King of the alternate universe
Commentary
One of the staples of science fiction is the notion of the "alternate universe," usually depicted as a place similar to but not quite exactly the same as the universe you and I live in. To come into contact with that alternate universe confronts the science fiction hero with people and situations familiar yet strange, like the world we know but unlike it too, an exact copy that is just a hair off. Usually, to enter such a universe puts the hero in particular, and the "real" universe in general, in some peril (not the least of which, for the hero, is encountering an unflattering alternate version of oneself!).
Surprisingly, such fictions rely on a certain amount of science. Otherwise sober and educated physicists have long held the possibility of other universes. Based on the enigmatic notions of quantum physics, scientists have speculated that there may be an alternate universe, or even universes -- some would say, an infinite number of such alternates. Whether we could travel back and forth between these universes is a matter for further debate, but there are those who would say that to do so would involve a fate more grim than any fiction -- certain death. (For more on the science, I recommend Timothy Ferris, The Whole Shebang: A State-of-the-Universe(s) Report [New York: Simon & Schuster, 1997].)
Critics have claimed that the moment physicists entered the world of other universes, they strayed into the territory of the mystics. Not to minimize the vast differences between the cosmology of a physicist and that of a theologian, there is a certain family resemblance. The idea of traveling to an alternate universe is faintly familiar to anyone who has read ancient apocalyptic writings, where a chosen human is whisked away into the heavens to look down on what will happen next on earth. Or look at the writings of those mystics who have claimed visions of the heavens (a prominent example is Paul in 2 Corinthians 12:1-10). Such journeys are indeed taken at mortal peril (cf. Isaiah 6:1-5).
The biblical notion of the "kingdom of God" can be understood as a kind of alternate universe. It is certainly not a space we can get to by any known means of transportation. We cannot draw boundaries on a map, put up walls and gates, and say, "Here it is." It impinges on our space and time, but cannot be totally identified with it. It is God's "rule," a kingdom that is a realm or sphere of influence rather than a territory. Like all kingdoms, it has a king. Like alternative universes in science or in science fiction, entry is a matter of life and death.
2 Samuel 23:1-7
The last few chapters of 2 Samuel take the reader outside the expected space-time continuum. Having followed King David's adventures in chronological order through 2 Samuel 2-20, it is jarring to find ourselves confronting a seeming hodgepodge of out-of-order material in chapters 21-24, including a story about the guilt of Saul (21:1-14), battle narratives (21:15-22), a long psalm of thanksgiving (22:1-51), yet another psalm, titled "the last words of David" (23:1-7), followed by a roster of warriors (23:8-39), and a story about David's shortcomings (24:1-25). We don't get to the actual end of David's life until 1 Kings 1-2.
Sharp readers will have already discerned the chiastic order of this apparently disparate material, with the two psalms at the center, flanked by stories of warriors and guilt. The non-chronological ending of 2 Samuel has a theological rather than historical purpose: this final material moderates the picture of Davidic royal tyranny. 2 Samuel 10-11 shows David at the height of arrogance, abusive of his power to the point of adultery and murder. The subsequent revolt of his children in chapters 13-20 mitigates the portrait somewhat, since David seems humble in comparison with them -- but the royal house is far from exemplary. Here at the very end we get one last hint of why God chose David in the first place, along with a reminder that he was far from perfect. He is still capable of rebellion against the Lord, as in the ill-conceived census (24:1-25). But he also recognizes God's authority; in fact, he is able to sing God's praises. As the leader of other warriors, he is not an absolute dictator, but one among many heroes. As the sweet singer of Israel's psalms, he makes his homage to the true monarch, God. His final two songs serve as a counterpart to the Song of Hannah at the beginning of the Samuel corpus (1 Samuel 2:1-10); where Hannah anticipated the anointed royal power to come, David, despite his weaknesses, embodies it.
The "last words of David" (23:1) are poetic in form, and fit naturally into the traditional conception of David as psalmist. However, they are introduced as, "The oracle of David, son of Jesse, the oracle of the man whom God exalted" (v. 1). Such an introduction was usually reserved for prophetic speeches; this one is similar to the ancient oracles of Balaam (Numbers 24:3, 15). Here David is portrayed not just as Israel's singer, but as a prophetic figure. His words, spoken through the Spirit, introduce the voice of God; they do not represent his own human wisdom (vv. 2-3). For David to speak in such a way at the end of his life is to voice the hope that God will continue to work through this imperfect kingship.
