Who really has the power?
Pilate looks at the man in front of him and knows he has the power to sentence him to death or to release him.
Pilate’s spies were likely to have already given him information about this man, which adds an irony to the questioning. Pilate thinks this is about his own use of power – his power in relationship to his Roman superiors, his power in relation to the Jewish authorities on this troublesome trade route between the fertile farmland to the north and Rome.
The Jewish leaders are not overly submissive; they are waiting outside, not out of respect, but because they are not prepared to pollute themselves by stepping into his palace. Will Pilate give them what they want? What does he have to gain, or lose, by his response? Will he keep the peace, and the trade routes open, by compliance? Or can he annoy these troublesome people more by refusing their ‘request’ and showing them who is in charge? This is the level of human power use and abuse that faces Jesus.
The Jewish leaders waiting outside are so busy observing the purity regulations that they don’t even hear what Jesus has to say – it is one of those great ironies in the story of Jesus’ life – that when he makes the definitive statement about his divine kingship and his purpose, the key people are not there to hear it.
Pilate looks at this man without any visible trappings of power, and asks, possibly with a sneer, “Are you the king of the Jews.” He hears Jesus’ reply, but his understanding of power is purely political, and is related to domination and subjection, so he cannot understand. Jesus is talking of ideas ‘outside the box’ and Pilate, like so many before him in John’s telling of the story, just doesn’t get it.
Jesus, the powerless prisoner, descendant of King David, Son of the living God, submerging his divine power, undermining all definitions of worldly status, prepares to die for Barabbas and every Barabbas before and since, including you and me, and tells the truth, “My kingdom is not from this world.” I am a King… for this reason I was born, and for this I came into the world.” There is a double statement in there, “I was born”, and “I came” – I am of human and I am of heaven. I am outside your understanding and your experience.
Today’ reading is one of four that are programmed for the main service today, which marks the end of the church year, before we start the season of Advent next week, and answers the question, “Who is this man?” We’ve shared Psalm 93, which tells us
“the LORD is robed in majesty and is armed with strength…Your throne was established long ago; you are from all eternity”
The other readings, from Daniel and Revelation are written in that vivid apocalyptic style that tells us in pictures about the nature of God. The readings are detailed on the Housegroup notes.
In Daniel 7 we read of a vision of heaven in which the Ancient of Days is seated on a throne and the
“Son of Man is led into his presence and given authority, glory and sovereign power; all peoples, nations and men of every language worshiped him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that will not pass away, and his kingdom is one that will never be destroyed.”
In the corresponding reading from Revelation 1 the same idea is echoed,
“Grace and peace to you from him who is, and who was, and who is to come, and from the seven spirits before his throne, and from Jesus Christ, who is the faithful witness, the firstborn from the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth.
It speaks of him, “who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood”, and “has made us to be a kingdom” and it speaks of a time when there will be no doubt about the nature of the kingdom, available to everyone and forever, “every eye will see him, even those who pierced him; and all the peoples of the earth will mourn because of him”
"I am the Alpha and the Omega," says the Lord God, "who is, and who was, and who is to come, the Almighty”.
This isn’t a transitory empire or kingdom, like the Roman Empire or the USSR, this is forever, it exists now, and it is to come. This isn’t a message for a select few; this is a message for all of humanity, “every eye will see him”. It is for us, and for those we look down on, and those we look up to, and those we struggle to like as well as for those we love and pray for.
Did you know that Deuteronomy 21:23 says,
“you must not leave his body on the tree overnight. Be sure to bury him that same day, because anyone who is hung on a tree is under God's curse. You must not desecrate the land the LORD your God is giving you as an inheritance.”
The Jewish authorities had already decided that Jesus must die. They had the option of stoning him to death as a sanction within their own legal system, but they wanted Jesus crucified, and I think it was because he would then be seen to be under God’s curse, and the authorities thought this would destroy his mission.
So, back to our story. In front of Pilate stands a vulnerable human being, already condemned by his own people, being offered to the occupying power for crucifixion. This man, who at his birth was brought gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh, has no visible power. The subsequent mockery of the passion, dressing him in a purple robe, the crown of thorns, title ‘King of the Jews’ above him on the cross all seem to emphasise his powerlessness and his vulnerability.
Or to put it another way, in front of Pilate stands the king of all things, of all time, with all the glory and power inside and beyond this world, and he can’t see it. The Jewish authorities have brought this king to Pilate, but they don’t understand him either.
