Majesty
Commentary
Several generations ago, King George and Queen Elizabeth went to a London theater to
see a Noel Coward/Gertrude Lawrence production. As they entered the royal box, the
whole audience rose to its feet to honor them. Standing in the wings, Gertrude Lawrence
said, "What an entrance!" Noel Coward added, "What a part!"
Today's lectionary readings, on this "Christ The King" Sunday, look at the marvelous part that king Jesus has to play in the drama of time and space. Says Joan of Arc in the first installment of Shakespeare's King Henry VI: "Glory is like a circle in the water, which never ceaseth to enlarge itself" (I.ii). For human rulers, she pointed out, that was disastrous. Eventually, the reach would exceed the substance.
But what a part for the Lord of the universe! David builds upon this theme in his "last words" as he draws comparisons between the ever-expanding circles of God's glory and those of a ruler whose heart beats in tune with divine music. Similarly, the book of Revelation opens with shock waves of glory emanating from the risen Christ. And even during the humiliation of Jesus' trial, as John notes in his review of the Passion story, the glory of divinity could not be hidden away.
Still, despite the fact that every element of creation, from the star-spangled skies to the goo-slurping slug, stands and shouts at Jesus' entrance, one ring among the circles of expanding glory, heaves only a mixed applause toward heaven. It is the orb of humanity. Elizabeth Barrett Browning put it this way:
Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round and pluck blackberries.
What we need to remember today is that our ability to see God is quite directly related to our understanding of ourselves and the qualities and values of life around us. Those who carelessly toss aside human life will never worship God as they stuff blackberries into their mouths. Indeed, John Calvin started his magnificent survey of the Christian faith, The Institutes of the Christian Religion, by reflecting that our knowledge of ourselves and our knowledge of God are so intertwined that the one has little power to grow without the other. So today we need to recover the twin knowledges of ourselves and our God in order to celebrate rightly the rule of our true sovereign.
2 Samuel 23:1-7
Being the leader of a community isn't easy. A cartoon shows a man near death lying on a hospital bed. Two visitors sit next to him, and one hands him a card. "The good news, pastor," she says, "is that the women's club at the church decided to get this 'Get Well' card for you. The bad news is that the vote was 23 to 22!"
That could be the picture of any of 100 different leaders in our world today. A prime minister skates at the bottom of the popularity polls. A president wins a Nobel Peace Prize from those outside of his country and buckets of complaints from those within it. Another world leader seems intent on courting the disfavor of the whole world.
If one of them were to be taken to hospital, Hallmark Card Company stock wouldn't go up a penny! The ancient Greek philosopher was right: "Authority is never without hate."
A few years back, Jim Lundy wrote a book called Lead, Follow, or Get Out of the Way. According to Lundy, the most common message circulating in many organizations is this lament: We the uninformed, working for the inaccessible, are doing the impossible for the ungrateful. To put it another way, he says, "Most people feel like the mushrooms being grown in one of those long, low barns: We feel we're being kept in the dark. Every once in a while someone comes around and spreads manure on us. When our heads pop up, they're chopped off. And then we're canned!" Do you ever feel like that?
The opening of 2 Samuel 23 is a song of royal leadership. It has no hint of the tired frustration we so often feel about heads of state and leaders of corporations. Enthusiasm builds, till it seems as if the sun rises and sets on the king. We are told that these are "the last words of David." Is this one of David's final poems or psalms? Was this David's dying testimony about himself or about kings in general? Did David intend this to be the coronation hymn for the celebration that would install his son and successor to the royal seat? We do not know.
Yet, it is obvious that David understands leadership, at least within the context of the people who are under divine care. His themes are echoed in what Jim Kouses and Barry Posner call The Leadership Challenge. A righteous leader will 1) challenge the status quo (v. 6), 2) inspire a shared vision for the people (v. 3), 3) enable others to act in this manner (v. 5), 4) encourage the hearts of those under his or her care (v. 4), and 5) model the way in his or her own personal dealings (v. 5).
