Last Sunday in Pentecost: Christ the King, Proper 29B-15, November 22, 2015; The Rev. Pamela L. Werntz

O God of hope, grant us the wisdom, the strength, and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth, come when it may and cost what it will.

Today is the last Sunday of the church year. This day has come to be known as The Feast of Christ the King. It’s a new church holiday — first declared by Bishop of Rome, Pius the 11^th in 1925 – so not yet 100 years old even in the Roman Catholic Church. As recently as fifteen years ago, The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church described it as observed “unofficially in some Anglican churches.” As Episcopalians live into our ecumenical commitment to use the Revised Common Lectionary (shared with other major Christian denominations), Christ the King Sunday has become a part of our practice, printed on our calendars and worship planning books (so you know it’s real).

Our common lectionary calls for a reading from 2 Samuel about the everlasting covenant of the Love of God, the farewell prophecy of David. David’s final teaching is that, while what is not of God (that is, of Love) might be too sharp or hot to touch bare-handed, in the end, it is just fuel for the fire – which lights our way and warms our bodies. We hear the beginning of the Revelation to John the Divine, assurance about the Holy One, Who is past, present, and future even in the midst of chaos, violence, and persecution. Both are beautiful and uplifting messages of hope in the midst of uncertainty, violence, and death.

But then we have a reading from the Gospel of John (John the Evangelist), which places us right toward the end of the passion narrative, normally read on Good Friday. Even if it is also a beautiful and uplifting message of hope in the midst of uncertainty, violence, and death, it’s jarring to read anti-Jewish rhetoric in the midst of hymns of Christian triumphalism. Together they make a toxic cocktail that has been deadly for millions of non-Christians, even if that was not the intent. Because we are accountable for both intent and impact of our words and deeds, I can never let the damaging rhetoric go unaddressed. The word in the Gospel of John most often translated as Jew is the same as the word for Judean (as in people of Judea rather than the people of Galilee, where Jesus was from, or the people of Syria or Samaria). I made the change in our text this morning, although it’s not an entirely satisfactory substitution. [1]

There is intense irony in this passage with its disturbing language and that charged exchange about kings and truth. Part of the irony is that, even with the translation change, this passage still perpetuates the lie that “Jewish Judeans” rather than the Romans, were responsible for crucifying Jesus. Often when people talk about this passage in Bible study, they report feeling sympathy for Pontius Pilate. But as governor of Judea, Pontius Pilate reported directly to Emperor Tiberius and was entirely responsible for the execution of Jesus as he was for countless other state executions. Sympathy for Pilate feels to me like sympathy for Adolph Hitler or Joseph Stalin or Pol Pot or Idi Amin. We know from Roman historians that Pilate’s excessive cruelty was notorious and the reason for his removal from office in the year 37 and his subsequent exile.

It’s possible that the Gospel writer of John did want to make Pilate seem not so bad because of a late first century self-preservation attempt, combined with the in-fighting between Jesus-followers and non-Jesus-followers. In the process of arguing that Jesus was the full embodiment of the Love of God, John the Evangelist codified the untruth of who was ultimately responsible for Jesus’ death in a Gospel so concerned with the word truth that it appears fifty-five times! Pilate’s response in verse 38 to Jesus’ assertion that everyone who comes from the place of truth recognizes his voice is: “What is truth?” Pilate has no idea where that place of truth is.

I found it fascinating to look at the Greek lexicon’s definition for truth (alethia), illuminated or explained by a series of words that are opposites of truth. The opposite of truth is going astray or wandering. The opposite of truth is myth. The opposite of truth is fake (pseudo), the opposite of truth is evil. The opposite of truth is excuse or pretext. [2]