God's plan for king and kingdom is clearly stated: the king will be "One who rules over the people justly, ruling in the fear of God" (v. 3). Justice is the hallmark of God's king, despite the obvious temptations a ruler will have to abuse power. The fear or reverent awe of the Lord will keep such a king on track; here the prophet-psalmist draws on the language and concepts of Wisdom literature, where "the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom" (cf. Psalm 111:10; Proverbs 9:10). The just ruler is compared to the light of the sun on a fine day over a dewy pasture (2 Samuel 23:4).
The king interrupts the oracle of righteousness and reverence with a cry that may seem to come from an alternate universe whose name is La-La-Land: "Is not my house like this with God?" (v. 5). Those who have read the story from the beginning know that the house of David is anything but: it is a house of adultery, murder, rape, rebellion, and shame (2 Samuel 2-20). On close observation, however, it is clear that David's cry is not based on the sanctity of his household, but on the sovereignty of God: "He has made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things and secure" (v. 5). David's certainty rests not in his beliefs about himself or his family, but his faith in God. The successors in his royal line will rule in righteousness and reverence not through their own doing, but because of God's everlasting covenant with them. God, not the king, is the source of the kingdom's security. "Will he not cause to prosper all my help and my desire?" (v. 5).
As in Wisdom literature, David contrasts the righteous with the wicked; specifically, he is contrasting the realm established by God's everlasting covenant with purely human arrangements. Such "godless" or "worthless" (v. 6) rule Israel left behind with the sons of Eli (said to be "worthless" in 1 Samuel 2:12). In contrast to the king chosen by God, who is the sun to green pastures, godless rulers are hazardous and worthless thorns who give light only when cast into the fire (vv. 6-7).
David's last song proposes an alternate universe somewhat at odds with the world he lived in. It seems to have existed in a bubble suspended in space and time; soon the plots and schemes to take power in Israel would resume in earnest (see 1 Kings 1-2). Fortunately, the kingdom he prophesies does not depend on his action or on the faithfulness of his royal descendants, but on the faithfulness of God. Soon one of David's descendants will be anointed king of God's alternative universe.
Revelation 1:4b-8
The opening of the book of Revelation presents us with another grab bag of mixed genres. The introduction is similar to the prophetic books of the Old Testament, where a superscription introducing the prophet leads to an opening oracle (cf. Amos 1:1-2). Here the superscription (Revelation 1:1-3) is interrupted before the first oracle (vv. 7-8) by a Pauline-style letter opening (vv. 4-6) that serves to introduce not only the seven letters to the churches found in chapters 2-3, but also the book as a whole. To top it off, the author throws in a beatitude and a doxology (v. 3, 5-6), and calls the work a "revelation" (apokalypsis), a "testimony," and a "prophecy" that comes not only from "his servant John," but from God, Christ, and other heavenly creatures (vv. 1-3, 4-5). The overall effect is to present us with a prophetic and apocalyptic open letter to the churches of Asia Minor and beyond, delivered with the divine authority of an apostle.
In content as well as genre, John's Revelation is all over the map, even in its introduction. Most striking is the combination of political and sacred language: John's audience is said to be both a "kingdom" and "priests" (v. 6). Note that John does not say that Jesus Christ has made for us believers a kingdom, but that he has made us into a kingdom; we are in fact the alternate universe that is the kingdom of God. As such, we are a kingdom of priests, providing access for all who wish to enter that universe. John is not just speaking figuratively here; throughout Revelation it will become clear that he is countering a very real earthly power, the kingdom of Rome. When John chose to write to seven churches in the Roman province of Asia, he was singling that number out of a larger group to make a symbolic point: not only was seven the number of divine perfection, but it was the number that represented the imperial myth of the Divine Emperor. John challenges the Roman conceit that to come into the empire is to come close to God; the true God, John implies, could be approached through the community established to be in this world but not of it.
John describes not only the priests and citizens of the kingdom of God, but the God and King who have established this reign. God is said to be Alpha and Omega, the first and last letters of the alphabet, thus encompassing every possible word (v. 8). God is also "the Almighty"; the Greek word pantokrator is a translation of the Hebrew title "Lord of Hosts." Most strikingly, God is characterized as "him who is and who was and who is to come" (v. 4). The title is even more striking in its original Greek form, since it violates every rule of Greek grammar, as if John thought that to make the changes required by traditional grammatical rules would violate the eternal integrity of the subject (in fact, throughout Revelation, John employs a grammar that seems to come from another world, pulling us up short time and again with the realization that God's words are not our words). The title obviously echoes the story of God's self-introduction to Moses as "I am who I am" (Exodus 3:14); it is also similar to a pagan formula: "Zeus was, Zeus is, Zeus will be." God is grounded in immanence and transcendence, past, present, and future; unlike the Greek deity, however, God's universe is not limited to atemporal beings, since this God "is to come" in the person of Jesus.