When Isaac Watts pondered the qualities of leadership put forward in one of David's psalms, he penned a hymn that resonates with today's celebration:
Jesus shall reign where'er the sun
Does its successive journeys run,
His kingdom stretch from shore to shore,
Till moons shall wax and wane no more.
If the last words of David stir in us noble thoughts about David or Solomon or other such great rulers, they do well. Moreover, if they point us to king Jesus, so much the better. But if they fill us with a desire to participate actively in such a kingdom ourselves, then the Word of God is doing its best work. For every child of God is a king or queen who shares the possibilities of restoring righteousness and dignity to relationships on earth.
Revelation 1:4b-8
The book of Revelation is used too often by those enamored by its weirdness and too little by those who understand its good purpose. There are many reasons why it is a hard book to preach on, of course, and for that reason the lectionary sidesteps major interpretive issues by choosing only a few pericopes like this one which are unambiguous in their presentation. No matter which primary school of Revelation interpretation one follows (Preterist -- the book is code language for the religious and political struggles of the day and speaks mostly about first-century times; Historicist -- the book expounds on the whole of church history and it is possible, if done with care, to identify the current location of our contemporary existence on its 22-chapter timeline; Futurist -- the bulk of the book is a prophetic unfolding of near-future events and will culminate in the millennial reign of Jesus on earth; Idealist -- the book is intended primarily as representational and allegorical, exposing the clash of powers and worldviews, but also assuring those who trust in Jesus of the divine victory), this word about Jesus is clear and unambiguous. John announces a blessing on all who know that Jesus is the divine Son of God who has risen victorious from death, reigns in majesty in heaven, and is coming soon to make all things new. It is both a call to worship and a call to arms. It is an encouragement to faithful service of an unseen king.
Before C. S. Lewis became a Christian, he was quite taken aback by such language in the Bible and the church. He wondered, on the one hand, why we humans, who have so much to live for here, might ever be enticed to long for "heaven" or "eternal life." Furthermore, he questioned why religion seems often to turn the worship of God into a duty that exacts a tax of begrudging acknowledgment from us. We have to go to church. We must be good. We are obligated to pray. In fact, in places like this call of the apostle John, there appeared to Lewis to be a rather profound browbeating that requires obescience to the overpowering deity who impacts his senses.
What Lewis only began to understand over time is that his feelings of antipathy to presumed religious coercion arose from a pagan notion that we can somehow increase the majesty of our tribal gods in the clash of worldly power plays. The religion of the Bible, Lewis began to find out, is actually quite different. The vantage point of scripture is that of transcendence looking into our limited existence, and not the other way around. It is God who creates us in his image. It is God who loves us when we are unlovely. It is God who declares us to be kings and queens. It is God who thinks wonderful thoughts about us, even when we can't be bothered to think much of ourselves. So the worship of God is not about obligations placed upon unruly peons to toe some arbitrary line drawn by a vain and self-absorbed deity, but rather a reminder to those on planet earth who are too quickly enamored with themselves and their capacities that a great good can be had when they are caught up in the divine splendor which shines over them all.
When the German prince, George II, became king of Great Britain, he had a special fondness for the music of his fellow countryman, George Frideric Handel. At the premiere concert of Handel's Messiah in 1743, the king and the crowds were deeply moved by the glory and grace of the masterpiece. When the musicians swelled the "Hallelujah" chorus, and thundered those mighty words, "And he shall reign for ever and ever!" King George (whose English wasn't all that great) jumped to his feet, thinking they sang of him! The whole crowd followed suit -- for a different reason, of course, and a different king!
The comedy of that moment reflects what will become the ultimate theme of the rest of the book of Revelation. God in heaven claps his hands and shouts of our greatness in the shared honor Jesus has brought into our world. And in the expanding circles of God's glory, we rise, singing the "Hallelujah" chorus.