So the scene is set for the passion, the death and the resurrection of Jesus, and for the true kingship of heaven to be revealed.
This is a kingdom that covers all time and space; in which our membership is voluntary, in which the rich do not exploit the poor for their own pleasure and convenience. It is not about what we get but about what we offer to others; Christ the King gave everything for us, and our response is a depth of love that prompts us to give in return. Our desires are refocused from our own self-interest, to the interests of God’s kingdom.
When we answer those questions in our baptism and confirmation service, “Do you turn to Christ?” and “Do you submit to Christ as Lord?” we are putting ourselves under divine authority, recognising that the only power that does not corrupt is the power of God’s love. God’s kingdom is based on love, so when we answer, Do you come to Christ, the way, the truth and the life?” with “I come to Christ”, we are coming to a kingdom of love and acceptance.
As we have received, so we offer – welcome, value, dignity for all. And we find the future members of God’s kingdom outside the walls of this church, in our communities and workplaces, in our shopping centres, prisons and hospitals; in our schools and sleeping on our streets. Revelation 1 tells us that every eye will see him, so none are excluded. None. At some stage “every eye will see him”.
Revelation is apocalyptic literature, the words paint pictures to help our understanding of the nature of God, but I don’t think they are intended to be literal descriptions of the wallpaper in heaven. I think we are expected to read the message that flows through the words, which tells us that the kingship of heaven is not a myth or a fancy story to make people feel better. In some way that I don’t fully understand it is telling us about the reality of our salvation; that we can believe without doubt the claim that, "I am the Alpha and the Omega," … "who is, and who was, and who is to come, the Almighty.”
In our worship today, our prayers, our liturgy, our Bible reading and our singing, we celebrate this kingdom; the kingdom of Christ here and now and to come. When we pray in the Lord’s prayer, “Your kingdom come”, this is what we are asking for – the eternal reign of Christ in our hearts and lives, a reign that changes our way of looking at the world, and makes us want to do what Christ did – to subvert our worldly power for the benefit of others – to help every eye to see.
Our decision has to be, do we worship the transitory powers of this world, or do we enter into the ‘not from this world’ kingdom of Christ?
Sunday, 22 November 2009
Sunday, 1 November 2009
Sermon: 31st October 2009 - John 11:32-44
Last night we were in St Albans and witnessed the Halloween celebrations that were taking place in the White Hart Inn, a 600 year old public house famous for its ghosts, and for being the place where William Hogarth drew Lord Lovat - the last person to be beheaded in Britain - in 1746. It was long enough ago, and far enough away to have become entertainment rather than personal tragedy for those dressed in black and orange with ghoulish make-up, so was a cause for entertainment.
Closer to our own history; the death of Princess Diana touched something in many of us and we grieved; it had significance in our lives. Recently the death of Boys Own pop singer Stephen Gately has triggered strong feelings of grief among people younger than me. This week saw the death of Norman Painting who had played the part of Phil Archer for sixty years. For many of us he was part of our history, and his passing has also been well-marked by the media.
The deaths of people we didn’t know can touch us in ways that can take us by surprise. Psychologists tell us that although our empathy and our sympathy is for others, that empathy is enabled by our own experience and the depths of grief that we each carry. If we have never felt pain how can we imagine pain in another person? Empathy is, in some way, a connection with others that happens as a result of our own wounds – a positive benefit (albeit one that we often don’t see until much later).
In today’s readings we learn something about the way that God connects with us, through the humanity of Jesus. In Isaiah 53:4, a prophetic verse about the coming of Jesus, we have read that, “Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows.”
We know from verse 5 of the gospel reading that Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. He is moved to tears by the grief of his friends. His connection with them, and with us, meant that Jesus could weep with them, and can still weep with each one of us, and with the entire world.
This story however, isn’t just about grief. It is also about hope. You know the end of the story, so let’s just put that on hold for a minute and look at some other stuff first.
There are two other stories of Jesus encountering dead people, and they build on each other:
In the first story of Jairus’ daughter (Mark 5:34-42) Jesus restores a dead girl – newly dead, and he does it in private. Seeing Jesus, he fell at his feet and pleaded earnestly with him, "My little daughter is dying. Please come and put your hands on her so that she will be healed and live." So Jesus went with him.
