Reign of Christ

Sermon by Rev Mary Alice Mulligan, Ph.D.

Scripture: Luke 23:33-43

November 20th is Transgender Day of Remembrance. Lots of churches will join the observation. Also today, the world-wide church is celebrating the last Sunday of the church year. When we come to worship next Sunday, we will have flipped over the calendar to a new liturgical year. The Advent wreath will be out, and we will begin preparing once again for the coming of the Messiah. The Christian Church spent this year listening to Luke tell the story of God’s ultimate intervention on earth in the birth, life, ministry, death, and resurrection of Jesus, as well as Luke’s vision of the development of the Church. Today, we spend one last Sunday with Luke celebrating the Reign of Jesus Christ.

Next Sunday, we begin our year-long relationship with the Gospel of Matthew. Which makes today like New Year’s Eve, but we don’t call it New Year’s Eve. We call it the Sunday of the Reign of Christ (the church used to call it Christ the King Sunday), the Sunday we honor the Ruler of Creation, Jesus the Christ. Of course, we remember Jesus every day, but today we especially praise him as the One who already Reigns today and forever. Our final Luke Gospel lectionary passage comes from the 23rd chapter. Stop now and read Luke 23: 33-43.

How odd to hear Luke’s report of the crucifixion on the Sunday of the Reign of Christ. The Ruler of the universe in an orange jumpsuit, spread out on the ancient equivalent of a lethal injection table, being ridiculed by almost everyone. The only kind word coming from someone else condemned to death. We are not used to thinking of a monarch in such a powerless state. Can he be the King?

You have images of royal power. Don’t you? If asked to describe an absolute monarch, you could. You might remember reading about the ancient ruler who lined up soldiers, single file, and ordered them to march over a cliff to certain death, to show their loyalty. And they did, one after another after another after another, for hours, until the monarch finally grew tired of it, and ordered them to stop. Isn’t that royal muscle, to hold life and death in your hands, with no one to stop you or judge you?

More recently, the picture you might conjure up is of a ruler who could order the conscription of another 300,000 soldiers to be sent to a failing war in Ukraine, whose lies no one seems able to challenge. Or perhaps you remember a monarch, whose death resulted in 250,000 people lining up to pass by her coffin to pay final respects. A more subtle form of ongoing strength, but royal power, nonetheless. When you think about a queen, a king, or any powerful ruler, you can get a variety of images, but each one is of an influential person. Usually someone bathed in luxury, with enough authority to do just about anything, with impunity, just because they want to. Control over other people and things is what makes a person look like a monarch. Royalty means dominance. You know what royal power looks like.

But Jesus looks helpless. Nothing regal about the image of Jesus on a cross. Today may be the celebration of the Reign of Christ, but the image we are shown of the crucifixion does not paint Jesus in a regal light. No one hanging on a cross looks like royalty. Certainly there is nothing “kingly” in the image of an itinerant religious teacher, dying a brutal death. The sadistic cruelty of crucifixion is no secret. A condemned person is stripped and beaten; most are half-dead before they even get to the spot. Accounts indicate Jesus is too weak from the beatings, to carry his own cross beam out to the place of execution. Then once at the place of execution, crucifixion is an excruciatingly slow process. The doomed person is nailed down and hoisted up, while the crowd grows larger and more abusive. For Jesus, the crowd is particularly vicious. Political leaders who plotted against his life are there. Good religious folk who called for his death, wait there for it. His name means, “God saves,” so the crowd easily ridicules him with the idea, while he suffers. “Save yourself, Anointed One, Messiah, King of the Jews.” Soldiers join in the mockery. For those who can read, a placard over the cross jeers: “The King of the Jews.” Even a fellow prisoner joins in the derision, grinding verbal gravel into the already mangled spirit of the Nazarene. Hanging on the cross, Jesus hardly appears even alive, much less like royalty. Who could even recognize him? The crowd watches like they might watch an animal being bled by the butcher. They know the sheep may twitch, but the life is flowing out. The end, although slow in coming, is inevitable. Swelling crowds watch death slouching toward the three crosses on Golgotha. A horrible vision. Rather than resembling someone ruling from a throne, Jesus looks absolutely helpless.

