A week to preach up
Commentary
Object:
I was still just a boy when I felt my call to the ministry. At the time, my father gave me a
couple of books that he thought would be helpful to me as I explored and pursued my
call. In one of those books, I came across a quote that penetrated my heart and mind. It
has remained with me for over thirty years since I first read the book.
The quote was a bit of counsel from John Berridge, an eighteenth-century British preacher, who said: "Avoid all controversy in preaching, talking, or writing; preach nothing down but the devil, and nothing up but Jesus Christ." (From "John Berridge," Preacher and Prayer, by E. M. Bounds [Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1946], p. 65.)
Some colleagues, I know, would think it cowardice to avoid all controversy in preaching. They would say that such a policy would be disobedient to their call. That said, however, we should also readily concede that some preachers may relish controversial preaching, but not by reason of their calling so much as by reason of their temperament. These are opinionated and bellicose people, who take pleasure in tweaking, in disturbing, in provoking others -- and since they are not talented enough to write a syndicated column, they hold a pulpit hostage, instead.
Furthermore, in some instances, controversial preaching may be its own sort of cowardice. Most of our pulpits, after all, furnish us with more protection than risk. It would be a far more courageous thing to say some things one-on-one, in dialogue, or in honest debate, than to hide behind the sacred, public monologue of the pulpit.
Whatever we think of the merits and demerits of controversy in preaching, I believe that Berridge's conclusion is inarguably wise. "Preach ... nothing up but Jesus Christ."
It is tempting to "preach up" all sorts of things: causes and movements, issues and candidates, needs and opportunities -- all sorts of things that you and I may believe in. But in doing so, we may reduce the overall value of the pulpit. For as people perceive that only some of what comes from the pulpit is of eternal value, while the rest is rather ordinary and temporal, then the whole enterprise is diminished. And if I preach such an assortment of things that I believe in -- one Sunday, I preach about the Savior I believe in and the next Sunday I preach about some cause that I believe in -- then I have given equal weight to Christ and to some cause. But could any cause deserve equal billing with him?
This week's lections remind me of Berridge's sage counsel. For our selected passages invite us to preach Christ up this Sunday.
Jeremiah 23:1-6
Shepherds are the theme du jour.
Shepherds and sheep are common, familiar, and cherished images in the pages of both the Old and New Testament. We are, perhaps, best acquainted with -- and most fond of -- the use of the image in which the Lord himself is the shepherd (Psalm 23; Luke 15:1-7; and John 10:1-18). In this particular passage from the Old Testament prophet Jeremiah, however, someone else plays the part of the shepherd. Surely our understanding of a good shepherd will be informed by seeing the Lord in that role. But in this passage, the sheep represent God's people collectively, and the shepherds represent their human leaders. It is a use of the sheep-and-shepherd imagery similarly used by the prophet Ezekiel (ch. 34).
The prophetic word begins as a sober one: "woe." The underlying Hebrew word, hoy, should not be read strictly as a scolding exclamation. In 1 Kings 13:30 and Jeremiah 22:18, it is clearly used as a lament, an expression of grief. In Isaiah 55:1, it is a more positive attention-getting exclamation. And in many of its appearances in the Old Testament prophecies, it seems to convey a weary quality -- like the mother of bickering youngsters who sighs, "Can't we just have two minutes of peace!?"
The "woe" is addressed to the shepherds of God's people. We detect God's displeasure and grief with the situation. Consequently, the grief will soon belong to the shepherds.
But judgment is not the only response of God's displeasure. He will not only displace the current, inadequate shepherds; he will replace them with shepherds who will properly lead the people.
Thus we have juxtaposed pictures of the bad and good shepherds. We are told what the former are doing, as well as what the latter will do. And then, beyond that, there is a still better picture: "a righteous branch" for David, who "shall reign as king and deal wisely, and shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. In his days, Judah will be saved and Israel will live in safety."
In the good future promised by God, "they shall be fruitful and multiply," which recalls the beauty and perfection of Eden. Meanwhile, the reference to David recalls Israel's greatest (human) shepherd.
