On Being Out of Touch
Commentary
We’ve all probably been on both ends of the experience. One person mentions to another, in a very familiar way, some significant thing that has happened, and the other person responds with a blank look. They hadn’t heard the news. They didn’t know about what was going on. And the first person, stunned, asks in disbelief, “You didn’t know?”
Some of this can be rather parochial, of course. The sports enthusiast is genuinely surprised that not everyone follows the player, the team, the league, the sport, or what have you as closely as they do. So, too, with the political buff, the person enamored with some part of the entertainment industry, the person who is always keeping a finger on the pulse of the markets, and so forth. Whatever part of life is prominent for an individual, they naturally expect the rest of the world to be as up to date on those matters of crucial importance as they are.
In the world of church life, there’s a pretty good chance that most of the people in our pews are not as conversant in the liturgical calendar as their pastors are. Some clergy are truly fluent in seasons and colors, in feasts and fasts, in lectionary readings and corresponding liturgies. Yet while they are all tuned in to the fact that we are coming now to the climax of one church year and the beginning of the next, their people are mostly thinking about Thanksgiving and Christmas.
This, then, is our dilemma as we approach Christ the King Sunday. Our people are very likely out of touch with this season of the church year. The other seasons — the ones apparent in the climate and the culture — are the ones that are recognized and on folks’ radar. And while there is a popular awareness of Advent and Holy Week, something like “Christ the King” gets no support from the surrounding culture.
To be out of touch with the church’s liturgical calendar is not, in my judgment, a great tragedy. But it may be emblematic of a larger irony. That is to say, the problem is not merely that people are out of touch with Christ the King Sunday; the problem is that they are out of touch with Christ the King. It’s not just the holy day that they are missing, it’s the spiritual reality. And perhaps the angels look at us stunned, and they ask, in disbelief, “You didn’t know?”
This Sunday is our appointed opportunity to make sure our people know!
2 Samuel 23:1-7; Psalm 132:1-12 (13-18)
When I was a child, one of the standard types of puzzles in children’s activity books was the “What’s Wrong With This Picture” genre. The idea was to evaluate the details of a certain drawing and identify what elements were nonsensical or out-of-place. Perhaps a car in the picture had a square wheel. Perhaps a fish was in a bird’s nest. The child’s job was to identify what was wrong with the picture.
As adults, we continue to exhibit that ability. It shows itself in different ways with different people, of course, because our gifts are different. But the same fundamental knack is at work in each case.
This person has a sense for interior design. They can walk into a room, therefore, and immediately assess what’s wrong with the picture, how the decor could be improved and furniture arrangement should be better. Another person has an ear for mechanical things. They hear the tiniest irregularity in the sound of the car engine or the water heater or the furnace, and they recognize what’s wrong with that picture. Yet another person shows that knack in the kitchen. Another employs it in the area of relationships and group dynamics. Another is a natural editor.
When David was king in Israel, he showed one day the spiritual aptitude to recognize what was wrong with Israel’s picture. “See now,” he said to the prophet Nathan, “I dwell in a house of cedar, but the ark of God dwells within tent curtains.” (This was, incidentally, exactly the perception that the people of Haggai’s day lacked.)
David knew that something wasn’t right. He was living in luxury, while the Lord was living — to the extent that the tabernacle represented his dwelling place — in just a tent. Israel had advanced from living in tents in the wilderness to being settled and secure in Canaan in a few generations. David had been promoted from shepherd boy to king in a few decades. The Lord God, however, was still living in the same accommodations that had characterized him and his people back in the wilderness wanderings centuries before. David knew this wasn’t right, and so he resolved to build a house — a proper and worthy house — for the Lord.
It was at this crucial juncture in David's story, then, that the Lord made a promise to David that had both global and eternal significance. While it was David's good ambition to build a house for the Lord, the Lord unveiled his plan to build a house for David. While the former was a physical structure, the latter was a dynasty. The former was a project for an architect. The latter could only be accomplished by divine providence.