Jesus himself is characterized as "the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth" (v. 5). Once again, political language is combined with the sacred, and John uses the same breath to describe Jesus not only as a ruler but as a sort of a priest, "who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood" (v. 5; note that the KJV follows a scribal mistake in reading "washed us from our sins" -- there is no baptismal imagery here, but rather Passover imagery). It is this priestly/political function of Jesus that makes us also into a new and different kingdom that provides access to God, just as his role as a "witness" (martyr) will be a model for believers tested by tribulation to become "martyrs" in every sense. Like God, Jesus is one who is to come, though not necessarily to those who are looking: "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" (v. 7). Though John claimed to be presenting a vision (1:9-20), it is clear what he wrote was steeped in biblical tradition; in verse 7 he fuses Daniel 7:13 and Zechariah 12:10, making one small change to Zechariah by opening the audience up beyond Israel to "all the tribes of the earth." For John, scripture functions as part of the medium through which the present Word of God is conveyed; it helps him create the striking images that convey his alternative universe.
John 18:33-37
Jesus' trial before Pilate (John 18:28--19:16) takes place in seven scenes that alternate between indoor and outdoor locations; our lection is taken from the second scene, which takes place inside the Praetorium. Pilate's constant moving in and out between Jesus and his accusers makes Jesus and not Pilate the stable figure in this section, cementing the irony that the King of God's alternate universe is subject to interrogation by a relatively minor earthly imperial figure.
Pilate hardly comes off as a sympathetic figure in the fourth gospel. Not only does he kowtow to the political pressure of Jesus' enemies, but he sneers both at them and Jesus. His actions are governed by political expedience and Roman snobbery; he sees little difference between Jesus and the others. Our lection omits his sarcastic response to Jesus' avowal of "truth": "What is truth?" Pilate sneers (John 18:38). Little does he realize that the Truth is sitting before him (14:6). It is about to put him on trial.
Pilate's first words to Jesus, "Are you the King of the Jews?" (18:33), introduce the key theological/political motif that unifies the trial story. Jesus will admit to being a king, though not the kind of king that Pilate supposes, and not the kind of kingdom. Ironically, Pilate will succumb to the political implications but not the theological; he is fearful that Jesus is a potent challenge to Roman authority (19:8), but he will not recognize that Jesus has a claim of sovereignty over him (19:11).
Their roles are quickly reversed, as Jesus becomes the interrogator of his interrogator, the judge of his judge. "Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?" (18:34). The question functions at more than the obvious literal level; the issue is whether Pilate will respond as a human being to the power of God before him. Pilate's answer shows his contempt for all things Jewish, Jesus included: "I am not a Jew, am I?" (v. 35). The irony is that Pilate has in fact shown the same kind of hostility to Jesus as his enemies, whom John (in rash of oversimplification) calls "the Jews"; Pilate belongs to those who reject Jesus.
Jesus' response to the question "What have you done?" is that he is offering an alternative universe. "My kingdom is not from this world" (v. 36). For John, the "world" (kosmos) is constituted not so much by physical space and time as by an attitude of hostility and rebellion against God. The kosmos is the opposite counterpart to the kingdom; both co-exist on the physical level (since even the kosmos is part of God's creation), yet they are completely different in allegiance. They are alternative universes, kosmos and kingdom. That Jesus' kingdom presents no political threat to Rome is evident by his followers' refusal to follow the worldly pattern of combat to achieve their goals: "If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews" (v. 36).
The difference between kosmos and kingdom is conceptual; it can be distinguished only by those who listen to Jesus: "Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice" (v. 37). God's insidious plan thus becomes clear; "for this I came into the world," Jesus says, "to testify to the truth." Jesus has infiltrated the kosmos, in order to establish the kingdom. He has come in search of those who are willing to listen to the truth of God's alternative universe. To listen and hear the truth is to become a citizen of that alternative kingdom. Jesus proves himself to be a true descendant of David, the shepherd-king. His sheep hear his voice (cf. 10:3-5, 16, 27). This Pilate refuses to do (18:38).
