Astride the Divide
John 18.33-37
Christ the King, Year B
November 24, 2024
Cecille Bechard lived much of her life astride the divide, with “one foot in the sea, one on shore,” if you will. You see, Cecille was a Canadian. She slept in Canada, relaxed in her favorite chair with a good book in Canada. But she had to make scores of trips to the United States each and every day. For instance, when she went to her backdoor. This was because her house was located right on the border. When it was built, the exact location of the border was in dispute. In 1842, representatives of the two countries agreed on the exact location of the border, apparently not realizing that it would run right through the house Cecille would eventually live in. As a result, even her meal times were transnational affairs: the refrigerator and stove were in Maine, but she always ate at the north end of the kitchen table, in Quebec! Every day she made tea in the U.S. and then transported it into Canada to drink it. (from Andrew Malcolm, The Canadians, 1st ed. 1985; quoted in a sermon by Delmar Chilton, http://lectionarylab.com/2012/11/14/year-b-proper-29-the-reign-of-christ/)
As Christians, we’re a lot like Cecille. We too live in two different realms. Saint Augustine contended that Christians live simultaneously in what he called the Earthly City and in the City of God. We live in this world, in very specific political realms, under the authority of earthly rulers. This citizenship carries with it certain expectations, certain rights and responsibilities. But, at the same time, Christ has made us into citizens of the Kingdom of God, under divine authority. Citizenship in this kingdom also comes with its own a set of expectations, and unique rights and responsibilities. We are citizens of two kingdoms, the earthly kingdom and God’s kingdom. We live with one foot in the sea and one on the shore. And this puts us in an odd spot for these two kingdoms function very differently.
Those differences are on display in Pilate’s palace. Pilate represents the kingdoms of this world. He has great power and he will not hesitate to use it to impose order and obedience. Pilate had no qualms about using violence. The second century Jewish historian Josephus tells us of more than one occasion when the Roman governor resorted to violence. Once, when a large crowd of Jews came to the palace to protest his actions, Pilate had soldiers dressed as civilians infiltrate the crowd. When he gave the sign, the soldiers pulled swords from under their robes and began slaughtering the crowd. Of course, he saw this as his job, he ruled with an iron hand in order to preserve order, keep the peace and make sure the taxes flowed back to Rome—this was essentially the job of a Roman governor, though not all of them were as ruthless as Pilate. So, it’s no surprise that he eyed Jesus cautiously. After all this man had been stirring up the crowds and he had a band of followers. Pilate sniffed revolution, terrorism against the state. But, if this man fancied himself king, well, Pilate had a cross on which to enthrone him.
So, Pilate cuts to the chase and asks point blank, “Are you the king of the Jews?” When Jesus turns the question back on him, Pilate presses him again, “What have you done?” Jesus doesn’t answer the question. Instead he draws a distinction between himself and Pilate: “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 [to those who want to eliminate me]. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.”
The kingdom which Pilate serves, like all earthly kingdoms and states, is built upon the threat of violence and use of force. It is characteristic of earthly kingdoms to use violence to defend themselves, to gain land and resources, and to quell internal threats to the status quo. This is not separate from politics or a rare subcategory of normal politics. Violence and force are woven into the fabric of every society and every form of government. Consider that even in democracies which respect human rights, order is maintained by laws, police and courts which rely on coercion and the threat of punishment. Or just listen to the verbal violence—the slander, rumor mongering, demagoguery, fear mongering, outlandish exaggerations and outright lies—that makes up so much of the news out of Washington, not just in election years, but on any given day of every year. Prussian military theorist Carl von Clausewitz’s famed dictum, “War is politics by other means,” is all too often true in reverse: Politics is war by less physically brutal means.
But Jesus’ kingdom is not of this world and so it is not defended by violence. It is not established by violence. Indeed, Jesus does not kill. Instead he is killed. And the cross on which he is executed by the state will become his throne, because in this Crucified King the love of God is manifested in history and on Easter Sunday it will be that Divine love, not human violence, which is victorious. In Christ, God demonstrates that love is the most durable, creative, vivifying power in the universe. This is the truth that Jesus testifies to: that God is love, love giving of itself to others—giving till it hurts, so that our hate may be transformed into compassion, our fear into community, our darkness into light.
Truly, Christ’s kingdom is not of this world. Make no mistake, Jesus has power. But the source and use of that power are very different from Pilate’s power. Pilate’s power is grounded in the military and economic might of Rome. That’s impressive—even intimidating, but its temporary. Rome fell, as all earthly kingdoms eventually do. In contrast, Jesus’ power is grounded in the self-giving love of the eternal God. That power is steadfast and it endures forever. Not even death can restrain it. And Jesus uses his power not to perpetuate his kingdom, not to preserve himself, not to enrich his kingdom, but to save us, to bring us into his just and peaceful kingdom.