The spirit of God's promises to David became not only an issue of personal gratitude for David himself but also the stuff of national hope. David was humbled and awed by the generosity of God's plans for his descendants and his throne. Meanwhile, for generations after, the people of Israel hung their hopes - - in good times and in bad - - on the magnificent prospect embodied by David's promised descendant.
Our two Old Testament passages give expression to that personal gratitude and that national hope. David’s “last words” are recorded for us in the 2 Samuel selection. If we know David’s whole story, we may think that he gilds the lily a bit. And yet I do not regard this end-of-the-line expression of praise as dishonest or disingenuous. Rather, it is a testament to the marvelous work of God’s grace in our lives. Many of us would echo David’s testimony in that the beauty of the Lord’s accomplishments eclipse in the end all our struggles and stumbling. Just as the bumper crop that results from the good soil more than makes up for the three disappointing soils (see Matthew 13:1-8, 18-23), so it is with God’s grace in David’s life — and ours!
And in these recorded last words, we hear that David affirms the promise of God to continue His gracious work even beyond the boundaries of David’s earthly life. This is another layer of testimony, to be sure. It is one thing to look back over the path one has traveled and be able to give thanks for what God did in the past. It is yet another to look ahead and rejoice in the promise of what God will yet do. This, of course, is something of the trajectory we see in Psalm 23. It is central to David’s faith, and it is emblematic of God’s power and grace.
The psalmist, meanwhile, recalls the episode that we recounted earlier. The faithfulness of David is celebrated, and the faithfulness of God is affirmed. And central to that divine faithfulness is this promise: “One of the sons of your body I will set on your throne.” This is the seed God planted in the days of David, which grew over the generations into a blossom of messianic hope. And this, of course, was what lay behind the cry of the blind man (Luke 18:38-39), the Canaanite woman (Matthew 15:22), and the Palm Sunday crowds (Matthew 21:9), when they called Jesus “Son of David.”
The promise of God to David, the messianic hope that grew out of it, and Jesus’ identification as the “Son of David” all point us toward the theme of this “Christ the King” Sunday.
Revelation 1:4b-8
Many times in leading Bible studies — whether with children, youth, or adults — I have challenged folks with a question. “If this passage was the only part of the Bible that you had, and if this was all that you knew about God,” I ask, “what would you know?” I have found that thinking about and answering that question proves to be a fruitful exercise for folks. It prompts them to read a passage more closely, and to be more deliberate about really learning from it.
Our assigned verses from the first chapter of Revelation would be a real treasure trove for that exercise. Read this passage with that filter in mind. Set aside all of what you already know and believe about the Lord, and let this lone passage be the basis for your theology and Christology. Then see what you would discover.
John identifies him first in terms of three phrases or titles: “the faithful witness,” “the firstborn of the dead,” and “the rulers of the kings of the earth.” Next, he describes Jesus in terms of three things that He does or did: “loves us,” “freed us from our sins by His blood,” and “made us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father.” And then, finally, John affirms that “he is coming with the clouds; every eye will see him, even those who pierced him; and on his account all the tribes of the earth will wail.”
Even so brief a passage proves to be too profound to be able to plumb its depths in this short space. Briefly, though, we may make several broad observations. And those, in turn, may lead us to marvelous affirmations about the Lord.
In the beginning and at the end, the passage reveals Jesus in terms that are global and eternal. He is ruler of the kings of the earth. Every eye will see him. All the tribes of the earth will wail at the sight of him. He is a larger-than-life eschatological figure who comes on the clouds. This is awesome stuff, you see. The is the one on whom the universe’s spotlights shine. All attention and adoration are directed toward him.
Yet in the middle of the passage, Jesus is revealed as intensely personal. He loves us. He died for us. And he makes us into persons of sacred and eternal significance. The perspective that comes from the beginning and the end helps us to recognize just how extraordinary the personal grace revealed in the middle is.