In the second he finds a funeral procession on the way to bury the widows son at Nain (Luke 7:11-16), and he restores him to life. This is more public, but the death is still quite recent; it is normal in hot countries to bury people the same day. When the Lord saw her, his heart went out to her and he said, "Don't cry."
In both stories we can see God’s heart of compassion reaching out to those who grieved and were troubled.
So now we come back to our story.
Lazarus has been dead for at least four days. The spirit was believed to have left the body after three days, and we know from Martha’s comment about the smell that those present were quite realistic about what they might normally find inside a tomb. Dead is dead, and nature will have its course.
By the way, did you notice that it was Martha who came out to meet Jesus first, and was the first to announce that it still isn’t too late to save Lazarus? She believed in the possibility of a miracle, but she still half-expected a smell. Aren’t we so like her at times? Yet God can work despite our doubts.
And again we can see that Jesus is disturbed by grief (v33)“When Jesus saw Mary weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled.”
Was it just the death of his friend that disturbed him? Might Jesus have been looking forwards to his own death, only days away? Is John, the master story-teller of this gospel giving us clues about the story to come, laying the foundations so that we can see the similarities but also recognise the differences?
I’d like to propose that this story has some parallels with the story of the crucifixion; that this story looks forwards in time.
Both Martha and Mary say to Jesus that if he had been there Lazarus wouldn’t have died. If Jesus could have saved Lazarus from dying, then he could surely have saved himself. But he chose not to. Jesus’ love, God’s love is unselfish. It always seeks the good of others, and so it took Jesus to the cross.
Just as with Jairus’ daughter, and the son of the widow at Nain, Lazarus is restored to life. In the case of Lazarus, they roll away the stone and Lazarus comes out still wearing his grave clothes. He, like others is restored but not resurrected. He will die again another time. This story has moved us forwards in understanding that not only is God is more powerful even than death, but that God’s love for humanity is more powerful than death. There is more to come.
In Jesus’ story, the stone has been rolled away before anyone gets there, and the grave clothes are left behind. Jesus is resurrected, not restored. And in that resurrection we gain the opportunity to join with Jesus.
In a metaphor of our Christian life, Lazarus is dead, and Jesus calls him. He responds to that call by coming out of the grave and back into life. We too are dead without Jesus, and it is only when we too answer God's call that we too come out into the light and life of faith. All we have to do is hear and respond.
When we answer we come, not to our old life restored but to a new life, something completely different – to a share in the resurrected life of Jesus – not back to ourselves as individuals but to a community of faith that is church through time and geography.
Today is All Saints Day, and it is the day when we celebrate the life of all those who have lived in a way that reflects the light and love of God. That is why the altar frontal and my stole are in gold and white - a visual reminder of that light and love.
When the Romans executed Jesus they were hoping to kill, not just the man, but the trouble he was causing – his mission. By turning that death on its head in the resurrection Jesus ensured that his mission continued and grew.
Many of the people we honour as Saints died continuing the non-violent mission of bringing God’s love into this world, some as martyrs, but all as faithful witnesses.
That is what we seek to be.
In many ways, each person who has died in faith as a saint, and those of us who are trying, however imperfectly, to live as Christians in the world today, are saints-in-progress.
My prayer is that like Jesus at the grave of his friend Lazarus:
1. that we too may be filled with the outward-looking love and compassion of Christ;
2. that we can draw on our own experiences of loss and grief to enable us to look on those who suffer, with that compassion;
3. that we too, like Jesus, will look on those in pain and weep with them;
4. that we too will learn that the ultimate love is focused not on our own needs but on meeting the needs of others, and that we too might shine like saints as we reflect the love of God to others.
Closer to our own history; the death of Princess Diana touched something in many of us and we grieved; it had significance in our lives. Recently the death of Boys Own pop singer Stephen Gately has triggered strong feelings of grief among people younger than me. This week saw the death of Norman Painting who had played the part of Phil Archer for sixty years. For many of us he was part of our history, and his passing has also been well-marked by the media.
The deaths of people we didn’t know can touch us in ways that can take us by surprise. Psychologists tell us that although our empathy and our sympathy is for others, that empathy is enabled by our own experience and the depths of grief that we each carry. If we have never felt pain how can we imagine pain in another person? Empathy is, in some way, a connection with others that happens as a result of our own wounds – a positive benefit (albeit one that we often don’t see until much later).
In today’s readings we learn something about the way that God connects with us, through the humanity of Jesus. In Isaiah 53:4, a prophetic verse about the coming of Jesus, we have read that, “Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows.”
