Ruler of the Kings of the World

Christ the King

John 18:33-37

The problem of having to come up with my title every week for the paper is, of course, that there is so much that happens from the time I come up with a title until the sermon is finished – and the sermon isn’t finished until it is preached. The sermon title has to be called into the paper on Wednesday, and on weeks like this one – where not much gets done until really late in the week – the sermon changes quite a bit.

Early this week, I was impressed by the passage from Revelation that Mike read for us a while ago – especially that part of the passage that says “ruler of the kings of the earth.” That phrase was selected as the title, and my early direction sought to juxtapose the reign of Christ to that of David and of Pilate.

We know much about David – certainly the scriptures are full of his story. He was the second King of Israel, following Saul. He was the most beloved King of Israel, and the one to whom Israel looked back as their prototype of what a King should be. David was not without faults – his kids were a mess, he was involved in a scandalous liaison with Bathsheba, and in an attempt to cover up his sin, he had her husband, Uriah, murdered. Despite all of his failing, though, he was loved by his people, and the scriptures tell us that God loved him and that he loved God with his whole heart.

David was a poet, and we have many of the writings of David – from several stages of his life – in our biblical book called Psalms. In this church, we read from the Psalms every week – and for good reason. They are our book, because they speak of and to our needs, our passions, and our hopes. It is an earthy book, taking every opportunity to suggest that matters of the heart and the head go hand in hand.

Of course, Pilate wasn’t a king. Pilate was the Fifth procurator of Judea (AD 26-36). A procurator was much like an old fashioned governor – he did not rule, except on behalf of another. He ruled that region of the world on behalf of Caesar. We don’t know as much about Pilate as we do about David. Pilate was evidently something of a troubled soul – he sought power and prestige, only to discover that the power he sought came with countless associated problems, and that there was not a commiserate level of prestige associated with the little power he had. Pilate was the person who officially condemned Jesus to death – and attempting to not look like he was responsible by washing his hands of the matter – literally!!

It is an interesting contrast – these two rulers, in comparison to Jesus. David and Pilate were substantial figures in Christian history, but their individual contributions, so to speak, were miniscule in comparison to what Jesus accomplished.

Who is our Jesus? This time last year, I had more answers than questions. Not any more. Earlier this fall, I attended a pastor’s conference over in Missouri. Will Willimon was the guest speaker. I had been looking forward to listening to Willimon for many years, and this opportunity was in the midst of friends retreating together on the Lake of the Ozarks. It was a wonderful week. Then, I got home, and something that Willimon pointed out started to bother me. In His teaching, he referenced the Marcan story of Jesus walking on the water, and he quoted Mark as saying, “And seeing them straining at the oars, for the wind was against them, at about the fourth watch of the night, He came to them, walking on the sea; and He intended to pass by them.” I started pondering that verse, especially that phrase, “He intended to pass by them.” The longer I pondered it, the more troubled I became. I narrowed down my troubled nature to one of two things – either we’re presented with Mark’s opinion of what Jesus was doing, or I don’t understand a thing about who Jesus is. I’m either confronted with a troubled opinion from one of His closest followers, or I’m presented with a picture of a Jesus who would walk right past His closest friends when they were in their hour of need, and that’s not the Jesus I’ve been taught about all these years.

To be candid with you, I’ve not resolved my crisis. I’ve started seeing things in the scriptures for the way they are stated, not for the way others have interpreted them for me in years gone by, and often there isn’t a ready explanation. Moreover, I’m terribly troubled by the fact that my calling is to explain to you a God that I don’t quite understand right now. About the best I can do at present is to tell you what the others have said, and what I happen to think about the matter.

For example, this week in my study, I ran across a poem by H. Mel Malton, entitled “Sunday School Curriculum: Gentle Jesus.” She speaks to my present state of confusion.

You think he’s meek?

You haven’t seen him hoist a beam of wood

Or sink a spike, then.

Power fit to burst beneath the

taut bronze skin

that barely holds him in.

There’s seldom softness in a carpenter.

It’s true he can be gentle.

He’ll lift a baby to his shoulders in a crowd

with hands all velveted like lion’s paws,

but don’t mistake that loving man

for someone tame.

We’ve seen him blast a tree with temper,

toss a table weighted down with gold

across a temple pavement with a roar

that scattered us.

You think he’s mild?

If he is water, he’s a strong and heady brew

that satisfies with sips.