Application
The last Sunday before Advent is celebrated as "Christ the King" Sunday, when we laud the everlasting authority of the one who rules our kingdom. We lay our claim to be citizens of an alternate universe, governed by the Prince of Peace. We have no illusions about the world we live in, one that values peace in name only, that recognizes our king by title only, if at all. We are in that world, but not of the world. Our true home is to be found in that universe where Christ reigns.
Our scriptures take us on a journey with "one who was and is and is to come," but it is not the eternal, static ruler we might expect, but one who reigns in and despite the contingencies of history. King David shows us that God's realm is God's realm, for it belongs to no other. The mystery of God's choice of the Davidic line is heightened rather than lessened by the actions of the humans in that line; where humans remain frail, God remains constant. God's choice in humans is even more of a mystery when it comes to the genre- and grammar-bending John, with his Apocalypse of strange images and odd juxtapositions. Nevertheless, John testifies, as David did before him, that the onus of the kingdom lies strictly with God.
Most of all, God's ironic choice of kingdom is embodied in the one chosen to be King after David's line, Jesus himself, who sits meekly before the kings of this world and quietly drives them to distraction with the truth. Could it be that such understated Truth, spoken to those who will listen, will prove mightier than all the troops of Rome, or any other empire?
Alternative Applications
1) 2 Samuel 23:1-7; Revelation 1:4b-8; John 18:33-37. Someone once said that most of our problems would be solved if we habitually began our sentences with the word "God" rather than the word "I." David's psalm takes the lead in centering the verb on God rather than the human subject. The center of the psalm is a word from God, just as the center of David's kingship was the action of God in offering an everlasting covenant. Likewise, John's Revelation is theocentric, concentrating on "the one who was and is and is to come," the God of all the alphabet and therefore every word, the Almighty Lord of hosts. Finally, Jesus stresses that his origins are not his own, but that he was sent into the world to establish a kingdom based on God's Truth.
2) 2 Samuel 23:1-7. David's story reminds us that even those who sin -- more than once! -- can be welcomed back into the Lord's fold, and even exercise leadership. David's transgressions were severe, his penance equally so, and yet thanks to God's faithfulness, he became the seed from which the Messiah sprung. The kingdom of God is not an unreal alternative universe where everyone is good and no one goes astray; it is composed of real people who make real mistakes, yet are retrieved from their wanderings by one who loves us more than we deserve.
Psalm 132:1-18
This psalm is a poem of public worship celebrating the Davidic kingship. It recalls God's promise to protect David's name and to keep an heir of David on the throne. In recalling these promises, the Lord is asked to bless and to redeem David in the midst of all his "hardships"(v. 1). Of these troubles only one is specified.
The psalm recounts David's passionate desire to move the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem. The ark, of course, was the central religious symbol for the people of Israel. The ark was the great symbol for the abiding presence of God in the midst of the people.
Of course David was not merely interested in moving the ark to Jerusalem and leaving it there in its movable tent. David wanted to build a permanent resting place for the sacred object. His desire to do this was so great that he took a vow not to sleep until his purpose was accomplished.
The poem also recounts the Lord's decision not to allow David to build a resting place for the ark. Instead the Lord "swore to David a sure oath from which he will not turn back ..." (v. 11). The oath of the Lord refers, of course, to the establishment of the Davidic dynasty. The Lord promised that so long as David's descendents remained faithful to the covenant, an heir of David would sit on the throne in Israel.
The actual conduct of the monarchy in Israel fell far below these lofty expectations. The kings who followed David were a mixed bag of faithful and unfaithful. In time, according to the biblical account, it was the unfaithfulness of the kings that led to the collapse of Israel and Judah. The exile marked the effective end of Davidic dynasty.
In an effort to make sense of God's promise that David's line would be eternal, the focus shifted in Israel to the hope of a future "anointed one" who would restore Israel to prominence and reign in the spirit of his father David. This "anointed one," or Messiah, would save not only Israel, but also the world.
Christians believe that Jesus of Nazareth is the fulfillment of this messianic hope. In Jesus, God has not only kept the promise made to David, but has also established a universal kingdom with Jesus at the head. This kingdom offers citizenship and life to any who will enter and accept Christ as king.