The anticipated "righteous branch" from David, of course, is a messianic image, which we understand to be fulfilled in Jesus Christ. Within the original context of the prophet's speech, it suggests a third era. The present is the era of the bad shepherds, "who destroy and scatter." In the future era, God "will raise up shepherds over them" who will properly tend his flock. But those shepherds -- plural -- are succeeded and eclipsed by one particular leader. His reign, as described here, surely has the hallmarks of a messianic era.
So it is that, in the end, we return again to the most cherished sheep-and-shepherd image: namely, when the Lord, himself, is the shepherd.
Finally, it is worth noting the combination of "justice and righteousness." It's a combination that we see over two dozen times in the Old Testament, from God's purpose for Abraham (Genesis 18:19) to high praise for Solomon (1 Kings 10:9); from attributes associated with God (Psalm 33:5; 97:2) to an ethical emphasis in Proverbs (21:3) and the prophets (Jeremiah 22:3; Amos 5:24). Loosely speaking, we might characterize righteousness as the chief desire of God in an individual or society, and justice is the necessary antidote where individual or societal righteousness fails.
Colossians 1:11-20
As with all of the New Testament epistles, the modern reader is like someone overhearing just half of a telephone conversation. We can infer some things about who is on the other end and what their situation is, but we have to depend entirely upon the half to which we are privy.
So here, in the case of Paul's letter to the Colossians, we depend upon these four chapters from Paul's end to glean some information about the people on the other end. The scholarly consensus about the church and the situation to which Paul wrote is that the Colossian Christians were in the midst of a doctrinal crisis. Specifically, the false teaching to which they had been exposed -- and evidently by which they had been influenced -- suggested a low Christology. Paul undertook to write to the Christians in Colossae about no less a theme than the person and work of Christ.
On this Christ the King Sunday, then, we are rightly directed to this marvelous opening passage from Paul's letter to the Colossians. We are reminded, along with those first- century believers, about all that Jesus is and does.
While Paul's statement about Christ in this selected lection seems more extemporaneous than systematic, we might take what he says and organize it into five categories. Or, more precisely, five relationships.
First, there is Christ's relationship to God the Father. It might be worth considering, individually, which of these five relationships we preach most often or most seldom. It may be that many of us should preach this part of the truth about Jesus Christ more, for surely the pluralism of our day has caused an erosion in American Christology. Therefore, we do well to explicate and affirm that "he is the image of the invisible God" and that "in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell."
Second, there is Christ's relationship to us. This is where the gospel's rubber meets the road. Jesus is the one "in whom we have redemption" and "the forgiveness of sins." Of course, this part of the good news has been somewhat discounted by our society's discontinuance of the word "sin." The whole concept has been subtly dismissed as judgmental and archaic, and so we have gradually eliminated it from the American lexicon. But, of course, calling cancer by some other name is not the same thing as curing cancer. Our many euphemisms and redefinitions of sin have not eliminated the problem. It has just made the diagnosis more difficult. But the cure remains available in the same place as always -- in him -- and that is what you and I are called to proclaim.
Third, there is Christ's relationship to creation. This may be an underemphasized truth in our day, for contemporary American Christianity -- unlike the ancient church -- has not had the need (or perceived the need) to affirm vigorously the divinity and pre-existence of Christ. But his status as "firstborn of all creation," in whom and for whom "all things in heaven and on earth were created" and in whom "all things hold together," is a recurring assertion and theme through the pages of the New Testament.
Fourth, there is Christ's relationship to the church. This is a recurring theme and image (Ephesians 1:22-23; 5:23-30; Colossians 1:24), and, of course, Paul offers a fuller picture of the church as Christ's body in 1 Corinthians 12:12 ff. The matter is not much elaborated here, but Paul's brief reference invites our explication of the lovely truth that Jesus is "the head of the body, the church."