If he is bread, do not expect him all refined

and pale and palace-palate-sweet.

He’s nourishing, but tough.

And when he lifts that sharp

chin skywards,

laughing at some joke of John’s,

when those lips form Father,

whisper benedictions cobweb-soft on

leprous flesh,

when all the ragged band hangs breathless

on his truly, truly –

when he’s skewered,

retching vinegar in agony,

oh never think it is his nature

to submit to earthly rule.

This man’s a rebel, dangerous and perfect.

Never paint him in a royal robe.

His garment’s stiff with living,

fingernails dark with tearing fish into a

thousand morsels,

feet trod filthy, oiled with tears,

then caked again.

This man’s no mendicant;

three year’s slog with outcast rabble

never offered silver till the last.

You think he sits with sheep and crook?

Perhaps to beat back wolves but not

to pose for windows.

He is blood and flesh
and gut and sinew,
teeth and hair and sweat and bone.
Spirkt-soaked an dGod-begotten,
God loved messenger and master of us all.
Jesus is meek?
And fire is ice
and we are doomed to dust. 1

I don’t know that I know Jesus well enough to tell you Who He is. I feel a little like the seminary student taking his final in Systematic Theology, who looked at the first and only test question, which read, “Explain God. Give three examples.” I’m pretty sure I can’t explain God, but I have thought of three examples this morning.

This is Christ the King Sunday. It is the end of this Christian year – next week we begin Advent as we start our long trek toward Easter morning. But today is Christ the King Sunday, when our scriptures lead us to examine the rule of Christ in our lives. We learn by looking at the lives of David and Pilate – perhaps you are more like one of those guys than you’d like to admit.

Jesus is King. He is king over all that exists, as He helped breathe life into all that is. He is ruler over all others who rule, in whatever small way they might influence humankind’s story.

And He is King over your life.

I’ll give you three examples. They are just examples – this is not an exhaustive list. Christ is King over every aspect of your life – these are only three examples.

Our study from the gospels this year has come from the book of Mark. I used to tell people that Matthew was a gospel written for the Jews, Luke for the Gentiles, and Mark for the Romans. This year, I started thinking that was somewhat redundant – Romans were certainly gentile. So what was the difference in Mark’s gospel? Mark speaks to power. Mark speaks to power in all of its forms. Mark speaks to the powers that lord over our lives, and Mark speaks to power resident in our lives. In the telling of our gospel story for this morning, Mark reminds us that Jesus is King over the power you seek and possess in your life.

When we examine this scene, we might at first think that Pilate is in charge. Read it again. Nothing is happening that Jesus has not ordained should happen. The choice of Jesus to give up His life for us was exactly that – a choice.

From the moment we are born, we seek the autonomy of power. We learn to walk, to feed ourselves, to determine our own destiny. We turn 16, and we seek the keys to a car. We choose our vocation, our mate, we have some say in how many children live in our homes, and we determine where we live. The longer I live, the less I seem to have power over. When we stop to think about it, we are confronted with a truth – Jesus is king over our power. What power we possess, be it great or small – Jesus rules over our power.

Jesus also rules over our freedom. There is certainly a link between power and freedom. As American people, wealthy and self-determining, we are people captivated by the concept of freedom. Those 16 year old car keys we seek – they represent freedom as much as they do the power over our own lives. We virtually worship freedom, as American Christians. And we practice our freedom – to choose, to act, to acquire, to invest, to sustain, to learn – our freedoms are as varied as are our people. But the truth of the matter is this – Christ is King, and Christ is King over our freedom.

As there is a link between power and freedom, there is a link between freedom and truth. Jesus said, “You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.” Pilate asked the question for all of us – “What is truth?” That question is the second ultimate question of modern philosophy – what is truth?

You and I think we have an answer to that question. If we are really honest with ourselves, we would admit that we think truth is that which we have come to know. We know that others know things – truths, as it were – but we really think that truth is those things which we have come to know. Truth is personalized, resident in personal experience, viewed through personal insight.

Willimon has a statement on the matter. “The truth, as Christians know, is that the unexplorable, indefinable, ultimate cause of the universe is the author of life, the inventor of love, and the giver of every grace.” 2 I’ll put it slightly differently – all of life’s truths, small “t”, are found in the greatest truth, capital “T”, Jesus Christ Himself. Christ is King over our truth.