John 18:33-37
"Politics are almost as exciting as war, and quite as dangerous!" said Winston Churchill. "In war you can only be killed once, but in politics many times." He might well have been reflecting on the centuries of religious conflict that were at their initial crisis in the encounter between Pilate and Jesus in today's text.
Politics is about power, as both the governor and the prisoner knew. The question was not about whether each had power, but what kind of power each had to wield. Dale Carnegie was well aware of the differing dimensions of power when he created his popular seminars on "How to Win Friends and Influence People." Generations earlier, in his famous treatise on politics, The Prince, Machiavelli charted a course for all who would seek political power when he wrote, "All the armed prophets conquered, all the unarmed ones perished!" In the end, it seems, what matters is your ability to create your dream, not the rightness of the dream itself. Napoleon even confided in his journals that "justice means force as well as virtue." Your ideal can be noble, but you must be able to force it upon others you consider less noble than yourself.
So the confrontation between Jesus and Pilate. Who is ruler? Who exercised authority? Who can lead the masses and what will that take? Jesus understands Pilate and his precarious position in the power plays of the day, but can Pilate understand Jesus?
In one of his essays, Albert Camus describes a powerful scene that replays something of the irony in today's gospel lectionary verses. John Huss, the great Czech reformer of the church, is on trial. His accusers twist all his ideas out of shape. They refuse to give him a hearing. They maneuver the political machine against him and incite popular passion to a lynch-mob frenzy. Finally, Huss is condemned to be burned at the stake. As the flames surround him, people who couldn't possibly have read his writings and who have no interest in either his perspectives or those of the governing authorities, line up to assist in the murder. "When they were burning John Huss," writes Camus, "a gentle, little old lady came carrying her fagot to add it to the pile."
The tragedy of politics often lies in passions, not platforms. "Private passions grow tired and wear themselves out; political passions, never!" says Lamartine. That is why many communities have an unwritten rule that when all the in-laws and out-laws get together for the annual "family rebellion" none can talk about politics or religion. Both topics grab a person too deeply and vent emotions too enormously.
Yet maybe, when it comes right down to it, politics and religion are much the same thing. The kingdom of God is very political. It is, as Jesus indicates, a perspective on all of life. It is a way of holding things together and giving them meaning. It is a movement that is out to change the world, to reclaim lost territory in the civil war of the universe.
That's why Jesus' followers soon got into trouble with both the political and religious leaders of their day. Two visions of reality collided. Two perspectives on life challenged each other. Six times over in the book of Acts, the Christian community is called "The Way." Not "The Society," nor "The Institution," but "The Way"!
The church of Jesus Christ is a political movement. It is on the way to somewhere. Every worship service is a political rally: a time when we refocus our energies, study our political platform and policies, and pay homage to the party leader. Especially on "Christ The King" Sunday.
Application
The year was 1934. Times were difficult around the world, especially in the repressed economic and political climate of post-World War I Germany. But recovery was in sight. A group of theologians at Wurtemburg saw a rising star of hope and penned together a declaration of faith that would be signed by 600 pastors of churches and fourteen theology professors at seminaries.
Their promising statement included these words: "We are full of thanks to God that he, as Lord of history, has given us Adolf Hitler, our leader and savior from our difficult lot. We acknowledge that we, with body and soul, are bound and dedicated to the German state and to its Fuhrer."
Astounding, isn't it? In retrospect we can only shudder at the demonic twists of history that could produce such unqualified devotion to a man who would later rip God's world apart, and destroy, insofar as he was able, both the church and children of God.
That same year, 1934, Hitler summoned a group of church leaders to his office. Martin Niemoller was among them. He had been a great hero in the German Navy during World War I, commanding a submarine that caused great destruction to the Allied fleet. Now he was a pastor, much loved in his new vocation.