Imagine, if you will, an enormous crowd — perhaps a stadium filled with people — that has gathered to see some person of great importance. It’s standing room only. The folks who are in the farthest recesses of the auditorium or coliseum can hardly even see the special guest, but still count themselves privileged just to be there. When the awaited star of the show comes out onto the center stage, the crowd erupts with adoring screams and applause.
In this sort of setting, of course, the security that surrounds the celebrity is immense. He or she is guarded, escorted, and ushered wherever they go. The crowds outside the venue hope just to catch a glimpse, at best.
But now imagine that inaccessible celebrity eschewing the security escorts to come out into the crowd. Imagine him or her leaving the spotlight of the stage to make their way back to the nose-bleed seats of the venue. It is a poor analogy, of course, for no human analogy can do justice to the loving condescension of Christ. But that, you see, is the sense of this passage. It speaks to us of both the glory and the grace of Jesus. It indicates to us both how high he is and how low he stooped. Even if we knew nothing else about him beyond these few verses, they are enough by themselves to prompt us to call him Savior and Lord!
John 18:33-37
As we noted above, our people will perhaps be surprised to hear this gospel reading this Sunday. It is the sort of text they might expect to hear in the spring, not the fall. They associate this story with Holy Week, yet here we are on the verge of Thanksgiving. In terms of the liturgical calendar, however, this Sunday does not merely represent the weekend before Thanksgiving. Rather, this Sunday before the beginning of Advent represents the conclusion of the liturgical year — a climax of sorts, which is designated as Christ the King Sunday. And so, while we think of the scene with Pontius Pilate as part of Christ’s passion, we take it just now to be an affirmation of his kingship.
Kingship was the concern of Pilate at this stage of Jesus’ trial. And this episode near the end of Jesus’ earthly life reminds us that his kingship was the concern of a different potentate at the beginning of his earthly life, as well. In Matthew’s account of the Christmas story, you recall, King Herod is agitated by the news from the Magi that some “king of the Jews” has been born. And now, these decades later, Pilate is likewise wondering, “Are you the king of the Jews?”
Inasmuch as Palestine was a small, occupied strip of the much larger Roman Empire, and since the Jews were a politically and militarily inconsequential people in the first century, one wonders why “king of the Jews” was such a concern for Pilate. Perhaps, like Herod before him, Pilate was paranoid about the very suggestion that Jesus was born to be king. Perhaps when there is something fundamentally unjust about one’s throne, one is fundamentally insecure about it, as well. Whatever the explanation, Pilate wondered aloud about Jesus’ identity as king and, in the end, we observe, “king of the Jews” was the charge that Pilate chose to have hung above Jesus’ head on the cross.
All these people were mistaken, of course. The Magi, Herod, and Pilate — along with a great many earnest admirers of Jesus who no doubt expected and hoped that he would be a king in a conventional sense. The prevailing hope was that a heroic revolutionary (like Judas Maccabaeus), a deliver (like Moses), and a strong and wise king (like David) would rescue Israel from Roman occupation and establish the era of peace, prosperity, and justice that had been predicted by the prophets for generations. Standing in chains before Pilate and eventually being sentenced to death on a cross: this was not the sort of king they were looking for!
But Jesus stated explicitly to Pilate what was implicit throughout his ministry: “My kingdom is not from this world.” He did not deny that he was a king. He was, however, redefining the nature of his kingdom. And that glorious reality is at the heart of what we remember and preach and celebrate on this climactic Sunday of the liturgical year!
Application
Let’s be honest: He’s an easy king to miss.
What king, after all, is born in a barn and laid in a feeding trough? And who would recognize a king in the abused and vulnerable condition that Pilate encountered him? Or who would think that the seemingly helpless man hanging on a cross was a king? He’s an easy king to miss.
And yet, the wise men from the east seemed to recognize him. So did the thief on the nearby cross. And even Pilate himself seemed to have a suspicion.
It seems that those individuals were, however, more the exception than the rule. His birth passed by unobserved by most. It was a mocking crown and robe that the soldiers placed on him. And the crowds around the cross — along with the other thief — treated him with contempt rather than royal honor.