And, finally, there is Christ's relationship to, shall we say, the re-creation. Just as the New Testament reveals Christ's central role in the original creation of the world and the universe, it also looks forward to God's perfect recreation and restoration of all things. Once again, Christ is central to that work, for he is "the firstborn from the dead," which anticipates the resurrection. "Through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things," which is an essential part of God's loving redemption of all creation.
The Christians in Colossae had a problem with their Christology, and so the apostle Paul wrote to remind them that Jesus Christ is unique and supreme. In our day, when there are so many cultural efforts to marginalize or domesticate Jesus, we would do well to remind our congregations, too, of all that he -- and only he -- is.
Luke 23:33-43
"Did you turn to the wrong page, preacher?" some church member might ask this Sunday. "Doesn't that passage belong in the spring?"
The scene at the cross may surprise the people in our pews this week. After all, our belts may still be loosened from this weekend's feasting. And we're looking ahead to the Christmas season, with all the festivities that it entails. Why, at this juncture in the holiday seasons, would we preach the scene at the cross?
Why? "Because it's Christ the King Sunday," we reply. Yet, still the quizzical look on the congregant's face remains. Even with the liturgical holiday identified, the passage does not seem, at the surface, a natural match. What does the cross have to do with the king?
Give me a passage from Easter Sunday, with the stone rolled triumphantly away and the guards mortified. Give me a parable of Jesus in which he anticipates his glorious and victorious return. Even give me, a few weeks early, the story of the wise men looking for the one born to be king, but naked and helpless on a cross? A victim at best, and a criminal at worst? What does the cross have to do with the king?
Ask that question of the thief on the right.
"Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom," he said.
These are not the words of one who has sidled up next to Jesus amidst the ticker-tape parade on Palm Sunday. This request does not come on the heels of the Transfiguration or the booming affirmation from heaven at Jesus' baptism. The request does not come from Lazarus after he has been raised or a leper after he has been cleansed.
Rather, this is the gasping request of one dying man to another. And as such, it represents a most improbable faith. The writer of Hebrews famously defines faith as "the conviction of things not seen" (Hebrews 11:1). Surely the dying thief exemplified that faith, for the kingship and kingdom of Jesus must have been entirely out of sight at that moment.
That Jesus would one day rule over a kingdom might have seemed likely in any of the other aforementioned scenarios. But here, in this moment of apparent defeat, who could have believed it?
Notice that everyone else in this passage got it wrong. "If he is the Messiah," the Jewish leaders scoffed, "let him save himself." Likewise, the soldiers challenged, "If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself!" And the other criminal, too, bought into the same, errant paradigm, "Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself."
Such is the fallen human presumption about power, authority, and status. If Jesus really were the Messiah, the king, then surely he would exercise his power to save himself. But they had completely misunderstood. For while they sought proof of who he was in a display of power that was self-serving, they overlooked the proof of who he was in a display of love that was self-sacrificing.
Somehow that one remarkable criminal perceived the truth. Though all reasonable signs seemed to point in the other direction, he recognized that a king hung on the cross next to him. And not a king whose reign was past and ending. Rather, amazingly, he perceived that Jesus' kingdom was still ahead.
On this Christ the King Sunday, we affirm the faith of that anonymous, paradise-bound criminal. And we celebrate the king, whom we recognize even on a cross.
Application
Here is a frustrated artist who can't seem to make a living by using his skill for noble purposes. Instead, he works at an amusement park, drawing quick, ten-minute caricatures of people and their friends. The onlookers marvel; the recipients have a good laugh. He turns out dozens a day. His work is rolled up and taken home along with gaudy carnival prizes.
Here is another artist whose skill is recognized. He is at the right place at the right time, and he is commissioned to paint the portraits of corporate CEOs, wealthy benefactors, and even a United States president or two. His work is framed, and it hangs in the dignified settings of conference rooms, libraries, universities, and even the White House.
You and I are not relegated to the first artist's plight, and we must not choose his path. For we need not devote our craft to silly and temporary things. The sermon does not belong in the company of carnival trinkets. Instead, we are called upon to devote ourselves this Sunday to the noblest subject of all.