We know from verse 5 of the gospel reading that Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. He is moved to tears by the grief of his friends. His connection with them, and with us, meant that Jesus could weep with them, and can still weep with each one of us, and with the entire world.
This story however, isn’t just about grief. It is also about hope. You know the end of the story, so let’s just put that on hold for a minute and look at some other stuff first.
There are two other stories of Jesus encountering dead people, and they build on each other:
In the first story of Jairus’ daughter (Mark 5:34-42) Jesus restores a dead girl – newly dead, and he does it in private. Seeing Jesus, he fell at his feet and pleaded earnestly with him, "My little daughter is dying. Please come and put your hands on her so that she will be healed and live." So Jesus went with him.
In the second he finds a funeral procession on the way to bury the widows son at Nain (Luke 7:11-16), and he restores him to life. This is more public, but the death is still quite recent; it is normal in hot countries to bury people the same day. When the Lord saw her, his heart went out to her and he said, "Don't cry."
In both stories we can see God’s heart of compassion reaching out to those who grieved and were troubled.
So now we come back to our story.
Lazarus has been dead for at least four days. The spirit was believed to have left the body after three days, and we know from Martha’s comment about the smell that those present were quite realistic about what they might normally find inside a tomb. Dead is dead, and nature will have its course.
By the way, did you notice that it was Martha who came out to meet Jesus first, and was the first to announce that it still isn’t too late to save Lazarus? She believed in the possibility of a miracle, but she still half-expected a smell. Aren’t we so like her at times? Yet God can work despite our doubts.
And again we can see that Jesus is disturbed by grief (v33)“When Jesus saw Mary weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled.”
Was it just the death of his friend that disturbed him? Might Jesus have been looking forwards to his own death, only days away? Is John, the master story-teller of this gospel giving us clues about the story to come, laying the foundations so that we can see the similarities but also recognise the differences?
I’d like to propose that this story has some parallels with the story of the crucifixion; that this story looks forwards in time.
Both Martha and Mary say to Jesus that if he had been there Lazarus wouldn’t have died. If Jesus could have saved Lazarus from dying, then he could surely have saved himself. But he chose not to. Jesus’ love, God’s love is unselfish. It always seeks the good of others, and so it took Jesus to the cross.
Just as with Jairus’ daughter, and the son of the widow at Nain, Lazarus is restored to life. In the case of Lazarus, they roll away the stone and Lazarus comes out still wearing his grave clothes. He, like others is restored but not resurrected. He will die again another time. This story has moved us forwards in understanding that not only is God is more powerful even than death, but that God’s love for humanity is more powerful than death. There is more to come.
In Jesus’ story, the stone has been rolled away before anyone gets there, and the grave clothes are left behind. Jesus is resurrected, not restored. And in that resurrection we gain the opportunity to join with Jesus.
In a metaphor of our Christian life, Lazarus is dead, and Jesus calls him. He responds to that call by coming out of the grave and back into life. We too are dead without Jesus, and it is only when we too answer God's call that we too come out into the light and life of faith. All we have to do is hear and respond.
When we answer we come, not to our old life restored but to a new life, something completely different – to a share in the resurrected life of Jesus – not back to ourselves as individuals but to a community of faith that is church through time and geography.
Today is All Saints Day, and it is the day when we celebrate the life of all those who have lived in a way that reflects the light and love of God. That is why the altar frontal and my stole are in gold and white - a visual reminder of that light and love.
When the Romans executed Jesus they were hoping to kill, not just the man, but the trouble he was causing – his mission. By turning that death on its head in the resurrection Jesus ensured that his mission continued and grew.
Many of the people we honour as Saints died continuing the non-violent mission of bringing God’s love into this world, some as martyrs, but all as faithful witnesses.
That is what we seek to be.
In many ways, each person who has died in faith as a saint, and those of us who are trying, however imperfectly, to live as Christians in the world today, are saints-in-progress.
My prayer is that like Jesus at the grave of his friend Lazarus:
1. that we too may be filled with the outward-looking love and compassion of Christ;
2. that we can draw on our own experiences of loss and grief to enable us to look on those who suffer, with that compassion;
3. that we too, like Jesus, will look on those in pain and weep with them;
4. that we too will learn that the ultimate love is focused not on our own needs but on meeting the needs of others, and that we too might shine like saints as we reflect the love of God to others.
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