Part of the irony in this passage has to do with the nature of kings and what it means to be king and to have a kingdom. Here is Jesus, arrested and bound, being interrogated by the Roman government’s highest authority in the land. Jesus represents compassion, righteousness and deep humility. Here Pilate represents military, social and economic power. Jesus’ primary concern is for the last, the least and the lost (those who are hungry, sick, imprisoned, inadequately clothed and sheltered). Jesus’ work is all about re-creating, encouraging and inspiring fullness of life. Pilate’s concern is for the first, the most, and the best. Pilate’s work is all about demeaning, condescending, and controlling by means of violence. Pilate embodies cynicism and the love of power. Jesus embodies compassion and the power of love. Pilate is arrested by his political situation and bound by his office. In the story, he seems to believe that his hands are tied. In contrast Jesus is spiritually free. He is free from the constraints of the goal of self-preservation, and free from both self-aggrandizement and self-loathing. Jesus exhibits perfect freedom in a most limiting and oppressive situation. He is demonstrating something about courageous living in whatever horrible present moment, in contrast to hunkering down and merely surviving. He is demonstrating that the more one is motivated by love, the more fearless and free one becomes. [3]

This is what we rightly hold up when we proclaim Christ as sovereign. Of course, claiming the supreme rule of the faithfulness of God in Jesus Christ is one thing when being oppressed by military, political and economic might and it is quite another when claiming the religious right to assault and kill “infidels” or any other kind of enemy in the name of the Holy One. Perhaps recognizing the relative speed with which we fearful human beings go there could help us extend our compassion whenever we behave or anyone (on our behalf) behaves more like Pilate than like Jesus in the face of conflict – as long as extending our compassion moves us to stop the cycle of violence, rather than accepting it as inevitable.

The story in the Gospel of John goes that Pilate didn’t wait around for an answer to his question, “What is truth?” It’s not clear whether he ever knew that he was staring right at it when he asked. Truth, in the Biblical sense, has to do with integrity, firmness, fidelity, reliability, stability, sincerity, and candor. Biblical truth can never be separated from Love. The psalmist declares that in God, loving kindness and truth have met together. In God, justice and peace have kissed each other. The truth of God, according to theologian John A.T. Robinson, “is an experience at one and the same time of ultimacy and intimacy.” [4] The truth of God, according to the Gospel of John, was Jesus. The truth of God is Love. Love is Truth.

Two issues in the news this past week have made me want to preach for about 45 minutes today, but since I didn’t warn you to bring snacks, I’ll be as brief as possible. The first is that Friday was the annual day of remembrance for Transgender people who have died violently because of hate crimes. A news story that caught my eye reported a “glimmer of hope” in the fact that the number of police reports of hate crimes against Transgender people has tripled in the last year. [5] The writer was noting this as progress because the FBI finally started collecting data in 2013 about violence against people because of their gender identity. Such violence is now getting reported. It’s not getting worse. It’s getting better. We are now making slow but sure progress in creating and improving societal protection for Transgender people who are four times more likely to live in poverty than their Cisgender counterparts (the opposite of Transgender is Cisgender). A whopping 90% of gender queer people report experiencing harassment, mistreatment or discrimination on the job. Forty-one percent of Transgender people report attempting suicide, compared with 1.6% of the general population. [6] Our Diocese continues to be out in front in this effort, with Transgender and Cisgender people in lay and ordained leadership working together to demonstrate the Truth of Love. There are glimmers of hope and we have more work to do because hate crimes are unacceptable.

The other news of this past week has to do with governors who have announced that Syrian refugees are unwelcome in their states, including our own Governor Baker, although I think he may be reconsidering because the response of the religious community has been swift. Worldwide, the number of refugees displaced by military and economic violence (about 60 million) is larger than any time since World War II – and half of those are children. We have the resources, indeed, excessive resources and capacity in this country to provide sanctuary to people who are fleeing violence. We have a moral obligation to welcome refugees. I was going to read excerpts from the leadership of the Massachusetts Council of Churches, but then I decided to just put a copy of the letter to our Governor in your bulletins. It, too, is a glimmer of hope and we have a lot more work to do because giving into fear is unacceptable.

When you listen to this morning’s cantata 115, ponder ways in which you, too, can make your spirits ready – so that Satan’s guile does not overcome you with temptation to fear or despair in response to violence. Make your spirits ready to keep the covenant of grace; make your spirits ready to witness to the judgment of God, which is mercy; make your spirits ready to lean into the Truth of Love in the realm of our sovereign Redeemer.

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