33 Then Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” 34 Jesus answered, “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” 35 Pilate replied, “I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?” 36 Jesus answered, “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 the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.” 37 Pilate asked him, “So you are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.”

A few years ago we had the blessing of traveling to France. We had a great time, starting off in Paris and taking in the “Eternal City” and some of its sights. One of the things this history major wanted to see was outside of the city, the Palace of Versailles. I have to admit, though, it was a bit of a turn off. It looked so ostentatious; you know, all of that glitz and everything. Just a little too much for my taste. I enjoyed the market on the town square a lot better.
But royalty is a big thing in Europe, and so all of that glitz, and the crowns that went with it, were not done with us. They kept popping up all over the place. We visited several of the chateaus along the Loire River, and in each of those were relics of another time: Crowns worn by kings and queens, clothes worn by other members of the royal class. It was kind of strange for me, coming from this country, to see all of that royal regalia. Not strange in that they were on display, I knew they would be there. But strange in that, to me, they didn’t look any fancier than they did. They just looked like old objects behind a case, collecting dust. There were other reasons why seeing a crown on display didn’t hold much interest for me. For one thing, being a history nut, I know a little too much about kings and queens; about ways they abused their power and the people of the lands they ruled. They felt they had been given their crowns by the Lord himself – the “Divine Right of Kings” – so they thought they could pretty much do whatever they wanted. As is the case when anyone is a little too casual about the presence of God in their lives they took that as permission to live without limits, including using power and violence to exercise their control. Some of them wound up on the other end of that power and control, all of which tells us that having a crown is not always a blessing.
This is the last Sunday of the Christian calendar. It might seem like we are getting a jump on marking the end of the year, but we have our four Advent Sundays that get us ready for Christmas, and they start next week. This day is called Christ the King Sunday, a title that has been in effect less than one hundred years. It was so titled to give the church year some closure, as well as to remind all of us who is really in charge.
A good and worthy cause, of course, except there is that ‘king’ thing. I don’t think I am the only person who has a hang up with it. It sounds so archaic, like one more thing the church does that only makes it look older. Then there are all those bad things that kings did way back when; do we really want to compare Jesus to all of those people, sinners, really, who just happen to wear a crown and wave a sword? Couldn’t we come up with a better image to end the year than that?
Maybe I’m getting cranky and cynical in my old age. It’s easy to do, especially when it seems that all we ever hear is bad news. We were no sooner done with the latest mass shooting than a massive fire roared up and down the valleys of California, killing and destroying. They still don’t know how many people lost their lives, and with the intensity of the fire they may never know. Our world seems to be that way – either a natural disaster of some sort, or an insane attack meant to terrorize and murder people who are different.
It could also because of the day that Thanksgiving fell on this year. It was November 22nd, and that day cannot go around for me without flashbacks to being in seventh grade math class and hearing the mind-numbing news that the President of the United States, John F. Kennedy, had been shot and killed in Dallas. Maybe the preacher in Ecclesiastes was speaking an even deeper truth than he realized when he said that “Vanity is vanity, all is vanity and there is nothing new under the sun.” With all the shootings we have heard about in the world it would be easy to think that violence, that hate, are the real rulers of this world, the only crowns on display in our time.
And then there is this account from John’s gospel about the trial leading to the crucifixion of Jesus. It certainly doesn’t sound like Jesus is very much in charge here. He has been brought to Pilate, the Roman governor with a reputation for using power and violence for control. But there is a different kind of scene here as Pilate moves back and forth, inside and outside, talking with Jesus, then talking with the Jewish authorities, who are waiting outside because they do not want to risk defilement before the high holy celebration of Passover.
It is a very interesting picture of who is really in charge. The Jewish authorities have brought Jesus, but because of their high sense of piety they won’t come insider Pilate’s headquarters. And yet before the story is over they will turn their backs on that piety by claiming that only Caesar is king rather than Jesus, thereby denying the call of Passover to remember that God alone is king. Pilate is the Roman in charge, and yet he is constantly going back and forth, inside, outside, trying to figure out whom to listen to. He is supposed to be the one in power, but he has no real power; he gives it up to the religious authorities who want to do away with Jesus.