And so, because he is such an easy king to miss, we continue to run that risk today. Though he came preaching the good news of a kingdom; though we pray routinely, “Thy kingdom come;” though he rose and ascended — still the world remains mostly out of touch with the fact that he is King of kings and Lord of lords. They are indifferent and blasé. Or, in some cases, they are still as condescending and venomous toward him as the soldiers, the thief, and the crowds.
It’s one thing to be out of touch with the latest sports headline or market trend. It’s a whole different matter, however, to be out of touch with the prevailing and eternal reality of the universe!
Back in the days of David, God began to articulate his promise and plan for a certain sort of king. That king finally appeared — in Bethlehem, in Nazareth, around Galilee, and in Jerusalem. His name is known now around the world, yet still so many remain out of touch. But the book of Revelation assures us — warns us — that that ignorance will not last forever. For “Look! he is coming with the clouds; every eye will see him, even those who pierced him; and on his account all the tribes of the earth will wail. So, it is to be.”
Our high calling, on this Christ the King Sunday, is to make sure that the people within earshot of us are not out of touch. They may not know what liturgical season it is, and that’s fine. But let us be sure that they know that the ancient promise of God is being fulfilled. The king has come, and he is coming again!
Alternative Application(s)
John 18:33-37 — “Implications of an Address”
The old maxim claims that the three most important factors in a piece of real estate are location, location, and location. It doesn’t matter how stylish the house may be on the outside if the location is bad. It doesn’t matter how spectacular the decor is. It doesn’t matter how good the bones are. If the location is bad, all the rest won’t be worth much.
And what is true in residential real estate is just as true for businesses. It won’t matter how good your product is, how terrific your menu, or how friendly your staff. If the location is bad, that will prove too much for almost any product or service to overcome.
The would-be homeowner or entrepreneur, therefore, needs to understand the nature of a given property’s location. It won’t pay in the long run to get that wrong. And perhaps that is the thrust of Jesus’ message to Pilate — and to us — as well.
In this case, however, is not the location of a residence or business. In this case, the issue is the location of a kingdom. “My kingdom is not from this world,” Jesus said. Yet he did talk a great deal about a kingdom — both present and future; both individual and universal; both internal and external. He taught a great deal about the kingdom, and many New Testament passages acknowledge him as King. But we can’t afford to misunderstand the location.
Pilate misunderstood. So did Herod the Great a generation before. They feared that Jesus’ kingdom — or kingly aspiration — was earthly. They reckoned that he panted for earthly power and strove for an earthly throne like so many, many others they had known. Accordingly, they were bound to misunderstand him.
But we mustn’t distance ourselves from the cases of Pilate and Herod, shaking our heads disapprovingly at their misunderstanding. After all, Jesus’ own followers also misunderstood. We think, for example, of James and John’s request to sit at Jesus right and left when he reigned as king. We think of the disciples’ arguments about who was the greatest. We think of their clamoring ambition and self-importance. And, as a result of all that earthly mindedness, they ran the risk of missing his kingdom. “Truly I tell you,” he warned them, “anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it” (Mark 10:15 NIV).
As Jesus was disabusing Pilate of the misapprehensions that perhaps came naturally to a Roman governor, he said, “If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews.” Of course, we know from the scene in Gethsemane that at least one of the disciples did show that impulse. Nevertheless, Jesus’ broader point remains: If he were leading an ordinary, human revolution, he would have chosen, trained, prepared, and instructed his followers differently.
“But as it is,” Jesus continued, “my kingdom is not from here.” Consequently, his followers were not fighting to protect him from the fate of that Friday afternoon. And, instead, because of the very different nature of his kingdom, the nature of their mission was completely different. They went out, to be sure, but not as soldiers or spies. Rather, they went out as preachers and teachers. They went out to proclaim good news, to heal, and to establish churches.
The implication of what Jesus told Pilate is that he could tell something about the nature of Jesus’ kingdom based on what Jesus’ followers were and were not doing. And I believe that is still true today. The world should know about the sort of king Jesus is — and the nature of his kingdom — by what the world sees us doing and hears us saying. “If my kingdom were from this world, my followers.... But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.”
