First Presbyterian Church

Rev. Sam Pendergrast

November 25, 2007

Luke 23:33-43

 

 

“. . . All’s Right With the World”

 

In 1988 I had the privilege of traveling to Russia for the millennium celebration of the Orthodox Church in Russia and the Ukraine – one thousand years of Christianity in those countries. As part of that pilgrimage we visited the city of Rostov, in southern Russia. The Orthodox Church building there is immense, so large that I had to walk more than a hundred yards away from the building just to fit the whole structure into the lens of my camera. From inside, standing underneath, the central dome looks as though it could be at least a hundred feet above and sixty feet across. Inside the dome, looking down at the worshipper is a figure that dwarfs everything in the church. Just one figure takes up the whole space of the inside of that dome and gazes down upon anyone who dares to look up. That figure is Jesus. But not just any Jesus. It is Jesus risen from death, ascended into heaven, enthroned in royal power, robed as a king, with his right hand holding an orb, a symbol of the world he holds and rules. His eyes are burning with a gaze so intense it feels as though he is looking right into one’s soul. His presence fills the space of that church. Though it has been nearly twenty years, even now when I close my eyes I can see him looking down at me.

 

In our Protestant tradition we have no such dramatic reminders in our church building of the one who rules us. Our ancestors rejected what they suspected might be temptations to idolatry. We have opted for a simple cross. We depend on words, and on our imaginations. And we have, on this last Sunday of the Christian Year, the Festival of Christ the King.

 

I hate to disappoint you, but unlike the ancient church festivals of Advent, Christmas, Lent, Easter and Pentecost, the festival of Christ the King is a newcomer, first proposed in 1925, and finally adopted by Presbyterians in 1969 during the liturgical renewal movement. Its intent is to remind us that we belong to God, that, though it is hidden, the Realm of Jesus is even now the defining structure of our lives, that Jesus is Lord of all, and that he will come again to judge all of life. It is a reminder that I believe we need desperately in these days of war, scandal and fear of so many real and imagined disasters.

 

We don’t know too much about kings anymore. We know that nice lady who visits us from time to time for the horse races and seems mostly an anachronism, a quaint symbol leftover from another era. We know that some of the Middle Eastern countries still have rulers that are called “king.” We might think of King Arthur and his round table, or of Aragorn, the wandering ranger in Tolkein’s epic, who returned to his throne in the third book (or movie) of the series. But we are more likely to be familiar with governors, presidents and CEOs, and are not likely to trust them very much these days, given the Enron scandal, the Merit Pay hiring scandal in Frankfort and the growing wage gap.

 

In times gone by, the well-being of a nation was dependent on the quality of its king. As we read the history of Israel, we see how the nation prospered when there was a righteous, faithful king on the throne and how things went to hell in a handbasket when the king was corrupt and deceitful. A good king, imperfect as the best of them were, was a reflection of the ideal reign of God in human life.

 

Israel looked to the time when David was on the throne as its golden age. The hope for a Messiah, who was to come one day and rule perfectly, was expressed in images that recalled King David at his best. At his best, David was joyful, courageous, a man of faith who inspired loyalty in his followers. He knew his reign as king depended on God. If justice and faithfulness were left to human power alone, all would be doomed. The words of Jeremiah we read this morning express the hope that one day a king after the model of David, a wise and faithful shepherd, will sit on the throne, and that God’s faithfulness will fill the deeds of the king. At his worst, David was a murderer, whose reign was brought down by adultery, deceit, family dysfunction, and a rebellious son who would have killed his own father.

That other “once and future king,” Arthur of the round table, lived out a similar script, brought down by his own tragic flaws, his adultery, and the rebellion of his bastard son, Mordred. As we survey our modern political scene we understand why these stories have such enduring appeal. The characters change, but the story is played out again and again. What we observe confirms one definition of insanity – doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. We change leaders and keep hoping. And we continue to be disappointed.

