises. In John, Jesus rules from the cross. For John, Jesus’ enthronement is not so much at Easter or the Ascension. It begins on the cross. Jesus is lifted up to draw all people to himself. His life is not taken; he gives it. Unconcerned about himself, he looks to the welfare of his mother. John does not want us to miss what he sees so clearly: When Jesus takes his power and begins to rule, this is what it looks like. Pilate and Jesus both consider the cross an expression of power, but each in a different way. Pilate knows the cross as the power of fear, the power to take life. What is truth? Here’s what truth is for Pilate: Do what we tell you or we’ll nail you to a cross. Jesus sees more. He understands a far greater power. So he gives his life on the cross. Suffering love looks like weakness and failure to the world, but to God, it is the power of new creation.

Pilate asks, “What is truth?” I ask, “What is power?” Ultimately, power is the ability to achieve your purpose. Most of the time we get this wrong. Because force or coercion is about the only way to get what you want in this world, we confuse force with power. It is a different thing. On the cross, Jesus achieved through suffering, self-giving love what no amount of force could achieve. Love proved stronger than hate. Forgiveness proved stronger than sin. No wonder Jesus said his kingdom is not from this world. Not only had it never been tried, it doesn’t even make sense … unless, Jesus is the Son of God and the Father raised him from the dead.

What if … what if God has provided exactly what we need the most? A true king. A king who really does all the things a king is supposed to do, but in this case, not just temporally and locally, but eternally and cosmically? If you believe that, and I hope you do, then you have something to celebrate. Just one warning before we are through. One word about what all this means for you when you go home and begin a new week.

Jesus is the world’s true King and Lord. Yet what funny ideas he has about power and authority! “Don’t be like the pagans,” he tells his disciples, “their rulers lord it over the rest of them. It must not be so with you. The greatest must be servant of all.” He, their teacher, washed their disciples feet. He gave his life for us. The world despises him for all this. We love him for it, and rightly so. But be warned that he expects us to think and act the way he does. He gives us authority, but it is not the power to get our way or make people think or do what we want. Instead it is the power of self-giving love. Jesus expects us to live sacrificially. We love others. We give ourselves for them. The church, individual Christians do not have the power to impose our will. We have the power to proclaim the gospel … and the power to live gospel lives. Christ is King, and we are ambassadors. We serve our King by having his mind, having his heart, doing his work.

Here is the sum of the message this morning: The heart of Christianity is … not a creed … not a list of rules … not any thing … but a person, Jesus Christ. He claimed to be the true King—God’s authentic version, of which every other king is a cheap knock-off. And, unlike every other king who has ever lived or ever will live, he was telling the truth. Because he was, the path to truth and fulfillment in life can be found in this one way: to know him. Christianity is a love affair with Christ. It is wholehearted commitment and devotion to him. You grow in wisdom by knowing his mind, so that you think like him. You grow in goodness by knowing his deeds and doing them. You grow in grace by knowing his heart and feeling towards others as he does. Even now, he gives himself to you. Faith is how you take hold of him, and once you have him—or rather he has you—you are one with him and all the good things he promises become yours. This is his idea of power. That’s the kind of King he is. Thanks be to God for becoming exactly the sort of king we needed. Amen.

rev_mauldin@yahoo.com
November 26, 2006

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