Some of this can be rather parochial, of course. The sports enthusiast is genuinely surprised that not everyone follows the player, the team, the league, the sport, or what have you as closely as they do. So, too, with the political buff, the person enamored with some part of the entertainment industry, the person who is always keeping a finger on the pulse of the markets, and so forth. Whatever part of life is prominent for an individual, they naturally expect the rest of the world to be as up to date on those matters of crucial importance as they are.
In the world of church life, there’s a pretty good chance that most of the people in our pews are not as conversant in the liturgical calendar as their pastors are. Some clergy are truly fluent in seasons and colors, in feasts and fasts, in lectionary readings and corresponding liturgies. Yet while they are all tuned in to the fact that we are coming now to the climax of one church year and the beginning of the next, their people are mostly thinking about Thanksgiving and Christmas.
This, then, is our dilemma as we approach Christ the King Sunday. Our people are very likely out of touch with this season of the church year. The other seasons — the ones apparent in the climate and the culture — are the ones that are recognized and on folks’ radar. And while there is a popular awareness of Advent and Holy Week, something like “Christ the King” gets no support from the surrounding culture.
To be out of touch with the church’s liturgical calendar is not, in my judgment, a great tragedy. But it may be emblematic of a larger irony. That is to say, the problem is not merely that people are out of touch with Christ the King Sunday; the problem is that they are out of touch with Christ the King. It’s not just the holy day that they are missing, it’s the spiritual reality. And perhaps the angels look at us stunned, and they ask, in disbelief, “You didn’t know?”
This Sunday is our appointed opportunity to make sure our people know!
2 Samuel 23:1-7; Psalm 132:1-12 (13-18)
When I was a child, one of the standard types of puzzles in children’s activity books was the “What’s Wrong With This Picture” genre. The idea was to evaluate the details of a certain drawing and identify what elements were nonsensical or out-of-place. Perhaps a car in the picture had a square wheel. Perhaps a fish was in a bird’s nest. The child’s job was to identify what was wrong with the picture.
As adults, we continue to exhibit that ability. It shows itself in different ways with different people, of course, because our gifts are different. But the same fundamental knack is at work in each case.
This person has a sense for interior design. They can walk into a room, therefore, and immediately assess what’s wrong with the picture, how the decor could be improved and furniture arrangement should be better. Another person has an ear for mechanical things. They hear the tiniest irregularity in the sound of the car engine or the water heater or the furnace, and they recognize what’s wrong with that picture. Yet another person shows that knack in the kitchen. Another employs it in the area of relationships and group dynamics. Another is a natural editor.
When David was king in Israel, he showed one day the spiritual aptitude to recognize what was wrong with Israel’s picture. “See now,” he said to the prophet Nathan, “I dwell in a house of cedar, but the ark of God dwells within tent curtains.” (This was, incidentally, exactly the perception that the people of Haggai’s day lacked.)
David knew that something wasn’t right. He was living in luxury, while the Lord was living — to the extent that the tabernacle represented his dwelling place — in just a tent. Israel had advanced from living in tents in the wilderness to being settled and secure in Canaan in a few generations. David had been promoted from shepherd boy to king in a few decades. The Lord God, however, was still living in the same accommodations that had characterized him and his people back in the wilderness wanderings centuries before. David knew this wasn’t right, and so he resolved to build a house — a proper and worthy house — for the Lord.
It was at this crucial juncture in David's story, then, that the Lord made a promise to David that had both global and eternal significance. While it was David's good ambition to build a house for the Lord, the Lord unveiled his plan to build a house for David. While the former was a physical structure, the latter was a dynasty. The former was a project for an architect. The latter could only be accomplished by divine providence.
The spirit of God's promises to David became not only an issue of personal gratitude for David himself but also the stuff of national hope. David was humbled and awed by the generosity of God's plans for his descendants and his throne. Meanwhile, for generations after, the people of Israel hung their hopes - - in good times and in bad - - on the magnificent prospect embodied by David's promised descendant.