In Christ we have a king who faithfully accomplishes God's will. In Christ we have a king who keeps the covenant made between God and the people of Israel. But Jesus as anointed king reigns not only in Zion but also at the right hand of God. Because of his work on the cross, and because of the resurrection, Christ occupies this most privileged of places of honor. From there he offers salvation freely to all who will accept it.
Surprisingly, such fictions rely on a certain amount of science. Otherwise sober and educated physicists have long held the possibility of other universes. Based on the enigmatic notions of quantum physics, scientists have speculated that there may be an alternate universe, or even universes -- some would say, an infinite number of such alternates. Whether we could travel back and forth between these universes is a matter for further debate, but there are those who would say that to do so would involve a fate more grim than any fiction -- certain death. (For more on the science, I recommend Timothy Ferris, The Whole Shebang: A State-of-the-Universe(s) Report [New York: Simon & Schuster, 1997].)
Critics have claimed that the moment physicists entered the world of other universes, they strayed into the territory of the mystics. Not to minimize the vast differences between the cosmology of a physicist and that of a theologian, there is a certain family resemblance. The idea of traveling to an alternate universe is faintly familiar to anyone who has read ancient apocalyptic writings, where a chosen human is whisked away into the heavens to look down on what will happen next on earth. Or look at the writings of those mystics who have claimed visions of the heavens (a prominent example is Paul in 2 Corinthians 12:1-10). Such journeys are indeed taken at mortal peril (cf. Isaiah 6:1-5).
The biblical notion of the "kingdom of God" can be understood as a kind of alternate universe. It is certainly not a space we can get to by any known means of transportation. We cannot draw boundaries on a map, put up walls and gates, and say, "Here it is." It impinges on our space and time, but cannot be totally identified with it. It is God's "rule," a kingdom that is a realm or sphere of influence rather than a territory. Like all kingdoms, it has a king. Like alternative universes in science or in science fiction, entry is a matter of life and death.
2 Samuel 23:1-7
The last few chapters of 2 Samuel take the reader outside the expected space-time continuum. Having followed King David's adventures in chronological order through 2 Samuel 2-20, it is jarring to find ourselves confronting a seeming hodgepodge of out-of-order material in chapters 21-24, including a story about the guilt of Saul (21:1-14), battle narratives (21:15-22), a long psalm of thanksgiving (22:1-51), yet another psalm, titled "the last words of David" (23:1-7), followed by a roster of warriors (23:8-39), and a story about David's shortcomings (24:1-25). We don't get to the actual end of David's life until 1 Kings 1-2.
Sharp readers will have already discerned the chiastic order of this apparently disparate material, with the two psalms at the center, flanked by stories of warriors and guilt. The non-chronological ending of 2 Samuel has a theological rather than historical purpose: this final material moderates the picture of Davidic royal tyranny. 2 Samuel 10-11 shows David at the height of arrogance, abusive of his power to the point of adultery and murder. The subsequent revolt of his children in chapters 13-20 mitigates the portrait somewhat, since David seems humble in comparison with them -- but the royal house is far from exemplary. Here at the very end we get one last hint of why God chose David in the first place, along with a reminder that he was far from perfect. He is still capable of rebellion against the Lord, as in the ill-conceived census (24:1-25). But he also recognizes God's authority; in fact, he is able to sing God's praises. As the leader of other warriors, he is not an absolute dictator, but one among many heroes. As the sweet singer of Israel's psalms, he makes his homage to the true monarch, God. His final two songs serve as a counterpart to the Song of Hannah at the beginning of the Samuel corpus (1 Samuel 2:1-10); where Hannah anticipated the anointed royal power to come, David, despite his weaknesses, embodies it.
The "last words of David" (23:1) are poetic in form, and fit naturally into the traditional conception of David as psalmist. However, they are introduced as, "The oracle of David, son of Jesse, the oracle of the man whom God exalted" (v. 1). Such an introduction was usually reserved for prophetic speeches; this one is similar to the ancient oracles of Balaam (Numbers 24:3, 15). Here David is portrayed not just as Israel's singer, but as a prophetic figure. His words, spoken through the Spirit, introduce the voice of God; they do not represent his own human wisdom (vv. 2-3). For David to speak in such a way at the end of his life is to voice the hope that God will continue to work through this imperfect kingship.