The meeting with Hitler began cordially enough. Suddenly, however, Hermann Goering burst into the room with a charge of treason against Niemoller. Hitler raged in angry tirade. Finally, he regained his composure and told Niemoller, "You confine yourself to the church. I'll take care of the German people!"
But Niemoller knew what "Christ The King" Sunday meant, and he marched to its challenging beat. He stood quietly and replied, "Herr Reichskanzler, you said just now: 'I will take care of the German people.' But we, too, as Christians and churchmen, have a responsibility toward the German people. That responsibility was entrusted to us by God, and neither you nor anyone in this world has the power to take it from us."
Hitler knew a showdown when he saw it. Niemoller went to trial, and was convicted of misusing his pulpit for political purposes. Hitler refused to pardon him, declaring, "It is Niemoller or I."
Not all political confrontations are that dramatic. No current government leader would ask North Americans to make a choice between themselves and God. But the gray area of compromise, whether social, economic, emotional, physical, or political, always takes place with the slow staccato of drumbeats in the background. Conflicting rhythms tear at our souls until we find a way to isolate the heartbeat of the God we will follow.
"Onward, Christian Soldiers" may sound too combative in an age of growing world accommodation and pluralism. But the community of God's people that speaks "Peace!" while the final armistice has not yet been signed before the judgment seat of heaven has capitulated to the enemy.
Alternative Application
Using the doxological blessing in Revelation, today might be a wonderful Sunday to build a service around the themes of Jack Hayford's modern classic "Majesty." Hayford is the founding pastor of the Church on the Way in Van Nuys, California. When he visited Sir Winston Churchill's boyhood home in Oxfordshire, England, he was captured by its grandeur. As Hayford walked through the beauty of Blenheim Palace's landscaped grounds, he said to his wife: "In a place this magnificent, it's easy to see how a person raised here could imagine himself to be a person of destiny. There's something about the environment that makes you feel: 'I am significant.' "
This was the inspiration for "Majesty." Hayford reflected: "I thought about the majesty and dignity we've been endowed with in Christ. If that would dawn on all God's people, if they would sense their significance in him, then we all could become aware of his purpose in us" (The Power of Hope, p. 57).
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 132:1-12 (13-18)
The scholars tell us that this psalm was likely a liturgical piece used in the celebration of the Lord's enthronement. This, more than many other psalms, tells a story. From the finding of the ark in Ephrata (v. 6) onward, the story is told with power and passion. As a people who are rooted in story, it is important for us to look deeply at what is going on here. This is not merely a historic document dating likely to pre-exile times. Some scholars think it might be "deutoronomic." It, like all of Holy Scripture, has a message to offer us in the here and now.
Of the many ways we have of seeking and uttering that message, one way is to try and locate oneself within the story. That is, to read and pray deeply about the unfolding drama of this psalm and to see what it feels like to locate ourselves therein. What, for example, would it have felt like to be one of those who actually found the ark in Ephrata? Discovering the holy like that must have its own set of feelings and emotions, observations, and conclusions. Then it would behoove us to consider where in life today are we discovering the holy? Is it found in the expected places? Is it uncovered on the way to something else? And if the holy is not being discovered today, why is that?
Or perhaps the role of the priests "clothed in righteousness" (v. 9) ought to be examined. What of today's clergy? What does it mean for a pastor serving in the twenty-first century to be "clothed with righteousness"? Does it speak to ethics? To prophetic witness? Does it go to the ways that pastors live -- or not -- as role models and witnesses for a congregation?
In the same verse, it might be powerful to examine the "saints" who are shouting for joy. Assuming with Saint Paul that "saints" is another word for the regular folk in the pews, one has to ask about the joy quotient. On a scale of one to ten, how joyful are the saints in our churches? This doesn't refer to contentment or placidity. It doesn't lead into happiness or good attendance. This is joy: deep, spirit-born joy. And of course the question immediately follows about the connection between the "priests clothed in righteousness" and the "saints" shouting for joy.