Next weekend, the Enid Symphony and Chorus are going to perform Handel’s Messiah. One of the final numbers, of course, in that great musical work, is the Hallelujah Chorus. The text for that chorus is quite simple. Five simple phrases.

“Hallelujah.”

“For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth.”

“The kingdom of this world is become the kingdom of our Lord, and of His Christ.”

“And he shall reign for ever and ever.”

“King of Kings, and Lord of Lords.”

That’s it – those are all the words – well, in a wonderful variety of combinations.

I have questions for us this morning. Christ is King over your life, but I have questions. Is He King of Kings, and Lord of Lords over your life? Are there areas of power and freedom and truth in your life over which you don’t want Him to rule? What will you do this year to exalt Him in your life?

Christ is King. Christ is King over the rulers of this world, and He is King over your life. Let us worship Him with our whole hearts – as we serve Him with our entire lives.

Richard W. Dunn, PhD.

1 H. Mel Melton, "Sunday School Curriculum: Gentle Jesus", Behold: Arts for the Church Year, Pentecost 2 2006 (Year B) Logos Productions, INc. Inver Grove Heights, Minnesota, p. 7. (Permission given by the author)

2 Will Willimon, "What is Truth?", Pulpit Resource, Vol. 34, No. 4., p.39.

My 2 Cents

23rd Sunday after Pentecost

Mark 12:38-44

Jesus noticed her. He pointed her out – to His disciples – and to us. He thought she had some things to teach us. Maybe we ought to listen.

She doesn’t get much of a headline. The sentence is brief by biblical standards. “A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny.” But Jesus noticed her, and He pointed her out to all of His disciples, and that includes you and me.

Her actions seemed so extravagant. Mark tells us that she was a “poor widow.” I wonder how he knew. Did they know her? Did they interview her after Jesus pointed her out? Was it obvious from her dress and her demeanor?

I was listening to a debate – well, really an argument on one of the evening talk shows Friday night. Post-election rhetoric, don’t you know. One man said, “I’d like for the Democrats to tell us just who qualifies as ‘rich’.” It was an interesting debate about the possibility of roll backs on the tax cuts we have seen over the past years, and the sense of the argument was in defining just who the “rich” were. Well, I’ll tell you this – we may not be able to make that distinction very easily, but the poor know who they are.

This woman was poor. The bible has a lot to say about poverty and poor people. Jesus said that we would always have the poor among us. He wasn’t wrong. In 2002, the United States government estimated that 12.1 percent of the people in our nation live in poverty. For those under the age of 18, that number is higher – 16.7 percent. America is one of the wealthiest nations in the world. Globally, the problem of poverty is much greater. It is estimated that 1 out of 6 people in this world do not have enough to eat. That’s 1 out of 6. 40,000 people around our world die each day from hunger. Poverty is with us, and by every measurement, it is increasing.

Some of us have seen this kind of poverty. Larry, Jan and I have seen the really poor in Juarez. People who live in cardboard houses in the old city dump – men who work at the Adidas factory for the equivalent of $5 a day – many of them stop off and drink that away before it ever reaches their families. Mike Pontious has seen the face of poverty in Jamaica. He said a few things about that last week to us. I suspect I will see the face of poverty in Romania when I visit there in January. Others of us face the poverty problem in our own community – a little closer to home. Poverty doesn’t go away when we ignore it. It has a way of presenting itself, right in front of our eyes, at the most conspicuous of places – like the temple treasury.

Or yesterday’s mail – while I was in the middle of writing this sermon, I remembered that I hadn’t checked the answering machine or the mail since I got back in town. We received this letter in the mail – it’s addressed to you – I opened it, but it has your name on the address line. READ LETTER. I don’t know how he got our name, or why he thought we had the resources to help them. I wonder what we should do with mail like this?

You know, out of your generosity, we are able to help some of the poor in our town. For the years that we have been in existence, we have put in place the “Pastor’s Benevolence Fund,” which you graciously allow me to administrate in helping the poor of our town. Over the years we have helped hundreds. There are so many more we could help with additional funds. On average, we receive about $50 a week, and that amount is usually gone by the end of business on Monday. I wish we could do more.

My sister’s church does an interesting thing. For fifteen years now, they have done this thing – each week, in their service of worship, some member gives the “$50 report.” In their congregation, a different member each week is responsible for taking $50 from the treasury and using it in some benevolent manner, and then reporting back to the church how that money was used. They might use it to buy school supplies, or help with a medical bill, or put gas in someone’s car. It is a wonderful ministry – it serves to keep charity in front of the congregation, and it reminds them that serving others is everyone’s responsibility. I wonder if we could do something like that?