Our two Old Testament passages give expression to that personal gratitude and that national hope. David’s “last words” are recorded for us in the 2 Samuel selection. If we know David’s whole story, we may think that he gilds the lily a bit. And yet I do not regard this end-of-the-line expression of praise as dishonest or disingenuous. Rather, it is a testament to the marvelous work of God’s grace in our lives. Many of us would echo David’s testimony in that the beauty of the Lord’s accomplishments eclipse in the end all our struggles and stumbling. Just as the bumper crop that results from the good soil more than makes up for the three disappointing soils (see Matthew 13:1-8, 18-23), so it is with God’s grace in David’s life — and ours!
And in these recorded last words, we hear that David affirms the promise of God to continue His gracious work even beyond the boundaries of David’s earthly life. This is another layer of testimony, to be sure. It is one thing to look back over the path one has traveled and be able to give thanks for what God did in the past. It is yet another to look ahead and rejoice in the promise of what God will yet do. This, of course, is something of the trajectory we see in Psalm 23. It is central to David’s faith, and it is emblematic of God’s power and grace.
The psalmist, meanwhile, recalls the episode that we recounted earlier. The faithfulness of David is celebrated, and the faithfulness of God is affirmed. And central to that divine faithfulness is this promise: “One of the sons of your body I will set on your throne.” This is the seed God planted in the days of David, which grew over the generations into a blossom of messianic hope. And this, of course, was what lay behind the cry of the blind man (Luke 18:38-39), the Canaanite woman (Matthew 15:22), and the Palm Sunday crowds (Matthew 21:9), when they called Jesus “Son of David.”
The promise of God to David, the messianic hope that grew out of it, and Jesus’ identification as the “Son of David” all point us toward the theme of this “Christ the King” Sunday.
Revelation 1:4b-8
Many times in leading Bible studies — whether with children, youth, or adults — I have challenged folks with a question. “If this passage was the only part of the Bible that you had, and if this was all that you knew about God,” I ask, “what would you know?” I have found that thinking about and answering that question proves to be a fruitful exercise for folks. It prompts them to read a passage more closely, and to be more deliberate about really learning from it.
Our assigned verses from the first chapter of Revelation would be a real treasure trove for that exercise. Read this passage with that filter in mind. Set aside all of what you already know and believe about the Lord, and let this lone passage be the basis for your theology and Christology. Then see what you would discover.
John identifies him first in terms of three phrases or titles: “the faithful witness,” “the firstborn of the dead,” and “the rulers of the kings of the earth.” Next, he describes Jesus in terms of three things that He does or did: “loves us,” “freed us from our sins by His blood,” and “made us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father.” And then, finally, John affirms that “he is coming with the clouds; every eye will see him, even those who pierced him; and on his account all the tribes of the earth will wail.”
Even so brief a passage proves to be too profound to be able to plumb its depths in this short space. Briefly, though, we may make several broad observations. And those, in turn, may lead us to marvelous affirmations about the Lord.
In the beginning and at the end, the passage reveals Jesus in terms that are global and eternal. He is ruler of the kings of the earth. Every eye will see him. All the tribes of the earth will wail at the sight of him. He is a larger-than-life eschatological figure who comes on the clouds. This is awesome stuff, you see. The is the one on whom the universe’s spotlights shine. All attention and adoration are directed toward him.
Yet in the middle of the passage, Jesus is revealed as intensely personal. He loves us. He died for us. And he makes us into persons of sacred and eternal significance. The perspective that comes from the beginning and the end helps us to recognize just how extraordinary the personal grace revealed in the middle is.
Imagine, if you will, an enormous crowd — perhaps a stadium filled with people — that has gathered to see some person of great importance. It’s standing room only. The folks who are in the farthest recesses of the auditorium or coliseum can hardly even see the special guest, but still count themselves privileged just to be there. When the awaited star of the show comes out onto the center stage, the crowd erupts with adoring screams and applause.