There are numerous places in this psalm for each person to find a location. And there are equally numerous challenges lifted for us as we go forward to find ourselves in the sacred story.
Today's lectionary readings, on this "Christ The King" Sunday, look at the marvelous part that king Jesus has to play in the drama of time and space. Says Joan of Arc in the first installment of Shakespeare's King Henry VI: "Glory is like a circle in the water, which never ceaseth to enlarge itself" (I.ii). For human rulers, she pointed out, that was disastrous. Eventually, the reach would exceed the substance.
But what a part for the Lord of the universe! David builds upon this theme in his "last words" as he draws comparisons between the ever-expanding circles of God's glory and those of a ruler whose heart beats in tune with divine music. Similarly, the book of Revelation opens with shock waves of glory emanating from the risen Christ. And even during the humiliation of Jesus' trial, as John notes in his review of the Passion story, the glory of divinity could not be hidden away.
Still, despite the fact that every element of creation, from the star-spangled skies to the goo-slurping slug, stands and shouts at Jesus' entrance, one ring among the circles of expanding glory, heaves only a mixed applause toward heaven. It is the orb of humanity. Elizabeth Barrett Browning put it this way:
Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round and pluck blackberries.
What we need to remember today is that our ability to see God is quite directly related to our understanding of ourselves and the qualities and values of life around us. Those who carelessly toss aside human life will never worship God as they stuff blackberries into their mouths. Indeed, John Calvin started his magnificent survey of the Christian faith, The Institutes of the Christian Religion, by reflecting that our knowledge of ourselves and our knowledge of God are so intertwined that the one has little power to grow without the other. So today we need to recover the twin knowledges of ourselves and our God in order to celebrate rightly the rule of our true sovereign.
2 Samuel 23:1-7
Being the leader of a community isn't easy. A cartoon shows a man near death lying on a hospital bed. Two visitors sit next to him, and one hands him a card. "The good news, pastor," she says, "is that the women's club at the church decided to get this 'Get Well' card for you. The bad news is that the vote was 23 to 22!"
That could be the picture of any of 100 different leaders in our world today. A prime minister skates at the bottom of the popularity polls. A president wins a Nobel Peace Prize from those outside of his country and buckets of complaints from those within it. Another world leader seems intent on courting the disfavor of the whole world.
If one of them were to be taken to hospital, Hallmark Card Company stock wouldn't go up a penny! The ancient Greek philosopher was right: "Authority is never without hate."
A few years back, Jim Lundy wrote a book called Lead, Follow, or Get Out of the Way. According to Lundy, the most common message circulating in many organizations is this lament: We the uninformed, working for the inaccessible, are doing the impossible for the ungrateful. To put it another way, he says, "Most people feel like the mushrooms being grown in one of those long, low barns: We feel we're being kept in the dark. Every once in a while someone comes around and spreads manure on us. When our heads pop up, they're chopped off. And then we're canned!" Do you ever feel like that?
The opening of 2 Samuel 23 is a song of royal leadership. It has no hint of the tired frustration we so often feel about heads of state and leaders of corporations. Enthusiasm builds, till it seems as if the sun rises and sets on the king. We are told that these are "the last words of David." Is this one of David's final poems or psalms? Was this David's dying testimony about himself or about kings in general? Did David intend this to be the coronation hymn for the celebration that would install his son and successor to the royal seat? We do not know.
Yet, it is obvious that David understands leadership, at least within the context of the people who are under divine care. His themes are echoed in what Jim Kouses and Barry Posner call The Leadership Challenge. A righteous leader will 1) challenge the status quo (v. 6), 2) inspire a shared vision for the people (v. 3), 3) enable others to act in this manner (v. 5), 4) encourage the hearts of those under his or her care (v. 4), and 5) model the way in his or her own personal dealings (v. 5).