She was a widow. That’s not all that unusual – most of us, if we live long enough, will find the loneliness that accompanies the loss of a spouse at the end of life. This woman was alone, and in that society, that meant that you were relatively unnoticed. She was on her own – no children mentioned, no relatives – she was alone. She had no one to rely upon, save God. Her story reminds me a little of the story of Ruth, who when her husband died, had no one except her mother-in-law. She eventually was noticed by Boaz, who was her kinsman Redeemer. There are obvious parallels between the two stories.

Jesus noticed this woman. How could He not notice this kind of extravagance? She gave little, but it was all she had. We know that because Jesus said so – “she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

You know, you and I might have noticed her for a different reason. We might have noticed her for the foolishness of her actions. Here she gave away all that she had – how foolish is that? You and I might call that kind of action foolish. And we might have something to say about her emotionality in the matter. Obviously, only an emotional, overly sensitive person would do something like that!! Give away all that she had – REALLY!!

Jesus noticed her. He pointed her out – to His disciples – and to us. He thought she had some things to teach us. Maybe we ought to listen. So, perhaps a few lessons.

Lesson 1 - Maybe being emotionally involved in our faith isn’t such a bad thing. Will Willimon says that “those of us who practice a more moderate, balanced form of Christianity, for whom religious faith is a matter of reasoned deliberation and cautious examination, are judged by the testimony of this anonymous widow.”[1] Contemporary Christians have a tendency to separate their daily living from their faith. That practice insulates daily actions from things like emotion and extravagance and reckless self-denial. It protects us from the possibility of seeing our life-style change on account of our faith.

Lesson 2 – comparative giving may be deceptive. You’ll notice that I didn’t focus on the first part of the scripture for this day. I don’t think our congregation has a problem in this area. I don’t know of a person in this congregation who has ever given out of their pomposity. For that matter, I don’t know any of us who serve in any capacity out of our pomposity. That was the problem Jesus was identifying in looking at the scribes of that day – they loved to be identified – for what they had and what they did. We don’t have that problem. If we did have this problem, that part of the scriptures would have spoken to us. What we can take from this point is that what we have to give – in offerings, in talents, in time – is important. It is not the size of the gift that counts – it is the scope. She gave all.

That’s the problem with the scriptures – it challenges us with little things, and little words – like the word “all.” And I guess it all depends on what your definition of the word “all” is. For some, “all” means more than for others. I’ll tell you what it means for me, and you see if this sounds anything like your definition. First of all, “all”, for me, is a term best measured in longevity. When I think of giving my all, I think of measured, consistent giving over the period of my life. I don’t want to expend too much energy at this particular point in time, because it might mean that I won’t be able to do as much in the future. Second, “all”, to me, is compared to my other pursuits in life. I’ll gladly give all – as long as it doesn’t cost me everything. And third – “all” shouldn’t be too difficult. For example, I’ll do all I need to do to get the physique I want – as long as I don’t have to put out too much effort.

On this Veteran’s Day weekend, I am impressed by the story of Marine Cpl. Jason Dunham. He is the soldier who, in April of 2004, threw himself on a grenade in a small Iraqi town in a selfless act of bravery which saved his comrades from injury and possibly death. He would have turned 25 this past Friday. I think his definition of “all” was a bit different than mine.

Lesson 3 – and this point comes from the sermon title. You know that on our Channel 9, Kelly Ogle does a periodic commentary called “My 2 Cent’s Worth.” His point, and one of the points Jesus was trying to make by singling out this woman, is that our “2 cents worth” matters – it counts. Hers did. Yours does. And I’m not just speaking of money, although that’s important. And I’m not just speaking of talents, and time. I’m talking about your general contribution to Christ, His Church, and to His Kingdom. It’s intangible, really - until you give it – until you put in your two cents. And every person’s two cents is important and unique. In the eyes of Jesus, you aren’t unnoticed, or unimportant. Your contribution to the kingdom is important. Every person’s two cents is important and unique.

Hers was. At least – Jesus noticed it.

Richard W. Dunn, PhD.

[1] Will Willimon, Pulpit Resource, Vol. 34, No. 4, p.30