 

Somewhere, there is a place where the king reigns. Somewhere there is a place where righteousness and peace prevail. Somewhere “God’s in his heaven and all’s right with the world,” but it is somewhere out there, in a place we can only hope for. That line, from the poem by Robert Browning, seems hopelessly idealistic and naive. Given what we see in the world around us, it seems impossible to believe. How can we believe that all’s right with the world, or even that God is in his heaven, given Iraq, the FEMA debacle after Katrina, the economy after the sub-prime mortgage collapse, children dying of abuse and hunger, marriages falling apart – you name it. Either we have misunderstood something about God, or there is something going on that we can’t see. We may wonder – is a Sunday dedicated to proclaiming Christ as King little more than whistling in the dark?

 

The disciples might have asked a similar question when Jesus was arrested and tried before Pilate, then hung on a cross to die. Are all our hopes really going to come to nothing? Or is there something more going on here than we can see? What was it that the second thief saw, or knew. Surely this Jesus hung up like a criminal was no king. So what is it that this thief senses that leads him to say, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” What kind of kingdom does he rule?

 

On the surface it looks pretty grim. An itinerant preacher is hauled before the governor of the occupying Roman army, accused by the religious leaders of his own people of blasphemy and heresy. Whatever movement this “King of the Jews” may have started seems doomed. Whatever kingdom he may have thought he ruled seems destined for the ash heap of history.

 

But look again. As the Gospels tell the story, the only character who is at peace and in control is the one who is being put to death. The only one who seems to act as if “all’s right with the world” is Jesus. It is not Pilate, not the Jewish authorities, not the disciples, but the one who is going to his death. Jesus ignores the mocking taunts of the soldiers. He does not answer the first thief who scorns him, who assumes that if Jesus had real power he would leap down off the cross and take revenge on his tormentors. Even what we often think of as the saddest event of Jesus life is made to point towards a power and a realm that transcend this present world. Instead of a story that makes us cry, this is a story that calls for our awe and wonder. It’s a story that shows Jesus as the king who lays down his life to save the world.

 

 

Jesus is the one who knows that the rules of the game as it has always been played are not the final word. He knows that there is another power that will always triumph over human attempts at control and coercion. He knows, and he is not afraid. His answer to Pilate in John’s Gospel gives us the clue we need. “My kingdom is not from this world. My followers don’t need to fight to defend me.” “You would have no power over me had not God granted it to you. There is nothing you, with all the power of Rome behind you, can do that will make a difference.” In this scene before Pilate we see the cosmic Christ who stands in judgment of all earthly powers.

 

So where does this leave us? In the days of George Bush and the war in Iraq, the housing bust and falling markets, terrorism and national security fears, global warming and the growing inequity between rich and poor, what are we to make of this Christ the King?

 

If I have preached this message once, I have preached it dozens of times. And I will preach it that many more, God willing. I like best the way Luke records Jesus’ words in the twelfth chapter, after he reminds us of the birds of the air and flowers of the field and tells us not to worry. He admonishes us to seek the kingdom, and then assures us, “Do not fear little flock. It is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” Paul said, “Nothing in life or in death can separate us from God’s love.” “The form of this world is passing away.” We’re on the winning side, and not only that, God’s love is so big that it invites everyone to be on the winning side.

 

Those who tell us that our freedom is protected by war, by violence or by soldiers dying in foreign lands, are deceiving us. They can see only this world and its kingdoms, the treasures of this earth. Those who would have us be afraid and so justify the destruction they would carry out in our name are thinking only in terms of this world.

 

We are free because Christ has set us free. Nothing can take us out of God’s hand. We are a people who are citizens of a realm that has no borders you can mark on a map. It is a realm that transcends language and culture, skin color and heritage. The Kingdom of Christ cannot be won with arms or defended by force. The king of this realm knocks at the door and seeks fellowship with every person and would tear down all barriers that separate his people from one another.

 

To be a citizen of this kingdom is to come into conflict with the kingdoms of this world from time to time, because we have a loyalty that is beyond any earthly power. No wonder both Pilate and the Jewish leaders were so intent on getting rid of this king. To accept his truth is to undermine all the little kingdoms we would set up to wield our own power and control. We are not fighting flesh and blood. The only enemies that can ever really do us harm are the powers of sin and evil and the fear of death.

 

May our lives continue to proclaim the truth of this kingdom and of its king, who came to rule us all. On this Sunday of Christ the King we give thanks that we belong to God, despite all we see. May our prayer be always: “Thy Kingdom come!”