When Isaac Watts pondered the qualities of leadership put forward in one of David's psalms, he penned a hymn that resonates with today's celebration:
Jesus shall reign where'er the sun
Does its successive journeys run,
His kingdom stretch from shore to shore,
Till moons shall wax and wane no more.
If the last words of David stir in us noble thoughts about David or Solomon or other such great rulers, they do well. Moreover, if they point us to king Jesus, so much the better. But if they fill us with a desire to participate actively in such a kingdom ourselves, then the Word of God is doing its best work. For every child of God is a king or queen who shares the possibilities of restoring righteousness and dignity to relationships on earth.
Revelation 1:4b-8
The book of Revelation is used too often by those enamored by its weirdness and too little by those who understand its good purpose. There are many reasons why it is a hard book to preach on, of course, and for that reason the lectionary sidesteps major interpretive issues by choosing only a few pericopes like this one which are unambiguous in their presentation. No matter which primary school of Revelation interpretation one follows (Preterist -- the book is code language for the religious and political struggles of the day and speaks mostly about first-century times; Historicist -- the book expounds on the whole of church history and it is possible, if done with care, to identify the current location of our contemporary existence on its 22-chapter timeline; Futurist -- the bulk of the book is a prophetic unfolding of near-future events and will culminate in the millennial reign of Jesus on earth; Idealist -- the book is intended primarily as representational and allegorical, exposing the clash of powers and worldviews, but also assuring those who trust in Jesus of the divine victory), this word about Jesus is clear and unambiguous. John announces a blessing on all who know that Jesus is the divine Son of God who has risen victorious from death, reigns in majesty in heaven, and is coming soon to make all things new. It is both a call to worship and a call to arms. It is an encouragement to faithful service of an unseen king.
Before C. S. Lewis became a Christian, he was quite taken aback by such language in the Bible and the church. He wondered, on the one hand, why we humans, who have so much to live for here, might ever be enticed to long for "heaven" or "eternal life." Furthermore, he questioned why religion seems often to turn the worship of God into a duty that exacts a tax of begrudging acknowledgment from us. We have to go to church. We must be good. We are obligated to pray. In fact, in places like this call of the apostle John, there appeared to Lewis to be a rather profound browbeating that requires obescience to the overpowering deity who impacts his senses.
What Lewis only began to understand over time is that his feelings of antipathy to presumed religious coercion arose from a pagan notion that we can somehow increase the majesty of our tribal gods in the clash of worldly power plays. The religion of the Bible, Lewis began to find out, is actually quite different. The vantage point of scripture is that of transcendence looking into our limited existence, and not the other way around. It is God who creates us in his image. It is God who loves us when we are unlovely. It is God who declares us to be kings and queens. It is God who thinks wonderful thoughts about us, even when we can't be bothered to think much of ourselves. So the worship of God is not about obligations placed upon unruly peons to toe some arbitrary line drawn by a vain and self-absorbed deity, but rather a reminder to those on planet earth who are too quickly enamored with themselves and their capacities that a great good can be had when they are caught up in the divine splendor which shines over them all.
When the German prince, George II, became king of Great Britain, he had a special fondness for the music of his fellow countryman, George Frideric Handel. At the premiere concert of Handel's Messiah in 1743, the king and the crowds were deeply moved by the glory and grace of the masterpiece. When the musicians swelled the "Hallelujah" chorus, and thundered those mighty words, "And he shall reign for ever and ever!" King George (whose English wasn't all that great) jumped to his feet, thinking they sang of him! The whole crowd followed suit -- for a different reason, of course, and a different king!
The comedy of that moment reflects what will become the ultimate theme of the rest of the book of Revelation. God in heaven claps his hands and shouts of our greatness in the shared honor Jesus has brought into our world. And in the expanding circles of God's glory, we rise, singing the "Hallelujah" chorus.