Consider the one who sits for us to paint his portrait this week -- every week. He is no less than "the image of the invisible God," "the head of the body," and "the firstborn of all creation" in Paul's letter to the Colossians. He is the promised shepherd and ruler in Jeremiah. He is both the dying Savior and the anticipated king of Matthew's lection.
Every week, it is our privilege to portray him to our congregations -- especially this week. God grant that our skill and effort do justice to the task at hand!
Alternative Application
Luke 23:33-43. "Strange Bedfellows." Sift through the cacophony that day on Golgotha. Strain out the moaning of those being executed and the weeping of those who loved them. Remove the sounds of donkeys, camels, and such along the nearby road. Eliminate the routine conversation of passersby and soldiers. Excerpt out the marvelous words of Jesus and of the thief who said, "Remember me."
What's left?
Taunting -- mocking -- and most of the mocking seems to be directed at one particular person. He is rightly placed on the middle cross, for he seems to be the great center of attention.
But see whose attention. Take note of who mocks Jesus.
"The leaders scoffed at him" (v. 35). "The soldiers also mocked him" (v. 36). "One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him" (v. 39).
What a strange group picture. Is there any other time or place where those particular individuals -- the Jewish leaders, the Roman soldiers, and a condemned criminal -- would be allied? We can think of a dozen circumstances in which there would be animosity among those parties. In what other situation would they be cheering for the same thing?
Jesus makes strange bedfellows. He brings unity among his followers, even when they are unlikely companions for one another (such as Simon the Zealot and Matthew the tax collector). And he evokes a certain unity, too, among those who oppose him.
That is as it should be, for it bears witness to the significance of Christ. To be blasé about him is to be uninformed or intellectually dishonest. As C. S. Lewis wrote, "Either this man was, and is, the Son of God: or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon; or you can fall at His feet and call him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to." (From C. S. Lewis, The Best of C. S. Lewis [New York: Iverson Brother Associates, 1969], p. 440.)
That all sorts of different people come together to follow and worship him testifies to who he is. And, likewise, the fact that all sorts of different people come together to oppose him also bears inadvertent witness to who he is.
Preaching The Psalm
Luke 1:68-79
Known among scholars as the "Benedictus," Zechariah's prophecy is a powerful and beautiful commentary on what is about to take place. The coming of the Messiah is recounted here in an incredible merger of spiritual, social, and political realities. The people will be delivered from their enemies and they will gain knowledge of salvation. The sins of the people will be forgiven by God's tender mercies as the light of a new dawn guides "our feet into the way of peace."
What stunning imagery is here. What a powerful description of a new reality rooted in the coming of the Messiah. These few words sculpt a graphic vision of this reality, which is still available to present-day Christians.
It is a reality described by Jesus when in some frustration he exclaimed, "The kingdom of God is not coming with signs to be observed; nor will they say, 'Lo, here it is!' or 'There!' for behold, the kingdom of God is in the midst of you" (Luke 17:20-21).
Truly, the kingdom of God is in our midst. It is not a place, a political agenda, or a doctrinal list to which the faithful must assent. It is a totally new reality brought to us by God in Christ Jesus. The dawn (v. 78) has broken upon us. The light has come to "those who sit in the darkness and in the shadow of death," and it has come to "guide our feet into the way of peace."
Now comes the task of living into this reality or kingdom. The knowledge of salvation is ours. The pathway to peace is lit. The challenge now, is not to wait idly for some future event, but instead to live boldly and joyfully into the present reality of the kingdom of God. This is a reality where sins are forgiven, where the hungry are fed, and the homeless are housed. It is a present process where the people engage in the building of justice and the making of peace.
This prophecy of Zechariah has been realized. The Messiah has come. The kingdom is, as scripture tells us, "near" to us. Now it is our turn. We, the faithful and we, the ones who have faith, must dare to lean into this reality. The trick is to take the risk of living in this moment as though it were all true. The hope is for Christian communities everywhere to become islands where this reality, this kingdom is built, strengthened, and nurtured. "Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for (he) has looked favorably upon his people and redeemed them."