In this sort of setting, of course, the security that surrounds the celebrity is immense. He or she is guarded, escorted, and ushered wherever they go. The crowds outside the venue hope just to catch a glimpse, at best.
But now imagine that inaccessible celebrity eschewing the security escorts to come out into the crowd. Imagine him or her leaving the spotlight of the stage to make their way back to the nose-bleed seats of the venue. It is a poor analogy, of course, for no human analogy can do justice to the loving condescension of Christ. But that, you see, is the sense of this passage. It speaks to us of both the glory and the grace of Jesus. It indicates to us both how high he is and how low he stooped. Even if we knew nothing else about him beyond these few verses, they are enough by themselves to prompt us to call him Savior and Lord!
John 18:33-37
As we noted above, our people will perhaps be surprised to hear this gospel reading this Sunday. It is the sort of text they might expect to hear in the spring, not the fall. They associate this story with Holy Week, yet here we are on the verge of Thanksgiving. In terms of the liturgical calendar, however, this Sunday does not merely represent the weekend before Thanksgiving. Rather, this Sunday before the beginning of Advent represents the conclusion of the liturgical year — a climax of sorts, which is designated as Christ the King Sunday. And so, while we think of the scene with Pontius Pilate as part of Christ’s passion, we take it just now to be an affirmation of his kingship.
Kingship was the concern of Pilate at this stage of Jesus’ trial. And this episode near the end of Jesus’ earthly life reminds us that his kingship was the concern of a different potentate at the beginning of his earthly life, as well. In Matthew’s account of the Christmas story, you recall, King Herod is agitated by the news from the Magi that some “king of the Jews” has been born. And now, these decades later, Pilate is likewise wondering, “Are you the king of the Jews?”
Inasmuch as Palestine was a small, occupied strip of the much larger Roman Empire, and since the Jews were a politically and militarily inconsequential people in the first century, one wonders why “king of the Jews” was such a concern for Pilate. Perhaps, like Herod before him, Pilate was paranoid about the very suggestion that Jesus was born to be king. Perhaps when there is something fundamentally unjust about one’s throne, one is fundamentally insecure about it, as well. Whatever the explanation, Pilate wondered aloud about Jesus’ identity as king and, in the end, we observe, “king of the Jews” was the charge that Pilate chose to have hung above Jesus’ head on the cross.
All these people were mistaken, of course. The Magi, Herod, and Pilate — along with a great many earnest admirers of Jesus who no doubt expected and hoped that he would be a king in a conventional sense. The prevailing hope was that a heroic revolutionary (like Judas Maccabaeus), a deliver (like Moses), and a strong and wise king (like David) would rescue Israel from Roman occupation and establish the era of peace, prosperity, and justice that had been predicted by the prophets for generations. Standing in chains before Pilate and eventually being sentenced to death on a cross: this was not the sort of king they were looking for!
But Jesus stated explicitly to Pilate what was implicit throughout his ministry: “My kingdom is not from this world.” He did not deny that he was a king. He was, however, redefining the nature of his kingdom. And that glorious reality is at the heart of what we remember and preach and celebrate on this climactic Sunday of the liturgical year!
Application
Let’s be honest: He’s an easy king to miss.
What king, after all, is born in a barn and laid in a feeding trough? And who would recognize a king in the abused and vulnerable condition that Pilate encountered him? Or who would think that the seemingly helpless man hanging on a cross was a king? He’s an easy king to miss.
And yet, the wise men from the east seemed to recognize him. So did the thief on the nearby cross. And even Pilate himself seemed to have a suspicion.
It seems that those individuals were, however, more the exception than the rule. His birth passed by unobserved by most. It was a mocking crown and robe that the soldiers placed on him. And the crowds around the cross — along with the other thief — treated him with contempt rather than royal honor.