John 18:33-37
"Politics are almost as exciting as war, and quite as dangerous!" said Winston Churchill. "In war you can only be killed once, but in politics many times." He might well have been reflecting on the centuries of religious conflict that were at their initial crisis in the encounter between Pilate and Jesus in today's text.
Politics is about power, as both the governor and the prisoner knew. The question was not about whether each had power, but what kind of power each had to wield. Dale Carnegie was well aware of the differing dimensions of power when he created his popular seminars on "How to Win Friends and Influence People." Generations earlier, in his famous treatise on politics, The Prince, Machiavelli charted a course for all who would seek political power when he wrote, "All the armed prophets conquered, all the unarmed ones perished!" In the end, it seems, what matters is your ability to create your dream, not the rightness of the dream itself. Napoleon even confided in his journals that "justice means force as well as virtue." Your ideal can be noble, but you must be able to force it upon others you consider less noble than yourself.
So the confrontation between Jesus and Pilate. Who is ruler? Who exercised authority? Who can lead the masses and what will that take? Jesus understands Pilate and his precarious position in the power plays of the day, but can Pilate understand Jesus?
In one of his essays, Albert Camus describes a powerful scene that replays something of the irony in today's gospel lectionary verses. John Huss, the great Czech reformer of the church, is on trial. His accusers twist all his ideas out of shape. They refuse to give him a hearing. They maneuver the political machine against him and incite popular passion to a lynch-mob frenzy. Finally, Huss is condemned to be burned at the stake. As the flames surround him, people who couldn't possibly have read his writings and who have no interest in either his perspectives or those of the governing authorities, line up to assist in the murder. "When they were burning John Huss," writes Camus, "a gentle, little old lady came carrying her fagot to add it to the pile."
The tragedy of politics often lies in passions, not platforms. "Private passions grow tired and wear themselves out; political passions, never!" says Lamartine. That is why many communities have an unwritten rule that when all the in-laws and out-laws get together for the annual "family rebellion" none can talk about politics or religion. Both topics grab a person too deeply and vent emotions too enormously.
Yet maybe, when it comes right down to it, politics and religion are much the same thing. The kingdom of God is very political. It is, as Jesus indicates, a perspective on all of life. It is a way of holding things together and giving them meaning. It is a movement that is out to change the world, to reclaim lost territory in the civil war of the universe.
That's why Jesus' followers soon got into trouble with both the political and religious leaders of their day. Two visions of reality collided. Two perspectives on life challenged each other. Six times over in the book of Acts, the Christian community is called "The Way." Not "The Society," nor "The Institution," but "The Way"!
The church of Jesus Christ is a political movement. It is on the way to somewhere. Every worship service is a political rally: a time when we refocus our energies, study our political platform and policies, and pay homage to the party leader. Especially on "Christ The King" Sunday.
Application
The year was 1934. Times were difficult around the world, especially in the repressed economic and political climate of post-World War I Germany. But recovery was in sight. A group of theologians at Wurtemburg saw a rising star of hope and penned together a declaration of faith that would be signed by 600 pastors of churches and fourteen theology professors at seminaries.
Their promising statement included these words: "We are full of thanks to God that he, as Lord of history, has given us Adolf Hitler, our leader and savior from our difficult lot. We acknowledge that we, with body and soul, are bound and dedicated to the German state and to its Fuhrer."
Astounding, isn't it? In retrospect we can only shudder at the demonic twists of history that could produce such unqualified devotion to a man who would later rip God's world apart, and destroy, insofar as he was able, both the church and children of God.
That same year, 1934, Hitler summoned a group of church leaders to his office. Martin Niemoller was among them. He had been a great hero in the German Navy during World War I, commanding a submarine that caused great destruction to the Allied fleet. Now he was a pastor, much loved in his new vocation.
The meeting with Hitler began cordially enough. Suddenly, however, Hermann Goering burst into the room with a charge of treason against Niemoller. Hitler raged in angry tirade. Finally, he regained his composure and told Niemoller, "You confine yourself to the church. I'll take care of the German people!"