Today is the day to embrace this redemption, to receive, and to live in the kingdom.
The quote was a bit of counsel from John Berridge, an eighteenth-century British preacher, who said: "Avoid all controversy in preaching, talking, or writing; preach nothing down but the devil, and nothing up but Jesus Christ." (From "John Berridge," Preacher and Prayer, by E. M. Bounds [Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1946], p. 65.)
Some colleagues, I know, would think it cowardice to avoid all controversy in preaching. They would say that such a policy would be disobedient to their call. That said, however, we should also readily concede that some preachers may relish controversial preaching, but not by reason of their calling so much as by reason of their temperament. These are opinionated and bellicose people, who take pleasure in tweaking, in disturbing, in provoking others -- and since they are not talented enough to write a syndicated column, they hold a pulpit hostage, instead.
Furthermore, in some instances, controversial preaching may be its own sort of cowardice. Most of our pulpits, after all, furnish us with more protection than risk. It would be a far more courageous thing to say some things one-on-one, in dialogue, or in honest debate, than to hide behind the sacred, public monologue of the pulpit.
Whatever we think of the merits and demerits of controversy in preaching, I believe that Berridge's conclusion is inarguably wise. "Preach ... nothing up but Jesus Christ."
It is tempting to "preach up" all sorts of things: causes and movements, issues and candidates, needs and opportunities -- all sorts of things that you and I may believe in. But in doing so, we may reduce the overall value of the pulpit. For as people perceive that only some of what comes from the pulpit is of eternal value, while the rest is rather ordinary and temporal, then the whole enterprise is diminished. And if I preach such an assortment of things that I believe in -- one Sunday, I preach about the Savior I believe in and the next Sunday I preach about some cause that I believe in -- then I have given equal weight to Christ and to some cause. But could any cause deserve equal billing with him?
This week's lections remind me of Berridge's sage counsel. For our selected passages invite us to preach Christ up this Sunday.
Jeremiah 23:1-6
Shepherds are the theme du jour.
Shepherds and sheep are common, familiar, and cherished images in the pages of both the Old and New Testament. We are, perhaps, best acquainted with -- and most fond of -- the use of the image in which the Lord himself is the shepherd (Psalm 23; Luke 15:1-7; and John 10:1-18). In this particular passage from the Old Testament prophet Jeremiah, however, someone else plays the part of the shepherd. Surely our understanding of a good shepherd will be informed by seeing the Lord in that role. But in this passage, the sheep represent God's people collectively, and the shepherds represent their human leaders. It is a use of the sheep-and-shepherd imagery similarly used by the prophet Ezekiel (ch. 34).
The prophetic word begins as a sober one: "woe." The underlying Hebrew word, hoy, should not be read strictly as a scolding exclamation. In 1 Kings 13:30 and Jeremiah 22:18, it is clearly used as a lament, an expression of grief. In Isaiah 55:1, it is a more positive attention-getting exclamation. And in many of its appearances in the Old Testament prophecies, it seems to convey a weary quality -- like the mother of bickering youngsters who sighs, "Can't we just have two minutes of peace!?"
The "woe" is addressed to the shepherds of God's people. We detect God's displeasure and grief with the situation. Consequently, the grief will soon belong to the shepherds.
But judgment is not the only response of God's displeasure. He will not only displace the current, inadequate shepherds; he will replace them with shepherds who will properly lead the people.
Thus we have juxtaposed pictures of the bad and good shepherds. We are told what the former are doing, as well as what the latter will do. And then, beyond that, there is a still better picture: "a righteous branch" for David, who "shall reign as king and deal wisely, and shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. In his days, Judah will be saved and Israel will live in safety."
In the good future promised by God, "they shall be fruitful and multiply," which recalls the beauty and perfection of Eden. Meanwhile, the reference to David recalls Israel's greatest (human) shepherd.