This distinctive Divine power is attested to throughout scripture. Daniel Migliore points out that the primary, indeed central, Old Testament image of God’s power and work is the Exodus, the freeing of the enslaved Hebrew people. This “surprising liberation of a poor and oppressed people” leads to the establishment of covenant with those people. The covenant is built upon the people’s responsibilities to do “justice and [show active] concern for the welfare of others, especially the poor and weak.” [Migliore, The Power of God and the gods of Power, 2008, p. 43] This is the work and will of a God who, the Psalmists continuously remind us, is gracious and merciful and abounding in hesed—steadfast love—overflowing in loving kindness.
God’s hesed is, as we have seen, is also attested in the New Testament. Here, as Migliore points out, the “power of creative, suffering, transforming love—has a Trinitarian shape:” “God is the transcendent Lord who at great cost sends Jesus on his mission of salvation. God is the humble servant who faithfully does the will of the Father and gives himself even unto death so that all of God’s creatures might be free from every bondage. God is the life-renewing and life-transforming Spirit who bears witness to the self-giving love of the Father and the Son and who…is the power to complete all the purposes of God.” [Migliore, p. 57] This is the truth attested to by the scriptures, the truth which Jesus bears witness to and, indeed, embodies, the truth which differentiates the Kingdom of God from the kingdoms of this world, the truth which Pilate—and so much of our normal way of doing things—denies: that Love is Lord of heaven and earth.
This truth must shape how God’s people relate to the world. Martin Luther King, Jr. described how power and love should relate in those who follow Jesus. He wrote, “What is needed is a realization that power without love is reckless and abusive, and love without power is sentimental and anemic. Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice, and justice at its best is power correcting everything that stands against love.” [Where Do We Go From Here: Chaos or Community? 1967]
So, what does that mean for us? We live in this complex, confusing, violent, sinful world, but we are also followers of Jesus and thus citizens of another world. We must not mistake our nation, or any nation, for the kingdom of God. And we must not assume that our ways are God’s ways. Even as we seek to be good responsible citizens of this world, we must recognize that we have a higher citizenship. Thus, we must work to make God’s love and compassion real in the midst of this world. We must embody love. We must set aside our fear of the other and instead embrace them with compassion. We must pray for our enemies and even, like the good Samaritan, help them if they are in need.
Exactly how to do this will not always be clear. The answers to the questions that vex us are not easy to see sometimes. But, as we think about how to respond to the challenges of this world, we must take into account the revelation of God in Jesus Christ. For example, as we think about immigration, we must recall that our King began his life, according to the Gospel of Matthew, as a refugee, fleeing to Egypt to escape the terror unleashed by a brutal ruler. We must remember that he put himself in risky situations to welcome, heal and feed not just his countrymen, but also Romans, collaborating tax collectors, Gentiles, Samaritans, lepers and prostitutes. And we must also remember that, in the Law and the Prophets, God’s people are repeatedly told to care for the foreigners dwelling among them. [for example: Lev 19.33-34; Zechariah 7.9; see also Hebrews 13.2; the late Chief Rabbi of Great Britain, Jonathan Sacks observed that “"The Hebrew Bible [the Old Testament] in one verse commands, 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself,' but in no fewer than 36 places commands us to 'love the stranger.'"]
And of course, Jesus’ parable of the sheep and the goats in Matthew 25 has a lot to say to us. You may remember that the parable is about the last judgement. The Son of Man, Jesus, has come in glory and the nations are gathered before him. King Jesus divides them up into two groups: the sheep and the goats. To the sheep he says, “‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; 35for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, 36I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’” When they ask when they did such things, Jesus says, “just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”’ (v. 40) Then the King turns to the goats and tells them to depart from him, for they did not do these things. They did not feed the hungry or welcome the stranger and by not doing so, they turned away Jesus.
In a blog reflecting on this passage, Adam Hamilton, pastor of the Methodist Church of the Resurrection in Kansas City, had this to say about the goats: In the parable it appears that the goats thought of themselves as religious. They were therefore surprised when, at the last judgment, there were turned away. So, why did the goats turn away those who were in need? I think it was because they were afraid and they allowed their fear to override their compassion and humanity. And the sheep? They found the courage to overcoming their fears and to act with compassion and love. (http://www.adamhamilton.org/blog/fear-and-the-syrian-refugees/#.VlETyXarTrc)
Scripture gives us no specific policy solutions. But it does give us principles of justice, mercy, humility, compassion and love. These are the values of Christ’s kingdom and we should base our response to the challenges of life in this world on those values.
Ultimately, in everything we do and say, we are called to be ambassadors of Christ’s kingdom. We are to represent his way of love and compassion in this world of fear and violence. As David Lose contends, “ we are called to witness:
to witness to the One who demonstrated power through weakness,
who manifested strength through vulnerability,
who established justice through mercy,
and who built the kingdom of God by embracing a confused, chaotic, and violent world, taking its pain into his own body, dying the death it sought, and rising again to remind us that light is stronger than darkness, love is stronger than hate, and that with God, all good things are possible.” (http://www.davidlose.net/2015/11/christ-the-king-b-not-of-this-world/) Amen.