But Niemoller knew what "Christ The King" Sunday meant, and he marched to its challenging beat. He stood quietly and replied, "Herr Reichskanzler, you said just now: 'I will take care of the German people.' But we, too, as Christians and churchmen, have a responsibility toward the German people. That responsibility was entrusted to us by God, and neither you nor anyone in this world has the power to take it from us."
Hitler knew a showdown when he saw it. Niemoller went to trial, and was convicted of misusing his pulpit for political purposes. Hitler refused to pardon him, declaring, "It is Niemoller or I."
Not all political confrontations are that dramatic. No current government leader would ask North Americans to make a choice between themselves and God. But the gray area of compromise, whether social, economic, emotional, physical, or political, always takes place with the slow staccato of drumbeats in the background. Conflicting rhythms tear at our souls until we find a way to isolate the heartbeat of the God we will follow.
"Onward, Christian Soldiers" may sound too combative in an age of growing world accommodation and pluralism. But the community of God's people that speaks "Peace!" while the final armistice has not yet been signed before the judgment seat of heaven has capitulated to the enemy.
Alternative Application
Using the doxological blessing in Revelation, today might be a wonderful Sunday to build a service around the themes of Jack Hayford's modern classic "Majesty." Hayford is the founding pastor of the Church on the Way in Van Nuys, California. When he visited Sir Winston Churchill's boyhood home in Oxfordshire, England, he was captured by its grandeur. As Hayford walked through the beauty of Blenheim Palace's landscaped grounds, he said to his wife: "In a place this magnificent, it's easy to see how a person raised here could imagine himself to be a person of destiny. There's something about the environment that makes you feel: 'I am significant.' "
This was the inspiration for "Majesty." Hayford reflected: "I thought about the majesty and dignity we've been endowed with in Christ. If that would dawn on all God's people, if they would sense their significance in him, then we all could become aware of his purpose in us" (The Power of Hope, p. 57).
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 132:1-12 (13-18)
The scholars tell us that this psalm was likely a liturgical piece used in the celebration of the Lord's enthronement. This, more than many other psalms, tells a story. From the finding of the ark in Ephrata (v. 6) onward, the story is told with power and passion. As a people who are rooted in story, it is important for us to look deeply at what is going on here. This is not merely a historic document dating likely to pre-exile times. Some scholars think it might be "deutoronomic." It, like all of Holy Scripture, has a message to offer us in the here and now.
Of the many ways we have of seeking and uttering that message, one way is to try and locate oneself within the story. That is, to read and pray deeply about the unfolding drama of this psalm and to see what it feels like to locate ourselves therein. What, for example, would it have felt like to be one of those who actually found the ark in Ephrata? Discovering the holy like that must have its own set of feelings and emotions, observations, and conclusions. Then it would behoove us to consider where in life today are we discovering the holy? Is it found in the expected places? Is it uncovered on the way to something else? And if the holy is not being discovered today, why is that?
Or perhaps the role of the priests "clothed in righteousness" (v. 9) ought to be examined. What of today's clergy? What does it mean for a pastor serving in the twenty-first century to be "clothed with righteousness"? Does it speak to ethics? To prophetic witness? Does it go to the ways that pastors live -- or not -- as role models and witnesses for a congregation?
In the same verse, it might be powerful to examine the "saints" who are shouting for joy. Assuming with Saint Paul that "saints" is another word for the regular folk in the pews, one has to ask about the joy quotient. On a scale of one to ten, how joyful are the saints in our churches? This doesn't refer to contentment or placidity. It doesn't lead into happiness or good attendance. This is joy: deep, spirit-born joy. And of course the question immediately follows about the connection between the "priests clothed in righteousness" and the "saints" shouting for joy.
There are numerous places in this psalm for each person to find a location. And there are equally numerous challenges lifted for us as we go forward to find ourselves in the sacred story.