The anticipated "righteous branch" from David, of course, is a messianic image, which we understand to be fulfilled in Jesus Christ. Within the original context of the prophet's speech, it suggests a third era. The present is the era of the bad shepherds, "who destroy and scatter." In the future era, God "will raise up shepherds over them" who will properly tend his flock. But those shepherds -- plural -- are succeeded and eclipsed by one particular leader. His reign, as described here, surely has the hallmarks of a messianic era.
So it is that, in the end, we return again to the most cherished sheep-and-shepherd image: namely, when the Lord, himself, is the shepherd.
Finally, it is worth noting the combination of "justice and righteousness." It's a combination that we see over two dozen times in the Old Testament, from God's purpose for Abraham (Genesis 18:19) to high praise for Solomon (1 Kings 10:9); from attributes associated with God (Psalm 33:5; 97:2) to an ethical emphasis in Proverbs (21:3) and the prophets (Jeremiah 22:3; Amos 5:24). Loosely speaking, we might characterize righteousness as the chief desire of God in an individual or society, and justice is the necessary antidote where individual or societal righteousness fails.
Colossians 1:11-20
As with all of the New Testament epistles, the modern reader is like someone overhearing just half of a telephone conversation. We can infer some things about who is on the other end and what their situation is, but we have to depend entirely upon the half to which we are privy.
So here, in the case of Paul's letter to the Colossians, we depend upon these four chapters from Paul's end to glean some information about the people on the other end. The scholarly consensus about the church and the situation to which Paul wrote is that the Colossian Christians were in the midst of a doctrinal crisis. Specifically, the false teaching to which they had been exposed -- and evidently by which they had been influenced -- suggested a low Christology. Paul undertook to write to the Christians in Colossae about no less a theme than the person and work of Christ.
On this Christ the King Sunday, then, we are rightly directed to this marvelous opening passage from Paul's letter to the Colossians. We are reminded, along with those first- century believers, about all that Jesus is and does.
While Paul's statement about Christ in this selected lection seems more extemporaneous than systematic, we might take what he says and organize it into five categories. Or, more precisely, five relationships.
First, there is Christ's relationship to God the Father. It might be worth considering, individually, which of these five relationships we preach most often or most seldom. It may be that many of us should preach this part of the truth about Jesus Christ more, for surely the pluralism of our day has caused an erosion in American Christology. Therefore, we do well to explicate and affirm that "he is the image of the invisible God" and that "in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell."
Second, there is Christ's relationship to us. This is where the gospel's rubber meets the road. Jesus is the one "in whom we have redemption" and "the forgiveness of sins." Of course, this part of the good news has been somewhat discounted by our society's discontinuance of the word "sin." The whole concept has been subtly dismissed as judgmental and archaic, and so we have gradually eliminated it from the American lexicon. But, of course, calling cancer by some other name is not the same thing as curing cancer. Our many euphemisms and redefinitions of sin have not eliminated the problem. It has just made the diagnosis more difficult. But the cure remains available in the same place as always -- in him -- and that is what you and I are called to proclaim.
Third, there is Christ's relationship to creation. This may be an underemphasized truth in our day, for contemporary American Christianity -- unlike the ancient church -- has not had the need (or perceived the need) to affirm vigorously the divinity and pre-existence of Christ. But his status as "firstborn of all creation," in whom and for whom "all things in heaven and on earth were created" and in whom "all things hold together," is a recurring assertion and theme through the pages of the New Testament.
Fourth, there is Christ's relationship to the church. This is a recurring theme and image (Ephesians 1:22-23; 5:23-30; Colossians 1:24), and, of course, Paul offers a fuller picture of the church as Christ's body in 1 Corinthians 12:12 ff. The matter is not much elaborated here, but Paul's brief reference invites our explication of the lovely truth that Jesus is "the head of the body, the church."
And, finally, there is Christ's relationship to, shall we say, the re-creation. Just as the New Testament reveals Christ's central role in the original creation of the world and the universe, it also looks forward to God's perfect recreation and restoration of all things. Once again, Christ is central to that work, for he is "the firstborn from the dead," which anticipates the resurrection. "Through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things," which is an essential part of God's loving redemption of all creation.