God's plan for king and kingdom is clearly stated: the king will be "One who rules over the people justly, ruling in the fear of God" (v. 3). Justice is the hallmark of God's king, despite the obvious temptations a ruler will have to abuse power. The fear or reverent awe of the Lord will keep such a king on track; here the prophet-psalmist draws on the language and concepts of Wisdom literature, where "the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom" (cf. Psalm 111:10; Proverbs 9:10). The just ruler is compared to the light of the sun on a fine day over a dewy pasture (2 Samuel 23:4).
The king interrupts the oracle of righteousness and reverence with a cry that may seem to come from an alternate universe whose name is La-La-Land: "Is not my house like this with God?" (v. 5). Those who have read the story from the beginning know that the house of David is anything but: it is a house of adultery, murder, rape, rebellion, and shame (2 Samuel 2-20). On close observation, however, it is clear that David's cry is not based on the sanctity of his household, but on the sovereignty of God: "He has made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things and secure" (v. 5). David's certainty rests not in his beliefs about himself or his family, but his faith in God. The successors in his royal line will rule in righteousness and reverence not through their own doing, but because of God's everlasting covenant with them. God, not the king, is the source of the kingdom's security. "Will he not cause to prosper all my help and my desire?" (v. 5).
As in Wisdom literature, David contrasts the righteous with the wicked; specifically, he is contrasting the realm established by God's everlasting covenant with purely human arrangements. Such "godless" or "worthless" (v. 6) rule Israel left behind with the sons of Eli (said to be "worthless" in 1 Samuel 2:12). In contrast to the king chosen by God, who is the sun to green pastures, godless rulers are hazardous and worthless thorns who give light only when cast into the fire (vv. 6-7).
David's last song proposes an alternate universe somewhat at odds with the world he lived in. It seems to have existed in a bubble suspended in space and time; soon the plots and schemes to take power in Israel would resume in earnest (see 1 Kings 1-2). Fortunately, the kingdom he prophesies does not depend on his action or on the faithfulness of his royal descendants, but on the faithfulness of God. Soon one of David's descendants will be anointed king of God's alternative universe.
Revelation 1:4b-8
The opening of the book of Revelation presents us with another grab bag of mixed genres. The introduction is similar to the prophetic books of the Old Testament, where a superscription introducing the prophet leads to an opening oracle (cf. Amos 1:1-2). Here the superscription (Revelation 1:1-3) is interrupted before the first oracle (vv. 7-8) by a Pauline-style letter opening (vv. 4-6) that serves to introduce not only the seven letters to the churches found in chapters 2-3, but also the book as a whole. To top it off, the author throws in a beatitude and a doxology (v. 3, 5-6), and calls the work a "revelation" (apokalypsis), a "testimony," and a "prophecy" that comes not only from "his servant John," but from God, Christ, and other heavenly creatures (vv. 1-3, 4-5). The overall effect is to present us with a prophetic and apocalyptic open letter to the churches of Asia Minor and beyond, delivered with the divine authority of an apostle.
In content as well as genre, John's Revelation is all over the map, even in its introduction. Most striking is the combination of political and sacred language: John's audience is said to be both a "kingdom" and "priests" (v. 6). Note that John does not say that Jesus Christ has made for us believers a kingdom, but that he has made us into a kingdom; we are in fact the alternate universe that is the kingdom of God. As such, we are a kingdom of priests, providing access for all who wish to enter that universe. John is not just speaking figuratively here; throughout Revelation it will become clear that he is countering a very real earthly power, the kingdom of Rome. When John chose to write to seven churches in the Roman province of Asia, he was singling that number out of a larger group to make a symbolic point: not only was seven the number of divine perfection, but it was the number that represented the imperial myth of the Divine Emperor. John challenges the Roman conceit that to come into the empire is to come close to God; the true God, John implies, could be approached through the community established to be in this world but not of it.
John describes not only the priests and citizens of the kingdom of God, but the God and King who have established this reign. God is said to be Alpha and Omega, the first and last letters of the alphabet, thus encompassing every possible word (v. 8). God is also "the Almighty"; the Greek word pantokrator is a translation of the Hebrew title "Lord of Hosts." Most strikingly, God is characterized as "him who is and who was and who is to come" (v. 4). The title is even more striking in its original Greek form, since it violates every rule of Greek grammar, as if John thought that to make the changes required by traditional grammatical rules would violate the eternal integrity of the subject (in fact, throughout Revelation, John employs a grammar that seems to come from another world, pulling us up short time and again with the realization that God's words are not our words). The title obviously echoes the story of God's self-introduction to Moses as "I am who I am" (Exodus 3:14); it is also similar to a pagan formula: "Zeus was, Zeus is, Zeus will be." God is grounded in immanence and transcendence, past, present, and future; unlike the Greek deity, however, God's universe is not limited to atemporal beings, since this God "is to come" in the person of Jesus.