And so, because he is such an easy king to miss, we continue to run that risk today. Though he came preaching the good news of a kingdom; though we pray routinely, “Thy kingdom come;” though he rose and ascended — still the world remains mostly out of touch with the fact that he is King of kings and Lord of lords. They are indifferent and blasé. Or, in some cases, they are still as condescending and venomous toward him as the soldiers, the thief, and the crowds.
It’s one thing to be out of touch with the latest sports headline or market trend. It’s a whole different matter, however, to be out of touch with the prevailing and eternal reality of the universe!
Back in the days of David, God began to articulate his promise and plan for a certain sort of king. That king finally appeared — in Bethlehem, in Nazareth, around Galilee, and in Jerusalem. His name is known now around the world, yet still so many remain out of touch. But the book of Revelation assures us — warns us — that that ignorance will not last forever. For “Look! he is coming with the clouds; every eye will see him, even those who pierced him; and on his account all the tribes of the earth will wail. So, it is to be.”
Our high calling, on this Christ the King Sunday, is to make sure that the people within earshot of us are not out of touch. They may not know what liturgical season it is, and that’s fine. But let us be sure that they know that the ancient promise of God is being fulfilled. The king has come, and he is coming again!
Alternative Application(s)
John 18:33-37 — “Implications of an Address”
The old maxim claims that the three most important factors in a piece of real estate are location, location, and location. It doesn’t matter how stylish the house may be on the outside if the location is bad. It doesn’t matter how spectacular the decor is. It doesn’t matter how good the bones are. If the location is bad, all the rest won’t be worth much.
And what is true in residential real estate is just as true for businesses. It won’t matter how good your product is, how terrific your menu, or how friendly your staff. If the location is bad, that will prove too much for almost any product or service to overcome.
The would-be homeowner or entrepreneur, therefore, needs to understand the nature of a given property’s location. It won’t pay in the long run to get that wrong. And perhaps that is the thrust of Jesus’ message to Pilate — and to us — as well.
In this case, however, is not the location of a residence or business. In this case, the issue is the location of a kingdom. “My kingdom is not from this world,” Jesus said. Yet he did talk a great deal about a kingdom — both present and future; both individual and universal; both internal and external. He taught a great deal about the kingdom, and many New Testament passages acknowledge him as King. But we can’t afford to misunderstand the location.
Pilate misunderstood. So did Herod the Great a generation before. They feared that Jesus’ kingdom — or kingly aspiration — was earthly. They reckoned that he panted for earthly power and strove for an earthly throne like so many, many others they had known. Accordingly, they were bound to misunderstand him.
But we mustn’t distance ourselves from the cases of Pilate and Herod, shaking our heads disapprovingly at their misunderstanding. After all, Jesus’ own followers also misunderstood. We think, for example, of James and John’s request to sit at Jesus right and left when he reigned as king. We think of the disciples’ arguments about who was the greatest. We think of their clamoring ambition and self-importance. And, as a result of all that earthly mindedness, they ran the risk of missing his kingdom. “Truly I tell you,” he warned them, “anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it” (Mark 10:15 NIV).
As Jesus was disabusing Pilate of the misapprehensions that perhaps came naturally to a Roman governor, he said, “If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews.” Of course, we know from the scene in Gethsemane that at least one of the disciples did show that impulse. Nevertheless, Jesus’ broader point remains: If he were leading an ordinary, human revolution, he would have chosen, trained, prepared, and instructed his followers differently.
“But as it is,” Jesus continued, “my kingdom is not from here.” Consequently, his followers were not fighting to protect him from the fate of that Friday afternoon. And, instead, because of the very different nature of his kingdom, the nature of their mission was completely different. They went out, to be sure, but not as soldiers or spies. Rather, they went out as preachers and teachers. They went out to proclaim good news, to heal, and to establish churches.
The implication of what Jesus told Pilate is that he could tell something about the nature of Jesus’ kingdom based on what Jesus’ followers were and were not doing. And I believe that is still true today. The world should know about the sort of king Jesus is — and the nature of his kingdom — by what the world sees us doing and hears us saying. “If my kingdom were from this world, my followers.... But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.”