The Christians in Colossae had a problem with their Christology, and so the apostle Paul wrote to remind them that Jesus Christ is unique and supreme. In our day, when there are so many cultural efforts to marginalize or domesticate Jesus, we would do well to remind our congregations, too, of all that he -- and only he -- is.
Luke 23:33-43
"Did you turn to the wrong page, preacher?" some church member might ask this Sunday. "Doesn't that passage belong in the spring?"
The scene at the cross may surprise the people in our pews this week. After all, our belts may still be loosened from this weekend's feasting. And we're looking ahead to the Christmas season, with all the festivities that it entails. Why, at this juncture in the holiday seasons, would we preach the scene at the cross?
Why? "Because it's Christ the King Sunday," we reply. Yet, still the quizzical look on the congregant's face remains. Even with the liturgical holiday identified, the passage does not seem, at the surface, a natural match. What does the cross have to do with the king?
Give me a passage from Easter Sunday, with the stone rolled triumphantly away and the guards mortified. Give me a parable of Jesus in which he anticipates his glorious and victorious return. Even give me, a few weeks early, the story of the wise men looking for the one born to be king, but naked and helpless on a cross? A victim at best, and a criminal at worst? What does the cross have to do with the king?
Ask that question of the thief on the right.
"Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom," he said.
These are not the words of one who has sidled up next to Jesus amidst the ticker-tape parade on Palm Sunday. This request does not come on the heels of the Transfiguration or the booming affirmation from heaven at Jesus' baptism. The request does not come from Lazarus after he has been raised or a leper after he has been cleansed.
Rather, this is the gasping request of one dying man to another. And as such, it represents a most improbable faith. The writer of Hebrews famously defines faith as "the conviction of things not seen" (Hebrews 11:1). Surely the dying thief exemplified that faith, for the kingship and kingdom of Jesus must have been entirely out of sight at that moment.
That Jesus would one day rule over a kingdom might have seemed likely in any of the other aforementioned scenarios. But here, in this moment of apparent defeat, who could have believed it?
Notice that everyone else in this passage got it wrong. "If he is the Messiah," the Jewish leaders scoffed, "let him save himself." Likewise, the soldiers challenged, "If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself!" And the other criminal, too, bought into the same, errant paradigm, "Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself."
Such is the fallen human presumption about power, authority, and status. If Jesus really were the Messiah, the king, then surely he would exercise his power to save himself. But they had completely misunderstood. For while they sought proof of who he was in a display of power that was self-serving, they overlooked the proof of who he was in a display of love that was self-sacrificing.
Somehow that one remarkable criminal perceived the truth. Though all reasonable signs seemed to point in the other direction, he recognized that a king hung on the cross next to him. And not a king whose reign was past and ending. Rather, amazingly, he perceived that Jesus' kingdom was still ahead.
On this Christ the King Sunday, we affirm the faith of that anonymous, paradise-bound criminal. And we celebrate the king, whom we recognize even on a cross.
Application
Here is a frustrated artist who can't seem to make a living by using his skill for noble purposes. Instead, he works at an amusement park, drawing quick, ten-minute caricatures of people and their friends. The onlookers marvel; the recipients have a good laugh. He turns out dozens a day. His work is rolled up and taken home along with gaudy carnival prizes.
Here is another artist whose skill is recognized. He is at the right place at the right time, and he is commissioned to paint the portraits of corporate CEOs, wealthy benefactors, and even a United States president or two. His work is framed, and it hangs in the dignified settings of conference rooms, libraries, universities, and even the White House.
You and I are not relegated to the first artist's plight, and we must not choose his path. For we need not devote our craft to silly and temporary things. The sermon does not belong in the company of carnival trinkets. Instead, we are called upon to devote ourselves this Sunday to the noblest subject of all.