Jesus himself is characterized as "the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth" (v. 5). Once again, political language is combined with the sacred, and John uses the same breath to describe Jesus not only as a ruler but as a sort of a priest, "who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood" (v. 5; note that the KJV follows a scribal mistake in reading "washed us from our sins" -- there is no baptismal imagery here, but rather Passover imagery). It is this priestly/political function of Jesus that makes us also into a new and different kingdom that provides access to God, just as his role as a "witness" (martyr) will be a model for believers tested by tribulation to become "martyrs" in every sense. Like God, Jesus is one who is to come, though not necessarily to those who are looking: "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" (v. 7). Though John claimed to be presenting a vision (1:9-20), it is clear what he wrote was steeped in biblical tradition; in verse 7 he fuses Daniel 7:13 and Zechariah 12:10, making one small change to Zechariah by opening the audience up beyond Israel to "all the tribes of the earth." For John, scripture functions as part of the medium through which the present Word of God is conveyed; it helps him create the striking images that convey his alternative universe.
John 18:33-37
Jesus' trial before Pilate (John 18:28--19:16) takes place in seven scenes that alternate between indoor and outdoor locations; our lection is taken from the second scene, which takes place inside the Praetorium. Pilate's constant moving in and out between Jesus and his accusers makes Jesus and not Pilate the stable figure in this section, cementing the irony that the King of God's alternate universe is subject to interrogation by a relatively minor earthly imperial figure.
Pilate hardly comes off as a sympathetic figure in the fourth gospel. Not only does he kowtow to the political pressure of Jesus' enemies, but he sneers both at them and Jesus. His actions are governed by political expedience and Roman snobbery; he sees little difference between Jesus and the others. Our lection omits his sarcastic response to Jesus' avowal of "truth": "What is truth?" Pilate sneers (John 18:38). Little does he realize that the Truth is sitting before him (14:6). It is about to put him on trial.
Pilate's first words to Jesus, "Are you the King of the Jews?" (18:33), introduce the key theological/political motif that unifies the trial story. Jesus will admit to being a king, though not the kind of king that Pilate supposes, and not the kind of kingdom. Ironically, Pilate will succumb to the political implications but not the theological; he is fearful that Jesus is a potent challenge to Roman authority (19:8), but he will not recognize that Jesus has a claim of sovereignty over him (19:11).
Their roles are quickly reversed, as Jesus becomes the interrogator of his interrogator, the judge of his judge. "Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?" (18:34). The question functions at more than the obvious literal level; the issue is whether Pilate will respond as a human being to the power of God before him. Pilate's answer shows his contempt for all things Jewish, Jesus included: "I am not a Jew, am I?" (v. 35). The irony is that Pilate has in fact shown the same kind of hostility to Jesus as his enemies, whom John (in rash of oversimplification) calls "the Jews"; Pilate belongs to those who reject Jesus.
Jesus' response to the question "What have you done?" is that he is offering an alternative universe. "My kingdom is not from this world" (v. 36). For John, the "world" (kosmos) is constituted not so much by physical space and time as by an attitude of hostility and rebellion against God. The kosmos is the opposite counterpart to the kingdom; both co-exist on the physical level (since even the kosmos is part of God's creation), yet they are completely different in allegiance. They are alternative universes, kosmos and kingdom. That Jesus' kingdom presents no political threat to Rome is evident by his followers' refusal to follow the worldly pattern of combat to achieve their goals: "If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews" (v. 36).
The difference between kosmos and kingdom is conceptual; it can be distinguished only by those who listen to Jesus: "Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice" (v. 37). God's insidious plan thus becomes clear; "for this I came into the world," Jesus says, "to testify to the truth." Jesus has infiltrated the kosmos, in order to establish the kingdom. He has come in search of those who are willing to listen to the truth of God's alternative universe. To listen and hear the truth is to become a citizen of that alternative kingdom. Jesus proves himself to be a true descendant of David, the shepherd-king. His sheep hear his voice (cf. 10:3-5, 16, 27). This Pilate refuses to do (18:38).
