Last Sunday before Advent: Christ the King

Service Date: 
22 November, 2009
John 18:33-37
It's a mystery. Pilate's trying to work it out. Jesus is a prisoner in front of him, and Pilate has the power to decide whether to kill him or save him. Why isn't Jesus worried? Has he got a rescue plan up his sleeve? What are his followers going to do? Has Pilate got a full-scale rebellion on his hands?
So Pilate asks him: What's going on here? Do you have power or not? Are you a king or not?
And Jesus, who never gives a straight answer, doesn't give a straight answer.
Is this your idea? he asks Pilate, or is this someone else's idea about me you're just parroting?
Pilate tries to get to the bottom of the mystery again. You explain, then! he tells Jesus. Your own leaders have put you in my power! What do you think you're doing?
And Jesus goes on being unhelpful. I've got power, he says. I'm a king. But not the way you're thinking. The very questions you're asking show you're on the wrong track. I'm not in power like you're in power, because Rome has chosen you and Roman soldiers back you up. My power doesn't work like that. Yes, I'm a king - but not your world's sort of king. My power is the power of the truth. When people recognise the truth, it's me they find.
But poor old Pilate just doesn't get it.
And in the church we don't always get it either.
Sometimes we'd like to be top dog in Britain, like Christians always used to be, with everyone in the country and the government taking notice of us. But Jesus isn't that sort of king, controlling others by force, even if sometimes churches have been tempted to behave that way.
Sometimes we'd like to forget about power and politics and think about Jesus the baby king as if he were in a fairytale, teaching us moral lessons, but nothing to do with real life. But if it means anything to say Jesus is our king, everything we say and do has to reflect that truth. And how do we do that?
I suspect you know what answer I'm going to give; it's the same answer that Iona pointed us towards at the end of our last church meeting. What we need, what all Christians need, to show us how to live as if Jesus is our king, is Bible study and prayer.
But sometimes the Bible can seem a very complicated book, full of names we don't know, ideas we're not sure about and stories that don't seem to connect with our lives now. Sometimes it may feel easier just to wait till next Sunday when Sarah's bound to have something to say about it.
If you do feel that way, help is at hand. For Sheila Dunstan has found for us some Bible reading notes about the book of Revelation, one of the most mysterious books of the Bible, for every day in Advent. After our Vision4Life year focussing on the Bible, why not challenge yourself to take a little time every day from next Sunday till Christmas to help understand more both about the Bible and how we can follow Jesus in the real world? But don't take my word for it; I'm going to ask Sheila now, who's a very busy woman, to explain why she thinks Bible reading notes are worth taking time over.
Hymns: 
R&S 571 comes from the pen of Bishop Bell, a noted pacifist and friend of the German Protestant theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer a guiding light in the Confessing Church which resisted Nazism in the Second World War. The tune Vulpius was originally written for an Easter hymn, ‘Praise be to God on his highest throne', which is also eminently suitable when we consider Christ the King.
R&S 281, words and music, comes from the creative talent of Anon. The tune is likely to be a Hebrew folk melody.
R&S 630 also has its origins in the Second World War, when in 1941 the annual Psalmody Prize at Mansfield College was offered for ‘a hymn to be used after a sermon on the social implications of the gospel'. The winning hymn, by George Caird, was ‘Almighty Father who for us thy Son didst give' (to be found in Rejoice and Sing at 621), but this hymn by R.T. Brooks was one of the other two entries received. Listeners at St Andrew's this morning will have to judge for themselves to what extent the sermon before this hymn lives up to the theme of the original composition. The tune we are singing this morning has been composed by our multi-talented organist, Douglas Jones.
R&S 262 is a composite hymn by Matthew Bridges (vv1, 4) and Godfrey Thring (vv2, 3). Bridges was a high-church Anglican turned Roman Catholic; Thring espoused a broader theology; thus the resulting hymn may be seen as a triumph of ecumenism. The tune Diademata was written for this hymn by George G. Elvey.
Sermon: 
Daniel 7:9-10; 13-14; Psalm 93; John 18:33-37; Revelation 1:4b-8
I said a little while ago that Revelation's a very mysterious book; well, I think the brief reading from it we've just heard backs up my point. It's as if it's written in code or like a cryptic crossword puzzle. And in fact that's probably not so far from the truth. Because when Revelation was written, the Roman Empire hadn't yet adopted Christianity as its state religion, and being a Christian or having Christian writings found on you wasn't necessarily good for your health. So Revelation is written in picture language and if we want to decrypt it, we need the help of our faith.