Consider the one who sits for us to paint his portrait this week -- every week. He is no less than "the image of the invisible God," "the head of the body," and "the firstborn of all creation" in Paul's letter to the Colossians. He is the promised shepherd and ruler in Jeremiah. He is both the dying Savior and the anticipated king of Matthew's lection.
Every week, it is our privilege to portray him to our congregations -- especially this week. God grant that our skill and effort do justice to the task at hand!
Alternative Application
Luke 23:33-43. "Strange Bedfellows." Sift through the cacophony that day on Golgotha. Strain out the moaning of those being executed and the weeping of those who loved them. Remove the sounds of donkeys, camels, and such along the nearby road. Eliminate the routine conversation of passersby and soldiers. Excerpt out the marvelous words of Jesus and of the thief who said, "Remember me."
What's left?
Taunting -- mocking -- and most of the mocking seems to be directed at one particular person. He is rightly placed on the middle cross, for he seems to be the great center of attention.
But see whose attention. Take note of who mocks Jesus.
"The leaders scoffed at him" (v. 35). "The soldiers also mocked him" (v. 36). "One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him" (v. 39).
What a strange group picture. Is there any other time or place where those particular individuals -- the Jewish leaders, the Roman soldiers, and a condemned criminal -- would be allied? We can think of a dozen circumstances in which there would be animosity among those parties. In what other situation would they be cheering for the same thing?
Jesus makes strange bedfellows. He brings unity among his followers, even when they are unlikely companions for one another (such as Simon the Zealot and Matthew the tax collector). And he evokes a certain unity, too, among those who oppose him.
That is as it should be, for it bears witness to the significance of Christ. To be blasé about him is to be uninformed or intellectually dishonest. As C. S. Lewis wrote, "Either this man was, and is, the Son of God: or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon; or you can fall at His feet and call him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to." (From C. S. Lewis, The Best of C. S. Lewis [New York: Iverson Brother Associates, 1969], p. 440.)
That all sorts of different people come together to follow and worship him testifies to who he is. And, likewise, the fact that all sorts of different people come together to oppose him also bears inadvertent witness to who he is.
Preaching The Psalm
Luke 1:68-79
Known among scholars as the "Benedictus," Zechariah's prophecy is a powerful and beautiful commentary on what is about to take place. The coming of the Messiah is recounted here in an incredible merger of spiritual, social, and political realities. The people will be delivered from their enemies and they will gain knowledge of salvation. The sins of the people will be forgiven by God's tender mercies as the light of a new dawn guides "our feet into the way of peace."
What stunning imagery is here. What a powerful description of a new reality rooted in the coming of the Messiah. These few words sculpt a graphic vision of this reality, which is still available to present-day Christians.
It is a reality described by Jesus when in some frustration he exclaimed, "The kingdom of God is not coming with signs to be observed; nor will they say, 'Lo, here it is!' or 'There!' for behold, the kingdom of God is in the midst of you" (Luke 17:20-21).
Truly, the kingdom of God is in our midst. It is not a place, a political agenda, or a doctrinal list to which the faithful must assent. It is a totally new reality brought to us by God in Christ Jesus. The dawn (v. 78) has broken upon us. The light has come to "those who sit in the darkness and in the shadow of death," and it has come to "guide our feet into the way of peace."
Now comes the task of living into this reality or kingdom. The knowledge of salvation is ours. The pathway to peace is lit. The challenge now, is not to wait idly for some future event, but instead to live boldly and joyfully into the present reality of the kingdom of God. This is a reality where sins are forgiven, where the hungry are fed, and the homeless are housed. It is a present process where the people engage in the building of justice and the making of peace.
This prophecy of Zechariah has been realized. The Messiah has come. The kingdom is, as scripture tells us, "near" to us. Now it is our turn. We, the faithful and we, the ones who have faith, must dare to lean into this reality. The trick is to take the risk of living in this moment as though it were all true. The hope is for Christian communities everywhere to become islands where this reality, this kingdom is built, strengthened, and nurtured. "Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for (he) has looked favorably upon his people and redeemed them."
Today is the day to embrace this redemption, to receive, and to live in the kingdom.