And, there’s the tension. Christians are stuck with paradoxes. Of course, believers are confused. Who can make sense of it? Followers of Jesus live in ambiguity. They believe in Christ Jesus, the Cosmic Ruler. The Son of God, through whom everything that was made was made. Yet there he is, coughing, gasping, and dying like a common criminal. Who wouldn’t feel embarrassed by such a contradiction? Instead of a hideous martyr, followers of Jesus Christ want a roaring lion, king of the jungle, absolutely in charge. But they get no lion. They get a lamb, who gives himself away. Bleeds and dies.

Isn’t it embarrassing? Worse than when some woman comes padding down the hallway of the middle school, in a housecoat and curlers, carrying someone’s lunchbox. And 250 kids are staring at her, muttering, “Whose mom is that?” And some poor 7th grader is shriveling with embarrassment, trying to disappear into the lockers. Of course, eventually that embarrassment will pass. But following Christ to the cross means constantly hearing people say, “Whose king is that?” He can’t even save himself. How can his followers expect him to save them? Anyone might ask how believers can make sense of the ambiguity of the Christian faith. How can they call him “Savior of the world,” when he dies powerless, as a common criminal. Christian might search for answers, but ambiguity is what they get. At the heart of the faith – a paradox.

But in the ambiguity, we see Christ the King. Jesus on the cross is the monarch. Such a difficult theological claim lies at the heart of our faith. For we see in the crucified Jesus, he truly is human. Like us in every way. So of course his body is broken, after 40 lashes with a whip made of leather strips. Of course he bleeds actual human blood and cries out in real pain. And of course, he actually takes a final breath, and his body grows cold. Which means Jesus is a ruler who truly comprehends us. When people experience life’s crushing moments (or for some folks, years of crushing pain), we can be assured: Jesus, the truly human One, has been there also. Whatever sadness or need or pain we humans experience, Jesus can identify with us, for he took on human flesh completely. What a glorious revelation.

But on the cross, we also see more than Jesus’ humanity. For the One bleeding and dying is also God. Through the years, the divinity of Christ has been a sticking point for many people, even for some of us here. We can believe Jesus was a good man, a holy teacher, specially chosen by God to model how to live a righteous life. But divine? Some people just can’t go that far. However throughout the history of the church, our tradition has proclaimed “God in three persons – Creator, Christ, and Holy Spirit.” The Christ is God. The church has claimed the divinity of Christ for centuries. The Second Council of Constantinople pointedly declared in the year 553 CE: “one of the Trinity suffered in the flesh.” Centuries later a theologian added for us: that in the suffering of Jesus, we see the very heart of who God is. The One through whom Creation came into being is the One who, with his dying breath, welcomed the criminal and forgave those who tortured and killed him. On the cross, humanity sees the complete self-emptying, self-giving of God which is made possible only by perfect love. (1) When humanity, that is, when we, have done our worst, God’s love prevails. There in the ambiguity of the cross, the forgiving, inclusive, dying love shown from the cross, we see the Monarch, God of the Universe.

How crazy it sounds, on the New Year’s Eve of the Church, to look to the cross, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Cosmic Ruler. There we find a suffering, bleeding, very human looking dying man, who is the promise of the salvation of the world. He may not look like what we expect a ruler to look like, but only God’s Incarnate Word, the Monarch of the Universe, could come to where we are with the divine self-giving, forgiving, love – powerful enough to save us. We can believe Jesus is the Ruler. Worthy is the King.

(1) This idea comes from a sermon by Stanley Hauerwas, referred to in Sally Brown, Cross Talk: Preaching Redemption Here and Now (WJK, 2008), 100. Brown also refers to the Second Council of Constantinople, which I then researched online.