Some parts of this code are clearer than others. ‘The one who was and is and is to come' - well, that's got to be the God made known to Moses in the burning bush as ‘I am who I am', which in Hebrew can equally well be translated as ‘I will be who I will be': God, there in past, present and future. Jesus - yep, we know about him, and ‘those who pierced him' must be talking about his crucifixion. God as alpha and omega - well, that's just the Greek alphabet; if we wanted to say God is the beginning and the end of everything, we'd say A to Z instead.
But what's all this about Jesus ‘coming with the clouds'? That phrase rather reminds me of a cartoon superhero: Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No! It's Jesus! But you won't be surprised to hear the book of Revelation had a very different idea in mind. It's one we find in our Hebrew Bible reading this morning from the book of Daniel - another mysterious prophecy in poetic language for us to decode, this time written in an age when being Jewish and criticising the occupying power of Babylon wasn't good for the health.
The Ancient One must be God, enthroned in splendour. It's worth noting in passing that in God, extreme old age is honourable! And God is enthroned not just as king, but as judge of all. Imagine a kirk session in the old days, with the minister preparing to hear the case of some notorious sinner, and you'll get something of the tension of the scene. But who is this who approaches God's fiery throne, coming up before the judge of all?
A human being? Who is it so confident of their virtue as to approach the bench without fear of being struck down? Could he be Israel perfected? A symbol of God's kingdom? Or of God's long-awaited leader, the Messiah? As one of my commentaries so neatly puts it, ‘Surrealism is no respecter of logic.' We don't know exactly who it is that Daniel describes as ‘coming with the clouds of heaven'. What we do know is that Jesus sometimes called himself ‘son of man' in a way that might refer back to this prophecy. And in our reading from Revelation, we can assume that in using those words, the writer was indeed harking back to Daniel's dream.
According to Daniel, this mysterious son of man is given ‘dominion and glory and kingship, that all peoples, nations, and languages should serve him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that shall not pass away, and his kingship is one that shall never be destroyed.' It's the same superlative language as we find in our psalm this morning about God: clothed in power and strength, firmly established, no matter what floods may arise - and given the recent terrible news from Cumbria, that is a substantial claim to make, even about God.
But by this point, if not before, I wonder if a little bit of you may be thinking, ‘So what? Cryptic crosswords may be all very well if you like that sort of thing, but what's all this got to do with the price of fish in the real world?' And you'd be right to do so. We can play parlour games with the Bible till the cows come home, but if we want to use it to help make sense of our lives, we need something more.
But before you're tempted to discard Revelation and Daniel, or to keep them strictly for rainy days when you've run out of crosswords to puzzle out, let's go back to the other thing they have in common, apart from the fact that whoever wrote them was long on symbolism and short on clarity. They were both written by people who weren't part of the dominant worldview, who were risking their lives writing something that could be seen as criticising the powers that be. So what is the dangerous message our readings are trying to get across in this coded way?
God is amazing, they seem to agree. Huge, magnificent, all-powerful, able to withstand any attack. But in a world where many gods fought it out for respect and worshippers, no other powers get a look-in here. Could this be a covert way of commenting on the imperial power of Babylon or of Rome, respectively? These powers may think themselves unassailable. But in comparison with God's almighty power; well, they're pitiful and weak, not even worth a mention.
Is this a religious delusion? Let's look at the facts. Where is imperial Babylon? Gone. Where is imperial Rome? Gone. However incredible it may appear right now, today's superpower with all its military and political might is always tomorrow's has-been. Even the power of human beings may not, in the long run, survive on this planet. Only God's rule lasts forever. So if today, say Daniel and Revelation, you are smarting under the power of forces which do not recognise God: don't worry! Their defeat is assured, as is God's victory.
That was certainly good news for the Jews in Daniel's time, or the Christians in the time of John of Patmos. But what's it got to do with us in St Andrew's, living in 21st century Sheffield? What powerful forces in our society and even in ourselves may be working against God?
At this time of year, the ruling powers of consumption and choice fill the airwaves. ‘Have yourselves a merry little Christmas; forget about people without life's basics.' ‘This is how things have always suited me. I don't want to consider any other point of view.' In the long run I don't believe consumption and choice can remain as gods; they have no staying power. But in the meantime, do we live as though we are serving them, or is Jesus the king who commands our loyalty? For it will be our actions, our words and our lifestyle that demonstrate to others whether or not we really believe he, the innocent man about to be crucified, is the one who points us to truth.

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