In John’s Gospel no one has the power but Jesus. It is not his powerlessness that has put him in this position, in being examined by Pilate while the religious authorities wait; it is the power of his divine, incarnate love that has brought him here, to this place of impending sacrificial death. A power that the ways of this world – and ours – cannot know. A way that is marked by vulnerability, not domination. A way marked by love, not by a lust for control.
In the course of their conversation, Jesus tells Pilate something that the Roman governor might have thought laughable. Perhaps we do, too, if we consider power to be only through the force of arms or the might of military weaponry, or by being the toughest person on the block. There is an invisible power at work that makes Jesus king, in his conversation with Pilate and in the conversations he has with each and every one of us.
Jesus says, “My kingdom is not from this world…” It is not ‘from’ this world, using the dynamics of violence and control this world knows too well. It is a different sort of power. David Lose wrote about this recently and said:
“What Jesus might be saying … is that were he and his followers of this world, then naturally they would use the primary tool this world provides for establishing and keeping power: violence. But Jesus is not of this world and so Jesus will not defend himself through violence. Jesus will not establish his claims by violence. Jesus will not usher in God’s Kingdom by violence. Jesus will make no followers by violence…
“But Jesus is not of this world. And therefore his followers will not fight for him because to bring the kingdom about by violence is to violate the very principles of this kingdom and cause its destruction.”
Martin Luther King, Jr., who knew a lot about standing up to the forces of violence, had a similar take:
“The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. Through violence you may murder the liar, but you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth. Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate. So it goes. Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”
Words that we would well do to listen to in our days. Words that tell us that there is another power at work in our lives than the power of toughness. We have been warned about the large numbers of people coming up from Honduras through Mexico who, it is said, seek to enter our country and do something monstrous. We would do well to monitor our nation and be careful about who we let in. But we also would do well to remember that we are all descendants of those who came from other places, who came seeking freedom and a new chance at life without all of the violence from whence our ancestors came. If we cower in fear and throw up walls to keep people out, then those who seek to appeal to the worst angels of our natures will have won. They will have made us just as bitter and violent and fearful as they are.
But, Jesus said in other parts of Scripture, it shall not be so among you. I remember when we were living in Lansing, Michigan; behind us lived a family from the nation of Jordan. They were some of the finest, most loving people I have known. We never worried about them. In fact, I remember one time going to their house on a Memorial Day when Sue had to work in the hospital. Their welcome was generous, their hospitality outstanding.
The crown that is on display for the One who is king is not some dusty miter, but a life lived in grace and peace – and welcome. What we put on display in the course of daily living are those habits and practices which proclaim if Jesus is king of our lives, or something else. To put Christ’s crown on display is shown in how we take care of each other, how we take care of those who are different; it will be on display by how we live our lives filled with hope rather than fear; it will be on display by the images we let into our minds; it will be on display by how our thoughts and our actions show the love of Jesus Christ.
Our final hymn this morning is not one we usually sing this time of year; we usually sing it on Maundy Thursday, at the end of Lent. We sing about Jesus enduring his intense suffering, entering into dark Gethsemane. Because of the deep meaning of that night, we sing the first three verses but leave out the fourth. We do that because at that time we need to focus on Jesus’ suffering and not make light of it. We are drawn by the great light of Easter, but at that time we hold off on it for a while. But on this Sunday, on this Christ the King Sunday, we focus on his ultimate victory. This Sunday we do sing that fourth verse, that verse of resurrection. For it is in that resurrection that Jesus’ reign takes hold of our lives. It sings that death does not rule, but the new life in him does. It sings that we are to proclaim his rule in our lives, a rule based not on power and might, but on vulnerable love and a love for all people. Amen.