Application
The last Sunday before Advent is celebrated as "Christ the King" Sunday, when we laud the everlasting authority of the one who rules our kingdom. We lay our claim to be citizens of an alternate universe, governed by the Prince of Peace. We have no illusions about the world we live in, one that values peace in name only, that recognizes our king by title only, if at all. We are in that world, but not of the world. Our true home is to be found in that universe where Christ reigns.
Our scriptures take us on a journey with "one who was and is and is to come," but it is not the eternal, static ruler we might expect, but one who reigns in and despite the contingencies of history. King David shows us that God's realm is God's realm, for it belongs to no other. The mystery of God's choice of the Davidic line is heightened rather than lessened by the actions of the humans in that line; where humans remain frail, God remains constant. God's choice in humans is even more of a mystery when it comes to the genre- and grammar-bending John, with his Apocalypse of strange images and odd juxtapositions. Nevertheless, John testifies, as David did before him, that the onus of the kingdom lies strictly with God.
Most of all, God's ironic choice of kingdom is embodied in the one chosen to be King after David's line, Jesus himself, who sits meekly before the kings of this world and quietly drives them to distraction with the truth. Could it be that such understated Truth, spoken to those who will listen, will prove mightier than all the troops of Rome, or any other empire?
Alternative Applications
1) 2 Samuel 23:1-7; Revelation 1:4b-8; John 18:33-37. Someone once said that most of our problems would be solved if we habitually began our sentences with the word "God" rather than the word "I." David's psalm takes the lead in centering the verb on God rather than the human subject. The center of the psalm is a word from God, just as the center of David's kingship was the action of God in offering an everlasting covenant. Likewise, John's Revelation is theocentric, concentrating on "the one who was and is and is to come," the God of all the alphabet and therefore every word, the Almighty Lord of hosts. Finally, Jesus stresses that his origins are not his own, but that he was sent into the world to establish a kingdom based on God's Truth.
2) 2 Samuel 23:1-7. David's story reminds us that even those who sin -- more than once! -- can be welcomed back into the Lord's fold, and even exercise leadership. David's transgressions were severe, his penance equally so, and yet thanks to God's faithfulness, he became the seed from which the Messiah sprung. The kingdom of God is not an unreal alternative universe where everyone is good and no one goes astray; it is composed of real people who make real mistakes, yet are retrieved from their wanderings by one who loves us more than we deserve.
Psalm 132:1-18
This psalm is a poem of public worship celebrating the Davidic kingship. It recalls God's promise to protect David's name and to keep an heir of David on the throne. In recalling these promises, the Lord is asked to bless and to redeem David in the midst of all his "hardships"(v. 1). Of these troubles only one is specified.
The psalm recounts David's passionate desire to move the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem. The ark, of course, was the central religious symbol for the people of Israel. The ark was the great symbol for the abiding presence of God in the midst of the people.
Of course David was not merely interested in moving the ark to Jerusalem and leaving it there in its movable tent. David wanted to build a permanent resting place for the sacred object. His desire to do this was so great that he took a vow not to sleep until his purpose was accomplished.
The poem also recounts the Lord's decision not to allow David to build a resting place for the ark. Instead the Lord "swore to David a sure oath from which he will not turn back ..." (v. 11). The oath of the Lord refers, of course, to the establishment of the Davidic dynasty. The Lord promised that so long as David's descendents remained faithful to the covenant, an heir of David would sit on the throne in Israel.
The actual conduct of the monarchy in Israel fell far below these lofty expectations. The kings who followed David were a mixed bag of faithful and unfaithful. In time, according to the biblical account, it was the unfaithfulness of the kings that led to the collapse of Israel and Judah. The exile marked the effective end of Davidic dynasty.
In an effort to make sense of God's promise that David's line would be eternal, the focus shifted in Israel to the hope of a future "anointed one" who would restore Israel to prominence and reign in the spirit of his father David. This "anointed one," or Messiah, would save not only Israel, but also the world.
Christians believe that Jesus of Nazareth is the fulfillment of this messianic hope. In Jesus, God has not only kept the promise made to David, but has also established a universal kingdom with Jesus at the head. This kingdom offers citizenship and life to any who will enter and accept Christ as king.
In Christ we have a king who faithfully accomplishes God's will. In Christ we have a king who keeps the covenant made between God and the people of Israel. But Jesus as anointed king reigns not only in Zion but also at the right hand of God. Because of his work on the cross, and because of the resurrection, Christ occupies this most privileged of places of honor. From there he offers salvation freely to all who will accept it.
